Fire Prophet (Son of Angels) (14 page)

“Good evening, students!” Camilla said as they walked into the main reading room. “I hope you are all ready for an educational evening together.” The students nodded their heads obediently, bowing their heads as she opened their session with prayer.

“Now,” she said, looking at each of them carefully. “Listen, my friends. Who can tell me Ephesians 6:12?”

Before anyone else could even think, Eliza’s hand shot up. “For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the powers of this dark world and against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms.”

Camilla smiled. “Excellent, dear Eliza.”

Jonah sighed, kicking himself for not answering faster. If there was any passage he knew, it was that one, since it had been so important to him and Eliza last year.

“Now,” Camilla continued, clapping, “something new. Taryn, will you come forward, please?”

Taryn obediently stepped in front of the group and into the middle of the floor.

“That same place in the Scriptures speaks of other gifts,” the warrior angel said. “Some of which have been manifested here, and some that are yet to be.”

The students whispered to one another. Would they be learning to use another gift? And whom did it belong to?

Taryn placed her hands on her head, concentrating with her eyes closed. Within seconds, her helmet appeared. Jonah and Eliza had seen it before, but the others hadn’t, and either way, it was impressive. Made out of some kind of dark metal, there were etchings all over it that looked like words in a foreign tongue. Jonah suspected it was the angelic language.

“Wow!”

“Awesome!”

The quarterlings couldn’t contain themselves or take their eyes off it.

“The helmet of salvation,” announced Taryn. “As those with angelic blood, there are some of you who will have this gift.”

She looked back at Camilla, who was thumbing through her little leather book.

“Let’s see . . . yes . . . there it is.” She looked up briefly, meeting eyes with all of the students, and began to call names. “Bridget.”

Bridget stepped forward, smiling.

“Carlo. Rupert.”

The boys looked at each other curiously as they came forward. Rupert still managed to wear a scowl, though.

“And . . . Eliza.”

Jonah spun his head toward his sister, who couldn’t contain the grin on her face. She took her place beside the other three.

“First things first,” Taryn said. “You need to learn to make it appear. Then we can discuss how it is used most effectively in battle. But let me warn you, it’s not as easy as it looks.”

She instructed them to place their fingertips lightly on both sides of their head and concentrate on Elohim. “Ask Him for the protection of your mind,” she said. “And then just let the helmet come.”

She said it as if it were as easy as brushing your teeth, or breathing. But as the kids did what she asked, Jonah could tell it was going to take some practice.

An image of a helmet flickered around Bridget’s and Carlo’s heads. It was there, and then it wasn’t, then it reappeared. The more Carlo scrunched his face, concentrating, the more his helmet flickered.

Rupert tried and tried. His helmet flickered once, but he became so frustrated so quickly that he threw his hands down in disgust, muttering to himself.

It didn’t surprise Jonah at all that Eliza had the best result on
her first try. The helmet around her head was faint, but visible, and didn’t flicker at all.

“Excellent, Eliza!” exclaimed Taryn. “Wonderful for a first attempt.”

Jonah watched her as she stood in front of everyone, her cheeks blushing. He had to admit that he was impressed by his little sister.

“All right,” said Camilla, clapping her hands again. “Eliza, Bridget, Carlo, and Rupert, you’ll practice the helmet of salvation individually later with your other combat gifts within your groups. Now everyone head to your classes, quarterlings.”

In Angelic Combat, Jonah’s group worked on arrows again. Marcus and Taryn were sticklers for the details and spent a lot of time teaching them how to stand, where to place their hands on the bow, the most effective way to aim, and even how to breathe when firing. All of it was important, Taryn said, for their accuracy. But the others seemed to learn faster than he did. Even Hai Ling hit close to the bull’s-eye tonight, and she found herself squealing with delight for a few seconds, before she remembered to act sullen and bored again.

Frederick was the best, of course. He hit the bull’s-eye deadon twice, earning applause from Taryn, and even a smile from the stone-faced Marcus. Jonah forced himself to congratulate him, even though he had to do it through clenched teeth.

Inside, though, he stewed. He had hit the target every time, which Taryn had told him was something to build on. But he never came close to the red center.

In Scriptural Studies with Samuel, they spent a lot of time on the book of Genesis, and David continued to stand out as someone with a great knowledge of the Scriptures. Jonah couldn’t help but
be impressed as his roommate answered every question Samuel threw at him about the first book of the Bible. Samuel spent quite a bit of time in Genesis 6.

“Verse 4: ‘The Nephilim were on the earth in those days— and also afterward—when the sons of God went to the daughters of humans and had children by them. They were the heroes of old, men of renown.’”

Jonah raised his hand. “Samuel, were you there during those times? You know, before the Flood? What was it like?”

Samuel looked down at his podium for a minute, as if composing himself. His face grew dour, and he looked at the wall behind his students as he spoke. “I was around, yes, Jonah. I saw many awful, horrifying things. All men carry the potential for great darkness, and nephilim even more so, because of their great power. But I saw many heroic acts as well, which people often forget when speaking of the nephilim. All power can be used for good or evil. And therefore,” he said, drawing his gaze down to the students again, “you have been given an important choice, my quarterling friends. For you also have great power, and must decide how you will use it.”

Jonah felt the weight of Samuel’s words on his shoulders. Even though he was only fourteen, he had seen the results of people using power for good, as well as evil. He wondered if, in the heat of the moment, he would be able to make the right choices with the power he had. And what about his friends?

He let his eyes drift slowly over the others in the room. David, Lania, Hai Ling. Then to Frederick, chewing on a fingernail, with an unreadable expression on his face.

