Milayna (5 page)

Everything I knew to be true walking into my grandmother’s apartment had shattered in a matter of minutes. My aunt and uncle weren’t really related to me. My cousin was just another friend. My grams wasn’t really my grandmother. And my father was a friggin’ angel. Fury pounded against my veins, and like betrayal, demanded to be satisfied.

I narrowed my eyes at Grams. “Is there anyone else in our family who is an angel or demi-angel?”

“No.”

I jumped off the couch and paced the entryway hall. “So Mom is human and Muriel’s mom is human. But Muriel, me, and my brother are demi-angels.” I ticked each person off on my fingers. “Dad, you, and Uncle Rory are angels. Right? Do I have it right? Because when I came in here, I thought we were one big, happy family of humans. Now I find out we’re one big, happy
sort-of
-family of freaks!”

“Milayna!” Grams snapped, and flicked all the lights on and off again.

I turned and looked at her. “Yeah, I get it. One of your angel powers is becoming your very own clapper.”

Grams pointed a tiny finger at me. “I wish I had some of my full angel powers. I’d clap you right on your ass,” she snapped.

I heard Muriel suck in a breath at the same time my mouth dropped open. Grams had never spoken to me like that.

I let out a breath, and my shoulders slumped forward. Suddenly, I was just tired, and all I wanted was to go home and crawl into bed. Maybe if I pulled the blankets over my head, everything else would go away. Deflated, I sat down on the couch and put my hand over Grams’. “I’m sorry, Grams.”

“Look, you can be angry. You can be confused. What you can’t be is disrespectful, so don’t get pissy. Learn to live the life you’ve been dealt,” my grandma said, sounding nicer but still firm.

“That’s just it,” I whispered. “I have no idea what my life is now.”

I stood, kissed Grams’ cheek, tried to smile in Muriel’s direction, and slowly walked out of the apartment. I hoped I had enough money to take a taxi home because I didn’t want to ride with Muriel. I didn’t even want to look at her.

I heard Muriel yell my name. Then Grams’ soft voice floated after me as I shut the door. “It’s okay, child. Let her be.”

***

I stood outside my grandmother’s senior citizen apartment complex, digging around in my purse for my wallet. A sudden squeezing in my stomach choked the air from my lungs. “Damn it!” I yelled. My head started to pound, and I nearly dropped my purse. Voices screamed through my head.

A woman crying. A man laughing.

Shaking my head to clear it, I held out my arm to hail a cab driving down the street. The yellow taxi pulled to the curb beside me, and I opened the door just as a scream pierced my ears. Jumping, I dropped my purse and slapped my hands over my ears. I looked around; there was no one there. Then another scream came, and my vision began to blur.

A woman in a blue dress. A man in an alley. She screams. He’s grabbing at something— What is it?

“C’mon, kid,” the taxi driver yelled. “I ain’t got all night. Are you gettin’ in or what?”

The vision fizzled away. “Yeah. Just a second.” I took in a big breath and started to shove the stuff back into my purse when I saw her—the woman in the blue dress. She was trying to hail a cab, but several drove past.

She’s gonna leave. Stop her.

The woman turned from the road and started walking toward me.

Stop her.

The vision became clearer. She’d walk down the sidewalk, past an alley. A man would be there, waiting. He’d grab her and… Oh!

Stop her!

“Ma’am?” I called, waving at her.

She looked around. “Me?” she asked when she realized we were the only two in front of the building.

“Yes.” I smiled. “I saw you were trying to get a cab. Do you want to share?”

“Yes.” She took a deep breath. “Thank you. I didn’t want to have to walk to the next street to get one. I hate walking alone at night.”

She asked where I was going. When I told her, her shoulders sagged. “I’m heading in the opposite direction. Maybe you could just drop me at the next street?”

The vision played in my head like a video. It didn’t change. If I gave her a ride to the next street, she’d still meet the man. He’d cut through the alley and grab her on the other side. She’d still be in danger.

My skin prickled. “No, that’s okay. I don’t really need a cab. My cousin is here; I can catch a ride with her.” I stepped aside to let her get into the taxi.

“Are you sure? I feel bad taking your cab.”

“Yeah, I’m sure. You take it.”

“Thank you.” She smiled and got into the cab. “I appreciate this so much.”

