Days of New: The Complete Collection (Serials 1-5) (52 page)

But most importantly
, Zarachiel continued,
I want you to know that you’ve given me peace during a time when it should have been lost to me. Your friendship harbored me when I was my weakest and most damaged. You kept me whole when there were parts inside me that threatened to rip me apart. I will always love you for that.

Clark dipped his head so that he and Zarachiel were as close as possible. He smelled the angel: mint and sunshine and coffee. And Clark tightened his grip on the angel, his best friend.

“I love you too,” Clark whispered back, having to speak aloud, because though Zarachiel was his brother, Clark wasn’t angel enough to speak to Z’s mind.

Everyone was here. The waiting was over. Zarachiel had given away all his love and light and goodness.

But it still wasn’t enough.

The evening was too plain, too normal. The sky was too gray, too distant. Though Michaela seeped magic, she couldn’t alter their world to make it suitable for such an angel as Zarachiel to die in. She couldn’t make it a better place. Clark couldn’t turn back time. This was the only moment they had.

And it was coming to an end.

Zarachiel closed his eyes, his dark lashes resting against the strong line of his cheekbones. His lips sealed in his last breath. Clark felt the final echo of Z’s heart beneath his palm. Z was gone, but Clark held him tighter still. Everyone held him tighter. Camille gripped his hand, her sobs louder now, showing everyone her weakness. Michaela bowed lower, ice cascading down Z’s chest like a golden frozen river.

Uriel reared off the ground and lifted her head to the sky and screamed. An endless scream. A scream that took all the air and left no room behind.

Clark’s hand on Zarachiel’s chest grew warm. Everywhere Z’s body touched his was aflame. Clark clenched his eyes closed. He couldn’t watch. His grip on Zarachiel’s body was failing. His tight hold was loosening. Slowly, there wasn’t anything to hold onto. Then Clark’s hand fell straight down to his thigh, and he felt nothing but empty air.

He opened his eyes and immediately looked up because he didn’t want to see what was happening next to the ground where Z had lain. The sky was black. The setting sun was lost. It was disorienting, like Clark was looking down instead of up. Only then did he notice the dark swell was humming, like a great song being played. It was so dizzying that Clark had to look away, and for a moment, he was lost too.

Finally, he looked down. The air around him was dark save for one thing: blindingly white feathers.

As with any angel who died—holy or fallen, Zarachiel’s body dissolved into white feathers floating skyward. They were ethereal and luminous, bathing them all in a pure white light made whiter by the unnatural darkness above their heads. A breeze stirred through the woods, like nature herself was joining the great humming song. She whispered through the limbs her goodbye while the sky hummed its love.

Clark followed the feathers until they were high in the sky and lost amongst the unnatural shadows above them. Z’s death felt too quick, too sudden. It wasn’t right. Zarachiel had been betrayed by someone he was trying to save. For him to die at a hand like that was…

Clark shook his head. Of course Zarachiel would die at the hand of someone he was trying to save. He was always trying to help someone. It only made sense that he would die that way too. For it to happen any other way wouldn’t have been right. Z wasn’t a fighter; he couldn’t die in battle. He wasn’t a traitor; he couldn’t die with a knife in his back. He was a saver; he would die at the hand of someone who needed saving.

Too soon, the feathers were gone, and there was no light. But the world still sang. Clark looked at the others, but everyone was looking to the sky. For some reason, he recalled Gabriel’s earlier expression, and he didn’t want to look up again. But he forced himself to.

The sky hadn’t changed. The sun hadn’t fallen as Z did. Nothing about the world had changed around them. No great Angel of Death power.

Instead, it was thousands of angels—fallen angels with the blackest of wings—flying in a massive circle above them. They blocked the sun and the gray sky. They bathed the world in darkness, but Clark didn’t shiver. They were Gabriel’s angels, and they’d cast a massive shadow to let Zarachiel’s feathers have all the light in the world. All the suns.

Clark had been right. There was no difference between holy and fallen. Light and dark. They were all the same.

