Passion (38 page)

The rst heavenly scribe stood at the base of the Throne in shimmery incandescence and began to cal out the names. It started with the lowest-ranking angel, the seven thousand eight hundred and twelfth son of Heaven:

“Geliel,” the scribe cal ed, “last of the twenty-eight angels who govern the mansions of the moon.” That was how it began.

The scribe kept a running tal y in the opalescent sky as Chabril, the angel of the second hour of the night, chose Lucifer, and Tiel, the angel of the north wind, chose Heaven, along with Padiel, one of the guardians of childbeds, and Gadal, an angel involved with magical rites for the il . Some of the angels made lengthy appeals, some of them scarcely said a word; Daniel kept lit le track of the tal y. He was on a quest to find himself, and besides, he already knew how this ended.

He waded through the eld of angels, grateful for the time it took to cal out al the choices. He had to recognize his own self before he rose up out of the masses and said the naïve words he’d been paying for ever since.

There was commotion in the Meadow—whispering and ashing lights, a grumble of low thunder. Daniel hadn’t heard the name cal ed, had not seen the angel float up to declare his choice. He shoved through the souls in front of him to get a bet er view.

Roland. He bowed before the Throne. “With respect, I am not ready to choose.” He looked at the Throne but gestured at Lucifer. “You are losing a son today, and al of us are losing a brother. Many more, it seems, wil fol ow. Please, do not enter lightly into this dark decision. Do not force our family to splinter apart.”

Daniel teared up at the sight of Roland’s soul—the angel of poetry and music, Daniel’s brother and his friend—pleading in the white sky.

“You are wrong, Roland,” the Throne boomed. “And in defying me, you have made your choice. Welcome him to your side, Lucifer.”

“No!” Arriane shrieked, and ew up out of the center of brightness to hover beside Roland. “Please, only give him time to understand what his decision means!”

“The decision has been made” was al the Throne said in reply. “I can tel what is in his soul, despite his words—he has already chosen.” A soul brushed up against Daniel’s. Hot and stunning, instantly recognizable.

Cam.

“What are you?” Cam whispered. He sensed innately that something was di erent about Daniel, but there was no way to explain who Daniel real y was to an angel who’d never left Heaven, who had no conception of what was to come.

“Brother, do not fret,” Daniel pleaded. “It is me.”

Cam grasped his arm. “I perceive that, though I see you’re also not you.” He grimly shook his head. “I trust you are here for a reason.

Please. Can you stop this from happening?”

“Daniel.” The scribe was cal ing his name. “Angel of the silent watchers, the Grigori.” No. Not yet. He had not worked out what to say, what to do. Daniel tore through the blinding light of souls around him, but it was too late. His earlier self rose slowly, gazing neither at the Throne nor at Lucifer.

Instead, he was looking into the hazy distance. Looking, Daniel remembered, at her.

“With respect, I wil not do this. I wil not choose Lucifer’s side, and I wil not choose the side of Heaven.” A roar went up from the camps of angels, from Lucifer, and from the Throne.

“Instead, I choose love—the thing you have al forgot en. I choose love and leave you to your war. You’re wrong to bring this upon us,” Daniel said evenly to Lucifer. Then, turning, he addressed the Throne. “Al that is good in Heaven and on Earth is born of love. This war is not just. This war is not good. Love is the only thing worth fighting for.”

“My child,” the rich, steady voice boomed from the Throne. “You misunderstand. I am standing rm on my ruling out of love—love for al of my creations.”

“No,” Daniel said softly. “This war is about pride. Cast me out, if you must. If that is my destiny, I surrender to it, but not to you.” Lucifer’s laughter was a foul belch. “You’ve got the courage of a god, but the mind of a mortal adolescent. And your punishment shal be that of an adolescent.” Lucifer swept his hand to one side. “Hel wil not have him.”

