Michael (The Curse) (The Airel Saga, Book 3: Part 5-6) (3 page)

“What are you doing here?” It was Kim.

He let out a breath and relaxed, forcing his arms down to his sides. “Looking for you.”

Kim’s face showed flashes of unbridled rage. “Murderer,” she breathed, her eyes flashing.

Michael’s eyes widened in comprehension. “No … no, that’s not true—”

“How can you say that?” Her eyes filled with tears, her fists clenched at her side.

“Kim, I mean—”

“Shut up. Just shut your mouth.” She wiped at her eyes. “You killed my best friend.”

“Kim—”

“Traitor. Bastard. Murderer.”

Michael grimaced.
I guess this is where it starts.

She stalked closer to him and looked up at his face. “I want to kill you.” She was pointing her finger at his chest. “I should push you off this cliff. You don’t deserve to live. You are a …” She stuttered, face flushed.

“Kim, listen to me. Airel is alive.”

Her jaw dropped. Then she stepped back from him, shock spreading across her face. “Liar,” she hissed. “I don’t believe you.”

“Kim, trust me. I am all those things you said I am. I have to live the rest of my life knowing what I did to her. But I’m telling you the truth—she’s alive.”

Kim looked like she was dizzy, and her eyes darted around as if a torrent of different emotions were pouring through her.

“Kim. Can I take you to her? Let me take you to her.”

She eyed him warily. “Why should I trust you?”

He shrugged, harrumphing. “I’ve got no reason for you to trust me, Kim. None at all. Like I said, you were right. I am a traitor and a murderer. And I am a … a bastard. You don’t know how right you are about that. Are you going to follow me back to the house or not?”

“How ‘bout not,” she said, crossing her arms and cupping her elbows with her hands.

I can see how this is going.
“Tell you what. Why don’t you head back, now that we’ve found each other, and see for yourself. I’ll wait here for a bit and let you two have some time. You probably need it. I’ll probably see you in the kitchen by the time I get back. I bet she’ll need something to eat.”

She sniffed at him. “Whatever.”

“That’s our Kim.”
She’s probably going to make me regret saying that.

Kim turned and sprinted into the woods like a cat.

“It’ll be dark soon,” he called after her. “Better hurry.” He had decided to take his time getting back, coming dark or no. Maybe try to see if El would answer a question or two.

***

BEFORE MICHAEL COULD ARTICULATE a single question in his mind, watching Kim scurry off, he felt something new within him, a kind of draw to light and warmth. It was magnetic, and as he opened his heart and mind to it, he was surprised at how the light seared his mind, how the warmth burned him. It felt good to be truly honest about all that he was.

But what he was, was ugly.

Then he could see what was happening. It was El.
He’s here, somehow, right now,
he thought, panicking, and completely opposite to everything he had ever known or been taught, without really choosing to, he fell to his knees right there in the dirt.

It felt then to Michael that everything made sense, that he really had more in common with dirt than he had ever dreamed. He felt low, and his decisions paraded before him, accusing him in a strangely familiar voice:
“Manipulator. You manipulated Airel.”

Is that me?
he wondered.

“You got close and lied to her, charmed her, fully intending to kill, and then you stood by and did nothing until it was too late. And then, dear boy, what did you do? Something very, very selfish, and very, very risky indeed, did you not? Yes, you did. And you know why you wrote in the Book, don’t you? Yes, you do. You didn’t do it for Airel—don’t kid yourself. You did it for you.”

Michael collapsed, his face in the dirt, weeping, trying with all his heart to argue, “No. I did it for her; I love her. I love her with all my heart. More than my own life.”

“Nevertheless, you stood by and watched her die.”

Truth was hard to come by. He didn’t really know up from down. “But it wasn’t too late. I made it right.”

“Did you?”

Michael was silent.

“Or have you made it worse? Some things cannot be undone.”

He felt like he was going crazy, talking to voices inside his own head, begging El like a dog. That one fact, that he felt like begging his sworn enemy for relief, filled him with shame and regret. All he could do was hope that what he had done would work out in the end, that she could forgive him when she saw who he really was.

