Fire Prophet (Son of Angels) (2 page)
The woman had turned into an alleyway with a sign overhead that read C
HINATOWN
A
RCADE
. He peered inside, expecting to see kids playing video games. But there were no games there. Instead, he saw a long, smoky tunnel, with doors to shops along the walls on each side, and a handful of men standing and talking quietly, some of them leaning against the brick walls.
Down the dark corridor, Jonah saw the ponytailed girl again. He paused, his mind replaying the scene on the street.
Her eyes had flashed yellow, right?
He blinked twice, then slowly reached behind his shoulder. An arrow appeared in his fingertips, and as he extended his left arm, a bow appeared. He leveled it at her and took aim.
He was about to release it when he felt a hand grab his shoulder.
“Jonah! Wait!”
He turned back to see Eliza, wide-eyed and panting, the glow around her heart telling him she had entered the hidden realm too.
“Look closer,” she said, nodding toward the girl. “And just . . . take a deep breath or something.”
Jonah squinted in the darkness and slowly dropped his arrow. He could see the faint glow coming from the girl. Then a figure pushed off the wall and reached out to her. She took his hand, and Jonah heard her giggle.
She was no fallen angel.
“But her eyes . . . ,” he mumbled. “They turned yellow, like all of
theirs
are.”
They watched as the couple exited the other side of the corridor.
Eliza cocked her head to the side. “Maybe a reflection from the fireworks?”
Jonah’s gaze lingered toward the doorway for a few more long seconds as he wondered how he could have almost shot a human with an arrow.
“Where are we?” asked Eliza.
Suddenly they heard a woman’s voice calling out from somewhere beyond the alleyway opening. It was faint, but clear, as if the words had been whispered directly into Jonah’s ears. But it was clear they had traveled a very long way. “There is a spiritual realm behind the reality that you see. Behind this street, these buildings, this world!”
“Do you hear that?” Jonah said, not waiting for Eliza to answer. He began to move toward the voice.
At the opening to the alley, he saw cars zooming by and people
moving up and down the sidewalks. But the accented voice carried above it all.
“The spiritual realm is more real than these cars, the sidewalk, this cart of ginger root. Praise be to Elohim, the King of kings!”
A tall, dark-skinned woman wearing a brightly colored batik dress and a scarf around her hair stood on the corner across the street from them. She held a microphone that was connected to a small stereo speaker. She waved her hand in the air as she spoke.
“No one seems to be listening,” said Eliza. The swarm of people moving along the street avoided her like rushing water around a boulder. Neither the locals nor the tourists paid her any attention.
Jonah, however, found himself riveted to the street preacher’s commanding voice.
“There is a battle raging. Not between the United States and the Middle East. Not between Christians and Muslims. This is not a battle of flesh and blood! Ephesians 6. It is a battle between good and evil, between the spiritual forces of darkness and those of the Light! It is waged not with missiles and might, but on your knees in prayer to the almighty One! And whether you know it or not, you are choosing sides right now.
“Think carefully, my friends. Joshua 24. ‘Choose this day whom you will serve. Will it be the gods your ancestors served? As for me and my house, we will serve the Lord!’”
Jonah felt his heart leap inside his chest as he listened to her words.
She stood still as people continued to wander by, paying her no mind. Her eyes moved back and forth across the crowd as she
caught her breath. Then she looked across the street and paused as if she saw something unexpected.
The thing was, she seemed to be looking right at Jonah and Eliza.
Eliza leaned toward him and spoke out of the side of her mouth. “She’s acting like she can see us, don’t you think? But we’re still . . . you know . . .”
“In the hidden realm,” Jonah said, finishing her thought. “I know.”
The woman’s eyes were locked on them, though. What started as surprise now turned into a smile, and she began to nod her head slightly. Closing her eyes for a moment, she turned her head upward and raised both her hands to the sky, as if receiving a new message to speak.
Jonah felt his heart growing warmer somehow. He looked down at his chest. Not only did it feel warmer, but he seemed to be glowing steadily brighter.
The street preacher opened her mouth again, her eyes still trained on them. Jonah snapped to attention.
“Listen! Romans 9. ‘Does not the potter have the right to make out of the same lump of clay some pottery for special purposes and some for common use?’ There are those among us who are indeed uncommon . . .”
Jonah glanced at Eliza and raised his eyebrows.
“Those whom Elohim has created for a special purpose. Do not fear, my friends! Elohim is sending His warriors to do battle on our behalf. Giving their allegiance to Him and His Son, they will do battle with the principalities, the powers of darkness— indeed, with Abaddon himself. He will strike his blows, but thanks be to God, in the name of Jesus, they will thwart him.”
Jonah heard only her words now, no honking horns or old women selling vegetables or young men calling out to one another. Everything else faded away as he stared into the woman’s penetrating brown eyes.
“And one of these servants, although young, will be a thorn in the side of the Evil One. Pray for him, my friends. Dark days are ahead. He must resist the devil and follow Elohim alone, or risk the fall of many.”
The African woman stood in silence, eyes locked on Jonah’s, any hint of a smile now gone. After a long moment she shook her head to herself and turned away.
“Hey!” Jonah called out. “Can you see us? Can I talk to you for a minute?” He began to run across the street, passing through a mob of people, feeling a barrage of electric jolts but not caring.
Jonah reached the other side, but she was gone. Somehow the tall woman in the colorful dress had already disappeared among the hundreds of people on the sidewalks.
Eliza was right behind him, but she couldn’t find the street preacher either.
Neither of them saw the figure standing in the darkness behind the flow of people, one building over. He watched them for another minute with his yellow eyes. Finally, he turned, flapped his crusty wings once, and shot off into a moonless sky.
