Days of New: The Complete Collection (Serials 1-5) (13 page)

“Ezekiel,” Maya said, stepping forward. Her voice shook ever so slightly. “Do you think that’s a good idea? These people can protect us.”

The Nephil turned on Maya, glaring down at her like she was the roach that had dared scurry across his shoe. “It’s only a matter of time before it’s one of us found dead in a field.”

“But—”

He reached down and grabbed her slender arm, his hand wrapping completely around her bicep. He shook her whole body, wrenched her shoulder in its socket. When she cried out, Clark had enough.

“Let her go,” he growled, the ink on his arms itching. The power surged through his body, and he knew he was ready to use it. The fickle magic was ready for him. If he needed something, it would provide the words to him.

“You don’t—”

“Let her go, or so help me, I will fry you where you stand.”

“Is that what you said to Jenna?”

Clark ignored the jab, focusing on the huddled group of Nephilim instead. “I’m still leader of the Nephilim until I’ve been rightfully overturned. No one is leaving.” Clark turned to Ezekiel, his eyes trailed down to the Nephil’s grip on Maya. “And you two will not be wed. It’s gross and creepy, and you should find someone your own age.”

Ezekiel let go of Maya, but he was ready to fight. Taking the opportunity, Zarachiel went to Maya, pulling her casually to the side and out of harm’s way. Clark took a deep breath, ready to use his magic, when Liam spoke.

“This is enough! Everyone to quarters now! Don’t come out of your rooms until you’ve heard from me personally! There will be no more of this. If anyone is found outside of their apartments, it will be an immediate imprisonment for one week with no meals. And I mean that.”

Clark understood now why his father had chosen Liam. Not only was he a good leader, but he didn’t take any shit. After a moment’s consideration, everyone—Descendants and Nephilim alike—hurried away, convinced by Liam’s tone that he really meant to half-starve them if they disobeyed. The Keeper himself was shaking with fury, his fiery gaze turned to Ezekiel, who still hovered by the group, his eyes flickering between Maya and Clark.

“You slept with her, didn’t you?” Ezekiel accused, his beard twitching, yellow teeth flashing. “I saw you in the east wing late last night. You were leaving her room!”

“Ezekiel!” Liam snapped. “For God’s sake, get to your room now. We’ll discuss this later.” Clark opened his mouth to tell Ezekiel what else he could do to himself when he got to his room, but Liam interrupted him too. “I’ll deal with you later, Clark. Now go!”

“Dude—” Clark started, but Zarachiel grabbed his arm and towed him away with Maya rushing after them. Camille followed a few steps behind, her eyes watching Ezekiel carefully. Inside the compound, the halls were empty. There was a faint scent of smoke in the air, but it seemed the fire had been easily contained, like it had been meant to scare, not damage. Or to set Clark up to fall before the Nephilim. Now Clark wondered if it had been Ezekiel who’d set the blaze and not Lucifer after all.

“This is completely crazy,” Clark muttered as they hurried along.

“Thank you,” Maya said. She was slightly breathless as they climbed the steep flight of stairs. “Thank you so much for calling off the marriage.”

“Yeah, well, you might not be thanking me later. I don’t know how much authority I have any more.”

“Still, it means a lot.”

“Stop,” Zarachiel said.

“What?” Clark asked, looking over at the angel, but Zarachiel was looking at the door to Clark’s apartment farther down the hall. Following his gaze, Clark saw that the door was ajar. A cold chill swept over his body. “Shit.”

Without thinking, Clark took off down the hall at a full sprint. But his speed didn’t match the angels’, even Zarachiel’s. He was right behind Clark in a second, pushing through the door first, with Camille shouldering her way past Clark too. Everyone except Maya burst into the room, eyes wild and searching. The living room was empty, but Clark heard the whip of wind coming through an open window. Camille was already halfway to the bedroom when Clark ran after her.

Inside, the first thing he saw was Sophia’s bonnet lying on the bed. Something twisted up inside his heart, like a wet rag being wrung out, but he didn’t pay it attention for long. A window was indeed open, and in it sat a demon.

