Scarred (the Spellbound Series Book 3) (20 page)

20

            
 
I’m not entirely sure where I’m running. I’m not even entirely sure
why
I’m running. All I know is I can’t resist the urge to put an incredible amount of distance between myself and the man I thought I knew. The man who slew his own brothers for personal gain. The man who’s plotting to rob 15 million innocent people of their souls. The man who, I’d forgotten, only fathered a child to raise a killing machine. A miniature version of himself. It makes my skin crawl to think that his blood runs in my veins.

              As soon as I’m outdoors, I take to the skies. The cool night air isn’t enough to soothe my nerves, but it’s a start. Before long, I’m soaring above the streets, looking down at them curiously. Normally, by this time, the streetlamps would have already come on, their orange glow somehow making the city seem darker. But the only power left in the city comes from a few generators the others found while scavenging; there’s nowhere near enough to light up the streets again. Instead, the light of billions of stars illuminates the city. I’d always hoped my love for both stars and skyscrapers would come together someday, but now that I have what I wanted, I’d trade it in for the past any day.

              I’m not paying much attention to where I’m flying. One minute, I’m still circling Hell’s Kitchen. The next, I’m down near Battery Park, gliding south over the Hudson River. I spot the Statue of Liberty looming up ahead of me, and angle myself towards it. I’ve never seen it up close; it’s always seemed like such a tourist thing to do, and if there’s anything I’ve learned from living in New York City for nearly twenty years, it’s to avoid acting like a tourist. But now that there’s no one around, I can finally satisfy my curiosity.

              I touch down gently on Liberty Island, my feet crunching on dry leaves as I land. The statue herself stands tall above the grounds, her stern face overlooking the New York Harbor like a watchful guardian. My stone memorial to New York City’s lost souls doesn’t do her justice; the real Statue of Liberty is infinitely more beautiful than anything I’ll ever create. I only leave destruction in my wake. Yet another trait I inherited from my dear father.

              I find the brick path leading straight to the stairs, and follow it all the way to the base of the statue. I lean my head against the stone, and close my eyes. Solitude hasn’t brought with it any answers to my problems. Michael still intends to commit genocide. War is still on the horizon. The hunters still have me in their crosshairs. Nick is still going through a bizarre metamorphosis. And I still can’t seem to forgive myself for letting millions of people die. I’ve gotten so much better at pretending to be alright, and on some days, I can even fool myself. But I’m worried I’ll start to crack again.

              I pull myself together, and back away from the statue’s base to look up at the stars. Part of me almost hopes an ancestor of mine will magically materialize in the clouds, and offer me guidance in my time of need. But it doesn’t look like I’ll be having my Disney moment; the night sky is just as cloudless as ever. It looks like I’ll have to figure out what to do on my own.

              With my head tilted towards the heavens, I close my eyes, and review the facts. What Michael is planning is downright evil, there’s no doubt about that. But does that mean Michael himself is evil? I find that hard to believe; our relationship had an incredibly rocky start, but I’ve never once gotten a sinister vibe off of him. He just doesn’t seem to have much concern for human life. I remember his offer to help me destroy the hunters as they chased us into another realm, and shudder.

Then again, my father might not have much concern for life in general. His most recent gift to me, his sword, is imbued with the spirits of six slain archangels, whom he as well as confessed to killing with his own hands. His own brothers. And he admitted that they were only killed because they stood between him and apotheosis. Maybe Michael and Lucifer are more alike than anyone’s ever realized. The only difference is that I expected Michael to be better.

A breeze blows past, and I open my eyes again, taking in the constellations above me. If Michael is capable of such evil acts, what does that say about
me
? For better or worse, I’m his daughter. Now that I see him for the murderer he is, I have to wonder if dealing death runs in the family. And maybe it does; I accidentally killed someone almost immediately after discovering my powers. Clearly, I’m just as capable of unspeakable acts. I am my father’s daughter. But the real question remains: who will I
choose
to be? Will I stand idly by while my father claims 15 million souls before their time? Or will I find some way to stop him?

A tiny part of me still likes and respects my father enough to let him have his way. And to be honest, it sounds like that much power will be incredibly useful against millions of demons. But I know I’ll never forgive myself if I don’t do what’s right. I reach for my neck, and unclasp the chain around it. Then I pull my hand away, and inspect the glistening pendant swinging from the end of the chain. The same winged pendant Michael made for me as an infant. It’s meant a lot to me over the years, but now it’s just a symbol of a man I thought I could forgive. For abandoning my mother and I. For using me as a tool in his mad quest to become God. Just the sight of this tiny trinket makes me sick.

