Ignite (3 page)

If it’s him, he doesn’t seem to remember us. But, Az, he has guardians. No ordinary angel has guardians for something as trivial as training. If that’s what this is supposed to be…

“Ah, Azael, Penemuel. It’s been quite a while since we’ve seen you two. Up to anything
good
recently?” Ariel’s falsetto voice dances in the air like wind chimes.

I scrunch my face in distaste.
Has her voice risen another octave since last time?

If it goes any higher, she may break the sound barrier,
Azael retorts.
Only the dogs will hear her. Poor hellhounds.

“It’s Pen,” I mutter in response to her, throwing my hair over my shoulder. I tighten my grip on the knife and point it towards the threesome.

Sablo snickers musically. It’s obnoxious. “Oh yes, that’s right. Pen,” he corrects. “Our apologies.”

Michael considers the two angels with distant interest, but he keeps glimpsing back at me. I scowl at him and when he notices, he smiles pleasantly.

What is his problem?
I ask Az.

Looks like he likes you
, he teases back.

Wonderful.

“These souls are ours now,” Azael says, exasperated. “We were just telling your little project here that you have no authority. They’ve been marked with darkness and belong to Lucifer.” He lets out a frustrated sigh and straightens, crossing his arms. He knows Ariel and Sablo won’t start a fight. They’re not good with confrontation. Not directly, anyway.

Ariel’s face contorts in a reproachful frown that’s far too exaggerated for my taste. Her curly, blush-colored hair falls around her, tickling the freckles on her shoulder. “But they were pure, Azael. Whatever have you done?”

“My job,” he shouts back.

“Can they do that?” Michael asks, looking up at the two tall guardians that flock him. He seems genuinely curious. “Just steal them from Heaven, even though they were pure?”

I raise my eyebrows at Azael.
This kid doesn’t know anything, does he?

He shakes his head and smiles sarcastically at the three angels.
Told you. Not Michael.

“We are no longer needed here, Michael,” Sablo answers calmly. “Not everyone can be saved.”

Michael raises his chin, his jaw jutting out defiantly. “So Heaven has lied? What is to become of those pure souls, souls who were promised an afterlife where—” Sablo silences him with a look.

The guardian’s eyes look like they are on fire, and I wonder if his stare burns. Michael closes his mouth and his face falls in disappointment. He clenches his jaw, chewing the last of his words before he swallows them completely. His cheeks are no longer the bright red from before but are now paled with frustration. He lifts only his eyes and looks at me through impossibly thick, coppery lashes.

Who are you?
My mind rings with the question and I know it will be left unasked and unanswered.

“You must pick your battles, Michael,” Sablo says carefully, his voice razor sharp and warning. There’s a current of anger in the air coming from Michael’s bookend guardians, but their faces remain neutral.

Ariel straightens, standing even taller above Michael. “These souls were pure, but that doesn’t mean…” she pauses, her neutrality shattering into panic. Her lips seal into a tight, anxious line and her eyes widen with worry. She peers over at the small bag attached to Azael’s hip, her eyes sparking with greater alarm. “They—there’s a lost…” She looks at Sablo. “A lost soul,” she says, her voice barely a whisper. “Something isn’t quite—”

The guardians lean over Michael’s head and whisper amongst themselves. When they part again, Sablo looks sick. I wonder if angels can throw up? I shift back on my heels, just in case.

What the Hell was that?

Azael looks at me out of the corner of his eye and shrugs.
Maybe they want to know where I got my jeans?

Would explain Sablo’s face. ‘Thou shall not steal,’ and all that.

The options were theft or nudity.

Then you chose wisely.

“There is nothing more you can do,” Sablo explains, placing his hand on Michael’s shoulder. I think it’s supposed to be comforting, but there’s something about his grip that is a little too firm. I can see Sablo’s sharp fingers digging into his skin, but Michael’s face is set, betraying no sign of pain. “There’s nothing anyone can do.”

