Dark Halo (An Angel Eyes Novel) (3 page)

He wished his seeing eyes would blister and scar, but all the brightness did was fan the memories into a frenzy. The emotion they evoked held him there, staring, unable to move as they played out before him.

Ali’s blood on his hands, her scent in his nose. Accusations ringing loud that he’d killed her, that he’d pulled the trigger. And then memories of his time in prison rose from the flames. Memories of the night he escaped. Of his last appointment with the prison doctor and the unconscious guards at the checkpoint, of his armed escort passing out mid-step.

He saw something in the flames then. Something he’d forgotten, or maybe never known. But there in the distance, at the end of the hall, a flash of auburn hair appeared. He stopped, afraid to approach, afraid he’d be blamed for the unconscious guards. And then she was right in front of him. So close he couldn’t breathe without inhaling the heat off her skin. Her silver eyes entranced him, and he heard her voice in his head.

“There’s a car parked two blocks over. On Clay. Are you listening? It’s yellow, fast.”

She pressed a ring of keys into his fist, her tiny hand burning his, and then she disappeared, and Marco sprang into action. He found every checkpoint empty, every door between him and freedom open. Every prisoner, guard, and staffer asleep.

This memory looped and looped until another took its place: Ali bent over her journal, sketching images of sculptures at an art gallery, Brielle blushing at a nude sketch. It was the day he met the two of them, the day he fell in love with Ali.

With more willpower than he’d ever exerted, he forced himself upright, unwilling to have that memory tainted by whatever sick thing the halo had done to his brain. The image didn’t leave, but instead of a sharp, stabbing wound, it became a bruise behind his eyes, in his chest. He stumbled from the hearth and flung open the door, leaving his bag there by the fire.

But all was silent. Adrenaline racing, he stormed through the massive house—all three levels of it—calling Liv’s name, pushing himself into rooms he had no business invading, but all he found was a note on the kitchen counter.

Be back soon. —O

He decided then that he didn’t need Liv. He could track down Henry without her. But her computer was password encrypted and her drawers were empty of address books or personal effects. She probably kept everything on that phone of hers. He considered calling a cab, but his lack of cash stifled any further attempt to head down into Portland alone.

’s notowp0So he sits here and stares at the city that killed Ali. He tries
not to think. Tries to avoid the word that stirs in his chest, prodding him, scratching at his insides.

Providence.

3

Brielle

M
y feet tangle in the long grasses and I stumble forward, my arms splaying to catch my fall. Arms catch me, but they’re not mine. These are thick with muscle and sweltering in their embrace.

Canaan.

I’ve been dancing for hours now, and my legs ache. It’s his grip alone that keeps me upright.

“Thank you,” I say.

He stands before me in a pair of dark jeans and an army green button-up, but here in the orchard where the veil has all but thinned away, I see glimpses of his celestial form. Cords of light wrap his arms and legs, his broad chest bare. White wings emerge from his shoulder blades, swooping like an inverted scythe away from a head of silver hair. They’ve seen battle. I can tell by the ruffled feathers and the gaping holes where some have been torn away. I can’t see his inner wings, the sinewy, almost reptilian ones, but I know they’re there. I know because he’s tucked me safely inside them before, held me upright. Like he’s holding me now.

But all these things are simply details. Even his war-torn wings don’t concern me as much as they usually would. Today I notice only that he’s alone.

I feel the fear wrap me, slow me, silence the questions ravaging my gut. I didn’t expect him to return without Jake, and I take a step back. But Canaan doesn’t release my arms. His face is sadder than I’ve ever seen it.

“I’ll find him, Brielle.”

Some questions don’t need to be asked, I guess. They hang on you, weigh you down like chunks of rock within the mud of fear.

“I’m asking you to trust me.”

But trust might be too much to ask right now, because I’ve been here before. I know the Father’s plan sometimes includes death. It includes hard things. stop fighting.”