I briefly consider throwing the whole necklace into the harbor, and watching it sink to the bottom. But before I can do exactly that, I realize that if I’m going to sabotage Michael’s plan, he needs to believe that I’m on his side. Meaning the necklace can’t suddenly go missing. He sees me wearing it nearly every day now, so he would definitely notice the absence. I slip the necklace into my pocket, and let out a long sigh. I’m still not sure how I’m going to pull this off, but I do know I have a lot of work ahead of me.

I’ve had my fill of introspection for the night. After one last look at the stars, I sprint until I have enough speed to take off. I fly back home at a leisurely pace. I’m in no rush to do what I have in mind. When I finally reach the right building, I retract my wings entirely, wincing a little as they recede into my skin. I climb the stairs to Michael’s apartment, and bang on his door until it opens inward, and the man I came to see answers my call. Michael’s eyes burn into mine as he asks, “How can I help you?”

Now that I’m here, it’s harder to say the words I’ve been rehearsing all the way home. I take a deep breath, and tell him, “I’ve changed my mind.”

“Oh?” Michaels eyes me with curiosity. “So, you’ve come around to my way of thinking?”

“I have,” I lie. It pains me to even pretend to be the monster Michael wants me to be, but I remind myself that it’s for the greater good. “I’m willing to do whatever it takes to bring Lucifer to his knees.”

***

Michael and I don’t talk very long after I announce that I’m “on his side”. He won’t divulge any more details of his plan than he already has, but I won’t be swayed from the information he keeps. Eventually, he gets frustrated, and tells me that he’ll see me tomorrow. When he shuts the door after we say our goodbyes, I let out a long breath. Subtly opposing him is the safest route, but it’s draining. I’m not sure how long I’ll be able to pretend I still have any respect left for my father.

I’m not in the mood to sleep just yet, so instead of returning to my apartment, I climb down a few flights until I reach Jenna’s. With any luck, the celebration should still be going strong. Her door is wide open, and I can hear music from down the hall, so I take it as a sign to walk right in. Somehow, I’m surprised that the scene inside isn’t any wilder; Landon is in the kitchen, mixing liquor and ice with pumpkin puree in the blender. Emma, Jenna, and Rachel are playing drunken Scrabble on the coffee table, while the TV drones on in the background. And Alyssa is sitting on the couch, watching the game in progress closely.

I slink into the room unnoticed, and take a seat on the couch next to Alyssa. “Who’s winning?,” I ask casually as I look at the Scrabble board.

Rachel looks up from a dictionary, and declares, “That would be me… even though these two keep trying to cheat. How was your date with the devil’s daughter?”

I’m not quite ready to break the news to her and the others, so I tell her, “It was fine. She didn’t try to turn on us, if you were wondering.”

“Just give it time.” Rachel closes the dictionary, and starts putting tiles on the board. “You don’t have to lie,” she says as she makes her move. “Alyssa told us everything. We know.”

“Oh…” I clear my throat, and ask, “So, this is potentially our last week on Earth, it looks like.”

“Speak for yourself.” When I don’t respond quickly enough, Rachel explains, “I’m not sticking around if this place is gonna be crawling with angels and demons. I’m sorry.”

I nod, and let my gaze drop to the ground between my feet. “I understand.”

“Same goes for me, kid,” Landon calls from the kitchen. “I love you, but I’m no soldier. Not all of us have what it takes to do what you do.”

“I’m with them,” Emma says. “Sorry, Heather. I’m only human. I’d just be holding you back.”

“That’s fine,” I tell them. “Somebody’s gotta make sure my mom is safe, right?”

Jenna looks up from putting her tiles on the board, and says, “I would keep an eye on her, but I can’t. I’m staying.”

“You don’t have to, Jenna. It’s gonna be dangerous-“

“Which is why I’m staying. I might not be much use to you on the battlefield, but you guys are gonna need a strategy for whatever crazy shit you’re gonna be getting into. I’m your girl.”

I’d rather not have someone mortal like Jenna be around when things get rough, but she
would
be a valuable asset. I nod, and look over to my right. Alyssa huffs, and says, “You already know where I plan to be. Don’t even ask.”

“Yeah, I know.” I look around me at my little cluster of friends without a hint of resentment. I’m glad some of them are leaving; they’re better off somewhere else, where they’d be safe. I know there’s no hope I could get Nick and Alyssa to leave my side as well, so I won’t even bother asking. “When are you guys leaving?,” I ask.