CHAPTER IV

STEAM.

Ah, that feels really, really good.
I stood under the shower of near-scalding water, washing the cold and grime from my body, my eyes closed.

All kinds of things were running through my head. Given a little distance from Michael, I felt like I could think more clearly. As the smell of lake trout and death rinsed away and fell from my body, the fog in my mind also dispelled, leaving a pristine clean. The new scar on my chest, though, wouldn’t wash away. As a matter of fact, it still hurt, and I wondered if it would ever heal. My body wasn’t reacting to it like it had to my other injuries lately.

One thing was pretty clear already. Michael and I had unfinished business. A lot to talk through. What had happened between us was life and death. It wasn’t just some stupid interpersonal friend drama resulting from someone flapping their gums about a rumor overheard in the girls’ locker room. I guessed the best way to say it was that I needed answers. And I needed them desperately.

She
expressed it perfectly.
“Caution.”

And
She
was right, I had to admit. This girl wouldn’t be making any rash decisions in the future. Especially about Michael. I also had to admit that things had gone too far, too fast.
Well, probably.
It was pretty obvious, anyway, that I didn’t really know him or what he was capable of, in just about every direction. For the first time, I could see that I had acted like a love-struck teenager, letting all my rationale go out the window when it came to Michael. Anyway, I needed more time, so I resolved to be unresolved about things until I had more information.

What if that confuses him?
“So what?” I asked the shower tile, scrubbing shampoo into my scalp for the third time.

It was weird. I was thinking of new slogans for the shampoo I was using.
It gets out the worst smells. Even death.
I was still a little punchy. I sighed heavily and rinsed.

It had been about an hour.
He might be back by now,
I thought, and that made me more nervous than when he picked me up on our first date. Why? Because now I knew him better. There was danger and desire roundabout him, and that did weird and conflicting things inside me. It pushed and pulled at the same time.

I turned the water off, turned to grab for my towel, and then realized the bathroom door was cracked open. I had left it closed.

“Ohmygawd.”

I gasped and covered myself with the towel, looking toward the sound of the voice. Could it be? I saw an unkempt mop of red hair. “Kim.”

“Airel…”

I could tell she was going to cry. I wanted to run to her, but that would have been a little awkward. “What are you doing here? Are you all right?”

“Am
I
all right? How about you? Are you really alive?” she said.

I found myself blushing. “Stop looking at me.”

“I’m sorry, I just can’t believe it.” Kim rushed forward and hugged me hard.

“Kim.” I held her for a long moment, starting to cry again. My head hurt from all the crying. I had to get a hold of myself.

“Knock, knock.” It was Michael, his voice coming from out in the bedroom.

“Oh, my gosh. Stay out there,” I shouted, a hint of irritation in my voice. “Kim,” I said, turning back to her.

She got the message. Best friends are good at reading in between the lines. She winked at me and ran out, saying, “We
are
gonna talk later.”

I heard her verbally abusing him and I smiled. In a minute she shouted back at me through the door, announcing that they would meet me down in the kitchen whenever I was ready. I said, “Okay,” and breathed a sigh of relief.

After Michael and Kim left me in peace, I felt the pulling again. Part of me was still broken and I wasn’t sure what would fix it. Or if Michael would even be involved in that healing.

Anyway, why should
I
be the one to feel bad?
“Exactly,” She
said. I wasn’t the one who had declared war. They had.

I toweled off and began to brush out my hair. Horrible, dark jokes clattered in the back of my mind. How could I be so beautiful? I was dead an hour ago. I shrugged it off and kept brushing.

Remembering who I was made me think of Kreios. Where was he? When I reached out in my mind for him, all I got back was silence. Blackness. Was he even alive? Why was I alone? Why had he been taken from me when I needed him most?

And who was Michael?
Yeah, really
. It was there, nagging me in the back of my mind, but if I opened that door, what if I didn’t like what I found there? He had lied to me about his past and who his dad was. What else had he lied about? Had he really planned to kill me?

