The Watcher

Chapter Twenty-One



After stopping to pick up an assortment of pizza slices which I ended up carrying, we landed in the backyard of a large, modern-looking house. It was completely surrounded by evergreens except for the view of Seattle’s harbor peeking through the trees. Michael took me by the hand and led me along a dimly lit path toward the house, then through a glass door to a ground-level studio. As the lights flickered on, I noticed a large, open-concept living room with a tiled kitchenette. A plush off-white sofa faced a huge flat-screen TV over a gas fireplace framed on both sides by built-in bookshelves. On the other side of the sofa, a king-sized Murphy bed lay open, covered by a soft-looking gray duvet.

“Wow, is this your room?” I asked. “Complete with its own entrance?”

“Yeah. My parents had this place built with the idea of housing me through college.”

“It’s fabulous.”

He shrugged. “I like it.”

My legs were a little wobbly, so I placed the pizza on a side table and perched on the couch. “Do your parents know what you are?”

“No. It’s safer that way, for all of us,” he answered and walked to his bedroom. “I’m going to shower.” He pulled open a dresser drawer and grabbed some clothes and a towel. “Help yourself to a slice. I won’t be long.”

I couldn’t eat. My stomach was queasy from flying and other things, like being attacked by a demon. “What do your parents think?”

“Nothing’s changed. They think I’m the son they’ve always had.” Holding his clean clothes in one hand, he grabbed a slice of pizza with the other, raising it in a toast. “Cheers.” He put it in his mouth, swallowed a large bite, and left the room.

While I waited, I wandered over to a bookshelf. Unlike his music collection, his books were more what I’d expect from an angel. There were copies of Dante’s Divine Comedy, Milton’s Paradise Lost—which we’d be covering in English later this year—several versions of the Bible, the Talmud, and the Qu’ran. I also saw an old leather-bound book on demonology, and one called Demon Lore.

On the table was a smaller book called The Book of Enoch. Curious, I opened it and noticed that one of the pages had been folded down. I read:

1. And it came to pass when the children of men had multiplied that in those days were born unto them beautiful and comely daughters.

2. And the angels, the children of the heaven, saw and lusted after them, and said to one another: ‘Come, let us choose us wives from among the children of men and beget us children.’

It was the story of the Watchers and how they fell, which was what happened to Michael. The book went on about the children of the Grigori and human women. It explained that they were giants, called Nephilim, and they were led by a demon called Azazel.

Azazel! My mind darted back to the horrific creature we had seen earlier that night. This demon was a leader of giants? What about the half-human, half-angelic beings? What did they look like?

Images flickered in my mind, dark images where I was screaming, sweat pouring down my face, my hand gripping Michael’s with waning strength. The shards of memory were hazy and weak, but I could tell I was giving birth. I was in a dark, cavernous room with stone walls lit only by firelight. I had an old woman helping me. Her eyes were blue and cloudy with cataracts but her hands were deft, experienced. She touched my forehead with a cool cloth, encouraged me to breathe.

I was halfway out of the memory when Michael came into the room. His feet were bare, his hair wet, and his gray T-shirt was slightly damp at the hollow of his chest. The smell of steam and soap wafted behind him.

“We had a child?” I asked. I had no breath. The recollection came upon me fast, too, like vertigo. My stomach lurched, and I was suddenly glad I hadn’t eaten. “A giant. Like Azazel.”

Michael removed the book from my shaking hand and placed it on the table. “We did.”

“I gave birth to a demon!” I all but shrieked.

“We didn’t know what it would be,” he said.

My legs wouldn’t support me anymore, so I collapsed on the couch. “W–what was Azazel doing here? Was he—it—my…” I couldn’t bring myself to say the word “son.”

Michael shook his head, his face blanching. “That creature was destroyed a long time ago.”

“What happened?”