Emma looks like she’s about to answer, but all of our heads turn towards the TV at the unexpected sound of an alarm. At first, it seems like we’ve somehow lost signal; all we’re picking up is garbled static and gray lines across the screen. I’m in the middle of getting up to fix it when the image returns, though what was once a sitcom has been replaced by what looks like an office. Agent Rivera sits at his desk, with his hands folded in front of him. “My fellow Americans,” he begins, “my name is Vincent Rivera. Earlier tonight, our airwaves were attacked by a terrorist, whom we’ve come to know as the Angel of Death. She tried to convince you that our world is populated by creatures straight out of fairy tales. Everything she told you was a lie.

“We are currently trying to locate this terrorist, and bring her to justice for her crimes against the American people. But in the meantime, we ask that you disregard everything she says as a lie. She is a threat to our nation, and everything we stand for, and we urge anyone with information regarding her location or identity to come forward. You can leave an anonymous tip by calling the number at the bottom of your screen.

“That being said, the American government has decided that the time has come to take drastic action against this terrorist. All members of Division Thirteen are ordered to execute Order Sixty-Six, starting at noon tomorrow, Eastern Standard Time. The lives of millions of Americans are at stake, and we will do everything in our power to keep them safe. That is all.”

The TV screen fades to black, and in a few seconds, the sitcom has resumed, almost as if nothing had happened. I shrug, and mutter, “Well, that’s a minor setback.” I turn away from the screen to gauge the others’ reactions, and immediately get the sense that something is wrong. Both Emma and Jenna have grave expressions on their faces. I lean towards them, and ask, “What is it?”

Jenna can’t seem to speak, so it’s Emma who elaborates. “Division Thirteen is the codename for hunters,” she says in a flat tone. “And Order Sixty-Six is the order to round up all known metahumans, and throw them in secret prison camps. That’s millions of the ‘American people’ he just claimed he would protect.”

On any other day, I might be devastated by this kind of news. Yet again, I’ve managed to make matters even worse. But numbed as I am by the horrific situation I helped cause earlier, I don’t have it in me to feel anything right now but determination. I take a deep breath, and ask, “Where are the hunters’ headquarters?”

For Michael and Lucifer, war is still on the horizon. But my own war against the hunters has just begun.

Part Three: The Damned

21

            
 
As hard as it is to get a good night’s sleep these days, I decide to sacrifice what little time I
do
have to pay Agent Rivera a little visit. I have all the information I need from Emma; the rest is up to me. I slip out of Jenna’s apartment, and return to mine, where I change into my leather suit. Even though it fits better now than it ever has, I feel as if I’ve outgrown it. The younger Heather wanted so desperately to be a superhero, but now I’ll count myself lucky if I can even keep myself safe. I promise myself that if tonight goes well, I’ll hang up the suit for good.

              As soon as I’m dressed, I teleport onto the roof, and spread my wings wide. It’s gonna be a long flight to Washington, DC, but it’s a trip I need to take the long way. I refuse to hide now that the truth is out there. And I need as many people to see me as possible. I stand on the edge of the roof for a moment, then slip my mask on, pull up my hood, and lean forward. My dive only lasts a few seconds. I spread out my wings, and they swell with the force of stopping my fall as I straighten out.

              I’m still not 100% confident in where I’m going. Now that I’m in the air, I regret that I didn’t at least look up a route to my destination. At the very least, I know I have to head south, so I fly over the Hudson River, and follow one of the twisting highways cluttering New Jersey’s riverside. A blue sign on the side of the road reads I-95 South, and I relax a little. It seems like I’m on the right path.

              Normally, I would fly much higher, but I maintain an altitude of only a dozen feet. Cars on the highway slow down so that passengers can take pictures of me. I look below me to see one man whip out his cell phone, and start dialing a number. I hope he’s calling the information line to report spotting the Angel of Death. I want Agent Rivera to know I’m coming. I want him to be afraid.

              I look up just in time to avoid slamming into the back of a tractor trailer. I roll to the left, and flap harder to gain back the altitude I lost. A look ahead explains why the truck had stopped so suddenly; there’s roughly a mile of traffic ahead, ending at a blockade of half a dozen black cars with flashing lights pulsating from behind tinted windows. They aren’t hunters, but they’ll do. I feel the need to intimidate
someone
. I wave my hand, and all the black vehicles blocking the road rise as one. My next hand gesture sends them flying to the side of the road, where they won’t hold up traffic.

My next spell propels me upward, well out of sight, and out of the range of any bullets. I repeat this pattern a few times during my flight; I’ll swoop down when it looks like the coast is clear. I’ll watch people freak out as they spot me. I’ll use a few carefully aimed spells to create a little chaos. I’ll retreat to a height where I can’t be harmed. It’s fun for a while, but by the time I cross the New Jersey-Pennsylvania border, I’m ready to put on an extra burst of speed. I want the hunters to know I’m on my way, but more importantly, I’d like to reach them.

