Milayna (6 page)

Stopping, I turned to him. I could see him clearly, but blackness framed him. His eyes were soulless and cold. Terror ran up my spine, digging into my skin and leaving a warm, sticky trail in its wake.

“They lied to you.” He brushed an invisible piece of lint off his shoulder. “You can rid yourself of your awful visions.” Pausing, he rocked on his heels. “I can help you.”

“How?” I asked, trying to keep the tremor out of my voice.

“Give them to me. It’s simple.” He spread his hands wide at his sides. “I take them, and you go back to your pathetic little life.”

“How do I do that?”

“Come with me, and I’ll show you.” He held his hand out to me, a smirk on his face.

I backed away. Evil surrounded him, and I knew I wasn’t meant to go with him. “No,” I said, my voice firm.

A demon grabbed me. Heat radiated from his body, and he smelled of sulfur and burnt flesh. I struggled against his grip, crying and screaming, as he dragged me by the hair to his leader.

“Help me!” But no one came. The blackness surrounding us lifted, and I saw my family and friends watching as other demons grabbed me and pulled me into a glowing, yellow hole.

“You shouldn’t have fought your destiny, Milayna,” someone said as the demon jerked me down, down, down—

I woke up screaming and sat up in bed. My body trembled, and sweat dripped from my hair. Barely breathing, I tried to force myself to hold still and listen. My eyes darted around the room, looking for shadows that were out of place or movement that signaled I needed to get my skinny ass out of there.

Once I was reasonably sure the monsters didn’t follow me out of my dream, I slid out of bed, went into my bathroom, and splashed water on my face. A soft knock sounded on my bedroom door, followed by the handle rattling.

“Milayna? Are you okay?” my mom called.

I shook my head and leaned forward, bracing myself against the sink. “Just a dream.”

***

It’d been days since my last vision. I thought maybe by saying I wasn’t going to accept being a demi-angel, I’d somehow cured myself. With spirits lifted, I practically skipped out of school. The visions were gone, the sun was shining, and I didn’t have homework. I even had the day off work. Things were looking up.

Humming, I unlocked the door of my truck when a sharp, burning sensation sizzled through my stomach, like someone had impaled me on a white-hot poker. I doubled over. It radiated upward until it swelled and lodged itself in my throat. Gritting my teeth, I leaned against my truck for support as my vision started fading in and out.

A girl. The parking lot.

I shook my head. The vision cleared for a few beats before crashing into me stronger than before.

She drops something. She bends over. A car.

“No!” I said through clenched teeth, earning strange looks from the people around me.

I’m not getting involved. I refuse to get sucked into these demi-angel visions. I didn’t ask for it, and I don’t want it. They aren’t going to control my life.

But the vision didn’t go away.

A car, driving through the parking lot. A girl.

I could hear the sounds and see what was going to happen. If someone didn’t step in, the car was going to plow right into the girl. She’d bend over to pick up what she’d dropped, the driver wouldn’t see her, and—nope, I wasn’t getting sucked into it. It. Wasn’t. My. Problem.

A teacher driving. My history teacher.

I figured I had three choices. Try to ignore the vision and hope everything worked out on its own, go to my history teacher and stall him the few seconds it would take to change the vision, or talk to the girl to keep her from walking out in the middle of the parking lot.

I decided on the first one—ignore the vision and hope everything worked out okay on its own. After all, if I weren’t a demi-angel, I wouldn’t have known about it anyway.

As it turned out, I had fewer choices than I thought. My feet took on a life of their own, and I started running toward my history teacher.

Ambulance. A girl lying on the pavement. Blood seeping around her.

I couldn’t do it. The vision was too strong, and my own sense of what was right propelled me forward. Dropping my books and purse next to the open door of my truck, I ran. I ran as fast as I could and then even faster. The vision flipped picture after picture in front of my eyes: The girl bending down, the car hitting her, Mr. Rodriguez with tears in his eyes, and blood. So much blood. I pushed myself to run faster, dodging cars and pushing by other people. Another picture scrolled across my vision. The girl’s limp body on a stretcher just before it was pushed into an ambulance.