Clark had never seen a demon up close before. Or ever. And he was glad. The thing was repulsive. Its body was bulbous and too round, shapeless, with the considerable appearance that it would be squishy upon touch. Little arms and legs with toes as long as its fingers gripped the windowsill like a monkey. It was naked, slightly wet and oozing. Beady eyes rested on a bloated, purple face. It laughed at them, the sound high-pitched enough to ring in Clark’s ears. He knew it was a laugh only because the creature was smiling, its mouth as wide as it’s entire face, twisting into a drooling, lopsided grimace of mirth.

Camille hissed and Zarachiel lunged forward. Clark was too grossed out to move, bile rising up the back of his throat. There was an awful smell in the room, like sulfur and sweaty underwear.

The demon tumbled out of the window to the ground below. Clark thought it was surely dead until, through the window, he saw it rise up again. Tiny bat wings worked furiously, moving the creature far faster than Clark could’ve imagined.

Zarachiel pulled back, unable to follow. “Camille!” he shouted.

“On it!” And she was. She was in the window and out of it faster than Clark could blink. She leapt, her wings stretching out, beating once to keep her aloft before she surged forward to catch the demon, her white wings flashing in the morning light.

“Wait!” Clark shouted suddenly, stumbling after her. But when he got to the window, she was out of sight. He’d remembered the dream too late, recalled how Lucifer had apparently captured her. Captured and tortured her. Clark cursed, kicking at the wall.

“Don’t worry,” Zarachiel said, “she’ll catch it.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Clark mumbled.

Just then, he noticed Maya standing in the room. She was clearly shaking, panting breaths coming out of her gaping mouth. “W-was that a demon?”

“I really hope so. Otherwise, it was a new breed of bird. Are they all that ugly?” Clark asked Zarachiel.

“None of them would win any beauty contests, but that creature was clearly lowborn.”

Clark snorted. “A caste system for demons. Oddly appropriate.”

Maya walked over to the bed, her attention caught by her sister’s bonnet. She picked it up and fingered the delicate trim. “Was this hers?” When Clark nodded in response, she said, “You know, I made fun of her for having to go to the Pennsylvania clan. I told her she would hate the Amish lifestyle. And then I ended up in a convent.” She looked up, a hysterical giggle bubbling out of her mouth. “And now I’m here. Seeing demons.”

“We don’t have time for this,” Zarachiel said, pacing away from the window. “That demon is our only connection to Lucifer. We need to talk to Michaela.”

Maya gasped. “The Angel of Death? How are you going to talk to her?”

“Dead bodies equal souls,” Clark clarified. Maya finally understood, and she started to sway slightly on her feet.

“We have to go. Now.” Even as he said the words, Zarachiel was already leaving the room, his back straighter with the urgency.

“I’m coming with you,” Maya said, dropping the bonnet and going after Clark, who was right behind Zarachiel.

“Fine. Just hurry.”

There were guards from Bailey’s squad stationed at the main doors, but Zarachiel knew of an old door leading from one of the kitchens. He took it most often because it was the best shortcut to the greenhouses. Silently, they threaded down to the first floor and to the kitchens, pausing only when guards passed by. Within a couple of minutes they were outside.

They arrived just in time to see a figure dressed in simple jeans and a white top wrapped around her body to give her golden wings room to be free. The feathers shifted and glowed, creating a halo around the Angel of Death. Long black hair lifted in the wind. Her shape was growing fainter by the second, turning nearly transparent.

“Michaela!” Clark called out, careful to not shout too loud.

Like a light turning on in a dark room, her hazy figure snapped back to solid. She looked around, striking Clark down with her powerful, dark blue eyes. A smile, slow and assured, spread across her face.

Clark thought he might be mad at her when he finally saw her again. She had, after all, abandoned him. He didn’t care if she was resurrected to perform a duty for the rest of eternity. Dammit, couldn’t she take like one day off to see him? He knew for a fact that she took a moment every now and then to canoodle with Gabriel.

But he smiled back instead, feeling only a wild joy upon seeing her whole and healthy and very, very alive. He hurried to her, closing the distance between them easily. Zarachiel and Maya stayed back, which Clark appreciated.

