The Watcher

Chapter Twenty-Five



When she placed her scorching hands on my head, a brilliant white light erupted through my brain like sheet lightning. I couldn’t help but gasp.

“I know it’s warm, but it won’t do any damage. Just keep breathing.”

“As if I’m going to stop,” I said, but I focused on my breath anyway.

My mind blanked as though it were rebooting, obliterating any thoughts I had about what we were doing or what would happen next. An exploding fireworks display of colors and images followed, pictures that came so fast I couldn’t make sense of them. I winced, inhaling sharply as a piercing pain shot between my eyes. “What are you doing?”

“Nice, deep breaths. This will pass too.” The resonant tones of her voice echoed right through me.

I closed my eyes, the sound of her voice guiding me until the pain subsided, and a tunnel of brilliant golden light presented itself. I followed it until I saw Michael. Sitting on a roughly-carved wooden stool, he watched as I took wildflowers from my hair and placed them in a bowl of water, their silken petals limp between my fingers. We were inside the same house I’d had visions of before, and through its small round holes for windows, stars sparkled in the night sky. Next to us stood a table covered with dried fruits and cheeses left over from a feast, from some kind of celebration—our wedding.

Michael stood, his full height almost to the ceiling, and held out his hand to me. He spoke a different language, but somehow I understood it.

“Come to bed—wife.” The corners of his lips curled into a smile filled with desire and the promise of such pleasure that my skin flushed even remembering it.

Was this it? Was this what he was forbidden to do? Marry me?

But in that life, I smiled and danced, twirling around him and humming a tune from that time as I meandered toward our bed. Light from the fire flickered in the blackness of his eyes. He was different then. Even though his face held all the signs of his beauty, it was shadowed by a sadness that I hadn’t seen in him before, as if his glory had dimmed somehow. But in that moment I didn’t notice. I was focused on him, fueled as much by his desire as by my own. When I was close to the bed, he grabbed my arms, raising them above my head, and kissed me hungrily, without restraint, and a rush of passion flowed through me.

From what Michael had suggested about our past, I would have expected a wild disrobing or something forced at this part, but this was gentle, beautiful. It was strange to have a full memory of something I hadn’t done in this lifetime. I couldn’t see myself but saw it through my own eyes, as though it were happening to me, which it did. Even back then, the chemistry between us was incredible, and though it was only a memory my body responded.

Grappling for self-control, knowing that it wasn’t actually happening in the moment, that I wasn’t alone, I nervously pushed the memory aside, hoping Arielle couldn’t see it. At least Michael wasn’t with me. I would have jumped him for sure.

Next, I saw us waking with the sunrise, naked on a bed of furs, Michael peaceful as he slept. Scars ran down the length of his back where his wings had once been.

Like being startled awake, I snapped out of the memory with a pounding heart, a dry mouth, and sweaty palms. Arielle’s hands rested on my shoulders as she searched my face for an answer.

“Could you see what I saw?” I said.

She shook her head. “I could only see you were getting memories and feel your feelings.”

“All my feelings?” I cringed, thinking that some things should be private.

“You were so in love.”

“Still am,” I muttered under my breath.

Arielle hugged me. “Human love is frightening and tempestuous, but it can be beautiful, I’ll give it that.”

“I don’t understand what Michael did that was so wrong.”

“What did you see?”

“Our wedding night,” I began, then explained the image as clearly as I could, leaving out the personal, embarrassing details. Arielle asked me if I was forced or in pain at any point, but I wasn’t. There was nothing in that memory that I didn’t want to hold onto. It was beautiful and I would cherish it. “He slept. He told me that angels never slept.”

“That’s because he’d fallen,” she explained. “Angels were forbidden to mate with humans. Breaking our laws would drain him—make him mortal—so he had to be careful. Those who continued to fall would steal people’s life force in order to survive.”

“You mean Damiel?”

She nodded pensively. “Would you be willing to look again? Perhaps a different memory?”

“Yes. But I’m thirsty,” I said, and got up to pour myself a glass of orange juice. The muscles all over my body were strained and achy. My legs wobbled, so on my way back from the kitchen I stopped to stretch them out. As I bent forward and clasped my hands behind my back, one of my ribs popped back into place at least, but the pain in my muscles frustrated me.

“What you’re remembering isn’t coming from your mind in this life. It’s coming from your soul. I’m taking you so far into your soul’s past that your mind can’t process it, so it resists with physical pain. You may also experience fatigue or anger,” Arielle said, smiling kindly at me. “You’re doing really well.”

“How will this ever help Michael?”

“Are you ready to try again?” she asked. “You’ll be perfectly safe. I’ll be right here.”

“Yes.” I tried to not betray the sense of anticipation that welled inside me.

When she placed her hands on my head again, the heat was less intense than before. The images came as soon as I closed my eyes.

This time, I saw more of the ancient city where we used to live. It was near the sea. A huge sandstone wall surrounded it like a fortress, and in the center of the city was a great sandstone ziggurat. The house I lived in was on a farm near the edge of the city. It belonged to my family. Not sure where to go next, I thought about Michael.