I let all resistance crumble, opening myself to the vision completely. I gave it what I was so afraid of losing. What I’d been fighting to hold on to—total control.

The vision directed me to Mr. Rodriguez. A warm, tingling sensation started in my chest and radiated through my body. It felt like I’d stuck my tongue on a nine-volt battery. I pushed my body harder. I had to get to him.

Wait. Just wait. I’m almost there.

“Mr. Rodriguez!” I screamed.

He opened the car door, and I gasped, struggling to breath around the burning in my lungs.
Don’t get in the car. Give me just a second longer.

“Mr. Rodriguez!” I screamed again. “Wait!”

He didn’t hear me, and dread filled me as I watched him slide into his car and shut the door. The effects of the visions intensified. I felt a stabbing behind my eyes, like someone was hammering nails into them.

Turning in a circle, I searched the crowd, frantic to find the girl. But there were too many people, and I could sense my time was running out. I pushed my way through the sea of students to the end of the sidewalk. I’d find her there. She’d have to pass me when she crossed into the parking lot. I’d grab her and say something stupid, like, ‘
Don’t we know each other? Are you in Mr. Matelli’s English class?’
She’d stop to answer, and it’d delay her long enough to avoid the car. Right?
Right.
Unless she was rude and wouldn’t talk to me. Then I’d make something up on the fly. Maybe I’d tackle her. Not very angelic, but better than getting hit by a car.
Yeah. Okay
.

I jammed my way through the massive crowd, making my way toward the sidewalk. Sweat dripped down my back, and the muscles in my arms strained from pushing people out of my way. And my legs burned from running, but I was almost there. Just a little more. I just had to get past a group of guys—but they wouldn’t move.

“Excuse me,” I yelled, jamming into the guy closest to me. Tears were building behind my eyes, and my chest burned.

I’m running out of time. Move, move, move!

The guy didn’t bother to stop texting and look at me. “Go around.”

I jabbed my elbow in his side and plowed through. Then I heard it. At first, I thought the boy was screaming at me, but it wasn’t him.

I was too late.

I rammed myself through the people standing in front of me and stumbled forward onto the curb. Sights and sounds faded into the background until all I saw was the girl lying on the pavement. Blood pooled around her head like a gruesome halo, and deep red stained her long, blonde braid.

Tears sprang to my eyes.
I’m too late. I didn’t save her. I did this to her. My selfishness. My pride.
Me
. I hurt this girl. What kind of monster am I to let this happen?

Students screamed. Some grabbed their cell phones and dialed 911, and a couple boys ran into the school and brought back the nurse. But I just stood there, motionless. Useless. Guilty. People ran into me, jostling me, pushing me out of the way.

It’s my fault. If I hadn’t been so stubborn—if I hadn’t fought the vision so hard and done something sooner—she’d be driving home right now instead of lying on the ground in her own blood.

Mr. Rodriguez stood next to his car door with both hands on top of his head, looking at the girl. Tears ran down his face. He was a nice man. If I hadn’t been so selfish, so stubborn, I could have spared him the agony of knowing he’d hurt a student.

It’s my fault. I’m to blame.

I jumped when I felt a soft touch on my elbow. “Come on, Milayna. I’ll drive you home. There’s nothing you can do.” I turned and saw Muriel. A fresh wave of tears blurred my vision.

“It’s my fault, Muriel. I saw it coming. I waited too long. I fought it.”

“C’mon. Let’s go home.” She went to my truck, picked up my purse and bag from where I’d dropped them, and locked the doors. Then she pulled me toward her car.

We drove in silence. I cried, and Muriel would occasionally look over at me with an expression of pity? Disappointment? Blame? Yeah, with an expression of a mixture of all three on her face.

When we got to my house, she walked me upstairs and pulled a pair of yoga pants and a T-shirt from my dresser.

“Here, put these on.” She handed the clothes to me.