“It developed a taste for human flesh,” he said. “I couldn’t let it loose on the world. Not after what it did to you.” Then, as though the horror of what had happened had resurfaced, he raked both his hands through his wet hair. “I killed it. I had to.”

I couldn’t remember the pain, but the memory of it showed on his face. I didn’t have to ask what it had done to me. He had been there the whole time, watching, and in spite of all the power he’d once had, he could do nothing to stop it. I saw him holding my hand, his tortured expression, his helplessness. I remembered a heat ripping through me, as though the baby would tear itself out with its claws if it had to. Apparently it did, and Michael had killed his own son because it was a monster.

As if we were both seeing the same memory, he added, “What we did. What I did. It killed you.”

The memory was painful, but it wasn’t his fault. Women had died in childbirth throughout history. Granted, these were different circumstances and it was me he was talking about, but it was a long, long time ago.

“It doesn’t have to be that way,” I said. “We don’t have to have…offspring.”

“It’s not that simple,” he snapped. “I broke laws of a very high order, and that was an abomination in itself. My offspring, as you put it, was simply its manifestation.”

“Why would you be punished for love? You told me to feel love earlier and it kept the demon away.”

“It does. Love does. But not lust, not enthrallment. There’s something wrong with me. Angels are supposed to be impartial. You were in our care. We weren’t supposed to desire you—let alone be blinded by it. We were supposed to watch over you, guide you, protect you from temptation—not lead you into it. God, Mia, I was so easily tempted to want more, to cross that line… Now, it’s how I’m tested. How the demons get in.”

So he was being tested. That was why he pushed me away. Even though we came from different worlds, we were drawn to each other so intensely it could hurt both of us. Just kissing me appeared to weaken his defenses, leaving him open to being attacked like we were tonight. Could things be any more impossible between us?

“Was Azazel a test?” I asked, still confused by it.

“Yes. No. He took advantage of the moment. It’s what demons do. They’ll exploit any weakness.”

“He mentioned Damiel.”

“Azazel wasn’t acting alone, that’s for sure. He was delivering a message. Damiel will be back soon.” He leaned against the fireplace and folded his arms across his chest. “From the looks of it, he’s bringing backup.”

What he said had to be true, but that didn’t stop me from wishing it weren’t. For the last day or so, I’d put the idea of Damiel’s return aside, hoping it wouldn’t happen, but now it was something I couldn’t run away from. When I’d last seen him, Damiel had been in human form. Michael’s battle with him may have been quicker, less gory, but I knew from the way he had been protecting me that Damiel was a much bigger threat than Azazel ever was.

“What do you mean by backup?” I asked, but on some level I already knew the answer. The demon had given us Damiel’s regards.

I pulled my knees into my chest and hugged them for support. Michael didn’t move closer to comfort me. Instead he flipped a switch on the wall and with a hiss of gas a fire ignited in the fireplace. “When I fought him that night, I knew he went too easily. All I did was dispatch him, temporarily freeing the body he’d been possessing, but I did him no real damage.” I noticed how talking about Damiel agitated him, tightening his shoulders and hands, making the tendons pop. “What Azazel said tipped me off. Damiel’s up to more than I suspected.”

“What is he up to?” I asked.

He reached between his shoulder blades and pulled out a long silver handle that curved to fit perfectly in his grip. “He’s building an army.”

“Why? What is he going to do?”

“I don’t know his plans, but it’s a very old grudge between him and me.” He examined the handle. Carved with ornate scrollwork and ancient lettering, it was beautiful. “I don’t think it’s just me he’s after. I think he wants you, too.”

“Me?” The blood chilled in my veins despite the fire. “Why?”

“That was my fault. I trusted him.”

His mouth forming a hard line, Michael focused on the object in his hands. His sword expanded from it, faster than a switchblade and at least as long as his arm. It made me jump.

“Where did that come from?” I said.

“A sheath between my wings.”

Between his wings? Had it been there all the time?

The sword’s blue light glinted in his eyes. Something about it turned his expression from grief to something quiet and determined, deadly even.