Next thing I knew, I was in the woods outside the city walls. Michael stood before me wearing a long robe, and his downy white wings glowed behind him in the shade of the trees. Physically, he was huge. The top arc of his wings reached a good two feet above his own head, compounding his size as he towered over me. Seeing him filled me with a mixture of dread and awe that drove me to my knees. My breath came in gasps and I was dizzyingly afraid, astounded by this wondrous creature.

He caught me and lifted me back to my feet, shaking his head. Kneeling before me, he bowed his head and stayed there, motionless, until my fear subsided.

From a pouch on his belt, he presented me with a small ornate jar, carved from a clear crystal. Each incision captured the light, refracting into colored spectrums—like the light from his wings. When I opened the jar, the oil inside smelled of flowers and amber from the trees. He motioned for me to put some on my wrist, so I did.

“What are you seeing now?” It was Arielle’s voice, interrupting my memory.

“A meadow. He’s giving me perfume,” I said. The image wobbled slightly as I spoke. It was difficult to talk and focus on it at the same time.

“Try to see what happens next,” she offered.

“Okay.” I strained to concentrate. The images flickered slightly and faded out.

“Relax a bit more. You can’t force it.”

I tried to relax, but a flash of light erupted between my eyes again, followed by that short, stabbing pain. Instinctively, my hand gripped the bridge of my nose. Then the image flickered and shorted out, giving way to darkness.

I let out a groan of frustration. “It’s gone now.”

“It’s late,” Arielle said. “You’re tired. We should take a break.”

“What about the other memories?”

“The soul’s memories are delicate. They’re between a person and God. As an angel, I can take you to them but we can’t force it. If we do, we could damage them, which is what Damiel tried to do,” she said firmly, “and I won’t do that.”

“When can we start again?”

“A few hours. I’ll be right here.” Leaning forward on the couch, she tilted her head sideways and closed her eyes, listening. I imagined it was the way she tuned in to the others. “Michael’s fine.” She waved me off. “Get some rest.”

As strange as it was to have Arielle babysitting me, it would be pointless to argue about it, and when I lay down exhaustion took over. As soon as I closed my eyes, my dreams came in heatedly, almost too numerous to track. One of them was the dream about the birds I’d had the first day of school. This time, they were angels—Michael and Damiel destroying each other—and I still wasn’t able to stop it.

I woke up with the sunrise on Saturday morning, filled with panic. Heart racing, I got out of bed, my muscles complaining as though I’d overdone it in gym class. The coppery metallic tang of adrenaline filled my mouth, so I went to brush my teeth. Splashing cold water on my face to wake up, I caught my reflection in the mirror, surprised to see that the eyes staring back at me belonged to a stranger. They were mine but not mine, like I was looking at myself from a different life—that life. Brown skin, long black hair, a slightly more streamlined nose, higher cheekbones, and a smaller mouth. I was me but not me, the face unfamiliar and yet strangely so.

As soon as it appeared, it faded, and my own face stared back at me again.

Trying to shake it off, I jumped into the shower, hoping the hot water would soothe my sore body and frazzled nerves. It did. When I got out and got dressed, I realized Mom was already home and in bed. I had nothing planned for the weekend. I’d been keeping the day open to spend with Michael, and his absence left an enormous hole. I didn’t think about Arielle until I went into the living room and found her sitting on the couch. I nearly jumped when I saw her.

“Good. You’ve rested,” she said. “Are you ready to try again?”

I nodded, seating myself beside her.

“I want you to go back to the memory you were having last night, about the perfume,” she said. “We can use it as a marker and move forward from there.”

“How do I do that?”

“Just think about the memory. I’ll do the rest.” She placed her hands on my head as she had the night before. This time they seemed to burn even less. The images returned instantly.

“Got it.” I could see Michael in the forest, the perfume bottle, Michael encouraging me to try some. In the vision, he smiled at me and left.

“Try going forward now.”

I focused again, trying to both relax and concentrate at the same time. The image advanced quickly, as though I were chasing a dream.

I was in the woods, collecting ingredients to make dyes for the cloth I was weaving. The sky grew increasingly darker and it was time to head back. As I gathered the last few red flowers and placed them in my basket, Michael stepped onto the path. Darkness surrounded him. His once-white wings were gray and tattered, as though they’d been singed, and his eyes, usually clear and blue, took on strange red hues. They were rimmed with shadows. He looked stricken with—what was it? Anger? Need?

“What’s the matter?” I asked.

A haunted smile touched his lips. “I fell.”

Not fully understanding, I shook my head.

“It was the only way,” he said. Tears filled my eyes, shocked by the realization of what he’d done. Brushing my cheek, he leaned into me until his face was inches away. “I’ve wanted to do this for so long.”

Then he kissed me, and the feelings I’d been trying to hide around him flooded through me. They were met by an even stronger force: him. I let myself be taken by that force like a storm. It wasn’t right to want an angel this way. The tribal elders had warned all of us, but I didn’t care what anyone else thought. In that moment, none of those barriers existed. We flowed smoothly together, and when he swept me up into his arms, I was no longer afraid of anything.

