Chapter 24 #2
The subtle shift in him reminds me of the way Jackie gets whenever her snake of a biological father rears his ugly head in her life again. I can’t help but wonder how Dusk has suffered at the hands of these angels. What awful penance they’ve made him endure.
And why? Why are they such vengeful creatures? I thought they’re supposed to be a force for good. A system of pain and punishment is built on hatred, not forgiveness.
Their conversation topics are so mundane, so counter to the nature I know they’re hiding, it’s almost comical. They seem to be stuck on geology and weather patterns. Tectonic plates this, seismic activity that… maybe it’s an apocalypse thing, but I’m failing to connect any dots here.
Instead, I use the opportunity to finally take a long look at whoever is speaking— the ageless, winged men in power. None of them looks a day over thirty, but their faces are all decidedly masculine.
First, there’s the one across from me, with the light purple wings.
That’s Uriel, I think. He’s a lanky albino man with violet eyes and a deathly, haunting beauty.
His corpse-like skin looks paper-thin, wrought with dozens of visible blood vessels that look like they might burst at any moment.
Yet, despite its unnatural bony protrusions, I cannot deny that his face is utterly captivating.
At the end of his eloquent statement about the Richter scale, he catches my eye and dips his chin in a slight greeting. His attention alone gives me the chills, though, and I quickly divert my eyes to his right.
To Raphael.
His warm skin seems to sparkle, even in the dim candlelit room, as if he’s covered in mica powder.
He wears unassuming, loose-fitting, mint green robes that remind me of my medical scrubs back home.
When the angel catches me staring and meets my eye, his attention isn’t at all chilling.
It’s the opposite—warm, calming, welcoming.
He smiles at me in a way that almost makes me forget he’s inhuman, and I find myself feeling steady enough to give him a slight smile back.
Even if Dusk hadn’t already told me that Raphael is a healer and the ‘most tolerable’ of the group, I think I would still intuitively trust him more than the others. His presence feels familiar, reminding me of many of my favorite physicians I used to work with.
A cold, militant voice at the end of their side of the table takes over the discussion.
I let my eyes drift down the line to him, to the angel placed in my usual spot next to Abaddon’s head seat.
Gabriel. He appears to be from the Far East, with silken black hair tied up in a bun.
He doesn’t even look my way, and I get the sense that I wouldn’t want him to. I don’t let my gaze linger for long.
But then that leaves the last of the four—Michael—who is mostly blocked from my sight by Malak’s body. All I can see are the massive wings that hang off his back, taller and wider than all the others. They’re a vibrant red, like poppies dipped in blood, connecting with glistening gold armor.
Dusk, paying little attention, leans farther back in his chair, suddenly creating a clear line of sight. Instantly, Michael’s head turns, his eyes snapping to mine. They’re… my God, they’re red. It’s as if flames have been caught in his eyes, slowed by time.
Interrupting, Michael says to Abaddon, “Do not let the girl leave the Abyss.”
He stares a hole into me, and I can’t look away fast enough. A deeply embedded instinct squirms inside me, shooting warnings of terror into my bloodstream. Do not disobey him, it seems to say. Obey to survive.
“I have not, nor will I,” the King replies.
I flatten my expression, trying to keep any type of insubordination off of it, no matter how much I want to question his motives.
If I came here willingly, why can’t I leave whenever I want?
Maybe it’s just Michael’s callous, intimidating presence, but that feels a lot more like imprisonment than protection…
“When will she be ready to open the Abyss?”
I refuse to look up. From the corner of my eye, I can tell that Malak is equally silent, which I can’t blame him for. It’s a reasonable act of self-preservation, not cowardice.
“I have been working with her daily,” Abaddon answers. “Her physical conditioning has progressed rapidly, and her celestial training is… satisfactory, for now.”
“She cannot access the key yet.” Michael doesn’t say it explicitly, but the tone in his voice demands an explanation.
Abaddon takes his time responding, seeming to ponder his next words carefully.
