The Watcher

Chapter Twenty-Eight



The body the two cloaked creatures dragged in lay slumped on the wood floor like a statue of defeat. His broken, immobile wings furled crookedly behind him, and his head lolled to the side. His dark, wavy hair was damp and matted with blood—a head wound. Though I’d tried to stop him from having to face Damiel, deep down I should have known Michael would come. It was his nature, and he was dead because of it.

Nothing mattered now. There was nothing Damiel could do to me that was worse than this. Not his gleeful laughter nor his gloating. Bile burned in my throat at the sight of Michael’s limp, lifeless body, a body that I had been so close to only a few hours earlier. Now his once-white singlet was tattered, covered in grime, his muscular form covered in claw marks, bloody scratches, and bites. It wasn’t a clean death. He’d been hurt first. A lot.

Tears stained my vision, blurring the room, so I didn’t see Damiel walk toward Michael’s body, but I could hear his footsteps and the dreadful thudding sound of flesh being hit.

“That’s for not letting me kill you again myself,” Damiel growled.

In that moment, the last vestige of hope locked itself away as the reality of my situation seeped in. No one else would come for me. Nobody knew I was here, which left me as good as dead. I didn’t have a plan for surviving this. My plans ended at trying to leave town. Now Michael was gone too, and all I had left were memories. I hadn’t deserved his love, but he gave it to me selflessly, despite the trouble it caused him, to the point of fighting to the death to try to save me.

It was up to me to get myself out of this alive and preferably not pregnant. All I had to do was outsmart Damiel and get past his minions. But how? There had to be a way.

Damiel turned back to me, a gleeful expression on his face, as though seeing Michael dead had excited him even more. I turned my face away to hide my tears. The heat and demand of his attention pressed upon me. I tried to think fast. Since I couldn’t move, all I had left to trick him with was my mind. But a fog returned to my thoughts.

“Look at me.”

“No!”

Roughly, he grabbed my face and turned it. Seeing my tears, he said mockingly, “Aw, you’re grieving him.”

This time, his kiss was hungry and repulsive. His hands grabbed me like I was meat, making my flesh crawl. It made me sick. How could I have gotten myself into this? Turning my face away, I gazed idly in Michael’s direction, grasping for any memory of him I could to comfort me.

With all his attention on me, Damiel was no longer paying attention to Michael’s body. Nobody had noticed that his wounds were healing or that there was a golden glow coming off his skin. I did. I held my breath, hoping against hope that Michael was still alive.

When his body first moved, I hardly believed it. But then he moved again. In one swift and precise motion, he was standing, with his sword out. Then he crossed the room with incredible speed, grabbed Damiel, and pulled him off me. He’d feigned his death. It was only a bluff. Relief coursed through me as Michael took up the battle with Damiel, slashing at him with his sword.

From the other room, I heard the door burst open and a woman, or rather a female chorus, said, “Hello, boys.”

I recognized Arielle’s voice and heard her attack the two henchmen, making quick work of them. But she kept her distance from Damiel and Michael. It was their fight.

They moved so quickly I could hardly see them. Yet Michael and Damiel were desperately well matched in strength and skill. Because Michael was strong and graceful, Damiel had to be cunning. He fought hard and dirty, taunting Michael mercilessly.

“That sweet little girl of yours sure looks good. I’m surprised you can resist her,” Damiel said.

“That’s because you’re you,” Michael replied, lunging at Damiel with his sword and missing by an inch. Damiel used a different weapon; his hands were heated. Red flames licked off of them. He threw the blaze at Michael, searing his flesh.

“I’m going to enjoy her,” Damiel persisted, “and she’ll enjoy it, too.”

“You’ve incapacitated her. She can’t even move,” Michael said through clenched teeth. His sword landed on Damiel’s right shoulder, disabling the demon’s next blow. Hellfire sputtered to the floor and fizzled, leaving no mark. “You’re pathetic.”

“Your memory’s selective, old friend,” he sneered, hurling flames from his left hand. Michael dodged, and the flames missed but Damiel’s words didn’t. “Have you forgotten where you’ve been?”

Michael paled and his concentration faltered. Lunging, Damiel grasped the handle of Michael’s fiery blue sword and threw it to the ground.

“There was this one girl. It was twelfth-century Portofino, I believe. She looked just like you, Mia—well, how you used to look,” Damiel said, positioning himself between Michael and the now-extinguished sword. “Her father wouldn’t let him near her, but Michael was determined. He killed him.”