“Michaela,” he said softer now. He opened his arms and enveloped her in a tight hug. He squeezed her for a long moment, and she held him, swaying as he swayed, lost in the moment.

When they finally leaned back, she said, “I’m glad you kept the hair.”

“Seriously?” Clark gaped, feigning indignation. In truth, he’d kept his pink Mohawk for her. “That’s what you say to me after all this time?”

But Clark sensed an odd air about Michaela now. Before, she’d been a battered, broken angel, but she’d still had the aura of a powerful warrior. Now she seemed effervescent and far more ethereal than she’d ever been before. There were even times when they’d been together that Clark had forgotten she was an angel. He knew there would be no mistaking her now.

Michaela cocked her head, smiling at him. “What did you want me to say?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe something a little more heartwarming?”

Michaela laughed, the sound like church bells. It was easy and effortless, something that Clark had never heard from her. Their friendship had been true and deep, but it was set in a time of war and death. Laughter didn’t come easy or quick back then. It didn’t really now either, but hearing Michaela laugh reminded Clark that things could be worse. She could be gone forever.

“We’re not the heartwarming type. I have missed you though. A lot.” She grinned.

“Where were you the other day? When Jenna died?” Clark asked. The hurt feeling he’d had when Michaela hadn’t come to see him after Jenna had felt selfish and awful, but he had to ask now.

“Clark…” Her smile faltered. “When a human is burned like that, the holy fire takes the soul. She’s lost. There was nothing I could do.”

Slowly, Clark understood. Jenna’s soul was gone, lost, burned beyond existence. Michaela hadn’t come because there hadn’t been anything to come for. “That’s awful,” Clark said quietly.

“I’m sorry.” Michaela squeezed his hand. “Do you know who used the holy fire on her?”

“Hell, yeah.” Clark took a deep breath to prepare himself. “It’s the same person that sent a demon to my room. And killed Wyatt with a Watcher’s sword. It’s Lucifer. I think he’s haunting me, for lack of a better word.”

“Lucifer is doing what?”

“He’s alive, Michaela. I know it. Somehow, he didn’t die that night in Hell. He’s alive, and he’s coming after me.”

She cursed colorfully, impressing Clark. She’d picked up a few things from him too, it would seem. “This isn’t good.”

“That’s an understatement. Is it possible that he lived through that? Where’s his soul? Can you sense if he’s alive?”

Michaela held up her hand to ward off his rapid-fire questions. “An angel’s soul goes with them. There’s no second chances for them.” Clark cringed at the way she said ‘them,’ as if she wasn’t an angel herself anymore, but she didn’t notice. “I have no clue if he’s alive. I thought after that fire, he was surely done for. I don’t know how someone could survive something like that.”

“Is it possible he reformed somehow?”

“Maybe…”

“He’s out there,” Clark said. “I know it.”

“I believe you.”

Three words. Three simple words—that’s all Clark needed to feel comforted. His and Michaela’s friendship was built on faith and trust. He’d believed her when she told him that she’d been framed, that she wasn’t the traitor everyone said she was. She’d believed him when he’d explained his odd Nephilim powers when it came to dreams and seeing bits of the future. They believed in each other. That’s what they did.

“You need to talk to Gabriel. Let him know about this. If Lucifer is out there, he’s going to be rallying an army of fallen angels and apparently demons that are still loyal to him,” Clark said.

“I’ll tell him. But Clark?”

“Yeah?”

“The angels are busy with their own mess in Heaven. I don’t know how big of a force they can spare for you. You need to keep it together down here. Is Camille still with you?”

“Damn straight.” The angel in question landed beside Clark, rattling the ground at their feet and buffeting Clark with a swell of wind that rocked him onto his heels.

He pushed his hair out of his eyes and huffed a breath. “Couldn’t shake her if I tried.”

“That’s good.” Michaela nodded at the Throne angel, but Camille held her ground beside Clark, her jaw locked tight. “Stay close. I’ll go see Gabriel.” She reached forward and hugged Clark before she stepped back. Camille’s emotions sweltered in the air around them; Clark heard her teeth grinding together. “Bye, Zarachiel!” Michaela called over Clark’s shoulder.