I peeled off my clothes and slipped into the clean ones before I climbed into bed. The soft, flannel sheets pulled me in with their soothing smell of lavender. I grabbed a pillow, buried my face in it, and screamed before crushing, ugly sobs took over. Muriel sat on the edge of my bed and put her hand on my shoulder.

“She’s gonna be okay, Milayna.”

“How do you know?” I wiped my tears away with the backs of my hands and sniffed.

“I just know.”

“Another angel thing?” My voice was raspy and when I turned to her, she was blurry from the hot tears filling my eyes.

“Yeah, something like that.” She gave me a small, sad smile. “We all have visions. Some of us just see different things.”

“And Mr. Rodriguez?” A sob slipped out at the thought of him, and I put my fist to my mouth to hold it in.

Muriel’s gaze drifted to the floor. “He’ll be fine once he knows she’s okay. Besides, there was nothing he could’ve done. He didn’t see her. She was kneeling down. It wasn’t his fault.”

“No, it was my fault.”

I’m to blame. What kind of demi-angel will I make? I just let someone almost die.

She didn’t deny it. We both knew that if I hadn’t fought the vision, the accident wouldn’t have happened.

Muriel sat with me until my parents got home. Then she kissed my cheek, said she’d see me at school the next day, and left to go downstairs.

I heard her tell my parents what happened. Telling them it was me who caused it.

When I woke the next morning, the sun streamed through the window blinds and glittered through the stained glass suncatchers I had hanging from the ceiling, creating rainbows on the walls. The birds chirped happily in the treetops. I stretched all the way to my toes under my warm blankets. It was a beautiful morning. And then I remembered—

It was my fault.

Six weeks, five days until my birthday.

I padded down the stairs and into the kitchen to grab a granola bar for breakfast, finding my parents sitting at the kitchen table. My mom’s curly, blonde hair was smoothed into an elegant French twist, and she wore a navy suit that made her blue eyes look like laser beams. My dad wore his normal jeans and a polo, and his auburn hair was cut short, military style.

The sudden realization made me tense up and forget about breakfast. They’d both gotten ready for work earlier than usual so they could wait for me to come downstairs and then pounce.

Damn it. They set a trap, and I walked right into it.

“Sit down, Milayna,” my mom said.

I shook my head and crossed my arms over my chest. “I don’t want to talk.”

“Too bad. Sit down.” She pushed a chair out for me with her foot and pointed.

I walked slowly to the table, dragging my messenger bag behind me. Then, dropping into the chair, I crossed my arms around my waist and hunched over.

“We’ve been patient,” my mom said. “We’ve tried to give you time to work through your feelings. Well, it’s time to get over it and get on with life. This hiding in your room is going to stop.” My mom picked up her mug and took a sip of coffee. Her gaze never left my face.

“Sorry,” I mumbled. And then the tears came. I sobbed, laying my head on the table. I couldn’t get the image of the girl lying on the pavement, her blonde hair soaked in her own blood, because of me.

“You can’t fight them,” my dad said quietly. He leaned over and rubbed my shoulder.

“It’s my fault.”

“You have to give into your visions or things like that will keep happening.” My mom smoothed my hair over my ear. “Learn to look at the visions as a gift, Milayna, rather than a curse. You have the ability to help people in a way others can’t.”

It is kind of awesome. If I stop fighting it and learn to use it

My dad cleared his throat. “There’s more we need to tell you.”

“Oh,” I said between hiccupped sobs, “something tells me I don’t want to hear it.”

My mom slapped her hand flat against the tabletop, and I flinched. “You will listen, Milayna! It’s important. There are far worse things you could be than a demi-angel. People don’t get to choose their lot in life. This is the life you’ve been given. So stop whining and bitching and learn to deal. We’ll talk after school.”

My parents stood and walked out of the room, leaving me slouched in a chair at the kitchen table. I was supposed to leave for school, but instead, I sat at the table most of the morning, thinking.

Emotions tumbled through my brain like a dryer set on high. Some sliced through me, like my family’s betrayal and lies, leaving wounds still open and hurting. I opened my heart and pushed those emotions out. They were toxic and not something I had room for. Not something I wanted to keep. Other emotions were raw, but welcomed. Memories of family game nights, traditional Saturday morning breakfasts, trips to the mall with Muriel. That was my life. Was it really going to change as drastically as I pictured?

