Shadow Train (46 page)

“But . . . how?” Aimee asked. “I don't get it.”

Halaliel laughed and the sound was like wind chimes. “You have found the loophole, my child. I couldn't tell you about it—you had to get there on your own. As it is written in
The Good Book,
‘Greater love has no man—or, in this case, girl—than to give up his life for another.' You can multiply that by at least ten when it comes to the soul.”

“Wait,” said Raphael. “She has to go into Dark Territory to deliver it?”

“Have no fear. No harm will come to her,” Halaliel promised. “Her spirit is filled with the light of pure love.”

Raphael felt a pang of jealousy, but he managed to contain it.

She gave Raphael an apologetic glance. “I'll do it,” she said. “I care about him, Raphael. I don't love him like I love you, but he was really good to me. I can't let Azaziel have him.”

“I get it,” Raphael said, even though he didn't like it much. But he knew that whatever had been going on between her and Orias, it was over now. Besides—what Aimee felt for Orias was not romantic love, he reminded himself. That made her wanting to help him a selfless act of humanity. It made Raphael feel humble.

“You must remember, though, that there are conditions,” Halaliel said to Aimee. “Once his half-soul is made whole, he will no longer be Nephilim, but human. Mortal. He will live out his life—a normal life span—and then he will die. And he must repent his bad choices, but repentance is not enough. He must find a way to make restitution. You must make sure he reads the scroll carefully and signs it . . . and then it's done.”

“Thanks,” she said. “I will.”

“Can I go with her?” Raphael asked. “To deliver the scroll?”

“You certainly can,” said Halaliel, and he turned his attention to the entire group. “Farewell now, Army of Light,” he said. As he spoke, a golden halo appeared behind his head. In seconds it was so bright that Raphael had to look down. Even the black dirt at his feet soon became illuminated, like an overexposed picture, and he shut his eyes.

A moment later, when the glow behind his eyelids dimmed and Raph looked around again, the Magician, the Dark Teacher, the Man of Four—the angel Halaliel—was gone.

Raphael was amazed. Even though the sun had been setting a moment ago, it hung high in the sky now, as if time had reversed to the moment before the battle had begun.

The Dark Territory hordes had completely disappeared. Every wound anyone had suffered was healed. The Obies and the U.S. soldiers looked at one another warily, but all the weapons, even the flaming sword Raphael had carried, had disappeared. Without their guns or other weapons, the two factions realized that the fight was over and began walking away. When Li started to follow the Black Snakes, Zhai caught up to her and took her hand.

“Wait—Li, where are you going?”

The look she gave him was full of contempt. “Leave me alone, weakling. They are my people now. I'm taking our father's fortune, which my mother made sure would all come to me one day—and I'm leaving this stupid town. There are better things out there than Middleburg, and I'm going to find them—and enjoy them all.”

“Come on, Li—you're my sister. We can figure this out together.”

“Are you deaf as well as stupid?” she demanded. “I have no more use for you, Zhai. I'm out of here.”

And she followed her comrades off the battlefield, running into the woods with them as the U.S. troops gathered into a small knot on the church steps, arguing about what to do next.

“Check it out!” Benji said, pointing. A house just outside the churchyard that had been blown up had been miraculously restored. Even the treetops that had been snapped by Maggie's Shen blast were back to normal, waving serenely in the breeze, and down the street they could see the marquee of the Starlite Cinema advertising the latest action flick, just like always. Middleburg seemed none the worse in spite of the brief war—with one exception. The only place that wasn't restored was a big Victorian house a half a block away from the church. It was Oberon's house, Raphael realized, and now it was completely demolished.

The rest of the town was fine.

“We did it,” Raphael whispered, although he still barely comprehended exactly what they had done or how they had done it.

“We did it!” Zhai repeated, and everyone took up shouts of exultation, pressing together in a wild frenzy of hugs, high-fives, and howls of joy.