“No problem. Have a good night.” I waved as the cab pulled away from the curb. The vision fell away, and the stabbing pains in my stomach eased. The physical relief from pain was always the most pronounced after a vision. Stopping the claws from ripping me apart from the inside out was definitely a bonus. There was also a kind of peace mixed with joy that came after the pain eased. For a short time, I think I felt how it would be if evil didn’t exist in our world.

Muriel walked out of the apartment building just as the cab disappeared down the street. I was digging through the never-ending crap in my purse for my cell phone. Silently, Muriel handed me hers. I stared at it for a few beats. Finally, deciding it was better to use her phone than stand there for the week it would take me to actually find mine, I took it and punched in 911.

“911. What’s your emergency?”

“The rapist that’s been on the news? I just saw him.”

“Where?”

I rattled off my grandmother’s address and told the dispatcher that he was in one of the alleyways lining the main road.

“What’s your name, miss?”

I clicked off the line and handed the phone back to Muriel. “Thanks,” I said. Climbing into Muriel’s car, I turned to look out of the passenger window. We didn’t speak on the ride home.

***

As soon as I got home, I went into the family room where my parents were watching the news.

“You’re an angel?” I blurted, staring at my dad. He looked the same as he had that morning, but so much had changed since then.

My dad straightened and reached for the remote, putting the TV on mute. “Grams said you’d talked. I wish she’d given me a little bit of a heads-up.” He leaned forward in his chair, his hands falling between his knees like he always did when we had a serious talk, but it seemed wrong somehow. Like he was an imposter of my real dad. “Yes, I’m an angel. But it’s not quite that simple.”

“Really? You needed a heads-up? I think I’m the one that needed a little warning.” I pointed a finger at my chest, my voice rising with each word.

“There was no reason to tell you before; it would’ve only confused you. But now, you are maturing as a demi-angel and you need to know the truth.”

“Well, gee, thanks for including me,” I bit out through clenched teeth. My hands balled into fists at my sides. “I think you could’ve told me a little sooner. I’ve had reasoning skills for a few years. It’s not like I’m seven, like Ben.”

My dad nodded and clasped his hands together. He sat for several seconds, staring at the floor before he said, “You’re right. But please understand that this is new territory for your mom and me. We weren’t—aren’t—sure how to handle this either. We’ve done the best we can.” He lifted his gaze to mine, and I saw regret. “We wanted you to have as normal a childhood as you could before all this stuff was thrown at you, so we waited to tell you. We were wrong to wait so long. Sit down, Milayna. Let’s talk.”

I stepped back and leaned against the wall behind me. “I can hear you from here.”

My dad nodded and sighed. “Angels have been studied by scholars for years. There is very little accurate information on us. I was a Watcher—the official name is Qadishin. It’s what man has termed a guardian angel. I left my post as a Watcher and came to earth twenty-five years ago to live out my life as a mortal. I’m an angel, but I’ve given up most of my powers. I’m not immortal. I’ll age, get sick, injured, and eventually die just as any mortal human would. I’ve also relinquished my status as a Qadishin. I can never go back.”

“So you’re a fallen angel?”

My dad fiddled with his watch clasp. “No.”

“But we’re taught in church that angels who leave to come to earth are fallen—”

“Like I said, men have tried to understand the angelic world for centuries. They don’t have all the facts correct. Not all angels on earth are what man terms ‘
fallen
.’”

“I don’t understand.” I walked to the couch and sat next to my mom, the only other human—non-freak—in the room. She wrapped her arm around me, and I snuggled against her where I felt safe and the world made sense, or at least, where it used to.

“There are two groups of Watchers. The Iri are the obedient, or faithful, Watchers. The Irin are disobedient, or fallen, angels. I’m an Iri.”

“And Uncle Rory?” My mom hugged me closer but stayed silent, letting my dad tell me about his history and his people.

“Iri, and so is Grams.”

“I guess if I must have a freaky family of angels, I’m glad they come from the Iri line,” I muttered.

My dad chuckled, spinning his wedding ring on his finger. “Yeah, I guess that’s the silver lining in all of this.”

“But where’s the proof? I want to see something other than Grams turning her blender on from the living room.” I stood and walked to the window.

