Days of New: The Complete Collection (Serials 1-5) (22 page)

“If you’re not an Archangel, you’re not close to Clark St. James,” Camille spat out.

“But you’re a Throne angel, right?” Maya looked between Zarachiel and Camille like she was confused.

“Camille,” Zarachiel said, his voice quiet, “that’s not true.”

“It is,” Camille snapped. She looked back at Maya. “Clark is close to two people: Michaela and Zarachiel. The rest of us are just entertainment.”

“But when you two are together, it seems like—”

“It’s not.” Camille glared at Maya to shut her up.

In truth, she didn’t want to talk about Clark. She didn’t want to think about him sitting downstairs in a cell waiting for his trial tomorrow. If Michaela had been here, she could have just snapped her fingers and commanded him to be released. People, especially Descendants and Nephilim, feared her because of who she was. But they also respected her, even if that respect was buried deep beneath terror right now. Michaela didn’t have to bully and glare and yell to make people fear her, like Camille did. She had to resort to cheap intimidation tactics to maintain any kind of control. And if that control slipped even the slightest, Camille was worried it would get Clark killed.

“How did you meet Clark?” Maya asked Zarachiel this time. He smiled kindly at her.

“The first time I met him, I didn’t know it.”

“Why not?” Maya asked. Camille rolled her eyes.

“I was unconscious,” Zarachiel said, his eyes on the fire. “Abel from the Aethere choir had just chopped out my wings and dropped me to Earth near the Descendants. Isaac, Clark’s father, found me. He and Liam brought me to safe place on the grounds here. Clark and Michaela came to check on me, and I remember bits of Clark’s conversation with his dad, even though most of it was hazy. He was angry that Isaac had wanted Michaela there. Clark didn’t think she should see me like that, like it might weaken Michaela. She blamed herself, of course; I didn’t need to be conscious to know that. But in the end, Isaac had been right to show her what the Aethere were capable of because it made her fight harder. After that, the remaining holy Archangels met back up with Michaela and Clark at the farm in Pennsylvania. That was really when I got to know Clark. It was easy to see that he was powerful in his own right among the angels, even if he doesn’t really know how to use the magic. But it was even easier to see that he was the one who had held Michaela together when she was falling apart.”

Maya’s mouth formed a small ‘o’ as Zarachiel said the last few words. “But she’s the General of Heaven. How could she fall apart when everyone needed her the most?”

“She
was
the General,” Camille interjected.

Zarachiel ignored her, his caramel warm eyes on Maya now that they weren’t talking about him. “Angels change when we come to earth. Things that made perfect sense in Heaven become muddled down here. Our bodies, our minds, even our souls become more human. It was only natural that Michaela should falter when all she’d ever known was taken away. Clark was the glue for her during that time.”

Camille turned her face into the shadows created by the flickering fire. Her eyes burned, but her chest burned more. She would never escape Michaela’s shadow.

“Wow,” Maya said. Her green eyes brimmed with wonder and amazement at Zarachiel’s words. It was so youthful and optimistic, like a child hearing a fairy tale, that Camille wanted to throw up.

“Clark might do things a little differently, but he’s the one that will get everyone through these dark days.” Zarachiel shifted slightly on the floor, grimacing slightly. It was a tiny truth of pain on his face, but Camille caught it. His back was hurting from where they’d sat for so long, his spine jamming into the shards of bone leftover from his wings.

“But how did you two meet? Please, tell me. I really want to know,” Maya persisted, practically begging Camille.

Camille opened her mouth to snap at Maya, but she caught Zarachiel’s stare instead. He nodded at her with a small smile, like he was saying it was okay. He knew, without being told, that Camille hated to show her weaknesses, reveal her soft spots. Yet he sat on the floor with them, bearing his soul, while his back twisted and wrenched in pain. Camille gritted her teeth and took a deep breath.

“Back then, I fought for the holy angels—”

“Seriously?” Maya sounded shocked and slightly disgusted.