I don’t want Jake to be just another hard thing I have to survive.

“I want to go with you,” I say.

“No.” He doesn’t think about the response. He doesn’t let me beg. He just shakes his head. Very curt. Very final. “You’re brave. You don’t have to prove it.”

“That’s not why I want to go. I want to be with him,” I say, choking on the words that terrify me most, “wherever he is.”

“Even if your presence will make his fight harder?”

The answer, honestly, is yes. I want to be with Jake no matter what. But as I stand here, Canaan’s silver eyes threatening to swallow me like some bionic nightmare, I know how wrong that answer is. I know it won’t earn me sway with Canaan either. More than that, I
want
the answer to be
no
. I want to want Jake’s best more than mine.

But before I can lie to my Shield, he stops my lips with a warm finger.

“I know, Brielle. I can’t say I understand what you’re feeling entirely, but I know you want to be with him. He’d want the same thing. He said as much yesterday when we were attempting to breach Stratus.”

“What did he say?” I’m desperate for any word of him, even if it has no bearing on the
now
, even if it’s voiced only to make me feel better.

“He said being with you was all that mattered to him, even if it meant Damien taking you both.”

My laugh is strange and wet, tears soaking it. The thought is sappy and romantic, but it isn’t true. Jake doesn’t think that way. “He’s such a liar.”

“Mostly to himself, I think, but yes, sometimes.” Canaan’s smile reaches his eyes now. It’s a small thing, but something about it stirs hope. It’s still there; it’s just buried beneath the fear.

He takes my face in both his hands. Heat rushes up his wrists and through his palms, bathing my face in warmth. I can’t help but think of Jake. How he’d hold my face, how he’d kiss my lips. How his touch became the most important thing in the world.

Now I keep my eyes wide open. If I close them, if I blink, I’ll get lost in those memories, and I can’t afford that.

“I am sorry to leave you here,” Canaan says. “Truly. But I won’t let Damien use you against Jake. Take confidence in that; I won’t let anyone use Jake against you either. Not if it’s within my power to stop.”

I tilt my chin down and step back. I try to make the movement smooth, like an overzealous nod, but the truth is his grip’s
too familiar, too like Jake’s, and my heart is confused the old Miller placeinow with the clashing of fear and hope. He lets his hands fall to his sides. If he notices my discomfort, he says nothing.

“Besides, getting past the Palatine is not an easy thing. I did not make it through unscathed. I can’t guarantee your safety.”

It’s a funny thing to say, and despite the tears pooling in the corners of my eyes, I bark a hollow laugh. “Can you ever guarantee my safety?”

His glorious face creases. “No, I can’t. But this time there’s an army of demons hovering overhead ready to haul you to the Prince should you fall into their hands.”

The world speeds up, my feet unsteady. “Is that where Damien’s taken him? To the Prince?”

“Not yet,” Canaan says, taking my hands in his. Heat roars up my arms, spreads across my chest, and sinks to my belly, warming me, relaxing muscles I didn’t even know I’d clenched. “Not yet, anyway. The Commander’s sent Pearla on ahead.”

“The little black angel?” I ask, remembering the tiny winged thing that distracted Damien yesterday. Her wings bought me just enough time to slip free of his grasp.

“Yes. She’s a spy of the Cherubic order. She was there in the Prince’s stronghold when Damien received his orders. Unless things have changed, we have until tomorrow.”

Damien’s words make sense now. Yesterday, just before he took Jake, he said something about the Palatine arriving early. Something about having two more days.

And now there’s only one.

“What happens tomorrow, Canaan?”

“Damien will deliver Jake to Danakil.”

I rack my brain for any former utterance of this word. So
many new terms to keep straight: Palatine, Cherub, and now Danakil.

“What’s Danakil?”

“The Danakil Depression. It’s a desert, a wasteland of salt flats and volcanic activity—the hottest place in the world.”