Dad laughed, and the suddenness of it in this otherwise quiet room made me jump. “The blender trick, huh? Yeah, she likes that one.” He shook his head slowly with a grin. “Ah. Well, let’s see. You believe in good and evil, right?” I nodded. “That’s your proof.”

“What are you talking about?” I made a
what-the-hell
face.

“Faith. That’s about the only proof you have right now. You’ll get hardcore, tangible proof soon enough, unfortunately. And once you see it, you’ll spend the rest of your life wishing you could un-see it.”

I leaned against the window and stared at a portrait on the fireplace mantel. The faces of the people I’d called family smiled back at me. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me. Nothing about our family is what it seemed.” Tears pressed against the back of my eyes, and I blinked to hold them in. They were a watery mixture of anger and sadness. At that point, I hadn’t figured out which outweighed the other—or if it even mattered.

“Milayna.” My mom spoke for the first time. “Our family is the same now as it was yesterday. You’ve just learned some things about your heritage. Just because our family is different doesn’t mean we don’t love each other as much as any blood relations could love one another.”

I nodded. “I still wish you would’ve told me.”

My parents looked at me, their faces soft with love and understanding. A shimmer of sympathy stirred in their eyes. “I’m sorry, Milayna, but we just didn’t think you were ready,” my dad whispered. “Or maybe, we weren’t ready.”

“What makes me more ready today than yesterday?”

“Your visions. You need to know why you’re having them.” My dad reached for my hand, but I moved it away from him.

“Why? Because I’m this… this demi-angel? Well, I don’t want to be a demi-whatever, and I don’t want the visions.” The fury and betrayal bubbled up inside me, singeing my stomach lining. The acid burned my throat. “I don’t want the visions!” I yelled, jamming my hands through my hair. Fisting my fingers in the red waves, I pulled at them. “They’re horrible. They aren’t just
visions
, either. I feel things too. They’re painful. And sometimes, I hear things. And the stuff I see? I shouldn’t be seeing it!” I looked at my parents. “No one should.”

My dad’s shoulders sagged. “I’m sorry—”

“Whatever.” I grabbed my book bag off the floor. “I have homework to do.”

I took the stairs two at a time. My sneakers squeaked against the wooden floor as I ran to my room. Slamming the door behind me, I fell across the bed and grabbed a black pillow. It was covered with hundreds of different colored smiley faces. Disgusted, I tossed it across the room and buried my face in a plain black pillow that matched my mood.

Seven weeks, four days until my birthday.

Though I’d heard the expression ‘
seeing red
’ before, I’d never actually believed a person saw the color red when they were mad. It was just an expression—a way to tell someone that a person wasn’t just mad but pissed. I was wrong. I’d know. I was that mad. It was the morning after I’d learned I was supposedly a demi-angel, and the more I thought of it, the angrier I became. I was mad at my parents. Mad at Muriel. Mad at my grandma. Mad at the world in general. I wanted to be mad.

I’d gone from shocked and confused to thoroughly pissed off. Demi-angel, my ass. I refused to take part in their little family of angelic freaks.

***

I spent the entire weekend in my bedroom. I even skipped our traditional Saturday morning family breakfast, opting to sleep late instead. Well, actually, I wasn’t sleeping. I was sitting on the window seat overlooking the front lawn when my mother knocked on my door and asked if I was coming down. I didn’t answer. I couldn’t sit across the table from my dad after he’d lied to me. I didn’t even want to be in the same room with him. It was his fault. My life was ruined because of my dad, and I hated him for it.

I only left my room to go to work or grab something to eat when my parents went out. Somehow, I managed to steer clear of both of them.

***

I didn’t wait for breakfast Monday morning, and I didn’t wait around to ride with Muriel. Instead, I got up early and drove to school in my beat-up Chevy, which was filled with old burger wrappers and Coke cans.

The day progressed quickly. I wasn’t ready to face Muriel, even at school, so I cut second-period calculus class. I felt the sting of betrayal run through my veins when I thought about her. We’d always told each other everything. At least, I thought we did. Now, I wondered what else she’d kept from me.

But beneath the noxious betrayal ran another emotion. One just as strong, or maybe even stronger. Muriel and I had a bond, and I missed her. Longing tore through me like scissors through a ribbon. I felt like I was on the other end of that ribbon—a helium balloon, floating farther and farther away from my family.