And though Gabriel’s expression had promised vengeance and retribution, and though Clark knew the fallen angels were here to hunt down and kill every Loyalist alive, he still lifted his face to swirling shadow sky and smiled his thanks.

Because he knew Z would have appreciated the gesture. Wherever he was.

Clark hoped he was somewhere high above them…

…Flying once again.

Chapter Nine

“I
t never should have come to this,” Gabriel said. He was the first one to speak, and he did so in a deep, vicious growl.

Clark hadn’t moved. His eyes remained on his lap, as if Zarachiel might poof back into place like Michaela did so often. He wasn’t in denial that Z was gone. He just wanted an excuse to ignore the angels around him.

It had taken an Archangel’s death for the other angels to get involved with the human affairs. They’d let it get to this point, and they still had the audacity to act surprised. Not even Lucifer attacking the compound or the Loyalists bombing it had prompted action. Finally, Clark had their attention, but at the highest price possible.

Camille was still sitting next to him, but Michaela stood and faced Gabriel. “You’re right,” she said quietly. “But there was no way to know that Grace would betray us. She had us all convinced.”

Everyone, even Clark, looked toward Grace, who was still in a disjointed pile at the base of the tree. Her eyes were open and staring at the group, but there was a clouded quality to them that suggested merely an empty vessel. Clark hadn’t trusted her, and he doubted Michaela did either.

“Shouldn’t you get her soul?” Ophaniel’s voice was like wind chimes, light and melodic, but Clark heard the rasp of tears in the back of her throat.

“She can wait,” Michaela answered shortly.

“How do we recover from this?” Raphael asked.

The fallen angels circling above their heads moved on. They left a darkening sky behind, the sun nearly set. The shadows were long across the clearing, and Clark watched them twitch and dance across the charred ground as the Archangels grew more agitated.

They were all set on vengeance. They were all willing to fight a bloody battle to avenge. No one but Clark was worried about the helpless anymore. That was the battle he was concerned with now. Somehow, he knew the angels would get off track. Again.

“My fallen are hunting down the Loyalists’ camp as we speak,” Gabriel said. The angels’ focus shifted to him, and they stepped in closer, reforming their circle around him. “They will alert me as soon as it’s found. We will take them down. Every single one,” Gabriel emphasized. “And then we go after Lucifer.”

That got Clark’s attention. “Lucifer?” he asked, glancing around as he stood. His mother was the only one not in the new circle with Gabriel. She stood off to the side, casually listening. Camille slowly rose beside him, her movements stiff and painful.

“Yes, Lucifer. It’s time he paid for all he’s done. If it wasn’t for him…” Gabriel shook his head, raking his hand through his short hair in frustration.

“None of this would have happened,” Raphael finished.

“Zarachiel died because Grace shot him with bone bullets. Not because of Lucifer,” Clark said.

“Don’t tell me you’re a fan of his now.” Gabriel sounded clearly surprised.

“It’s not like that,” Clark said. “Maya is with him—”

“Who?” Gabriel snapped, black eyes flashing.

“A Nephil,” Iris answered. She stepped forward into the group, positioning herself next to Clark so that he was flanked by her and Camille. “Sophia’s sister. She came to Clark seeking refuge from an arranged marriage.”

“It doesn’t matter who she is.” Raphael rolled his shoulders like he was readying for a fight. “If she’s with Lucifer, he’s likely killed her by now.”

“She is an
ally
,” Michaela said. “She went with Lucifer so that Clark could save Camille. Maya has some kind of special connection to Lucifer. She could get through to him if we give her time.”

At least Michaela was being logical. He wanted nothing more than the curl up on the ground and sleep for ages, but he said, “If anyone could help Lucifer, it’s her. I’m not saying he’s worth saving, I just mean that if she could get through to him, we might stop another war.”

“He’s right,” Michaela said, looking to Gabriel. “How many angels did you lose tonight when you let the fallen fly? They’re likely with Lucifer now.”

Gabriel clenched his jaw, and Clark knew the answer—Gabriel had lost too many fallen angels by opening Hell. Michaela had said earlier that there was a growing rift through the fallen now that Lucifer was back. And Gabriel had just given Lucifer his army.

