I wasn’t lying about not wanting Callie to venture out without me. But I understood that protesting would get me nowhere. That’s a lesson I finally learned on the ruins in Glastonbury.
Still, there’s nothing that could keep me inside the walls once I hear someone say, “Michael’s arriving—defensive posture!”
I shake off the impulse to rest this place has created and sharpen my senses in time to catch the low whistle of arrows flying. And then Saraya shouts, “Stand down!”
My wings are out and I fly too high for any new arrows to catch me—though even at the thought my thigh throbs sympathetically—and glide out over the fields to the road.
I set down moments after Michael descends in his blaze of glory. His affect to the newcomers—Callie’s mother, Mag, and Jared—is positively welcoming, aside from the need for eye-shielding. He even dims his presence when he notices they can’t quite look upon him. And that’s with Porsoth there too, wearing his giant demon form, overkill and temptation for the guardians at once.
“Greetings, Prince,” Michael says to me. His smile fades. “I hear you were injured.”
“It seems I’ll live,” I say.
“We did not know what sort of greeting to expect here,” Porsoth says. “The arrows were not a surprise, but the welcome of an archangel is. What is this news?”
“Porsoth,” I hiss and raise my hand to bring two fingers together to indicate shrinking. I suspect he forgotten he’s much more intimidating when he’s that size.
“Of course, of course,” he fusses and within a few seconds he’s the more diminutive demon we’re used to. “My apologies, and pardon for any offense.”
Michael lifts his hand and waves the concern away. What is happening?
Callie finds her way to my side. “The gang’s all here,” she says.
“Now it is,” Sean says. He strides up and stops beside a peevish Saraya. He nods to Callie’s family. I’m dead curious why her mother is here. Almost as curious as I am about what’s going on with Michael.
“Porsoth also has news,” Callie says.
“Let us go inside, to the hearthfire,” Michael says. Then, he pauses. “It’s game night, isn’t it? Perhaps we should not interrupt.”
He waves a hand and the soil beside us parts in a wide crack. An eruption of sound and motion follows as reality reassembles itself to fit Michael’s wishes. In moments, a cozy fire (assuming that’s not holy flame) burns inside a tidy outdoor fire pit and the even cozier seating around it could give any Real Housewife’s mansion a run for its filthy rich money.
Michael motions for us to sit and it’s as if we’re on an uneasy camping trip.
“Where are the s’mores?” Callie mutters, clearly on the same page, as she slips her hand into mine. “I’m joking,” she adds, worried Michael or me—or Porsoth—might take her seriously and produce some.
Callie’s mother has yet to say a word. Jared and Mag take the chairs nearest us.
“Mom.” Callie motions with her head and her mother sinks down beside her.
I don’t know whether wings or no wings are more polite, so I leave them out.
“As our guests, please share your tidings first, Porsoth.” Michael stands beside the fire, gracious, eyes glinting.
“An ominous moon hangs over Hell, and it has taken the color of blood. We thought it best to warn the prince.”
Which still doesn’t quite explain how Callie’s relatives and best friend ended up here, but I’m chalking that up to Porsoth’s panic—and the kind of love for each other that I’ve had a hard time fathoming. They quarrel, they have differing opinions on important issues, and their relationships withstand it. Always.
“Ah,” Michael says. “That is of a piece. We are on the precipice of a change, one I hope will be good for all of us.”
He places a slight emphasis on the last word. Us.
The oddity of this scene hits me again and it’s almost as if I’m looking down from above. There is no doubt Michael is one of the most powerful beings in the universe. Why is he suddenly holding court and using the word us in a way that includes everyone here, even me? I can summon only one answer.
“You’ve talked to Father,” I say.
“Not directly about these matters, but I have heard reports.” Michael folds his hands in front of him, church and steeple style. “I was aware of his experiment. He thought to prove that he could infiltrate the guardians with progeny. It did not work.”
I imagine Sean hearing this. We haven’t had time to fully discuss … everything, but I can predict how it strikes him. I’m keenly aware of how it feels to be manipulated as if the part of you that makes you you hardly matters.
“You play chess, don’t you?” I stand and ask. “With Father. You two think we’re all just playthings.”
Michael’s conspiratorial swagger disappears and the frost returns to his face and posture.
Saraya draws a sword and idly swings it low. “Be careful. He could withdraw his protection.”
There’s a note that might be concern, not only the expected bloodthirstiness.
“No,” Callie says, coolly, “he promised your aid until our bet with Lucifer is done.”
“You’re still pursuing salvation for this one?” He points to Sean. “I’ll grant it. We have larger matters to address. I had hoped that with your desire for reform, we might enter into a deal together.”
“I wasn’t aware angels made deals,” I say. “I thought that was our area.”
“You can’t offer me salvation,” Sean says.
“I can make it happen,” Michael says. “Do not fret.”
“I would need forgiveness from someone besides you.”
Saraya says nothing.
Michael looks to me. “I am told Lucifer is preparing to leave. You are to be the heir. We could be friendly.”
Beside me, Callie stiffens. Her hand retracts from mine. “I said no more secrets. What’s he talking about?”
I’ve messed this up royally. Again.
“Yes,” Sean says, “what is he talking about?”
I find Porsoth’s eyes with mine. “Then it is true,” he says.
“It’s true that he’s set all this up,” I say. “That he believes it will go as he wants. That he intends for me to betray Sean, and Callie, and myself. That he believes I’ll assume his position because he wishes it.”
“When were you going to tell me?” Callie asks. “We can only help you if you tell us things.”
I still. I don’t understand for a long moment. I wait for the sting of her palm on my cheek. Or holy fire from Michael. For Saraya’s blade to strike me down.
“You thought we wouldn’t help you?” Callie asks.
“Who’s we?” I ask.
“This grows tiresome,” Michael says, and his wings widen, seeming as broad as the night sky and glowing harshly as a star up close. “When you come to your senses or at the end of the wager, whichever happens first … I will see you then.”
He vanishes in a blink of light instead of a blaze. The fire in the hearth goes out and the Earth rumbles below us.
We scramble as one. Callie helps her mother. I steer Jared and Mag out of the way. Saraya, Sean, and Porsoth leap aside. We watch as the tidy fireside chat scene vanishes entirely, leaving smooth ground and then the fields, as they were. What a show of power. He didn’t even need to be here.
“We is us,” Callie says, and my knees weaken.
Her hand sweeps between the two of us and then out to include Porsoth and her family. Even Sean and Saraya, who I’m not sure agree that they’re included.
She’s saying we have that kind of love. The kind where even when I screw up, it doesn’t disappear. That she thinks of me the same way as her family.
“Callie,” her mother says, “I think something’s wrong. With Luke.”
My thigh wound makes itself known. I look down and although it’s night, the dull wet patch on my jeans leg is visible to my senses.
The stabbing I felt when I touched Saraya’s sword returns. It doesn’t leave.
My leg folds beneath me, and it’s only Porsoth catching me under both arms that keeps me from full collapse.
“It seems that I’m not fine after all,” I say before an immense sense of tiredness sweeps through me and takes me over.
I can’t manage the words, but I can interpret what’s happening. Michael has withdrawn whatever in Hell’s healing had closed my wound. His message is perfectly clear. Assume control of Hell or else.