“And he has already made plain his choice to forsake Heaven,” came the disappointed voice from the Throne. “As with al my children, I see what is in your soul. But I do not know now what wil become of you, Daniel, nor your love.”

“He wil not have his love!” Lucifer shouted.

“Then you have something to propose, Lucifer?” asked the Throne.

“An example must be made.” Lucifer seethed. “Can you not see? The love he speaks of is destructive!” Lucifer grinned as the seeds of his most evil act began to sprout. “So let it destroy the lovers and not the rest of us! She wil die!” Gasps from the angels. It was impossible, the very last thing anyone expected.

“She wil die always and forevermore,” Lucifer continued, his voice thick with venom. “She wil never pass out of adolescence—wil die again and again and again at precisely the moment when she remembers your choice. So that you wil never truly be together. That wil be her punishment. And as for you, Daniel—”

“That is su cient,” the Throne said. “Should Daniel choose to stand by his decision, what you propose, Lucifer, wil be punishment enough.” There was a long, strained pause. “Understand: I do not wish this upon any of my children, but Lucifer is right: An example must be made.”

This was the moment when it had to happen, Daniel’s chance to open a loophole in the curse. Boldly, he ew upward in the Meadow to This was the moment when it had to happen, Daniel’s chance to open a loophole in the curse. Boldly, he ew upward in the Meadow to hover side by side with his earlier self. Now was the time to change things, to alter the past.

“What is this twinning?” Lucifer seethed. His newly red eyes narrowed at the two Daniels.

The host of angels below Daniel flickered in confusion. His earlier self looked on in wonder. “Why are you here?” he whispered.

Daniel did not wait for anyone to question him further, did not even wait for Lucifer to sit down or for the Throne to recover from this surprise.

“I have come from our future, from mil ennia of your punishment—”

The sudden bewilderment of the angels was palpable in the heat sent out of their souls. Of course, this was beyond anything any of them could fathom. Daniel could not see the Throne clearly enough to tel what e ect his return had on him, but Lucifer’s soul glowed red-hot with rage. Daniel forced himself to go on:

“I come here to beg clemency. If we must be punished—and my Master, I do not question your decision—please at least remember that one of the great features of your power is your mercy, which is mysterious and large and humbles us al .”

“Mercy?” Lucifer cried. “After the size of your betrayals? And does your future self regret his choice?” Daniel shook his head. “My soul is old, but my heart is young,” he said, looking at his earlier self, who seemed stunned. Then he gazed at his beloved’s soul, beautiful and burning bright. “I cannot be other than what I am, and I am the choices of al my days. I stand by them.”

“The choice is made,” the Daniels said in unison.

“Then we stand by the punishment meted out,” the Throne boomed.

The great light shuddered, and in the long moment of ut er silence, Daniel wondered whether he had been right to come forward at al .

Then, at last: “But we wil grant your request for mercy.”

“No!” Lucifer cried. “Heaven is not the only party wronged!”

“Quiet!” The Throne’s voice grew louder as he spoke. He sounded tired, and pained, and less certain than Daniel had ever imagined possible. “If one day her soul comes into being without the weight of sacrament having chosen a side for her, then she shal be free to grow and choose for herself, to reenact this moment. To escape the ordained punishment. And in so doing, to put the nal test to this love that you claim supersedes the rights of Heaven and family; her choice then wil be your redemption or the nal seal on your punishment. That is al that can be done.”

Daniel bowed down, and his past self bowed down beside him.

“I cannot abide this!” Lucifer bel owed. “They must never! Never—”

“It is done,” the Voice thundered, as if he had reached his capacity for mercy. “I wil not tolerate those who would argue with me on this or any other mat er. Begone, al of those who have chosen il or not chosen at al . The Gates of Heaven are closed to you!” Something flickered. The brightest light of al suddenly went out.

Heaven grew dark and deadly cold.

The angels gasped and shivered, huddling closer together.

Then: silence.

No one moved and no one spoke.