“Let me guess, it’s inter-dimensional too?”

“Don’t worry,” he said. “It can’t hurt you.” He moved closer to me and held out the blade.

It seemed to be made from some kind of metallic light, blue but not a laser; there was a silver, steely quality to it as well. Slowly he moved it toward me. “Touch it. You’ll see what I mean.”

I reached a fingertip to the blade and my finger passed right through it, like it was a hologram. There was a cold tickle where it had connected, but no pain. “How does it work?”

“By intention. It can’t hurt humans, but it’s fatal to demons.” To illustrate his point, he ran the blade through his own arm. There was a rippling of light, but no damage. Raising his sword, he readjusted his grip. “Try it again.”

I reached for the blade expecting nothing to be there, and this time it was a cold steel, icy beneath my fingers, but not sharp. The blue light buzzed and arced around them.

“My intention can make it into a blunt instrument, but that’s as much damage as it can do. We’re meant to protect humanity, not harm them.” There was something in his tone—guilt perhaps—that made me wonder what he’d done.

He transferred the blade to his left hand and rotated his wrist, the weapon a silent extension of his arm. So that was how he’d managed to dispatch Damiel without hurting his vessel, Giulio.

“What happened between you and Damiel?” I asked, wanting to know what Michael was talking about before he’d changed the subject. It was an area I had no memory of. “How is trusting him your fault?”

“He saw my obsession back then and tried to keep me away from you, but I wouldn’t listen. His sin was envy. That envy made him competitive, so he wanted everything I had. My rank and position…” He glanced at me and I could tell it still shook him to speak of it. “You. He wanted you because you loved me. It became a compulsion.”

Envy. I thought about how Damiel had sent hellhounds to look for me but only appeared in person after I was hung up on Michael, and it made me shudder.

“He fell quickly,” Michael continued. “Since we were close once, fighting him was especially hard. But I managed to keep him away from you.”

“You protected me from him.”

He stopped moving the sword but didn’t retract it. “For purely selfish reasons.”

“Are you worried about fighting him again?”

“I’m used to dealing with monsters. I’ve been one.” He retracted his sword and sheathed it, and his face held all the weariness of someone who had lived a long life of pain and war. Although his body had healed, these were different scars and they haunted him still. “But I can’t be everywhere all the time, and if he’s after you—”

“You’ve protected me before.”

“If it weren’t for me, Damiel would never have come after you. We wouldn’t be in this mess if I’d stayed away. I should have left when I saw you again.”

His words sliced through me. Was that how he felt? That his life would be better without me in it? “Fine,” I said bitterly. I was used to being alone. “Why don’t you leave, then?” Everyone else does!

He crouched before me, his expression filled with regret. “I can’t.”

“Why, because Damiel’s coming? Because you have to protect me?”

“It’s what I do, Mia.” He took both of my hands in his and bowed his head as though in prayer. “Let me do that, at least. Let me do it right this time and protect you because you deserve it. Because it’s the right thing to do.”

I pulled my hands away and got up. “I don’t want you to stay with me because it’s your job as an angel or because you feel obligated to get it right this time.”

His face flooded with what looked like thousands of years of self-loathing and punishment. “Is that what you think?”

“Isn’t that what you’re saying?” I said, realizing that I didn’t know what I thought. I didn’t even know where I stood with him from one day to the next. “You stay because you have to.”

“No, I stay with you because…” He took a deep breath, but when he spoke it was barely a whisper. “I can’t stand being away from you.”

“You can’t?”

Hardly able to believe what I was hearing, I fought the urge to cry. I’d never known anyone who wanted to be around me before. Since my parents’ divorce, I’d been alone. The family I’d come to rely on had all but fallen apart. Mom worked all the time to look after us. Dad had no time for me. I’d moved, made new friends, but it wasn’t the same. I may have been used to being alone, but being used to something wasn’t the same thing as being okay with it.