Fatigue starts to settle in as I cross into Maryland. I’ve never flown this long before; I don’t think I have the endurance to make it all the way to DC without stopping to rest. I land on top of a billboard, and sit with my legs dangling over the neon sign, panting with exertion. I take advantage of the brief respite to check my phone, and I’m not disappointed by the unread messages I’ve received since my departure:

Alyssa: You’re doing something stupid, aren’t you?

Jenna: Rivera’s office is 413. Give him a punch from me.

Mom: Have you seen the new episode of modern family? So great LOL

Nick: I’m gonna see if the Old Navy on 34
th
street has any hoodies worth looting. Wanna come with?

Alyssa: Be careful.

I slip my phone back into my pocket without responding to any of my texts, and flex my wings to see how they’re feeling. I’m still a little sore, but I think if I stick to gliding, I can deal with it. I carefully clamber onto my feet, then dive off the billboard, and continue following the southbound road.

I take a break from intimidating people on the roads, and glide the rest of the way. I can feel the air getting damper as I approach the city, and by the time I can actually see Washington, DC, a light drizzle has begun. I fly up above the clouds to avoid getting wet, and continue in the direction of downtown DC. When I think I’ve gone far enough, I dive beneath the cloud layer again, and angle myself towards the ground.

I’m drenched within seconds; what started as a drizzle has devolved into a downpour. The flashing lights of dozens of law enforcement vehicles twinkle up at me, and I smile to myself. My plan worked; they know I’m here. And if they’re making this big of a deal out of my arrival, that means there have to be some civilian spectators trying to figure out what’s going on. Sure enough, as I get closer to the ground, I can see people standing around in raincoats, waiting to see what all the fuss is about. Some of them are even holding cameras. I can’t afford to disappoint them now. It’s time to put on a show.

I release a bolt of lightning from my palm, and it strikes the ground near one of the men holding a camera. Everyone looks up, and I imagine some of them gasp in shock, or scream for the others to look skyward. The police on the ground notice me as well, and I put a magnetic repulsive shield around my body to protect me from gunfire. I couldn’t have asked for better timing; the very second I’m fully protected, a sniper bullet bounces off my right shoulder. I almost laugh out loud; I’ve already taken a bullet in that very spot. I won’t let it happen again.

The ground units below me open fire as well, and each of their rounds bounces off of me harmlessly, having even less of an effect on me than the pouring rain. When I’m close enough to the ground, I pull out of my dive, and spread my wings wide. My momentum rockets me over the heads of the crowd. Several of them leap out of the way, as if they expected me to crash into them. But they need not fear me. I have absolutely no interest in anyone here; my target is well below the surface of the city.

I nearly fly right past my destination in my desire to make my presence known. I’ve given the people definitive proof that I’m more than just a “fairy tale”. Now it’s time for my real objective. I touch down on the top stair leading up to the Lincoln Memorial, and walk the rest of the way. The moment I’m out of the rain, I expunge my skin and my clothing of all the moisture clinging to me. I gather the excess water in a spinning ball, and toss it behind me. No sense making life harder for whoever has to mop this place up.

The marble statue of Lincoln sits at the end of the column-lined corridor, his lifeless eyes seeming to follow me as I approach. There are secret entrances to the hunters’ compound all over the city, but this is the one they’ll least expect me to use. I walk right past the statue itself, though, and focus on the wall to his left. I spot a tiny recess in the marble, just as Emma told me I would. She also told me that I’m not a registered hunter, so I won’t be able to get in with my handprint.

That’s fine by me. I press my hand against the cool marble, and use a fraction of my power to force the door open. A few seconds later, a section of the wall retracts, and slides upward, out of view. A tiny elevator awaits me on the other side, and I step in quickly. I press the one button, and a metal grate covers the opening as the elevator makes its surprisingly silent descent.

I lean against the railing, and pull my wings back into my skin; they’ve had enough for one night. I prepare myself for what’s waiting for me on the other side; Emma and Jenna both warned me that an unauthorized entry will more than likely earn me an armed response. I drop the bullet repelling shield around me, and steel myself for an even greater draw on my reserves of power. If I’m going to show these people who’s boss, I’m going to have to do better than a shield. I vibrate my molecules at such a high speed that I can walk through matter, careful to exclude the very bottoms of my feet; I’d rather not fall through the elevator floor.