I wished I could cover my ears. As much as I wanted to know more about Michael and what he’d done, I didn’t want to hear about it from Damiel. Not like this. He would only twist things.

Michael didn’t even try to deny what was said, as though Damiel’s words had a narcotic effect. Damiel quickly gained the upper hand, lunging and thrusting at Michael with fiery fists, and I couldn’t do anything to stop it. All I could do was watch as Damiel hurt him all over again.

“If you could only see the things he used to do…” Damiel said.

Michael had been hurt. What he had done in Hell was probably worse than I could imagine, but it was as though I was hearing about someone else. It didn’t fit with the guy I knew. Michael wasn’t like that anymore. Right? Holding him to blame for something that happened after he was tortured was as unfair as blaming a prisoner of war for doing what he had to do to survive.

“It’s for the best that you left him, Mia,” Damiel sneered and swung at Michael, his left fist connecting with Michael’s ribs. “Why would you want to be with someone so ruthless and bloodthirsty?”

Someone like you, you mean. Damiel was trying to stop me from loving Michael, but I couldn’t let anything change the way I felt. Michael had been disarmed. Knowing he could feel everything I did, even doubt, I had to trust him more now than ever. Or Damiel would kill both of us.

I focused on my feelings of love, the way Michael had told me to do around Azazel. This time, I refused to fail.

Staggering from one of Damiel’s blows, Michael glanced at me, and to my relief something changed. A white rage came over him and, seeming to regain his senses, he caught Damiel’s next punch and threw one of his own.

Seeing the change in Michael, Damiel hissed. “Do you think I’m back just for her?”

Without a word, Michael lunged for his sword. The blade shot out immediately in a flash of blue light, slicing Damiel’s waist. It left no mark. “I think you came back for me.”

“You flatter yourself.” Visibly weakened, Damiel spat on the floor. But when Michael kept his attention on the fight and didn’t respond, he continued, “I’m back for another chance at having my offspring. You killed him last time.”

Michael stopped fighting as a look of recognition and horror crossed his face. Every candle in the room flickered as though they’d been hit by a gust of wind. Seizing the moment, Damiel persisted. “That’s right. Your precious Sajani was unfaithful to you.” Hearing him use my ancient name felt obscene.

What he said must have affected Michael too, because Damiel was able to knock him down, driving a thunderous blow between the wings that brought him to his knees. “I was always better. Even better at satisfying her.”

Michael looked at me and there was pain in his eyes. More pain I’d put there. The memory of being enthralled and overpowered by Damiel millennia ago came back to me. I didn’t have a chance to fight him off. And now, unable to move or speak, I still couldn’t fight. I couldn’t even explain what happened. There was no way to tell Michael the truth.

The room chilled, and hoarfrost formed on the windows as hundreds of black, shadowy creatures—hellhounds—stormed the cabin like a massive infestation of cockroaches—that is, if cockroaches were the size of wolves. Although I knew a lone hellhound could hardly get past an angel’s halo, a group of them was another matter. These had already materialized, and soon, after several had fallen to the strength of Michael and Arielle’s halos, others managed to get through. Within a minute, they were swarmed. The two of them fought well, their swords blazing blue light with speed and deadly accuracy, but they were quickly overcome. Black smoke, slime, and blood spattered everywhere. As fast as Michael could heal, the creatures tore at his flesh. His breathing labored, he even cried out. Arielle lost her balance and fell.

Certain that the hellhounds would finish the angels off, Damiel walked away from the fight with a smug look on his face and turned to me. “Now, where were we?”

I fought the urge to scream, knowing I wouldn’t make a sound. It would just make me feel pathetic. I could wiggle my toes now and move my hands with great effort. I had to outsmart him, to buy myself time, so I gave Damiel what I hoped was a sultry smile and said nothing. It seemed to work. He walked toward me, unbuttoning and removing his shirt.

Could deceit work on the deceiver? I was about to find out.

“Right. You were going to tell me how much you wanted me.” He waved his hand and something released in my throat.

“How do you see this playing out?” I asked him. He glared at me seductively. I swallowed the bile that rose to my mouth. “I mean, once we do this, what about the child? What about me?”

“What do you mean?”

“You keep saying you want me. But what if you got me?”

“Oh, I will.” He gave me a menacing look.

“What if I wanted to be with you?”

