Days of New: The Complete Collection (Serials 1-5) (10 page)

“You’re mental, man.”

“Speaking of…” Clark trailed off, lifting his brows at the Keeper.

“So it wasn’t just a dream then?” Liam sighed.

“No. It really happened.” Clark took a deep breath. He thought he was done speaking of Lucifer in present terms. Of course, he’d felt bad when he’d killed the angel; it’d been an accident. But now he had seen firsthand that Lucifer was something different, both in the dream with Camille and whatever had happened earlier today. Now he just regretted that he hadn’t intentionally pushed Lucifer into the fire. If he had, then he could’ve pushed harder. “I think it was Lucifer,” he finished.

Liam blinked. To give the Keeper credit, he didn’t laugh outright. He understood Clark’s abilities too well, and he had too much respect for the angels for that. “By Lucifer, you mean…”

“He’s alive. I know it. I feel it.”

“Clark, this is crazy—”

“I know, but listen. I found a burnt black feather on the roof.”

“Zarachiel told me.”

“Can you think of any other crispy-fried fallen angels?”

“Maybe not, but Lucifer didn’t have wings.”

Clark took a deep breath. He hadn’t told anyone this yet, hadn’t even really let himself consider it yet. “He does now,” he said, remembering the massive, terrifying black wings Lucifer had sported in his dream about Camille.

Liam recoiled. With his sharper Nephil senses, Clark caught the first hint of fear from the Keeper, which meant he understood. “How do you know this?”

“A dream I had.”

Liam swore. “You’re saying that he was reborn somehow?”

“That’s a good way to put it. I believe he’s coming after me. I think—no, I
know
—that he wants the magic.” The marks on Clark’s arms itched viciously. Looking down at them, the ink seemed to swim before his eyes, as if the language was speaking to him. Absentmindedly, he rubbed his hand across the marks on his left arm, and they quieted beneath his touch.

“Christ, Clark.” Liam ran his broad hand over his face. He was a handsome guy with a square jaw and sharp eyes, but the Keeper’s duty aged young men into old ones with the blink of the eye. Clark already saw a sprinkle of gray along his temples. “This is bad.”

“No shit.”

The silence stretched out while Liam considered Clark’s revelation, the strain evident in his narrowed eyes. “Look, let’s keep this between ourselves for now, okay? I don’t want to freak people out too soon.”

Clark snorted. “They should be freaked out. I’m scared shitless.”

“We can bring in a few Descendants, but I don’t want this reaching the Nephilim. Uh…” Liam paused awkwardly, regarding Clark. “No offense or anything.”

Clark waved off the remark. Honestly, he considered himself more Descendant than Nephil, and that was really saying something, because he’d hated the Descendants all his life. “Why don’t you want to tell the Nephilim?”

“There’s too much tension. You saw Ezekiel. The guy hates you. And we’re walking a fine line here, having us all under one roof. I mean, hell, two years ago we would have shot a Nephil on sight. Now, we are expected to share our resources with them? It’s tough medicine to take, no matter how good Michaela’s intentions were.”

“Why would telling them about Lucifer set them off?”

“It just adds to the tension, makes everyone scared. We can’t afford that now when the Descendants blame the angels for everything and the Nephilim blame the Descendants for not taking Michaela’s side.”

“Good point.” Clark thought for a minute. “Sophia’s sister—I mean, Maya—wants me to get her out of an arranged marriage with Ezekiel. That’s why she came here. I guess I probably shouldn’t bring that up either?”

Liam sank to one of the chairs lining the edge of the gigantic meeting table. He had to be desperate for comfort because they were hell on the ass. His head dropped, sagging between his shoulders. For the first time, Clark realized how skinny the man had become. His broad shoulders and height camouflaged it some, but it couldn’t hide the way his shoulder blades jutted out sharply.

