The Revelation of Gabriel Adam (11 page)

Gabe lifted the mirror. On the back of his head a mark in the defined shape of one of the signs in the book was clearly visible.
A tattoo
. A closer look revealed that it wasn’t a tattoo but a
birthmark
. Instead of sharp, defined lines as would have been given by an artist’s hand, the colors blended, fading into skin, impossible by artificial means.

He stared at it, then looked down to the Watcher symbol on the parchment marked by his father’s hand. They were identical. A circle and a pattern of lines that resembled an upside-down
Y
.

“Not named after him,” his dad said. “My boy, you
are
the archangel Gabriel.”

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Having never been in a fistfight, Gabe didn’t know what a punch to the face felt like. He imagined the effect of his father’s words ringing in his ears was a close approximation.

Is this a joke?

Has my father gone insane?

Is this all some horrible dream?

But the last thought disturbed him the most—
My dad and the Scotsman might be telling the truth
.

He thought of the visions.
Visions of the end of the world and ancient times
. Cruelly, it all fit together, though his mind wouldn’t accept it.

“How would . . . I don’t . . . ,” Gabe said, struggling to talk. His pulse quickened, and a familiar tightening sensation built in the back of his head while he struggled to process his father’s words. Frustrated anger tore through his mind. He couldn’t help it, but it was the only emotion responding to their news. “I don’t believe it. A dimensional war between heaven and hell? Angels and demons born on Earth? That’s insane. It’s just . . . stupid.”

“Is it?” His dad nodded to a painting of Jesus on the wall. “The concept isn’t exactly foreign to matters of faith.”

“Faith? You expect me to just believe? That my entire future is some big plot to save the world?”

“Not just you,” Carlyle said. “There are others. Four in total, to be precise.”

“Sure,” Gabe said, his tone sour and sarcastic. “I’m one of four super warriors, or whatever, sent to save the world. And you two—two people in nowhere England—are the ones the Vatican entrusted with keeping this big secret. Excuse me if I seem a little concerned about the state of the church.” Gabe flinched even as he said it, but propelled by the anger, he couldn’t stop.

“Carlyle and I are not just ordinary people. He is a Qumran Essene and an expert in all things concerning the End of Days. I am an agent of the Vatican, entrusted with your protection and care,” his father said.

“You’re a freaking
Anglican
priest!”

“Gabriel, there are many things about me you don’t know. Don’t you understand? This cover, this role as an Anglican priest, was the only way I could keep you as my adopted son and remain a part of the church. There are reasons for everything. But the question you should be answering about yourself isn’t
why me.
It’s
why not me.
Are we not God’s children? Is he not?” His dad pointed to Carlyle.

“The importance of keeping you in the dark and apart from the others was for the purpose of security,” Carlyle said. “Your safety has always been at risk. Moving from church to church made you difficult to find. Many voiced opinions that you should have been kept in Vatican City, under the guard of their security force. Alas, obscurity proved to be better than anything contrived by the Vatican.”

Gabe’s hands felt moist with sweat; his heart skipped inside his chest. Oxygen suddenly seemed lacking in the small room, and he couldn’t catch his breath.

Carlyle wouldn’t let up. “A war is beginning, boy. Whether or not you choose to believe that right now is irrelevant. Preparation is what is important to the future. With the attack in New York, it has become obvious that the enemy is moving faster than anticipated. They’ve somehow found a crack in the seal, a way to get to Earth through other means. It is time to unite the four and stop the End of Days.”

Gabe stood, shaking his head in denial, and moved to the exit. Anger gave way to a deepening sadness from his father’s betrayal of trust.

“Wait. There’s more to hear,” his father pleaded and held the sleeve of his son’s jacket.

Gabe jerked his arm away and walked to the door. Without looking back, he said, “I can’t deal with this right now. I need some time alone.”

The door to the vault room slammed behind him.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Snow from the Palace Green kicked into the air with every step Gabe took toward the cathedral. On another day he might laugh at such an ironic choice of retreat, considering what he was running from. But for now, it seemed like the only place that felt familiar, safe.

He could imagine it still, the image of the mark seared into his memory. Everywhere he looked, even in the shapes and drifts of snow, it was there—the circle with a pattern of marks. Did he see what they wanted him to see? Some sort of manipulation or trick? One thing was certain—it felt real.

He rubbed the mark as he walked, feeling heavy, burdened by his father’s secret.
My secret.

Unlike the cathedral in New York, Durham Cathedral had three towers. The view tower, the largest of the three, was open to the public according to posted signs, except for after hours and during inclement weather. Both of which applied at the moment.

Gabe slipped into the cathedral behind several students.

Stained glass windows lit up an enormous cavern of pews. Massive arches in the vaulted ceiling spanned from one stone pillar to the next. Luckily, the stairs to the central tower were near the entrance. A small Closed sign stood next to the door to the tower, but only a velvet rope served as a deterrent. Normally, this would have been enough to persuade him to find another retreat, but he needed someplace familiar to find his bearings on everything. Somewhere high above the insanity.