He looked dubious, so I lied more. I could only hear the fighting in the other room, Michael’s increased breathing, the wet, thudding sounds of flesh being hit, the cracking of bones. I had to focus, keep my attention on Damiel and remember that his sin was, above all else, envy. I had to use it to my advantage.

“You were right, you know. I could never be satisfied with half a relationship. That’s why I ended it. Wanting but never having—this whole celibacy thing gets tired after a while,” I said, hoping he’d buy it.

To my relief, he did. He rushed me then and kissed me. It was animalistic and passionate, and very human. Hardly demonic at all. The heady flood of his energetic glamour poured into me, making the experience less horrible than I expected. Not that it was pleasant or exciting by any means, but my body seemed to know what it needed to do to survive, and I responded to him.

Just close your eyes and think of Michael, a voice inside me said. Tell him what you’d tell Michael.

“I wish I could touch you,” I heard myself say, motioning to my hands with my eyes.

Damiel stopped kissing me and placed his hand on my face. The gesture freed me from my bondage so I could move again. As promised, I touched his chest, pretending it belonged to someone else, someone I loved. His skin was smooth and warm to the touch. It was Giulio’s skin, but Damiel seemed to enjoy it.

“What if…” I began, then paused, waiting for him to want to hear what I had to say.

“What if what?” he asked, kissing my neck. I held my breath so I would be forced to gasp, to elevate my own breathing.

“What if I wanted you more than him?”

His eyes glowed red. “I can make that possible for you.” He then lifted his hand to my forehead again and I could see the dark swirls coming off his fingers. All I had to do was let him touch me and I would want to be with him. All of this would be easy.

I shook my head. “It won’t be real if you force me.”

He stared at me a long time, as though trying to figure me out. I did my best to give him a smoldering look. I still heard fighting in the next room, but couldn’t move to watch what was going on. I just prayed that Michael was safe. Arielle, too. At the very least, I needed to keep Damiel distracted.

“Why wouldn’t I want you just for you?” I put on a smile, stroking his chest. “Have you seen you?”

He let out a deep laugh that sounded even more inhuman than before and kissed my neck, his teeth grazing my throat. I gasped involuntarily with fear but pretended to enjoy it.

“If you want the love that should be Michael’s,” I said, “you can have it.”

He hesitated. Envy is the act of wanting what another person has. Once something was given freely, would it mean the same? He said he wanted me to look at him the way I looked at Michael. Would it work? Would he still want my heart if it didn’t belong to another? I remembered how I felt with Michael, the breathless need to connect, and I tried to show that in my eyes. I could only hope he bought it. Then he kissed me again, hungrily, without gentleness, as his hands explored my body. I squirmed involuntarily; luckily he took it for pleasure.

I kept talking and, not sure what exactly to say, I ad-libbed. “Yes, you can have me…and I will have your son, as I did so long ago.” He let out a grunt of pleasure hearing that, which told me I was on the right track. “Let Michael keep his goodness…”

Hearing that, he stopped kissing me. A snarl formed on his face.

Ignoring the threat of his rage, I continued, “And his redemption.”

Damiel sat up abruptly, his eyes flashing red. For a moment, I thought he might hit me. “I don’t want that!”

“Good. Everyone leaves me. Even Michael. I can never be with him. All he cares about is seeing Heaven again, his home. He misses it. There was never a day in our past that he didn’t, and I wouldn’t want the same from you. I need a guy who knows what he wants.”

The fighting sounds in the background slowed. I held my breath in the eerie quiet, waiting to see who won.

“I did miss it,” Michael’s voice echoed from the doorway. I bit my lip, trying not to show my relief at seeing him alive. Even with dark rings under his eyes and blood and black fluid matted in his hair, covering his clothes, he was a glorious sight. Light seemed to emanate from him. “Every day on earth, as beautiful as it is, can never touch the beauty of Heaven.”

Rage exploded through Damiel like a firecracker and he was on his feet. “Why won’t you die already?” Turning to his opponent, he poised himself to attack. Michael tilted his head to one side and swung out his sword, ready.

“No. Wait. Damiel. Please hear me!”

He backed up, a step out of Michael’s reach. Not letting Michael out of his sight, Damiel wouldn’t turn to look at me, not even for a second. “What is it, sweetness? Don’t you think your charade is over now?”

“No. I don’t want him to hurt you.”