No
. I gave my head a quick shake and pinched the bridge of my nose with my fingers.
I’m pushing them away. I’m not floating away from them; I’m shoving them away from me. They lied. All these years, all the lies, how can I forget that?

A vision pulled at me on my drive home from school that afternoon. It jerked and pushed for control of my thoughts and actions. I struggled to lock it out. But it seemed that the more visions I had, the stronger they became. And the more dangerous the situation, the stronger the vision. But when my chest tensed and a knot twisted in my stomach, sending bile up my throat, I was determined to ignore the vision I knew would follow.

I’m not giving up my free will and having something that I didn’t ask for shoved on me.

This time, I heard it before I saw it. My ears felt like they were full of cotton, and the normal sounds of my surroundings were muted in the background. Like an explosion, the sounds of the upcoming vision bombarded my mind. They were all I could hear, all I could focus on.

I’m not listening this time. I’m going to ignore, ignore, ignore. Demi-angel or not, I’m not going to let these visions control me!

What kind of life would I have if I could have a vision anytime, anywhere? I could see myself standing in front of a church full of people. Flowers and candles filled the room. I was in a gorgeous white gown about to give my wedding vows to Jake, then BAM! A vision.
Nope, no thanks
.

I turned on the radio to drown out the sounds. It didn’t help. My mind focused on them, even as I cursed it.

Kids laughing. Singing.

“No! I’m not listening,” I said through clenched teeth, banging my fist against the steering wheel.

Laughing. Playing.

My vision started to crackle, and I shifted in my seat and gripped the steering wheel tighter. I couldn’t have a vision while I was driving. I’d cause an accident. Sweat covered my back and my shirt stuck to my skin. But the vision came anyway. It was transparent, playing like a video over my normal sight.

A ball. A toddler. The ball rolling into the road—a teenager racing down the road, not paying attention.

“No! It’s a baby!”

A child’s life was in danger. There was no question—I gave in.

Once I stopped fighting the vision, it guided me. It was like I was a remote-controlled toy, and someone used the remote to drive me to the kids playing in the yard. I saw the red ball and the blond-headed little boy.

Reaching the house, I steered my truck so it blocked the road. I saw the old Trans-Am barreling toward me on one side of my truck and the little boy, running in that wobbly way little kids do, on the other side. The driver of the Trans-Am slammed on his brakes just in time to keep from hitting my truck. At the same time, the little boy picked up his ball and held it over his head with a loud giggle. He threw it, and it bounced back into the yard. He ran after it. As soon as the toddler was safely in his yard again, the vision cleared and my hearing returned to normal. The clenching pain in my stomach eased, but adrenaline still zinged through my veins like electricity shooting across my nerve endings.

The idiot in the Trans-Am got out of his car and stalked to my window. “What the hell are you doing?”

I rolled down the window, reached through the opening, and poked him in the chest. “Listen, idiot, you should be thanking me. Stop speeding through these streets; there are little kids playing. Now move your dumb-ass car.” I rolled my window up and tapped my finger on the steering wheel, waiting for him to move.

He stared at me with a stupid expression before turning and slowly walking to his car.

Once he was gone, I drove to the bakery where I worked part time. I had a closing shift that night, so I didn’t get home until after eight. I grabbed a frozen dinner and threw it in the microwave.

“Milayna?” my mom called.

I rolled my eyes. I didn’t want to talk, but I knew she’d expect an answer. “Yeah.”

She walked around the corner into the kitchen and leaned her hip against the counter. “How are you doing?”

The microwave beeped. “Fine. I’m just really hungry, and I have a ton of homework. I’m going to take this to my room.” I grabbed my dinner from the microwave and threw it on a plate. She stood silent and watched me. “See you later.” I carried my things to my room and locked myself inside. Maybe if I locked myself in, everything would go away.

***

Seven weeks until my birthday.

Tuesday, I skipped school and went to my grandmother’s. I needed to talk to her. I needed to stretch out on her purple couch and let my problems and worries float away. My grams and I had a lot of talks on the purple couch. Maybe that was why I always felt pulled to it when life turned upside down.

“Hi, Milayna,” one of my grandmother’s friends called when I walked through the foyer and into the great room. She was short and plump, with her hair dyed jet-black, which she insisted was her natural color. She smiled wide and waved. Her teeth were stained with bright red lipstick.