Michael had focused only on the danger, made it explicitly clear that it was real, not only from Damiel and an army of demons, but even from himself if he enthralled me or lost his way. I thought he had to protect me from all of it, that I was just something from his past he had to resolve. I accepted it, because being near him made the pain and loneliness of my life go away. But it was more than that. I couldn’t bear being away from him either, and I’d never stop loving or wanting him.

Standing before me, he inched closer, and the pull to be near him tugged at my skin and tightened my lungs until I was short of breath. Then, as though he could read my mind, Michael drew me to him, wrapping his arms around me as though I were on fire and he was extinguishing the flames.

“I thought you knew,” he whispered.

His arms tightened around me, and with the warmth and strength of his body pressed against mine, his heartbeat pulsing against my cheek, I felt completely safe. I crushed myself into him, matching my breathing with his.

He stroked my hair, and I raised my hands from around his waist and slid them up his back, between his shoulder blades. Sinewy muscles vibrated under his shirt, scalding my hands. They tingled and burned from touching him.

He let out his breath softly. “Your hands are cold.”

“Is this…?”

“Where my wings join? Yes.”

“Does it hurt when they come out?”

“No.” I could hear his smile. “But I’ve never carried another person before.”

“Really? Not even way back when?”

“Especially not then.” As he said it, an image flashed in my mind of his wings, white and beautiful, outstretched behind him. Same as the wings in the dream I’d had years ago. They were his wings that someone was trying to take—not mine. Why did I dream it, then? Had I actually been there when it happened?

The next thing I saw were bloody wounds on what must have been his back, the skin dark red and puckered as it healed. “You had scars,” I said, wincing, unable to think about what had caused them.

Hearing my pained expression, he backed away from me, his hands gripping my elbows. “You remember that?”

“How could anyone do that to you?”

“I chose to fall,” he said harshly. “I deserved it.”

“Nobody deserves that!”

“You don’t know the whole story…” Crossing his arms, he leaned against the mantel, his eyes downcast, as though he couldn’t face what he was about to say. “The Grigori were terrible when they—when we fell. Without remorse. We took whatever we wanted.”

I wasn’t sure what he was saying. Had he attacked me? Is that what had happened? “And you wanted me?”

“Beyond all reason. The creature you gave birth to was my fault.” His gaze shot through me like he was waiting for me to hate him; clearly, he hated himself. “Something that horrible could only be conceived through coercion…or worse.”

Or worse?What had he done?

I felt the room spin for a moment like I was on that ride at the amusement park, the one that twirls so fast it holds you to the sides with centrifugal force—right before the floor drops out from under you. I’d trusted him. How could he?

Focusing, I tried to recall the past, wracking my brain for any sign of what he might be talking about. I couldn’t remember violence or being forced in any way. All I could remember was the joy we felt when we were together and then his pain as he stood at my bedside, watching my life slip away. “You said we didn’t know what it would be. Did you know?”

This was the past, ancient history in fact, and yet Michael’s expression showed a grief so raw it might as well have happened yesterday.

“No. I didn’t think it would happen to us,” he muttered. “Enthrallment is a type of coercion. For all I know, I—”

I cut him off. “What do you mean, for all you know? Don’t you even remember what you did?”

“I’ve done terrible things.” Taking a deep breath, he let it out slowly. “I don't remember everything.” His eyes shone in hollowed sockets pulled so tight, it made him look ancient. “Part of me doesn’t want to… If you knew how far I fell, you’d hate me.”

As he struggled to control his emotions, I wondered if this was all he thought of himself. I may not know what he did back then, but I knew what he was like now: carrying me out of the woods, saving me from hellhounds, fighting Damiel and Azazel. He’d done everything in his power to keep me safe. “I could never hate you.”

“Never’s a long time,” he said, his voice wavering. Before I could reach for him, he backed away and motioned toward the door. “It’s getting late. I’ll take you home.”