Azael laughs. “That’s right, so run along little angel boy.” He elbows me in the ribs, wanting me to join in.

I try to smile sharply, but it feels halfhearted. “Better luck next time.”

Wow, really ruthless Pen.
Azael mocks me.
‘Better luck next time’—go easy on the poor boy, he’s not used to our whip-smart demonic quips!

Right, and your ‘little angel boy’ comment was so devastating.

“Ignore them,” Ariel says in a lilting voice. “They know not what they’ve done.”

I slide my dagger into my belt and cross my arms, satisfied that Ariel and Sablo have lost. I expect Michael to react, to snap with anger. Young angels have hot tempers, their souls so unaccustomed to strong emotions that anything they feel—happiness, anger, disappointment—is often unbridled and extreme. But there’s no fire in his eyes, only cool blue. I bite my lip until it almost bleeds to hide another look of shock from slapping itself across my face.

He answers Ariel evenly. “I understand.”

And with that, the two guardians lift from the branch, departing as quickly as they arrived. They make no gesture for Michael to follow and don’t seem to care that they’ve left him alone with a pair of demons. I watch as their wings carry them farther away and not once do they look back.

Michael, however, make no move to leave. He remains perched on the branch, watching my brother and me. A patient smile spills across his lips. “I am who they say. And I’m not that young. I’m seventeen. I’m older than both of you.”

“Physically, maybe,” I say under my breath.

What, he can read our thoughts?
Azael asks doubtfully.

“Yes, I can,” he says in answer to Az’s silent question. Without a sound, he swings down onto our branch so he is standing in front of me, his back pressed to the bark. He smells faintly like honey and the golden scent makes my head swim. He turns to face me directly, ignoring Azael. “You’re making a huge mistake by taking these souls.”

My mouth falls open momentarily, stunned. An angel would never be so blunt. He’s direct, unflinching in his opinion. Angels are not even allowed to
have
opinions, at least not those that Heaven hasn’t told them to have. I quickly snap my mouth closed and shake my head, shutting out my thoughts. “There are no mistakes. Their deaths were—”

“Just?” For the first time, his voice sounds bitter. I watch his face and see him fighting his frustration into submission. He tries to speak more calmly. “No deliberate deaths are just. There’s more to life than what you’ve been doing and maybe one day you’ll see that.” He looks over my shoulder at Azael and then drags his eyes back to me, holding me captive in his stare.

I don’t look away. I can’t.

Been there, done that, kid.
Azael’s voice hisses in my head like angry steam.
The angels’ ways are archaic. Haven’t you heard? The future favors Hell
.

Michael tears his eyes from me to stare at Azael. The way he looks at him, I’m sure he’s going to say something else, but he remains silent. Without another word, he spreads his wings, ruffling the silver-tipped feathers, and disappears up through the branches. Only the fluttering of the leaves gives any indication of his departure.

I glance over at Azael and we share a look of astonishment, Az’s more muted than my own.

“Did you see his wings?” he asks me.

I nod. “Silver.”

“Looks like we may be dealing with a VIP angel after all. Should we roll out the red carpet?”

How could it be him? I blink a few times, trying to fit the Michael I saw today with the Michael of my memories. How is it even possible? He was destroyed millennia ago when he struck battle with Lucifer during the war. But his eyes, his voice, his presence… There was something about him that felt almost familiar.

I tell myself that it can’t be him. I’ve persuaded myself about things much more possible than this—that I’m meant to be evil, that I made the right choice to fall from grace. Convincing myself of this, that it’s not really him, should be easy. Because it’s
impossible.

I saw him die, saw Lucifer’s sword strike him through the chest. I watched Lucifer trap his soul in Hell, binding them together. I’ve heard hundreds of unsavory limericks from Azael about “Much murdered Michael” and “Many merry men musing Michael’s move from upstairs to downstairs.” He never could come up with a perfect alliteration for that last one.