“I miss your dad,” he said, his throat thick. His obvious emotion touched Clark. He knew his father and Liam had been good friends for a long time. “I miss him every damned day. And I miss before the war, when things made sense. When the angels were good, and we were just pretending to offer them protection. That was nice; we put on a good show. But this is miserable.” Liam cursed.

“How bad do you think things really are with the Nephilim?”

“Shit, Clark. Those guys are supposed to be your thing. I’m barely holding on with the Descendants. You know, they didn’t take pleasantly to me running off with Isaac in Charleston. They felt like I lied to them, that I didn’t trust them.”

“We didn’t trust them.”

“Exactly, but that’s not something you tell them to their faces. There’s just too much shit up in the air. Everyone is paranoid. No one trusts one another. I feel like I’m sitting on a bomb with your Nephilim under the same roof.”

“They’re not mine.”

“It’s in your blood, Clark. You can’t deny that. You belong with them.”

“I don’t feel like I belong anywhere.”

“Your dad would be proud of you.”

Liam’s words surprised Clark; he hadn’t been expecting something so heartfelt. He also didn’t expect how nice it would be to hear the words, even if they weren’t true. Isaac St. James had been a natural leader, and he never would have accepted Clark’s inadequacies at the task.

Clark sagged into a seat next to Liam and braced his elbows against the table. “I shouldn’t be their leader. I don’t know what the hell I’m doing.”

“You need to talk to Ezekiel. Smooth things over.”

“So I guess that means I can’t tell him the wedding is off.”

“Hell no.”

“So what am I going to say to Maya?” Clark asked, thinking about Sophia’s temper and stubbornness. If her sister had even a morsel of that, he was screwed.

“Tell her to suck it up. We’re all making sacrifices. At least she’s alive.” Seeing Clark cringe, Liam hastily added, “Man, I’m sorry. That was a dick thing to say.”

“Don’t worry about it. I just wish we could help her somehow. She came a long way.”

“I think we’ve all come a long way. I know it feels like I’ve run across the U.S. and back.”

“What about Lucifer? We need to be on top of this.”

“We didn’t search the grounds very well because we thought the attack came from within. Maybe you and Zarachiel could dig around a bit tonight while everyone is asleep. If this is Lucifer—”

“It is.”

Liam rolled his eyes. “Then we need more proof. More than just a feather and a hunch—”

“Isn’t it obvious he wants these?” Clark held up his arms to show the marks. “Why do we need more proof?”

“I get that, Clark,” Liam said calmly. “But when we bring this to the others, we have to be careful. Fear doesn’t work in times like these. We need to show them that the situation is under control, that we can handle this. Only then will they not panic. But this has to be settled fast. The government officials are going to be here in a few days. We need their support and help to unite the people again. It’s the only hope we have if Lucifer really is organizing a fallen retaliation.”

“I can’t believe this all started yesterday,” Clark said, feeling the weight of exhaustion like a descending anchor, pulling him to the depths of a deep, dark sea.

“Me neither,” Liam said. “But I’ll put someone else on your farming duty. They can distract the Nephilim with work. I want you and Zarachiel to get to the bottom of this. I want you to do it fast.”

“I didn’t read enough Hardy Boys for this shit, man,” Clark said, rising from his seat. He felt a new kind of pressure now. More than just leading the Nephilim or finding Jenna’s murderer. Now that Lucifer was involved, Clark felt like he had before, with Michaela, when the world was hanging in the balance. It wasn’t a fun feeling.

“Yeah, well, you’re Clark St. James. Figure it out.”

“Right,” Clark said with a snort as he turned to go.

“One more thing.”

“Yeah?” Clark asked, wondering at the hollow tone in Liam’s voice.

“Look, this isn’t me saying this, okay? In my opinion, I don’t give a flying shit. But I’ve heard things since this morning. And I think given everything that’s happening, you should know.”

“Know what?”

“The Descendants and Nephilim are talking about you and Camille. They don’t think it’s right.”

Clark gritted his teeth, fists clenching. “What are you saying?”

“That you should think twice before you sleep with an angel in these times.”