Raphael laughed, the sound echoing through the clearing. “I don’t care about saving Lucifer, and I don’t care about stopping a war. Let it be. Let us fight if we must.”

The other angels murmured their agreement, even the ones Clark had never met before. The sun was completely set by now, and the fringes of night crept up on them. Clark was losing ground with the angels, and he knew it.

“Agreed,” Gabriel said, biting off the word. He looked away from Clark and turned toward the other angels.
Battle lost
, Clark thought. “As of now, no one else dies—”

“You just mean no more angels will die. Others have been dying plenty, and you haven’t cared until now,” Clark said. He glared at Gabriel.

“Clark,” Michaela started.

But Gabriel ignored him completely. Following Gabriel’s lead, the other angels did the same. “
No one else dies
,” he repeated. “We end the Loyalists and then we end Lucifer. No debate. Those who are willing can stay on Earth in the Descendants’ safehouse. We work from here until those who did this have paid the same price Zarachiel did.”

All the angels except Michaela said that they were staying. Clark shook his head, his eyes falling to the ground. He was furious. It radiated off his body in scorching waves. This wasn’t right. The angels would only get more people killed.

“When we’re finished with the Loyalists and Lucifer, we will round up every single survivor left on Earth. Whether they want to or not, they come to the Descendants’ compound.”

“Oh good,” Clark snapped. “Concentration camps. That should go over real well.”

“No,” Gabriel argued. “They will be safe there until the threats are neutralized. They can start over under our safety. The world can be rebuilt then, which was supposed to be your duty, along with the Descendants and Nephilim.”

Clark ignored the jab. “Tell me you’re not just trying to kill the threat to your leadership in Hell, Gabriel. Tell me that’s not why you’re so fixated on Lucifer right now.”

A fallen angel breezed through the air above their heads and landed next to Gabriel before he could respond. The once-Archangel glanced over his shoulder and listened as the angel relayed his news. Gabriel gave a stiff nod. When he looked back to the group, the other holy angels drew their swords. The metal hissed and flashed in the night’s stillness. Clark cringed. All around him were dark warriors. Right, wrong, holy, and fallen were all blending together until Clark was left with cold bones and a weary tiredness in his heart.

“They’ve found the Loyalists camp. We attack now,” Gabriel said. He was the first in the air after the fallen angel messenger. All around Clark, wind buffeted and gusted as angels leaped into the sky.

Michaela touched his arm. “Wait here. I’m going to go talk with Gabriel.”

Clark nodded and stepped out of Michaela’s reach. Her final look was sad as she took to the sky, following the others. Camille shook her head in disgust next to him, and Iris took a deep breath, like she’d been holding it the entire time.

The scorched grass rustled a short distance away. Uriel still sat on the ground where she’d landed. Clark had been wrong: not all the angels had rallied around Gabriel. She’d been blocked from view and left behind to presumably mourn Zarachiel. Clark had assumed she would lead the riot against the Loyalists, but she’d surprised him again.

She sat up, tucking her bird-thin legs beneath her like she was too shaky to stand. Only then did her bloodshot brown eyes look up at him. Once, when Clark had first met her, she’d been beautiful in a cruel sort of way. Her face was sharp angles and jutting lines. The bluntness of her short hair did little to soften the effect. But now, in her emaciated form, she looked like a ghost. And it wasn’t just Zarachiel’s death that had made her like this, Clark realized. This disappearing act had been a while in the making. Her eyes were too sunken, too dead. Her tear-stained skin was too lackluster and pale. Leaving Zarachiel had clearly been worse on her than him, and she’d been paying the price ever since.

“I need help,” she whispered. “I need help. I need…”

Her voice was haunted. She sounded the way an echo does in a canyon, unheard except for those listening for it. Stunned still for a second by the eeriness of it, Clark forced himself to move. He, Iris, and Camille hurried over to where Uriel sat, thinking she needed help to stand, but she waved their hands away.