* * *

Maggie was grinning as she surrendered to her classmates' massive group hug, but the smile left her face for a moment when she saw Aimee and Raphael kissing. She averted her eyes, sighed, and walked a few steps away from the crowd. She was happy for them—she really was—but it might take a little while to get used to seeing them together again.

Her head was still throbbing from the fight and she had a feeling she was going to end up with a wicked shiner. Black, puffy eyes were so not in this season. Feeling a little dizzy, she wandered over to lean against one of the tombstones when something above and to her left caught her attention and she squinted up into the sunlight. It was hard to make out in the glare, but she could see—very faintly—the staircase made of light, ascending heavenward from the top of the church steeple. And moving up the long, long staircase was an endless series of disembodied auras: pink ones, blue ones, orange ones, reddish ones, deep greens, pale greens, and almost-whites, all spiraling upward. She remembered the dark, shadowy shapes she'd seen lingering around from time to time since she'd gotten her ability to “see things right,” as
The Good Book
said. Now, she understood that they were spirits, trapped on the earth because the Four Staircases had been closed. Because of what they'd done here today, this one had reopened, and they were able to move on to a better place. And she could move on, too.

“Hey,” a voice said, and she turned around. It was Rick—but he wasn't talking to her. Somehow he'd returned to his human form—by Halaliel's magic, maybe—and he looked distinctly concerned as Johnny the Cop and Detective Zalewski approached him.

“It's a good thing you two are here!” Rick continued. “These Flatliner punks have been starting trouble again! I have a dozen witnesses that will tell you—”

Johnny rested a hand on his gun. “Okay, Rick—hands where I can see them!”

“What?” Rick said, incredulous. “What the hell do you think you're doing?”

“Rick Banfield, you are under arrest for the murder of Emory Van Buren. Hands behind your back, kid,” Zalewski said.

Rick seemed stunned as the cuffs clicked tight on his wrists. “This is ridiculous,” he said. “Are you guys insane? Do you have any idea who my father is?”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, everyone knows who your father is,” Zalewski said. “And nobody cares.” He and Johnny escorted Rick toward the waiting cop car, while the Army of Light stood and watched. Rick was cursing and shouting all the way.

* * *

Even though Aimee could have teleported them straight to Azaziel's throne room, she suggested they go by way of the tunnel and the Wheel of Illusion. She wanted time to apologize to Raphael again and to try to explain about Orias. Maggie had already told him that Orias had put some kind of spell on her and he'd told her no other explanation was necessary, but she felt she had to say more. She was sure he had so many unanswered questions.

When Nass heard that Raphael was going with her, he'd insisted on going too, and Dalton told them there was no way she was staying behind. So the four of them had set out with flashlights and backpacks full of water bottles and snacks, walking deep into the tunnel. When they stopped for a moment to take a break and Nass and Dalton were busy looking at the strange carvings on the tunnel walls, Aimee took Raphael's hand and led him a little away from them. She could see in the dim glow of their flashlights that he was frowning.

“Raphael,” she ventured softly. She'd thought a lot about what she wanted to say. He looked down at her. “I'll never be able to make it up to you—what happened with Orias,” she said. “But if you'll let me, I'll spend the rest of my life trying.”

He didn't speak for a moment, and she was afraid he was going to turn her down. And then he said, his voice catching slightly, “There's just one thing I need to know.”

“What?”

“Did you and Orias—I mean—how far did it go, exactly?”

She thought he was holding his breath, as if he dreaded to hear her answer and she hastened to reassure him. “No—oh, no,” she said. “It never went beyond kissing. He was very respectful about that. He didn't try—you know—anything like that.”

“Good. I don't know if I—” but he didn't finish the thought. He grabbed her and pulled her to him in a fierce hug. “I just want to forget all about that, once we get this over with,” he said. “The important thing is we're together again. I love you.” He grinned. “And yes—I'll definitely let you spend the rest of your life making it up to me.”

She laughed, relieved. “Okay, then,” she said. “Let's get this done.” She waved Nass and Dalton over and they continued their trek.