Damiel gave me a triumphant grin. Michael looked defeated. All I could do was pray he’d understand what I was doing and count on the fact that he could feel my feelings and know the truth.

“You’re not going to leave me, are you? Go back?”

This time Damiel did look, and Michael could have taken a shot but didn’t. Instead, he watched me with curiosity as the demon asked, “Back where?”

“To Heaven,” I explained. “If Michael had a shot at redemption after all his sins, why wouldn’t you?”

My words hit Damiel like a blow, visibly shaking him.

“It’s only fair.” Arielle stepped through the doorway, covered in grime and dusting black soot off herself. “She’s right, you know,” she said, her face perfectly neutral. “You could always come back…if you wanted to.”

“It would be work,” Michael said. He glanced at Arielle, and a look of understanding shot between them. “A lot of work.”

I had no idea if what we were saying was true, but it seemed to have an effect. Energy swarmed around Damiel like black angry wasps, as though he were being stung by his own greed. He rushed Michael, and in turn Michael raised his sword and dug it into Damiel’s—or, rather, Giulio’s—body. As I had seen before, the body went limp, undamaged. Only this time it was different. Michael stood fiercely, watching the body, or rather the energy around it, form into a dense black swirl.

Accompanied by a loud electrical cracking sound, the swirl grew and began to take on a skeletal shape, growing taller and taller until it almost touched the ceiling. Then it fleshed out, literally, as black sinews and muscles grew over the bones. The body resembled the hooded creatures Arielle had been fighting—only much larger. Strong and completely hairless, it towered at least six inches above Michael. Tattered, leathery wings sprang from its huge, spiny back, but they remained tucked to fit in the small room. The demon turned sideways and its face was pointed, angular. I didn’t need to look into the eyes to know they were red.

It spoke in a deep hiss. “What makes you think I would want to go to Heaven?”

Michael stepped in toward the creature that was Damiel and let down his sword. His eyes ablaze and his halo flaring, he too was something to behold. I’m not sure if it was the sight of him or the danger he put himself in, but I had to remind my heart to beat.

“Because,” he said, “I remember who you are.”

Damiel stood transfixed, and Michael leaned in to place a hand on his opponent’s heart.

A golden fire blazed between them, engulfing and searing the demon. Screaming, Damiel writhed and squirmed in the heat of the flames, while Michael stayed cool. When the flames burned out, replaced by a golden light, Damiel’s skin turned a light bronze, as though an image had been superimposed over him. His features softened, hair returned to his head, his wings became feathery and light. This was who Damiel was. We were seeing his angelic self.

Then Damiel’s screams of pain turned to ones of anguish. His body shook as the grief consumed him, driving him to his knees. Underneath, the black being that he had become writhed in agony, but Michael held his ground, as though holding in place the image of who Damiel used to be.

“You can choose to be that again,” Michael offered. Beside him, Arielle stood impartial as a judge, her face a mask of calm scrutiny.

I sat up on the bed and closed my blouse, awed by the sight of them. The light shining from the two of them brought tears to my eyes. This was what Michael was, his purpose, and no matter how much I wanted him, my feelings couldn’t matter more than this. Nothing could.

The choice was Damiel’s now, as the demon part of him bucked and roiled like an angry tide. Yet there was another side of him that seemed at peace. As the demon stood again, these two halves seemed to battle each other in a struggle for dominance. The cabin’s small windows rattled, extinguishing candles from the force of it. Michael stood in the center of a beam of golden light, as though he were in the eye of a tornado.

“Has he chosen yet?” he asked Arielle.

She shook her head. “He’s without remorse.”

For some reason, Fatima’s reading from the day before came to me. I remembered her words in my head: You have been given a gift of love, and for it you must love, beyond anything you’d ever imagined before.

Love. In order for Damiel to have remorse, he needed to feel love. I needed to remind him what it was. Michael wasn’t the only one who needed to remember. Damiel needed to remember, too. Realizing this, I connected with a force I’d never felt before. It filled me, thrumming through my body like a huge river that connected me to all of life.

Everything I’d ever done, every mistake I’d ever made was seen, and it was strange, like having your life flash before your eyes. I recalled the anger toward my dad, the judgment I sometimes had for no good reason, the secrets I kept from my friends, and even breaking up with Michael. All of it. In that moment, it had all been forgiven. I just had to accept that it was so, and I could do what I needed to do.