Gabe sneaked past the sign and climbed the staircase until he came to the door to the observation deck. He opened it, and a frigid wind cut through his clothes.

The memory of Central Park came to mind, and he felt homesick. Odd, he realized, considering how little time he actually spent in New York. Leaning against the stone guardrail, all of Durham extended out into the world, with the castle and the village lit up below. Out of habit he scanned the horizon for the red-tailed hawk, suddenly aware just how far away he was from his life in America.

A thin haze of smoke from the chimneys of the flats covered the town. Below, the Great North Eastern Railway departed the train station, lumbering over the nearby bridge. Life went on, like any other night. He had no idea what time it was, though it felt very late under the dark sky.

His father’s words rang in his head,
“You
are
the archangel Gabriel.”

How could he be someone else or
something
else? He had his own history, his own identity—the foundation for which he based everything he did—and now it had been torn out from under him.

Yet something
was
happening to him. That he couldn’t deny. The visions. Richard’s murder. His home burned to the ground by someone who wanted him dead. He knew somehow all these connected to form a truth. And the only explanation offered, the only one that no matter how fanciful at least made sense, had come from his father and Carlyle. It was enough to give him another migraine. He rubbed his head to warm it. His hands stopped at the base of his skull.

The mark.

It felt like a curse.

An hour later, the only light on the observation deck came from the spotlights illuminating the flags above the cathedral. Gabe watched them flutter in the wind and felt similarly helpless. Somehow it made the tower feel even colder. Long ago, he’d lost sensation on his shaven scalp, now numb from the bitter cold. As he listened to the beat of the whipping flags, he thought he heard the squeaking hinges of a door opening. Gabe turned to see a girl standing in the exit.

“You’ll catch your death up here,” she said in an English accent and then held out her hand, offering a black wool hat for his frozen head.

He took the hat and looked at her, wondering how much trouble he was in, though she wasn’t dressed like one of the cathedral employees. “Is the university always this kind to trespassers?”

“Put it on, genius. Might unfreeze your brain,” she said and walked to the edge of the lookout, the soft light revealing her features. A strand of dark hair escaped from under her hat and danced around the sculpted cheekbones of her Persian face.

His mind stuttered for a moment, lost in her brown eyes. “Thanks.”

“My pleasure. Enjoying the view up here, are we?” she asked.

“Ah, well . . . sort of, I guess.” He fumbled with the hat and tried to put it on with his clumsy, ice-cold fingers.

“You know, of course, the tower is closed.”

“Uh, yeah. I had a lot on my mind. It kind of reminded me of home. Am I in trouble?”

“Depends. You weren’t trying to sprout wings and fly away, were you? I know I wanted to.” She winked.

The question threw off Gabe’s concentration. “I’m sorry; who did you say you were?”

“Micah. Micah Pari. Your father said you might be up here. Though Carlyle convinced him to try the student pubs first—possibly a self-motivated plan of action. And you are Gabriel Adam. We have a lot in common, you and me.”

With that she took off her hat. She brushed her hair away from the base of her skull and turned around. A small strip had been neatly shaved to reveal a birthmark symbol, another from the scroll.

“Ta-dah! I’m just like you.” She laughed.

CHAPTER TWENTY

The archangel Micah?” Gabe asked.

“You missed a lot of Sunday school, didn’t you? Either that or you didn’t pay much attention. The archangel
Michael
. Slightly improved though, I’d say.” She did a quick spin.

He had to agree. “Why a girl?”

“Why not a girl?” Micah’s eyebrows arched, indignant, not unlike the woman in the picture at Carlyle’s house.

“Fair enough. So, I’m assuming you got the whole go-save-the-world speech, too? Tell me you haven’t bought into this whole God versus Devil stuff.”

Her playful demeanor quickly left. “As a matter of fact, I certainly have ‘bought in,’ as you say. If you had seen what I’d seen, you’d buy in as well. I promise you, the poor boy murdered at your cathedral in New York believed. So, the quicker you decide not to be a
complete
idiot, the better it will be for everybody.”

Gabe regretted the challenge.

“I was told that you don’t put much faith in things that aren’t tangible,” Micah continued. “And yet things that are tangible don’t require faith, do they? Quite the conflict you’re waging with yourself. If you have faith in anything, have faith in this: it’s happening. To you. And to me. This is what we are, and there’s nothing that can be done other than accept it.”

“Just accept it? Like it’s that simple. You sound like Carlyle.”

“Good. He’s right.”

“Right about us being angels on Earth? Soldiers in some supernatural war? What war? Look around you. How can you even know that this war, between heaven and hell nonetheless, is even real? Because I don’t see any armies gathering and certainly none with pitchforks and horns or halos and bright shiny white wings.”

“Because I’ve seen our enemy’s plan. You’ve seen it as well. Our world, consumed in fire. I’m suffering from the same visions. You know what is at stake. You’re just too scared to admit it. That’s understandable. You’ll need time. I know I did, but thinking everyone else is mental isn’t going to make it easier on you or us.”