***

I was in my room when my parents got home from work that evening. I heard them talking and laughing when they came in. It was rare they came home at the same time, so I figured our impending conversation had something to do with that. I bounded down the stairs to meet them.

“You should change out of your work clothes. I made dinner.” Shoving my hands in the back pockets of my jeans, I rose on the balls of my feet and then lowered myself down again. “And I took Ben to Grams’.”

“Really? I thought something smelled good in here.” My mom smiled at me. We walked into the kitchen, and she went to peek in the oven. “Roasted chicken. It’s perfect.”

Dad took the lid off a pot on the stove. “Mashed potatoes.” He smiled and looked at me. I winked at him, and his smile widened. That was our secret sign that let him know I used extra butter—and not the diet kind that Mom used.

My parents went upstairs to change and wash up for dinner while I set the table. When we all sat down, my mom looked over the table and gave a happy sigh. “This is nice, Milayna. I didn’t feel like cooking tonight. Thank you. And thanks for taking Ben to Grams’ house. I wasn’t looking forward to fighting rush-hour traffic.”

I fiddled with my fork and nodded. “I wanted to help.”

We ate in a semi-comfortable silence until my dad spoke. “You skipped school today.” He took a bite of mashed potatoes.

“I had a lot to think about.”

“Yes, I suppose you did.”

I picked off a slice of chicken with my fork. “I’ve come to a conclusion,” I said. “I don’t like it, but hiding in my room and trying to fight my visions doesn’t change what I am. And I don’t particularly like the person I’ve been the last few days. I don’t want to be bitter and nasty the rest of my life.”

“That’s good, Milayna.” My mom nodded. “I’m really glad to hear you aren’t happy with how you’ve been acting because, well, you’ve been almost unbearable to live with.” She smiled to take the sting out of her words.

“I know. I really am sorry.”

We ate in silence for a bit. The only sound in the room was the scraping of utensils against plates and the ice maker dropping cubes of ice in the bin.

Shifting in my seat, I turned toward my dad. “So, what did you want to tell me? You said this morning there was more I needed to know. I think I’m ready to know the whole truth. I don’t want anyone else getting hurt because of something I did or didn’t do.”

“Well, first,” my dad said around a bite of asparagus, “it might help you deal with things knowing there are others like you out there.”

“I know. Muriel.” I nodded and picked up my water glass.

“Yes, she’s a demi-angel too, but there are others.” My dad wiped his mouth on a napkin and reached for another biscuit. “Including you and Muriel, there are ten demi-angels at your school. They all know about their powers. You are the youngest, so you’re the last to show signs that your powers are maturing.”

“Signs? Like the visions?”

“Yes, that’s part of your power. You have the ability to change the course of some people’s lives. Sometimes, you’ll be able to step in and change it for the better, and sometimes you won’t. But once you mature, you’ll have the power to fight Azazel and his demons. Your visions will help you track him, see his plans, and stop him before he can unleash his evil on earth.”

He finished buttering his biscuit, set it and his knife down, and pushed them out of the way. “Milayna, I was the third highest-ranked angel. On earth, I am the highest-ranked angel. That means my children are the highest-ranked demi-angels. Your power is far greater than any other demi-angel. Your job, your power, is to track Azazel and his demons. Keep them from doing harm, making sure humans are as safe as possible from their evil. But above all—keep the underworld from taking over the earth. It would be a massacre if the evil of hell were let loose on unsuspecting humans. It’s that power, the power to track, stop, and kill his demons, that Azazel wants from you. And He. Will. Kill. To. Get. It.”

I swallowed hard against the lump forming in my throat. Setting my fork down, I wiped at the tears building in my eyes. Thinking of Mr. Rodriguez and the girl burned a piece of me, like a brand or a tattoo. That memory was bound to me. “Um, why was I able to fight the vision so hard yesterday? If I have to step in, if that’s my duty, why was I able to wait until it was too late?”