Chapter Seven

C
lark was still fuming mad when he kicked a bush, rustling its fragile, dead branches. His little penlight cast a narrow beam in front of him, but it was enough light to see that there wasn’t a feather or clue or even a letter saying, “I’m back, bitches! Love, Lucifer.” Clark gave a frustrated sigh and swung his beam around, flicking the light across the ground in front of him.

“Did he tell you exactly why people are so upset?” Zarachiel asked. He was more careful with his search, methodically scanning every inch of dirt where they were looking beyond the fields and greenhouses. They’d spent hours out here already, searching the grounds in a methodical, gridlike pattern. They’d talked endlessly about Camille and Lucifer and everything in between as they looked around. They were to the point where they were just rehashing the same thing over and over again. It made Clark want to pull his hair out. At least that would solve his problem of constantly having to re-dye it pink.

“He just said that it wasn’t right. That these weren’t the times or whatever the hell that’s supposed to mean.”

“The Descendants are just rattled. They thought they understood the angels, but now the humans are just scared of them,” Zarachiel said for the millionth time.

“It’s racism, and I don’t care how they package it. Assholes.” Clark spit onto the ground, cursing. His relationship with Camille was rocky, sure enough. And half the time, she scared him shitless. The other half, she pissed him off so badly that he couldn’t speak. But no matter her rough exterior, she was good. In her own way, she did what was best for everyone. She was the best kind of holy angel: tough, relentless, and brave even in the roughest of storms.

Like Michaela.

Only bitchier.

“The Nephilim,” Zarachiel continued, sorting things out in his logical manner, “probably think it’s sinful. The Watchers were holy angels who slept with human women. The product of that union was the Nephilim, and they were once considered unholy.”

“So they really shouldn’t be judging, should they?”

Zarachiel shrugged. They’d come to the Descendants’ graveyard, the tombstones poking up from the ground like hunched figures waiting to wake. Clark felt the pull of his father’s grave, knew it was exactly ten long paces to his right. He’d come out here often since the war had ended, just to sit with Isaac. They’d had an up-and-down relationship before everything had gone down with Michaela. Clark had never been good enough, never been Descendant enough. There had been so much tension and anger between him and his father that it had driven a wedge deep between Clark and the Descendants’ purpose. It was only because of the war that he and his father had come together and finally understood each other. Clark had finally proven himself to be a man, to be worthy, when he’d saved Michaela and fought alongside her. In the end, Isaac had died respecting and loving his son. And Clark still mourned for the father he’d only just learned to respect and love too.

“They’re probably just scared too,” Zarachiel said, meaning the Nephilim, pulling Clark’s attention back to the present.

“No, they think they’re holier than everyone else.”

“Who does?”

Clark spun around, swinging his penlight like a mini strobe light in the dark. “What the hell, Camille?”

Camille’s eyes reflected like a cat’s, glowing bright white for a moment in the glare from Clark’s penlight. Someone moved behind her. Clark tried to peer past to see who it was.

“Good evening, Maya,” Zarachiel said warmly, answering Clark’s unspoken question.

“What’s she doing here?”

Maya opened her mouth to say, but Camille answered, “She was looking for you. Isn’t that
so
sweet?”

“I wanted to talk,” Maya added. A baggy gray sweater swallowed her slight form, making her look almost haggard next to Camille. But if you looked at their faces side by side, Maya could hold her own. She was magical, just like Sophia. Clark realized he was staring a bit too long. He didn’t understand Maya’s pull over him. Maybe it was something that ran in their blood, something that would always pull Clark to them in particular. He seriously hoped that they didn’t have another sister hidden away somewhere.

“We’re a little busy right now,” he said.

“What are you doing?” Camille asked.

Clark grimaced. Liam had told him not to say anything, but he knew that tone in Camille’s voice. She wasn’t letting this go, and she never walked away. “You can’t tell anyone, okay?” he said to Maya, looking her deep in the eyes. “I mean it. No one.”