MIDNIGHT DIVINE (The Helio Trilogy Book 1) (13 page)

“Like retractable?” I
counter in astonishment.

“Yes.”

“You said I was like you
,
but different. Does that make
me
Fallen?” I
predict with embarrassment.

Jack shakes his head. “No.
Not Fallen.”

“I don’t understand.” I
look to Evelyn, pleading for better answers.

Evelyn explains, “You see,
it's the pull of your essence
—the flutter you get in your stomach—
accompanied with your abilities that tells us you're
of angelic descent. But angels are not born ‘Fallen’, it's a punishment given
to those who defy The Creator and His Divine plan."

“So, what is it about my
eyes that surprised you?” I note, remembering her reaction to noticing their
color.

“What color are your eyes,
Ivy?” Evelyn muses in kind.

“Green and violet. It’s a
genetic anomaly. Heterochromia Iridium,” I explain.

“Yes. Now, what color are
my
eyes? What color are Jack’s?” she gestures to herself and Jack beside her.

“Green.” She nods. “So
angels have green eyes?”

“Not all angels. Only
Archangels and their descendants,” Jack fills in.

“So… you think my parents
are Archangels?” My normal breathing starts coming back to me.

“Yes,” Evelyn answers.

“So, why do I have one
that's violet?” I'm starting to get a migraine.

Evelyn begins to pace the
room, and Jack reaches out to hold my hands. Their warmth and the tingling they
provide settles my anxiety. I glance back and forth between Evelyn and Jack,
waiting for someone to speak. Evelyn begins, “There are many Archangels and
their descendants with green eyes. But the presence of violet eyes is a trait
only passed down from one of the seven original Archangels.” Jack looks to his
mother with quizzical confusion. It's obvious he doesn’t know
to
who
m
she's referring.
Evelyn clears her throat and straightens her posture before she continues. “His
name is Azrael.”

Jack stands with such
swiftness, I barely see him move as he faces his mother. “No!” he shouts.
Evelyn’s lips form a tight line.

His outburst terrifies me.
“Who's Azrael?”

Evelyn takes her time to
answer me. “When it came time for The Creator to shape the body of Adam, He
requested for three angels to bring him soil from the earth. Azrael was one of
the three messengers. Prior to the request from The Creator, he had
transgressions he believed would be forgiven by completing this task. Each time
one of the three descended to Earth, the world shuddered violently to test the
messengers of their strength and faith in His Divine plan. While the first two
messengers feared the consequences of the occurrence, Azrael was the only
messenger to achieve The Creator’s mission. In doing so, The Creator appointed
Azrael with an important responsibility. Azrael was charged to live a life on
Earth, to gather the souls of men and women when their time came. Whether they
be saints or sinner, beggars or princes, old or young. And so, he became known
as The Angel of Death. He's distinguished from all other angels of The Creator
by his dark purple wings and violet eyes.”

I can’t move. I can’t
blink. I can’t close my gaping mouth. My vision narrows. I don’t know how to
react.
I’m a descendent of The Angel of Death? The. Angel. Of. Death.
And
that makes me different. If I’m a descendent of The Angel of Death, what does that
make me?

Jack's on his knees beside
me. “I’m so sorry, Ivy. I didn’t know. I really didn’t know,” he profusely
apologizes over and over again.

My entire body becomes as
cold and still as a block of ice. Without blinking, I prompt, “What does that mean
for
me
?”

“We shouldn’t jump to
conclusions. Right, Mother? I mean, she still shares visible traits of a true
Archangel.” Jack looks to his mother for agreement.

“Yes, Jack. But you can’t
look at Azrael with fear. He's not evil. Nor is he good. He's neutral. His
duties are imperative to keep the balance. It's not his job to provide the way
of death. That's the duty of the Kere. Azrael’s purpose was to guide the souls
of man to their rightful destinations. Whether it be to the gates of Paradise
or the gates of Sheol. Since the human population has grown since their beginning,
Azrael now commands other Guides and reveals to them where a souls destination
lies,” Evelyn explains.

“What does that mean? Do I
get a choice? What am I?” I shout to them with desperation.

Evelyn embraces me until my
tears slow and I begin to relax. She releases me from the embrace, but leaves
her hands on my shoulders. “It means you may progress into a great warrior who
will fight alongside others against the evil of the world to protect the souls
of mankind, or you may be destined to follow the footsteps of Azrael and become
a Guide to souls.”

“You mean a Reaper?” I
imply with fear.

Evelyn scoffs. “Such a
distasteful title, but yes. Not the way you believe Reapers to be though.
Mankind has made them out to be entities which carry out the events that cause
death. That's not the case.
The Kere are those which cause death to humans. Then
the
Guides, or Reapers
as some call them
, only remove the soul from its host to guide it to its rightful
destination. But we
won’t
know what your duties will be until your
transformation.”

“What kind of
transformation? What will happen to me?” I'm having trouble trying to accept my
new reality.

Jack speaks first. His
smile assures me the transformation won’t be repulsive. “No matter which fate
you're destined for, your DNA will begin its metamorphosis first. Your
metabolism will increase greatly, and your body temperature will escalate.
Then, your reflexes will exceed any human capabilities. You'll be able to run
faster, jump higher, see further,
hear better,
and you'll become stronger. And lastly, your wings will emerge. Only
then, will it be known what your destiny truly is. If your wings are green,
you'll become a protector of mankind as an Archangel. If they are purple
—
”

“I’ll be a Reaper,” I
whisper
in
defeat. Jack nods his head. “How long do I have until
my transformation?”

“
It usually starts at
age sixteen, which is why you started having omens around that age.
Your final transformation will happen on your
twentieth birthday. You’ll never physically age beyond that point,” Jack holds
my hand for support.