“The holy angels weren’t the bad guys,” Camille said coldly. “The Aethere were. We didn’t know the truth; it was kept from us on purpose. The Aethere misguided us and twisted Michaela’s actions so that we saw her as evil. We fought as we’ve always fought. It’s our job. That’s all we were doing.”

“If you were fighting for the bad guys, how did you meet up with the Archangels and Clark?” Maya leaned forward, her blanket slipping off her shoulder. Noticing, Zarachiel repositioned it.

“If you would shut up, I would tell you,” Camille huffed. She flicked her long ponytail over her shoulder. “One battle, I took a hard hit to the head. It knocked me out briefly. When I came to, I was catapulting toward the ground. I didn’t have time to gather my thoughts and catch myself. I landed and crushed one of my wings. The pain was…”

Camille swallowed the warm saliva pooling in her mouth. Even now, she could recall exactly what the pain had felt like. Her eyes closed as she remembered that night.

“I’d landed in a thick briar bush, and I couldn’t move much. One of my wings was crumpled beneath me. I couldn’t see it, but I felt where the bones had broken in my back. They were like unsheathed jagged blades against my insides; every time I moved I cut myself, sliced myself against their edges. I sensed the exact spot where those bones didn’t connect in the right spots anymore. I traced every raw edge of shattered calcium and marrow. The most painful part was when the bones in my back tried to heal themselves over and over, reaching for the other end of bone that was twisted up in my wing. Unable to move, I sat there and tried to will the two ends to meet, to end the pain where the bones twisted and reached deep in my back. They tore through muscle and vein, ripped into every soft spot inside me and sliced me open, just to reach a bone that was too far away.”

“Oh my gosh,” Maya whispered, her hand fluttering to her mouth. “That’s awful.”

Zarachiel sat quietly, his eyes soft and dark on Camille. But now that she’d started, the words wouldn’t stop, even though every self-preservation instinct in her body willed the sentences back as she spoke them.

“Clark and his mom found me, along with some of the Archangels. I didn’t trust them at first because they were still the enemy. Clark was mostly mean to me, and I was just as cruel back to them. I thought they were traitors, so I treated them as such. But when Clark said he could possibly fix Michaela and Zarachiel’s wings, I volunteered for him to try on me. At that point, my wings were all I had. They are my soul, my connection to who I am, who I was or will be. They are everything.” Camille’s throat tightened, but she shoved the emotion aside and went on. “Clark fixed it, helped the bones find each other again. Or at least that’s what it felt like he was doing. I don’t know how he actually did it. But when he fixed my wing, it felt like he’d filled in the gap. Like he’d put a piece of himself where the bone was missing.”

By healing her, Clark had cemented himself into the very thing that Camille treasured and loved most in the world: her wings. He rooted himself so deep inside her that she couldn’t separate this pink-haired guy in leather from her heart. She’d looked at him afterward and saw all the potential she wanted out of her existence. He was everything.

But Camille refused to say that out loud. She hated even admitting it to herself. It was her weakness.
He
was her one weakness. And it appalled her.

Camille cleared her throat, “After that, I realized Michaela’s truth and that the Aethere had lied to us. Clark came up with a plan for me to take Michaela back as a hostage, like I was still on the Aethere’s side. They took the bait and locked Michaela up. But without her wings, she became sick in Heaven. She was dying. But I didn’t know that. When I went back for her that night, I…”

I what
, Camille wondered? Why had she gone back for Michaela? Because it was right. Because she was important to Clark.

“…I helped her. The Archangels took back Heaven shortly after. And here we are,” Camille finished rather dully.

Both Maya and Zarachiel were silent as they stared at Camille. She felt like they were seeing inside of her and the sensation infuriated her. She glared at Maya and dared the Nephil to ask anything else.

“It sounds like you two are pretty close to me,” Maya said instead.

Camille stood, blankets falling at her feet. Maya looked up at her, eyes wide like she’d said something wrong. But she’d said it exactly right. Just because Clark was so deep in Camille’s soul didn’t mean he had to love her back.