“We do not fully understand the nature of the star. It is almost sentient, like a fragment of a soul. It seems to be intentionally evading her efforts to grasp the key. I would reason that has something to do with Divine Timing.”
Another pause, and I start to sweat.
Finally, Michael lets out a contemplative hum, returning his focus to cutting his food. “Perhaps the girl’s soul is simply too weak to host such power. We will privately discuss contingency plans at a later time.”
I have to tighten my muscles to keep them from trembling.
When all my bravery is taken away by a crippling intrinsic fear of this one entity, all that I have left is pure vulnerability. Somehow, he’s made me feel even more ashamed of myself than I already was. I’m just going to prove them right—I’m weak. A failure.
A pathetic human girl, in way over her head.
Worst of all, I don’t even know what the costs are. If they’re desperate enough, they could try something extreme. Maybe they’d attempt to force the power out of my soul, even if it kills me in the process.
Once my fear finally passes, a dark cloud settles over me, and I finish my food in silence.
The archangels eventually switch their discussion from Earthly weather to Abyss operations, which I listen to with only mild interest. Locust population numbers, mining and farming yields, trade with Elohim.
.. I’m inclined to believe that they’re intentionally avoiding discussing anything of actual importance around me.
There’s a whole apocalypse starting, yet they’re acting like everything is just business as usual.
I lean closer to Dusk, whispering, “Is it just me, or is this weirdly trivial?”
“It’s not you,” he mutters back. “They’re excellent at avoiding any classified information in the presence of those without high enough clearances.”
“So… just me?”
“Both of us, for the most part.”
“What about Abaddon?”
“He’s the only Principality who isn’t on the Council, but a Principality nonetheless.” I can hear this disdain in Dusk’s voice, even at such a quiet volume. “If he doesn’t have an equal clearance to them, then he has to be just a step below.”
The wheels in my head start turning.
The archangel who lives in Elohim despises their leadership, yet he maintains loyalty to them—almost like a slave who’s been whipped into submission for so long that they develop Stockholm Syndrome. And yet, the king of an entirely different realm has no problem being their damn business partner.
Something isn’t adding up here.
I feel Abaddon staring at me from across the table. When I look up, his heated gaze flashes from Dusk, then back to me, his eyes narrowing.
Is he… jealous?
To test my theory, I lean closer to Dusk, putting a hand on his arm. “How much longer do we have to stay here before it’s no longer impolite to leave?”
He grins down at me, completely oblivious to any ulterior motive of mine. A little bit of his warmth even seems to return. “Eager to get out of here already?”
Before answering, I glance back at Abaddon, and—holy shit, he is jealous. His face has become a smoldering promise of violence, pinpointed on the connection between my hand and Dusk’s arm. Considering his usual lack of expressiveness, the significance is huge. And hugely infuriating.
What right does he have to be possessive over me? I don’t belong to him in any way, shape, or form. Sure, we’ve had a heated moment or two, and I’ve felt some type of desire in him before, but I think he’d rather gouge his eyes out than act on it. We’re not in a relationship.
I shoot him a death glare before turning my attention to Dusk’s arm, delicately dragging my fingers down it. “Please. Got any excuses to get me out?”
“For you, Dawn, I’ll try my best.” He stands up abruptly, clearing his throat to get the table’s attention.
“I’ll be working with Kae in the training rink at first light, if any of you would like to come by and observe.
Until then, if you will excuse us, I’ll escort the girl to her room so that her human body may be rested for peak performance tomorrow. ”
In any other situation, I would have laughed at the formality of his announcement. But the Council members give him a nod or some other cue of dismissal, seeming to accept Dusk’s announcement for face value.
Abaddon, on the other hand, does not.
As I’m getting up, I glance back at him one last time, finding him staring into his plate like it’s his fatal enemy. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s contemplating murder.
But even if I’ve prodded an enraged animal, I find too much satisfaction in proving myself right.