How can a girl know and be sure about love when she’s not sure who, precisely, she loves? Everything I thought I knew about him—that he was gentle, strong, beautiful and flawed, funny and serious, perfect and broken—how much of it was true? And considering what he had lived with—what he had to do to be the son of Stanley Alexander—I couldn’t begin to make sense of it.

In the end, all of it made me want to be in his corner. There was something unexplainable about my attraction to him. Sure, it was physical. That was the attention-getter for everyone, right? But there was also a deep mystery to him, something both compelling and unknowable. That was the hook in my jaws, and it had been there since that fateful day I had spilled my coffee.

I tried to shrug off the deep thoughts, and dressed in cargo pants, hiking boots, and a dark blue tank top. I would be ready to hike out to the cliff later. Hopefully. I had to find Kreios.

I also figured my life, my school, my friends outside of Kim and Michael, were all gone now. Everything was different now.

I had been shoved violently out of the nest, just like that baby eagle I had dreamed about. I sighed. So much about life was just impossible and huge. Would I learn to fly before I hit bottom?

Would I ever see my parents again? Would it be safe? For them? Was it better if they thought I was dead?

My head ached.

My chest ached too, but I refused to look at the scar in the mirror or touch it. I knew it was there and it made sure I did. It throbbed endlessly, pulsing with my cleaved and restarted heart.

But now I was ready for my day.

“Ready for anything?” She
asked.

Sure. I’ve already cheated death today. Who else wants a piece?

CHAPTER V

Portland, Oregon, Pearl District—Present Day

KREIOS COULD REMEMBER THE battles he had fought. He knew the look of each man who had died under the edge of his sword. Through it all, he was the master of his temper, his anger, his rage. Time and conscience had taught him to hold it in check, to act and not let emotions rule.

But he could also remember the few times that he had lost his temper. Time and conscience had also taught him that everything was personal. The difference between angel and animal was self-control, keeping instinct and impulse in check. This was one of those times when he was more animal, operating on instinct.

Wide open and out of control.

The howling inferno of his righteous anger—his prickling sense of justice—filled him, and he allowed it to consume him to the core of his being.

There were three women he had ever dared to love. The manifestation of that love to each one was different, but no less complete. And now his loss was complete. Filled up for each of them. He knew about price. And he knew he was nothing more than a fallen angel, in the final analysis. He deserved all of it. All of the futility. All of the pain.

He thought it especially ironic that the Seer’s Bloodstone was red. His anger was hatefully red as well. It pulsed through him in a fire that only the red of guilty blood could quench.

“Look,” the woman said, “I don’t know who you are or what you want, but I’m not the one you’re looking for.” She sounded confident, but it was a thin shell. In the same way, she was rough and untended, the slightest hint of femininity beneath it all.

“I am not surprised anymore,” said Kreios, half to himself, half to the jeans-clad woman with wild red hair. “But this will be messy, an embarrassment.” They stood in the back parking lot of the Riverside Bar facing one another.

She bent her knees slightly as Kreios advanced toward her. “What do you want?” She lowered her shoulder, hand on hip. The front of her shirt, its buttons undone just a bit too far, fell slightly open, revealing a leather string that held something around her neck.

Kreios continued to move closer, towering over her by a foot or more.

“Hey,” she said, looking alarmed. “I’ve taken down bigger guys than you …” She widened her stance and dropped her hands to her sides.

“Woman, you are of the Brotherhood. Admit it and stand to fight.” He came off a little bored. Kreios did not want to argue with the demon—he just wanted to kill it and be on to the next. There were so many to kill, so many on which he could spread around the load of pain and suffering.

“Brotherhood? What are you talking about? She tossed her wiry hair in the jaundiced street lighting. The lot was empty other than a few lingering cars. It was past closing time.

Trina Wilson was her given name. She managed and tended the bar. She usually took home over $500 in tips, too, though she wasn’t beautiful. Whatever men saw in her was simply what happened when an excess of alcohol fogged the mind. She was good at working what she had, and it served her well.