“Hi, Mrs. Richardson.” I waved back.

Telling everyone
hi
as I passed, I made my way to Grams’ apartment. She opened the door before I could knock.

“Come in, child.” She motioned me inside and rolled her chair into the living room. The overhead lights gleamed down on the white hair that curled against her round face.

“Hi.” I bent down and kissed her on the check. The familiar scent of her perfume tickled my nose, and I forgot I was mad. She was just my funny, old grandmother again. Not a freakin’ angel.

“No school today?”

“Not for me.” I shrugged a shoulder and plopped down on the couch.

“Ah. Well, I knew you’d be back sooner or later.” She fiddled with the knitting she had on her lap. “A scarf.” She held it up. “Do you like it?”

“Yeah. It’s pretty, Grams. Everything you knit is pretty. I like the pink and black.”

“Well, that’s good. It’s for you,” she said with a laugh. “So, I guess you’re not here to talk about my knitting.”

“No.” I picked at the hem of my shirt.

“Well, get on with it then.” She tossed the yarn in a basket next to the sofa where I sat. I loved that my grandma was a fun, eccentric person—the kind that would have a purple sofa in a bright yellow room.

I frowned. “I don’t want it.”

“Well, dearie, there’s nothing you can do about that.”

“I didn’t ask to be born this way.” My voice grew louder. “I want to give it away.”

Grams shook her head while I was talking. When I finished, she shrugged and said, “You can’t just give it away, Milayna.”

“Why not? I don’t want it.”

“It’d be like someone trying to give away their brain.” She tapped her forehead with her fingers. “It just can’t be done. This is a part of you. You can’t separate yourself from it.” Her hand dropped to her lap.

“Grams, I just want my regular life back.”

“You still have your regular life. You’re just learning more about yourself. Everyone has growing pains. Consider this one of yours.”

“Not everyone finds out their father is a flippin’ angel. I think that’s one helluva growing pain.” I stood and walked to the window. It had started to rain, and the drops covered the glass blurring everything outside.

“True.”

“There’s gotta be a way for me to get rid of this. Help me find it, Grams, please?” I turned from the window and knelt in front of her wheelchair. “Grams, how do people like Muriel and I have normal lives? Will we be able to go to college, have the job we want, or go on school functions with our kids?” I laughed, but it was a short, bitter sound. “Or even have kids? Can you imagine having a vision in the middle of labor?”

Grams chuckled. “A woman in labor hunting down a demon? Yes, that’d be quite a sight.” She smiled and patted my cheek. “The way I see it, you have two choices. You can sit around your whole life and pout like a spoiled brat because things aren’t going the way you think they should.” She ran her hand over my hair. “Or you can get on with life and find a way to be happy. It’s your choice, but I know which one I’d make if I were you.”

“I don’t want it, Grams. I’m gonna find a way to get rid of it.” I ground my teeth together and clenched my fists.

“Well, good luck with that. What I’m hearing is a bunch of
‘I, I, I, I.’
When you can talk without your thoughts centering only around yourself and what
you
want, then we can have a real discussion about what this demi-angel thing really means and what it can do—if you let it.”

I looked at my lap and twisted my fingers together.

I have made it all about me.

“Now,” Grams said, clapping her hands together, “let’s make some brownies. I’ll show you my secret recipe, but if you tell anyone, I’ll have to hunt you down and run over your toes with my wheelchair.” She tapped her finger against my nose and winked.

I grinned. “Okay. I swear I won’t tell anyone.” Standing, I went into the kitchen. I grabbed the measuring cups and a bowl, waiting for instructions from Grams.

“All righty. Grab the boxed brownie mix out of the cupboard—”

“Wait! You said your brownies were homemade.”

Grams cackled and turned her wheelchair, rolling into the kitchen. “They are homemade, child. I make them at home. I never said they were made from scratch.”

“Sneaky old angel, aren’t you?” I said with a laugh and opened the cupboard to get the brownie mix.

***

That night, I had the nightmare again. Demons chased me through nothingness—just a black void that seemed to go on forever. It was hard to move, as if the dark was closing in on me, swallowing me.

Their leader stood watching, waiting. “Milayna,” he called. “Stop running and listen to the truth.”