It was amazing, Aimee thought, how different the tunnels felt now that the ring was in the church tower and the staircase to Heaven had been reopened. There didn't seem to be any murderous monsters waiting in the shadows, and the frightening, oppressive feeling that the tunnels always held seemed to have been swept away.

When they reached the center of the Wheel, Aimee instructed them to all hold hands. “Here we go,” she told them, and they slipped.

* * *

Orias was still in the cage. His shirt hung in tatters around his torso, and lash marks from the whippings he'd received oozed blood down his back. He could still see the hundreds of Irin assembled there, their dark, expressionless faces gazing out from the shadowy ring of columns surrounding him. The war was over, and somehow the fallen angels had lost. Azaziel had returned with what was left of his Irin soldiers and wasted no time in taking his fury out on Orias. Somewhere close but unseen, drummers pounded out a solemn beat on a pair of massive kettledrums. The black, flittering shapes of disembodied demons flittered around his head, looking at some moments like bats, at other moments like circling vultures. They cackled and whispered taunts in Orias's ears, and occasionally paused to take small, painful bites from his flesh.

He was thankful that Aimee would never see him like this, but his gratitude didn't last long. She materialized in the throne room to stand right before the astonished Azaziel. Dalton, Nass—and Raphael—were with her.

“Let him go!” Aimee ordered, looking defiantly up at Azaziel. Slowly he descended his throne.

“Why should I?” he snarled.

She held Halaliel's scroll out to him. “He has received a celestial pardon,” she said. “You lose! Read it and weep.”

Azaziel took it from her, broke the seal, and perused the document. And then he laughed. “He'll never go for it,” he said.

“Betcha anything he will,” she retorted. She took the scroll back and went to the cage.

“Aimee, what's going on?” asked Orias. She held the scroll out to him.

“It's true,” she said. “I talked to Halaliel and—”

“And she offered to sacrifice her soul for yours,” Raphael broke in. “Which is a lot more than you deserve.”

He looked at Raphael. “You're right about that,” he agreed, and then he took the scroll and studied it. “Why would you do this, Aimee?” he asked. “After the way I used you—manipulated you.”

“Yeah,” Raphael said bitterly. “It was all about getting the ring.”

“At first,” Orias agreed. “But then I fell in love with her—and I thought, in time, I could make her love me.”

“Well, it didn't work,” said Raph. “Just so you know—it's me she loves, and after this, I'm going to do everything in my power to see that she never gets near you again.”

Aimee took Raphael's hand, quieting him. “You don't have to worry,” she told him. “I do love you—only you—and that's not going to change.” She turned to Orias. “But even though you thought you were just using me, Orias, you were good to me. You gave me a safe haven when I needed to get away from my father. You taught me I could slip. You helped me to be strong. For that I'll always be grateful.”

Orias held up the scroll again, his eyes filled with deep sorrow. “And . . . this is for real?”

“It's for real,” she said. “But there are conditions. You have to agree that this is what you want and you have to be truly sorry for all the bad things you've done. And somehow, whenever you can, you have to find a way to try to make it right—restitution. That's what the scroll says. You have to sign the pardon—and then you'll be mortal. You'll live a normal human life span, you'll get old and you'll die, just like the rest of us. And you won't have any more super powers. You'll be a regular guy. But your half soul will be whole, and you'll have a right to heaven, just like all humans.”

He read the scroll again. “I'll sign it in blood, if that's what it takes,” he said.

“We can make that happen!” said Azaziel, reaching out his taloned hand and slashing Orias's forearm with a claw. “If you're sure that's what you want. Don't you realize you'll be giving up a nearly immortal lifetime? Thousands of years of partying and pleasure. Don't be stupid. Don't sign it, and I'll let you go. You can return to your almost unending life of debauchery. Or perhaps we could work together. With your father gone, I could use someone with your skills. Think of the glory. Come on, what do you say?”

Orias looked at him with contempt. “I say go to hell.” And he dipped one finger in the blood oozing from his wound and with it signed the document and gave it to Azaziel. As soon as the Irin touched it, it vanished in a plume of sparkling purple smoke. Instantly, the cage door sprang open.