Michael can’t be back. We would know. Right?

“I think our day just got a bit more complicated,” I groan.

“Our day, our week… Hell, I’d be surprised if this bastard doesn’t screw up our decade.”

I reach out and touch the bark of the tree that was scarred with Azael’s carving. Where Michael stood, his back pressed against the curling curses, the wood is almost completely healed. Only a thin, pale scar is left, an echo of the deep gashes from before.
Could he really be back?

Chapter 3

“Angels can lie,” Azael mutters. “Right? There’s no way that could have been Michael. It’s impossible, absolutely impossible. Not
the
Michael.”

We are walking down the side of a busy highway towards the old ruins of an abandoned New England church that we have made our temporary living quarters. The ruins are on the edge of town, miles from the asylum. It’s a slow journey on foot, but Azael refuses to let us fly before it’s dark enough that we won’t be noticed. I kick a rock across the road with my boot and watch it scuff to a stop as he continues rambling.

“Michael’s a common name, right?”

“Not with angels,” I answer. “He can read our minds, Az. The only other I know who can do that is…” I let my thought trail off.

“Lucifer himself, I know.” He lets out a heavy sigh.

From the corner of my eye, I see his shoulders hunch forward. The worry that creases Az’s face makes him appear younger than the 16-year-old form he wears. When he looks this young, it’s hard to remember the years he’s lived and the battles he’s fought.

He pulls distractedly at an unruly tuft of hair, and I can tell he is trying to convince himself that the Michael we saw today is not who he claimed to be. I’m halfheartedly trying to convince myself of the same thing, but the more I think about it, the more sure I become that it
was
him. The impossibility becomes less and less absurd until it becomes not only plausible, but maybe even probable.

“And you saw his wings,” I continue. “Silver. Not even Ariel and Sablo are ranked high enough for silver wings.”

“Because they aren’t archangels,” he nods, angry. “I know.”

“So why would an angel as young as Michael have silver wings unless he was
the
Michael?”

“I don’t know, Pen. But it’s impossible. We saw him die, saw Lucifer tie what was left of him in Hell.” His voice is sharp and cuts through dusk like a knife.

I let it drop as we continue down the road, walking in silence. We keep to the side of the road, staying in the shadows so we go unnoticed. A few cars speed past, their blinding headlights sweeping over us only momentarily, shrinking my pupils to pinpricks, before blazing forward into the deepening darkness of night.

The sun slips quickly down the horizon, bleaching the color from the sky as it fades from a bruised purple into a steely gray before touching the midnight blue of night. As it gets darker, I can hear the creatures of the night slowly waking up. My ears prick at the sound of scratching claws on branches and the beating of an owl’s wings as it chases a skittering mouse.

A slight breeze brings the smell of tightly packed humans from downtown, and my nose wrinkles in disgust. They reek of sour sweat and it churns my stomach, which is already roiling with the thought of our inevitable punishment for the kid in Indiana and our demotion. If we’ve encroached on the assignment of our superiors, there’s little hope that we will escape today without being, quite literally, raked over the coals.

I assume half of Azael’s bitterness is over losing our promotion. He’s waited so long to move beyond reaping, but a small part of me is glad we need to rely on each other. I don’t know what he’d do if he could kill on his own. I’m the jar that holds his lightening, letting his rage burn me instead of everyone else. I am the only thing holding him back from destroying everyone in his path.

Azael notified Gusion, or Gus, as we call him, that we collected the soul he sent us for, plus a few extra. Gus is our advisor and boss, for all intents and purposes, and he constantly reminds us of this fact. He is also one of the top diviners of Hell. He gives us our assignments and reports our progress back to Lucifer. Azael did a quick blood ritual but didn’t want to get into the details of where the additional souls came from and only briefly mentioned our encounter with Michael. One of Az’s greatest talents is burying the lead and glossing over the facts.

Gus picked up enough of the details though, and sounded irritated. He told us to wait back at the ruins for him.