F
inally!” Eliza said, hopping off the bus and moving quickly past Jonah and toward the school.
“Calm down,” Jonah called out, slightly annoyed. “It’s just sixth grade.”
She spun back toward him. “
Calm down?
It’s the
first day
of sixth grade, and probably the most exciting day of my twelve-year-old life! We get to find out all about our new teachers and classes and lockers . . . and new books!”
“Hey,” Jonah said quietly, brushing off her enthusiasm. “Did you see Cassandra this morning?”
“You mean Cassandra, the mysteriously disappearing guardian angel?” Eliza said with a laugh. “No, but that’s not too unusual, is it?”
He hesitated, but then nodded. He was still used to seeing Henry all the time, and it was true, their new guardian angel hadn’t been as obvious about her presence. This morning was probably just another example.
Jonah walked into the school with a few busloads of other students, high-fiving a few friends he hadn’t seen all summer, all of them with the same triumphant look on their faces.
Eighth grade. Finally!
He turned down a hallway to the right and found himself in the middle of lockers slamming and kids chatting excitedly. The eighth-grade hall. As he was about to find his locker, he saw Susie Dickerson and her friend Melissa walking right toward him. His heart jumped a little bit into his throat as they made eye contact.
“Have you gotten taller, Jonah?” Susie asked, smiling. Jonah felt his face growing hotter. He had grown four full inches over the summer. Eliza had grown three.
He tried to think of something clever to say. “Yeah, uh—” But as he began to move toward them, he felt someone kick his right foot. It hit the back of his left leg, and suddenly he was sprawled out on the floor.
“Welcome to eighth grade, Stone!” Zack Smellman and his two friends, Peter Snodgrass and Carl Fong, laughed hysterically. Before Jonah could pick himself up, they walked off through the crowd of kids who had now turned to see for themselves who had ended up on the ground.
Jonah fumed. He could tear them apart if he wanted to, stuff them inside a locker or worse. And after he stopped them from beating up a little kid the year before, they all knew it. It was probably a good thing that they had walked away so fast. The words his father often said pried their way into his head once again. If he wanted to have a normal school life, he couldn’t afford to reveal his true abilities. He had to keep a low profile and, above all, control his temper.
The girls stifled laughs of their own and waved at him as they
hurried by.
Great start to the school year
, Jonah thought as he gathered his things.
Based on the first five minutes of his geometry class, he realized that school was going to be a lot harder than last year. He already had an hour and a half of homework and had been to only one class.
Next up was history, one of Jonah’s favorite subjects, with Mrs. Larson. He found a desk in the middle of the room, plopped his backpack down, and took out a notebook and pencil. Two tall kids came in and walked toward the back of the room—Peter Snodgrass and Carl Fong.
Wonderful
, Jonah thought. Even without Zack Smellman goading them along, Snodgrass and Fong were no picnic. Jonah ground his teeth as both of them “accidentally” knocked him with their book bags as they passed by.
But Jonah was determined not to cause a scene on his first day of school. If he could make it through most of seventh grade without pounding any faces, he could make it through his first day of eighth grade. Jonah unclenched his fists and quickly turned his attention to his new history teacher, who had started lecturing on the Civil War.
When class was over and he had another hour’s worth of homework and a new, heavy history book to carry around, Jonah took a minute to go to the boys’ restroom. He chose a stall and closed himself in.
He heard the door to the bathroom open, and then slam shut.
Click.
Did someone just lock the door?
Footsteps shuffled across the tiled floor. Jonah tried to peek through the crack in the stall to see who was in there with him.
There were eight stalls in the bathroom, and he was in the
third. He didn’t hear anyone talking, but he heard the first door slam open. Like someone had kicked it in. The same thing happened with door number two.
Someone began to speak in a hushed, singsong voice. “Come on out, Jonah Stone. We know you’re in here.” A chill ran up his spine as Jonah felt his locked door get pushed. “And we know exactly who you aaaaaaaare.”
If they didn’t have Jonah’s attention before, they had it now.
But no one outside of the family knew who he was. Who he
really
was—that he was only three-quarters human. And neither of his siblings would share their family secret with anybody . . . would they?
Don’t overreact, Jonah. This has to be some kind of misunderstanding. No need to freak out.
“Who . . . who are you? What do you want? I’m kind of . . . ah . . . busy here.”
There was no pause. The door slammed against him, ripped off its hinges. A long arm reached in and grabbed Jonah, pulling him out of the stall and throwing him against the cold floor.
Standing above him, with dull eyes but smug smiles, were Peter Snodgrass and Carl Fong.
Jonah was about to get on his feet and show these two what the son of a nephilim could do when suddenly over Fong’s shoulder a black-winged creature appeared, its fingers curled around the boy’s arm, its face close to his ear. At the same time, another one materialized over Snodgrass.
He could see them. Had he entered the hidden realm? No. Angels could be seen in the physical world, but only if they chose to be. Another chill ran down Jonah’s spine. These creatures were announcing their presence to him. They
wanted
to be seen.
“Go on,” one of them hissed into Snodgrass’s ear. “It’s time to get revenge for what happened last year.”
“Yes, yes!” the other cooed. “Show this kid what happens when losers try to be heroes!”
Jonah wasn’t sure if the boys could see or hear the creatures or if they could tell that it was the creatures who were encouraging them to fight, but it didn’t matter right now. Their fists began to rise, and he knew that if he didn’t make a move soon, the only way he’d be getting off this bathroom floor was with a mop.
Jonah jumped to his feet and grabbed Fong by the shoulders, throwing him across the room with his angelic strength. Then he ducked as Snodgrass swung his fist toward Jonah’s face, driving his foot into the boy’s middle and sending him in the same direction as his friend. They both slammed against the wall and fell splayed across the tiled floor.