What happened next was unimaginable, even to Daniel, who had already witnessed the whole thing once before.

The sky beneath them shuddered and the white lake brimmed over, sending a ery surge of steamy white water ooding over everything.

The Orchard of Knowledge and the Grove of Life fel into each other, and al of Heaven shook as they shuddered to their deaths.

A silver lightning bolt cracked forth from the Throne and struck the west end of the Meadow. The cloudsoil boiled into blackness, and a pit of the darkest despair opened up like a sinkhole right under Lucifer. With al his impotent rage, he and the angels closest to him—vanished.

As for the angels who had yet to choose, they, too, lost their purchase on Heaven’s plains and slid into the abyss. Gabbe was one of them; Arriane and Cam, too, as wel as the others dearest to his heart—col ateral damage from Daniel’s choice. Even his past self, eyes wide, was swept toward the black hole in Heaven and vanished within.

Once again, Daniel could do nothing to stop it from happening.

He knew that a nine-day fugue of tumbling ever downward stood between the fal en and the moment they would reach Earth. Nine days he couldn’t af ord to spend not finding her. He plunged toward the abyss.

At the edge of nothingness, Daniel looked down and saw a spot of brightness, farther away than the farthest thing imaginable. It was not an angel, but a beast with vast black wings darker than the night. And it was flying toward him, moving upward. How?

Daniel had just seen Lucifer at the Judgment up above. He’d fal en first and should be far below. Stil , it could be no one else. Daniel’s vision focused sharply and his wings burned from shoot to tip when he realized that the beast was carrying someone tucked under his wing.

“Lucinda!” he shouted, but the beast had already dropped her.

His whole world stopped.

Daniel did not see where Lucifer went after that because he was diving across the sky toward Luce. The burning of her soul was so bright and so familiar. He shot forward, his wings clasped close to his body so that he fel faster than seemed possible, so fast that the world around him blurred. He reached out and—

She landed in his arms.

Immediately, his wings pul ed forward, making a protective shield around her. She seemed startled at rst, as if she’d just awakened from a terrible dream, and gazed deeply into his eyes, let ing out al the air in her lungs. She touched his cheek, ran her ngers across the tingling ridges of his wings.

“At last.” He breathed into her, finding her lips.

“You found me,” she whispered.

“Always.”

Just below them, the mass of fal en angels lit up the sky like a thousand bril iant stars. They al seemed drawn together by the pul of some unseen force, clinging to one another during the long plunge from Heaven. It was tragic and awe-inspiring. For a moment, they al seemed to hum and burn with a beautiful perfection. As he and Luce watched, a bolt of black lightning darted across the sky and seemed to encircle the bright mass of the fal ing.

Then everything but Luce and Daniel grew absolutely dark. As if al of the angels, al at once, had tumbled through a pocket in the sky.

EPILOGUE

EPILOGUE

NO MORE BUT THIS

SAVANNAH, GEORGIA • NOVEMBER 27, 2009

It was the last Announcer Luce wanted to step through for a very long time. When Daniel stretched open the shadow cast by the inexplicable brightening of the stars in that strange, neverwhere sky, Luce did not look back. She held fast to his hand, overcome with relief. She was with Daniel now. Wherever they went would be home.

“Wait,” he said before she plunged inside the shadow.

“What is it?”

His lips traced her col arbone. She arched her back and grabbed the back of his neck and pul ed him closer. Their teeth clicked and his tongue found hers and as long as she could stay there like that, she didn’t need to breathe.

They left the distant past locked in the kiss—one so long awaited and so passionate it made everything else around Luce go fuzzy. It was a kiss most people dreamed of al their lives. Here was the soul Luce had been searching for ever since she left him in her parents’ backyard.

And they were stil together when Daniel swooped them out of the Announcer under the peaceful drifting of a silver cloud.

“More,” she said when at last he pul ed away. They were so high up, Luce could see lit le of the ground below. A swath of moonlit ocean.