So strange that Jake, the boy with flaming hands, is being taken to the hottest place on planet Earth. “Can he survive . . . Do people survive there?”

“Certainly. The nomadic Afar people inhabit it, mining the salt there by hand. They carry it across the desert on great caravans, camels marching nose to tail. But it’s a cruel place. Some say it’s the cruelest place on earth.”

The idea of Jake being stolen from me, abducted from the air, makes me ill, but that he’ll be taken to a cruel and violent place to face a cruel and violent Prince feels like more than I can handle.

Canaan rubs a hand down his face. He’s tired. He fought his way through the Palatine following Damien, and the old Miller placeinownow he’s fought his way back to me. He needs time to mend. I’d tell him so, but first I need to understand.

“Why Danakil?”

He lowers himself onto a stump, shaking his head. “It’s a place the Prince has always been drawn to. He’s waged battles there before. I’ve turned it over in my mind trying to work it out, but I can’t say exactly why it appeals to him so. With the exception of the nomadic peoples who have always inhabited the place, Danakil’s one of the least populous places to stage an attack. It’s home to the lowest point on the earth’s surface, it’s inhospitable in every way, and it’s marked by violence. All things that could appeal to the Prince for various reasons.”

“But it’s hot—the Fallen hate the heat.”

“Celestial heat, celestial light, Elle. The temperature of the Celestial is consistent whether you’re in the depths of the ocean or the Danakil Depression. In the Terrestrial the Fallen can withstand much more than the average human. Danakil will not be nearly so hard on the Prince as it will be on Jake. Still, it’s not the heat that should concern us.”

Images of Damien assault my mind. I’ve no idea what the Prince looks like—what the great dragon appears to be in either his celestial or terrestrial form—but Canaan’s right. He’s far more terrifying than anything this earth can throw at Jake.

I shake the thought from my head, needing to act. Needing something to do.

“We have a day, you said. What can I do, Canaan? How can I help?”

“In a very specific way. I have a favor to ask.”

“Of course,” I say. “Anything.”

“I need you to monitor the chest. Every few hours, if you can. The Throne Room knows I’m not the only one who checks it these days. They know Jake has been nearly as active with their instructions as I have. And they know you’re aware of it as well. They may choose to communicate with you that way. We can’t afford to leave the Throne Room out of this battle, you understand? We must respond quickly to whatever instructions they send.”

It’s not nearly the kind of favor I was hoping for. The kind that requires movement and skill. Something that allows me to do more than just sit. I almost argue, but I can tell by the urgency in his voice that it’s important. This is what he needs.

“Okay.”

“And, Elle, you need to keep fighting here. Jake’s been taken—there is nothing you can do about that. He has his own battles to fight now. Yours is here.”

Fighting sounds a lot better than sitting on my butt staring into a chest. But how?

“I don’t—”

“The Sabres did not come here to protect the two of you. That’s not their job. They were sent by the Creator to tear the veil. The Palatine will try to stop them, and since they can’t . . .”

My brain spins. “They can’t?”

Another smile that reaches Canaan’s eyes. “No, and they know it. But they will do everything in their power to repair the damage once it’s torn. They can’t afford for humanity to see the Celestial. For humanity to see them disrobed.”

“But Michael? Michael and his forces will fight.”

“They will. They’re here, fighting already. With the Sabres here in Stratus, they chose to attack from above. But we must hold the ground here. You must fight here.”

“I’ll do anything, Canaan. Anything. But how?”

“You keep praying. You keep worshiping. You keep fighting the fear your celestial eyes show you. Because it’s growing, Elle. Fear is all over Stratus. Your friends and neighbors don’t have your gift; they can’t see the war brewing overhead, but many of them can feel it. Soon there won’t be a soul in this town unaffected. And so few know how to fight. Most of them don’t know they have the ability to contest the terror that descends from above. Your prayers, your worship—they help more than you know.” He stands now, his face alive, his body radiating the importance of what he’s about to say.