“Now you know,” Camille said before leaving the room.

Chapter Six

C
lark never had much faith in the Descendants, not before the war or after. And, as he walked toward his trial, he found that he didn’t have much faith in their slapdash justice system either.

Bailey and a horde of his men lead Clark into the meeting hall. His clothes were dirty and ragged, his feet bare, with grime crusted beneath his toenails. The scruff along his jaw was shaggy and itchy; cold bumps spread down his arms from the chill. As he walked in, the room fell quiet, and for the first time ever, Clark was ashamed by how he must look. Maybe it was the weight of the moment or the lack of food, but Clark’s eyes misted over ever so slightly.

Then he mentally kicked himself in the ass and got the hell over it.

“Ah, gee!” Clark clapped his hands. “All this for me? You shouldn’t have!”

Even Bailey seemed slightly put off by the number of people in the hall. The numbers far surpassed the Descendants and Nephilim counts. People brimmed over from the balconies, the structures groaning and creaking with every shift of weight. It couldn’t be safe. Even more people filled the rest of the space on the first floor of the hall so that it was standing room only. The air was thick with other people’s breaths, full of whispers and glares as they noticed Clark. At the request of Bailey’s squad, they parted and let the prisoner and his entourage pass.

“Are some refugees in here?” Bailey questioned one of his men while they made their way to the front of the room.

“I heard the council wanted as many in here as could fit, sir,” a trim, muscular guy in police uniform answered.

“Why would they do that?”

“Come on, Bailey,” Clark said. “The council is stupid without Liam, but they’re not that stupid. They want to scare some control back into the refugees. I’m their scapegoat.”

Bailey paused, which made Clark slow as well, since the Captain’s hand was on Clark’s shoulder. “This isn’t right.”

“Well, you’ve had an innocent guy in jail for nearly two weeks, so I’m not holding my breath for any great decisions here.”

Leaning in close, Bailey said quietly, “If you’re innocent, I won’t let them touch you. I swear it.”

Clark was so surprised at Bailey’s words that he could only manage a nod in response.

Finally, their group cleared the swarm of people, who had taken to booing and hissing at Clark. Even the human refugees joined in, bolstered by the excitement. The council was seated at the table like normal, but the table itself had been pushed close to the stained glass windows to allow more room in the back for people. A single chair sat at the very front of the room, complete with shackles attached to the arms and legs.

Center of attention. Just the way Clark liked it.

“Clark, listen,” Bailey whispered in his ear as they drew closer to the chair. “Don’t use any magic here no matter what they say, okay? Seeing you that powerful could cause a frenzy amongst the refugees, and I’m worried this is going to be bad enough as it is. I won’t be able to control things if that happens. Got it?”

“Got it,” Clark said back.

As he spoke, the demon threaded through Clark’s mind, pressing against his skull until his vision swam. A massive headache was coming on; the demon wanted control. But there was no way Clark could let himself slip up or relax even a little. He needed to think clearly right now. Being possessed by a demon had to wait. Because Bailey was right; this could turn into another riot if Clark didn’t keep a lid on things.

“Not today, asshole,” Clark whispered to the demon. He didn’t bother listening to for a response.

The guards seated him in the chair, the press of the winter air outside the glass shivered into his back and up his spine until his teeth started to chatter. Bailey was the one to strap down Clark’s wrists and ankles, and Clark noticed he did it loosely and with a grim face. Before he walked away, he gave Clark another knowing look: “no games,” it said. Clark nodded slightly.

Bailey walked back to the council’s table, and two guards took their positions on either side of Clark, making him look like a king presiding over his court, which was such a silly thought that Clark almost laughed. In front of him, the hall bulged with so many people that it overwhelmed Clark. Even during the Descendants’ best days, they’d never had this many people. He could pick out the beaten down, over-eager faces of the refugees. Their eyes were bright above sunken cheeks, ready to sink their teeth into him.