“That means I have less
than a month!” I yell. “Wait,” I drop my voice. “Are you saying I would be
immortal? Are
you
immortal? How old
are you?” Questions begin to spew from my mouth.

“Yes. You’ll become
immortal… like us.” He hesitates and searches my face. “I’m young compared to
most Archangels… I’m only six hundred and thirty one.”

“What!”
I
screech.
Oh my God.
“Wow,” I
mumble, trying to
comprehend
.

The room is silent as I
take everything in. It's a lot of information to process. It's as if the person
I had been for the last nineteen years is nothing but a glimpse at a stranger's
life. I'm being thrown into a body and life of another stranger I don’t know
how to navigate.

Evelyn brakes the silence,
“What I don’t quite understand is the Second Sight you've been given. That's
not a trait of an Archangel or a
Reaper
,
that I know of
.”

“Second Sight?” I ask.

“Yes. Omens are the result of an underdeveloped Second
Sight. Once the ability of Second Sight has fully developed, omens are replaced
with premonitions,” she explains.

“
If it doesn’t come
from an Archangel,
where would I get it from?”
This just keeps getting better and better,
I think with sarcasm.

“I’m not sure. It’s not an
ability I've heard of in
any
angel.
Not even Azrael himself. I’ll do my best to find out more for you. Maybe we can
find out who your parents are.” Evelyn walks over to me and places her hands on
my shoulders again. “Don’t worry, dear. We’re here for you every step of the
way.” She pulls me into another loving embrace and strokes my hair. As she
releases me, I feel like I can breathe again. “Now, I know this has been a lot
to take in. Why don’t you try and get some rest, dear?”

I nod,
“Thank you.”

Releasing a heavy breath, I
follow Evelyn out of the office. Jack grabs my wrist to stop me, and I look
over my shoulder at his sorrowful expression. “I need to be alone, Jack.” He
releases my arm with reluctance. I wander down the corridors to the winding
staircase that will take me to my room on the third floor. My surroundings
become nonexistent as my thoughts introvert upon themselves. I pass the
threshold and stumble to the muddled king size bed. My body collapses face
first across its forgiving surface, and I make no effort to move my face from
its impending suffocation for what seem
s
to be hours. I want
to shut my mind off. I don’t want to think anymore.

I need a drink.
I contemplate the bottle of Jäger beside my bed, but
refuse to move.
I can’t imagine what it will be like to have to take
someone’s soul—I don’t want to imagine it—It must cause a lot of pain to the
person. I don’t want to be a Reaper!

I groan and roll over to
lay on my back, but I'm not ready to face the world. I reach over for my pillow
and shield my face and myself from reality. Even through the stillness, I can’t
get away. I hold the pillow tight against my face and squeeze my eyes shut
tight. I scream into the pillow until all breath leaves my lungs.

“Ivy!” Jack’s mumbled cries
of worry seep through the barrier of the pillow into my suppressed hearing. I
don’t answer him. Jack pulls the pillow away from my face with slow
deliberation. “Ivy?” I'm speechless. His worried expression turns to sadness,
and then to acceptance. No words are spoken as he searches my face. His bright
green eyes bore into me, and I can feel myself beginning to relax with his
presence. Jack brushes my face with his fingertips. The whole world begins to fade
away. There's nothing but him.

“Jack?” His hand stills,
and his gaze meets mine. “I’m scared.”

“I know.” Jack forces me to
sit up. “There's nothing to be afraid of. I’m here.”

With his words, images
flash behind my eyes of Jack laying in the grass beside me, whispering the same
words, ‘I’m here’
.
I shake my head in acceptance of the connection
between the moment and the vision of my dream.

“I won’t let anything
happen to you, Sunshine.”

“Will it hurt?”

“Your transformation?” I
bob my head, focusing on our entwined fingers. “The pain's different for each
of us. It will hurt. How much it hurts depends on how strong your mind is.” I
bob my head again in understanding. “Behind every beautiful thing, there’s been
some kind of pain.”

My head snaps up, and I
smile for the first time since my world began to tumble down. “Did you just
quote Bob Dylan?”

Jack’s million dollar smile
makes my heart flutter. He chuckles, “I did. It’s nice to see you smile again.”
I let out an audible sigh, and we fall into a comfortable silence.

“Can I see them?” I coax
with soft spoken shyness.

Jack searches my face in
question. “See who?”

“Your wings.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. I want to know.”

He rises from the bed with
grace and methodically rearranges the furniture in front of the hearth to the
furthest walls of the room.
How big are they?
I stand at the foot of the
bed and wait while he clears the floor. He comes to stand across from me. Even
though I want him to be closer, I don’t know what to expect and kept my
distance.

Jack stands as still as a
statue before me, gauging my disposition. He crosses his arms over his hips,
grasps the bottom of his white cotton shirt
,
and tugs it over his
head. Heat radiates into my cheeks as I observe his iron muscles and
impeccable, smooth skin. Jack hesitates, and my nerves tremble inside of my
body. He widens his stance to be even with the width of his shoulders, and I
search his face for any signs of pain. His bright green eyes begin to radiate a
white light and become two glowing orbs that take my breath away. His face is
almost savage in its splendor. His brows converge as his jaw tenses. There's an
echo of snapping and violent shattering of bones which reverberates from behind
him. My eyes widen in surprise. Dark green feathers curve over his shoulders
behind his back. His muscles tense as his wings release wide on either side of
him with a sound comparable to a towel being shaken out with a belligerent
flick of the wrists. The edges of his wings stretch into jagged piercing points
as his eyes dim down to their natural bright green. Then, his extensions relax
to rest behind him. Their arches elevate above his shoulders, and their tips
settle behind his calves while the edges frame his body.