And suddenly the weight on Jonah’s shoulders felt even heavier.

SIXTEEN

A V
IVID
D
REAM

H
elp me . . .”

Jonah heard the words, spoken almost in a moan, before he saw anything. A strong wind was blowing, and the voice was just above it, just a little louder, riding along from wherever it came from into Jonah’s ear. It sounded as if it was the voice of someone in pain, someone almost too weak to call out.

Jonah listened to the voice cry for help in the darkness, and somehow he recognized that there was something peculiar about it.

He had heard this voice before. But as hard as he tried, he couldn’t place it. Yet it connected with something deep inside him. The voice struck a chord within him, both enchanting and disturbing.

“Help me . . .”

It came again, with urgency, and it tore into Jonah’s heart, bringing questions crashing through his mind.
Where is this voice coming from? Why do I recognize it? Who is calling out for help?

Then his eyes were suddenly opened and he was moving in the air, flying through the space between cloud and skyscraper, hovering over an enormous city. He barely avoided a giant spire sticking up off the roof of a building. He couldn’t control where he was going, and whether he was flying himself or someone else was pulling him along, he couldn’t tell. All he could see were the tops of buildings flashing by.

He heard the cry again and felt his heart speed at the sound of the voice. It was growing louder. Maybe he was getting closer. His eyes moved as quickly as they could as he flew, searching. It seemed like he was moving south, but he wasn’t totally sure. Up ahead, beyond the buildings, he thought he caught a silver flash of water.

“Help . . .”

The strain in the voice wrecked Jonah. It wasn’t just feeling sorry for someone who was in trouble. In that instant, he felt a desire, almost a calling, to do whatever he could to help. Not that he simply
wanted
to or felt that he
should
. It was as if he was supposed to help.

He
had
to help.

And then, even though he wanted to continue searching until he found the source of the voice, he began to float upward, away from the city. He reached down desperately, but nothing he could do controlled his flight. White wisps of cloud began to pass in front of him, blocking his view of the ever-diminishing buildings
below. Soon all he could see was the white cotton of a cloud bank all around him.

Jonah jerked as his eyes popped open. It took him at least a minute to realize where he was. Back in his bed.

He pushed his covers off violently, which were damp with his sweat. He propped himself up on his elbows and sat very still.

He listened, straining to hear the words from his dream. But all he heard was the steady breathing of his roommate and the distant noise of cars passing by a few blocks away.

He couldn’t shake the feeling he had. That this wasn’t just a dream. Someone was in trouble.
“Help me.”
The words coursed through his mind. He placed his hand over his heart and felt it racing still.

Finally, Jonah rolled over on his side toward the wall and tried to go back to sleep. How could he help someone when he didn’t know where they were—other than New York City somewhere— and didn’t know who the voice belonged to? He couldn’t even leave the convent. And no one would believe that it was anything more than a silly dream anyway.

He tried to close his eyes again, but as soon as he did, another thought occurred to him, and they popped open again. In his grogginess from the dream, he hadn’t connected the dots until now.

The voice—it was the same one that he’d heard in his vision the night before.

SEVENTEEN

C
HALLENGE TO A
D
UEL

W
hat’s the deal with you?” said Eliza that morning at breakfast, immediately picking up on his different demeanor. “You look a little bit . . . disoriented.”

Jeremiah looked up from his plate of eggs, bacon, and biscuits and cocked his head to the side as he studied Jonah. He shoved in another mouthful of eggs as he continued to watch his older brother carefully.

Jonah shrugged, running his hands through his uncombed hair as he fell into the chair. “Just a weird dream last night.”

Eliza put her fork down and turned toward him. “Just a dream . . . or a
vision
?”

Jonah sighed, accepting the fact that she wasn’t going to let him off the hook until he talked to her.

He relayed the dream with as many details as he could remember.

“Sounds like this person, whoever it is, is in the city somewhere,”
she said, mulling everything over. “Which way were you heading? North? South? Could you make out any street signs?”

He sighed, knowing it would be impossible for her to talk about anything else now. “Maybe. It kind of felt like I was going south. I remember seeing a huge spire on the roof of a building, and then some water. But there was something in the first one too.”

“
What?
” Eliza grabbed his arm. “There was more than one vision? Okay, we’re not going anywhere until you fill me in.”

Jonah could see that there was no avoiding telling Eliza the truth. And he didn’t really feel like finding out what would happen if he made her late for their daily tutoring session, so he took a deep breath and told her everything about the basketball game vision he could remember. Including the pink neon word he saw on the scoreboard. She was just as baffled as he was.

“Jonah,” Eliza said, looking at him intensely, “do you think that the voices were the same?”

“They sounded exactly the same. But listen, Eliza. That doesn’t mean much. Maybe I was just dreaming about the vision I had— which probably doesn’t mean anything anyway—and the voice showed up there too.” He heard himself trying to explain it away, but he wasn’t even sure that he bought his own explanation. He knew that she wouldn’t.

“So what are you going to do about it?”

“I missed the shot . . . ,” he said, almost to himself. Why had he missed the game-winning shot and let everyone down? What did that mean?

Jonah needed time to think, to be alone, to work through things. Picking up his bowl without a word, he set it over with the other dirty dishes in the corner and walked out of the dining hall.

He found himself wandering along the first-floor halls of the
convent. They were empty and quiet, and walking slowly through them gave him some time to try to sort through everything. He tumbled the visions around in his mind, like his mom’s washing machine did with his dirty gym clothes, spinning and churning them every which way.