My memory jumped forward a few minutes. This time, I was partially disrobed under the shadow of the trees, cool in the moonlight. His warm hands—strong and rough from working the fields—held me back as I strained to reach for him. The more he hesitated, the more I wanted him closer to me, mesmerized by the darkness. In him, it was beautiful. He stopped and gazed at me as the blue returned to his eyes. They were still mostly black, and something urgent and inhuman flickered behind them, something he was holding back.

I kissed him again as he slid out of his robes. His body was lean and incredibly strong. It both frightened and excited me. His skin burned against mine as I traced the muscles of his chest, down the tight ridges of his abdomen to the corded muscles above his hips, and he moaned softly, his lips pressing against the side of my neck.

The next thing I heard was a deep, musical voice—several of them. A bright light shone above us.

“They’re over here.”

I tried to see who was there, whose voices made the chord of music that spoke, but I couldn’t see over the cover of Michael’s wings. Whoever they were, their approach had been as silent and stealthy as hunters.

Michael didn’t pay attention to the voices. Exploring the length of my body, he held me, locked in some kind of trance.

A few things happened at once. Two sets of huge, strong hands grabbed him by the chest and lifted him off of me as he let out a snarl of frustration, trying to struggle from their grasp. Another set of hands grabbed the skirt of my dress, covering my body before the others could see it. I turned to the person who covered me. It was Arielle. She glowed the same as she did now, but back then was the first time I’d ever seen it, and it frightened me.

“You were there!” I spoke out loud to the Arielle in the room with me. As I did, the memory shook like a glitch in worn filmstrip.

“Stay with it,” Arielle said. “Stay with the memory.”

I returned my full focus to the vision playing in my mind’s eye and saw the two larger angels hold Michael back. They were also huge. Though he looked different, one of them was Damiel.

“Leave now, Arielle,” Damiel said. “You do not need to witness this.”

She bowed her head obediently and turned to walk away; the forest dimmed as she left. My attention returned to the two other angels who held Michael captive. Though Damiel was slightly smaller than Michael, the other angel with them was huge. He towered over both of them, his hair the color of wheat, his eyes a golden fire. His wings were white and clean, with the slightest graying around the edges. The light around him shone brilliantly, not as bright as Arielle, but brighter than either Michael or Damiel.

Damiel slapped Michael’s face. “I warned you about this.”

The other angel touched Damiel’s arm, restraining him. He spoke directly to Michael, his voice stern, condemning. “Do you know what your crime is?”

Michael nodded, his head bowed.

“Speak it.”

“Lust.” His voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper.

“You admit it freely?”

“Yes.”

“Are you aware of the punishment?” the angel asked, walking around to face him.

“Banishment,” Michael answered, bracing himself.

“So be it,” he said firmly, not seeming to take the slightest pleasure in his work. “Michael, third rank in the Order of Grigori, in the name of God, I banish you. You are no longer welcome in the Kingdom of Heaven.” The blond Grigori’s words hit Michael like a blow to the chest. He exhaled sharply and his shoulders slumped in defeat.

Damiel’s face shone with satisfaction. “My Lord Raguel, what if he tries to come back?”

“He won’t,” said Raguel.

“We’ve seen others try before. We must prevent him. Make an example of him… We must take his wings.”

Raguel was contemplative, and Michael’s eyes widened in terror. The thought that someone so fearless could know such fear horrified me. I wanted to comfort him. Even if he had broken their rules, he didn’t deserve this. Nobody did.

“We will use them for good,” said Damiel. “They can be used to warn the others so that no more of us will fall.”

“No!” I cried out.

Damiel turned to me fiercely. “You tempted him with your body. You made him do it. Don’t think I don’t know your guilt in this.” He moved closer to me, staring me down as though he could see right through my clothes. Even then, his harshness with me was covering something. Was it my fault? I did want Michael. What if he could feel it then, too?

“Enough,” said Raguel.

“What if she tempts another?”

“We will take his wings—as an example—but do not torment the girl. God created women for a reason.” His expression shifted to one of disdain. For an angel he was a pompous ass, but he terrified me nonetheless. “If a woman tempts an angel, it is the angel’s weakness… She has Eve’s curse upon her. That is enough.”

Damiel bowed his head obsequiously. “As you wish, My Lord. Do you want to perform the excision, or shall I?”

I looked at Michael, horrified, unable to move or run away, as shame draped itself around him like a tattered cloak. I was his only witness. The punishment didn’t fit the crime. He’d chosen to fall, but what if I had tempted him? I had loved him, admired him, yearned for his presence.

There was a part of my memory that was blocked, too terrible to witness—too challenging to remember. All I could see was darkness. All I could hear were Michael’s screams and Damiel’s voice, cold and chilling, calling Michael a rapist, telling him over and over again that it was fit punishment for assaulting me.

Rapist? Assaulting me? Is that what Michael believed? It wasn’t like that at all! My chest ached as the light around him went out, fading to a blackened memory.