It wasn’t about me anymore. I remembered my past life with Michael: how I felt because he gave up so much to be with me, how I felt I betrayed him when I didn’t tell him what Damiel had done. A serene voice in my head told me to stop blaming myself, that it was never my fault—and I believed it. Taking a deep breath, I let this feeling in as tears welled in my chest.

Then I was on my feet, walking toward them like I was floating, held in a giant spotlight. Michael’s eyes widened as I approached, first with concern, then with awe.

“Mia,” he said. “What…”

I shook my head and Arielle touched his shoulder to silence him. She motioned to me with her eyes and I could hear her inner voice, the one she used for telepathy, say to him Wait.

I didn’t have time to process how strange it was to hear her. Instead, I walked until I stood between him and Damiel, and I grabbed the demon’s hand.

Up close, he flickered, a broken filmstrip, alternating splices of angel and demon—beatific one moment, horrific the next. Facing the demon, I stared him down. “Love, Damiel. Do you remember it?”

I should have been terrified as the demon glowered at me, while the angel part cast his eyes down in shame. But I wasn’t. Not only was Michael there, and Arielle, but I was protected by something much bigger. I felt connected to them, as though I had been given a chance to do an angel’s work, even in human form.

Images of Damiel from millennia ago came to mind. He had once been gentle and fair—a being of love. I saw faces of the other Grigori who mattered to him, friends. “You loved God…and your brothers…” Then I saw my own face in that lifetime so long ago. “You even loved me, once.”

The demon snarled and raised a hand to silence me. Michael instinctively raised his sword, but Arielle held him back.

“You hurt those you loved, and those who loved you… And I know that it hurt you to do it. On some level, it hurt.” I squeezed his hand as the angelic part of him winced. Still furious, the demon glared at me—malicious but visibly weakened. Its weakness gave me strength. “Because you turned your back on what you are, and you have lived for so long now without love that you forgot what it’s like… But deep down you remember. I know you do. Deep down, I know you feel bad about what you did. Don’t you?”

I had the angel’s complete attention. Its eyes, full of tears, blazed at me through a golden light, while the demon turned away, and a voice unlike any I’d heard Damiel speak with before said a quiet yet resounding, “Yes.”

I knew exactly what I needed to say. I didn’t question it, and the words I’d heard Michael use before rolled out of me like music. “You are loved. You are forgiven. Everything you’ve done is forgiven.”

The angelic part of Damiel shook, slowly at first and then violently, as the demon struggled to be freed. Arielle said one word.

“Now.”

Faster than sound, Michael raised his sword and thrust it into Damiel’s heart, and the sword that did no damage to human flesh burned and seared the demon, leaving the angel’s image behind. The image itself faded quickly, having only been held in place by Michael’s focus. The demon let out loud, horrible shrieks as steam and black, sulfuric smoke escaped its body, deflating him. To speed the process, Michael raised his sword above the demon’s head and cleaved what was left of its body in two.

The entire room filled with a corrosive black smoke that stung my eyes and tasted of rotten eggs. Beneath it all was a flicker of golden light, a tiny sphere not much bigger than a firefly, but it grew brighter and stronger as it rose to the ceiling and hovered there.

Then a tear opened in the middle of the living room, as though the room itself and all the furniture in it was projected onto a curtain that was being ripped open. Behind that was a mouth to a different reality—a very dark and upsetting one. On the other side, I could hear moans of agony and roars of pain that made the hairs on my neck stand up. The tendrils of black smoke hanging in the air were sucked right into that mouth, slowly at first, and then building in speed as if the mouth were inhaling just the smoke—leaving everything else behind. It took seconds for the room to clear, and once it was done the mouth closed and the tear sealed itself. The room was ordinary again, and someplace far away I heard the clanging of an iron gate.

All that was left was the golden ball of light, which had grown to the size of a giant beach ball. It circled the room and hovered in front of Arielle, who smiled at it as though they were having an exchange I couldn’t hear. A moment later, it floated toward Michael, who bowed his head. Then it came to me. Not sure what to expect, I tensed.

Arielle placed a hand on my shoulder. “It’s all right.”

Taking a deep breath, I looked at her and then back at the golden ball of light. It was warm and pure. As it approached, its presence tingled my skin.

Put out your hand.

I didn’t know where the voice came from—so deep and melodic—but I obeyed, and the golden ball landed on me like a rare, exotic bird. With it, a sense of warmth and gratitude ran up my arm.

Thank you, it said.

And in a flash it was gone.