When I reach the bottom of the elevator shaft, the metal grate closes, and a steel door in front of me lowers to reveal a stark white corridor, and more hunters than I care to count, each of their guns pointed right at my chest. They let loose a hail of gunfire, but I walk calmly through the barrage. In fact, I walk calmly through an entire
person
, leaving the group bewildered and unsure of what to do. How do they kill someone that can’t be touched? I smile, and press on through the complex, looking for room 413. Anyone who spots me wandering the halls shoots at me, but I pay them no mind. There’s nothing any of them can do to me.

I quickly discover that I’m on Level 6, and the office I’ll need is two floors below. I don’t have time to find a staircase, so I allow the intangibility spell to include my feet as well. I sink through the green tiles, ignore the entire fifth floor entirely, and slow my descent as I approach the fourth floor. There doesn’t seem to be anyone around, so I let my molecules resume their normal frequency, and sprint down the hall until I find the room I’m looking for. The moment I find 413, I skid to a stop in front of the door, and teleport myself to the other side.

A nonplussed Agent Rivera looks up from his computer when he notices my arrival. He must have been watching my progress on the security cameras. “You’re quite a nuisance,” he comments as I check to see if his door is locked.

Once I’m sure we won’t be disturbed, I face my opponent, and remark, “The feeling’s mutual.”

“Well, now that you’re here, what can I do for you?”

“You know damn well what you can do for me.” I pull down my hood, and lean over Agent Rivera’s desk. “I want you to put a stop to Order Sixty-Six. I want you to stop spreading lies about me. I want you to quit lying to the people you’re sworn to protect. And I want you to do all of those things
now
.”

Agent Rivera chuckles, and relaxes in his leather chair. “You teenage activists are all the same. Were you really so naïve to think that you could pull one little stunt, and a revolution would start overnight? The system you’re trying to overthrow is in place for a reason, Heather. These monsters you love so dearly, they’re a threat to the people who actually
need
protecting. Normal people, who deserve the blissfully ignorant lives they’ve lead so far. If they learn the truth, and the freaks come out in the open, they’ll kill millions of people.”

“You don’t know that,” I counter. “You think that these people need to be put down, but they’re just as deserving of a normal life in the open as you and me. The hunters can still do their job when the truth comes out, that’s fine. You’re so focused on the hunt, and keeping your secrets, but there are better things to worry about.”

“Enlighten me, child. What should I be worrying about?”

“How about the war that’s about to break out on American soil, right under your nose?” Agent Rivera’ eyes widen, but he remains silent. “How about the crazed angels threatening to massacre millions of innocent people? Will your precious hunters take up arms to protect the American people from the forces of Hell? Will you help me evacuate an entire metropolis before it’s too late?”

Agent Rivera looks me dead in the eye, and neither of us speaks or blinks for several seconds. Eventually, he relents, and says, “I can’t. Our policy states-“

“Fuck your policy! People’s lives are at stake, and you’re worried about bureaucracy?! Do you really think you’re protecting people by killing ‘monsters’, and hiding behind your rules when you’re actually needed?”

“You’re such a child,” Agent Rivera says while shaking his head. “At one time, I’d hoped we could work together toward a brighter future for our country. But now I see that we’ll never be on the same page.”

“Are you saying that you won’t help save millions of people?”

“I’m saying that the needs of the many heavily outweigh yours.”

“Fine.” I pull my hood back over my head, and stand up straight. “Then you leave me no choice. I gave you a list of demands when I came in here, Agent. And you’re going to attend to them, whether you like it or not.”

22

            
 
I may have sounded confident three seconds ago, but in reality, I have no idea how I’m going to convince Agent Rivera to do as I say. A series of frenzied knocks on the door of his office calls my attention before I can nail down a concrete plan. It looks like I don’t have time for anything fancy; I’ll have to improvise.

I leap over the desk, drag Agent Rivera out of his chair, and wrap him in a headlock. He attempts to struggle, but I pull one of Krystal’s guns from my holster, and hold it to his temple. The trained killer in my grasp realizes the position he’s in, and surrenders. I allow myself a triumphant smile; there aren’t any bullets in this gun, but he doesn’t need to know that.

              I glance at the door, and I start to lose my nerve at the sight of a laser cutting straight through the metal door. I don’t have long before a mass of hunters crowds into the room, and there’s no guarantee they won’t still shoot me while I’m holding one of their own hostage. It looks like I’m gonna have to take our conversation elsewhere. Before anyone can get past the door, I hold Agent Rivera tightly, and the two of us vanish from the room.

              We materialize hundreds of miles away, back home in New York City. I knew I couldn’t have brought him home, so I teleported us to the condo on Rockaway Beach. My captive realizes we’ve changed locations, and he tries to look up at me from where I have him positioned. “What are you going to do now, ‘hero’? Torture me?”