My dad shrugged a shoulder. “I’m not sure. It’s probably because your visions are still weak. Your power hasn’t reached its full strength yet, but the more you have the visions, the closer to your birthday you get, the stronger they’ll become. You’ll come to a point where you won’t be able to fight them.”

“Good. I don’t want that to happen again. Ever. I may not be completely thrilled with them, but I know I don’t want anything to happen to anyone because of me again.” I thought of the girl lying on the pavement. Just two seconds, that was all. If I’d gotten there just two seconds earlier, it could’ve been avoided. The guilt was like a giant mouth that swallowed me whole.

“I’m glad to hear that.”

I forced the memory of the girl out of my head. “Who are the others?”

“They’ll come to you. Muriel will help introduce you to the group. Listen, Milayna, this is very important. Right now, your powers are stronger when you’re with another demi. They won’t be fully mature until your eighteenth birthday, and until then, you are susceptible to outside forces.” There was an urgency in his voice that pulled me to him and caused goose bumps to spread on my skin.

“What kind of outside forces?”

“Well, it’ll be easier for you to understand if I explain a little about me. Then you’ll be able to understand what sets you apart from the other demi-angels.” I nodded my head for him to keep going. “I was a high-ranking angel when I left. Third in charge of the Iri Council.”

“What’s that mean?” Putting my elbow on the table, I rested my chin on my upturned palm. I had the feeling we’d be talking for a long time.

He flipped his chair and straddled it. “The Council is the government of the Iri. I had a high position, and my high ranking made my powers stronger. As my daughter, that power transferred to you. You are a high-ranking demi, so your powers will be stronger than other demis.” My dad stopped and took in a big breath. “It also means you’ll be the leader of the group and other stuff after you turn eighteen,” he said so quickly the words blended together in to one long word. “But until then… Well, until then, you have to be careful. There are
people
who want to harm you.”

This just keeps getting better and better. First, I was just a demi-angel, but now, I’m like a demi-angel general. Go me! Ugh!

“For every good force in the world, there is an evil force.” Dad ran his hand down his face. I studied him; he looked worried. His eyes were dull and smudged underneath with dark bruises. Tiny lines fanned out from his eyes. His mouth was pinched. For the first time, I thought my dad looked old.

“So evil wants to get me? I don’t understand what you mean.”

“The Irin are our enemy, and one of the main jobs of the Fallen is to convert or kill the Iri. Azazel, a high-ranking Irin, wants your powers. He’ll do anything to get them, even if that means killing you so you can’t use them.” He doodled on the table with his finger. “Until you are eighteen, you are susceptible to his influence. But after your eighteenth birthday, your powers will strengthen and you’ll become immune to him. He won’t be able to touch you.”

My hands began to shake and were slick with sweat. I wiped them up and down my pant legs.

You said kill. That’s more than touching! That’s ending, like ending a life. Over, done, finished, caput. I don’t like this demi-angel thing. At. All.

“Why not?” I asked, hoping my voice wouldn’t give out. “What makes me so special when I turn eighteen?”

“Your ranking as a demi-angel will supersede Azazel’s ranking as an Irin. Essentially, when my Iri rank and power transfers to you, it will make you the strongest demi-angel on earth. You will hold more power than Hell’s Angel. And when Ben reaches eighteen, well, the two of you together? You will have control of the angelic army, which will be so strong that the demons of Hell won’t have any footing on earth. The thousands-year-long fight to reign over the earth with evil will be stopped.”

“Wait—” Questions were rolling around in my brain so fast it was hard to concentrate enough to ask one. “If I’m so vulnerable, why hasn’t he tried to get to me before now? And, I mean, if I’m so vulnerable, how come you’re just telling me this now? He could have grabbed me!” I smelled the coffee my mom was making and inhaled deeply, the smell oddly comforting. “And why didn’t you prepare me before now? I mean, isn’t there some kind of class for this? A special school like Harry Potter had? I mean, come on, really? I find out a few weeks before my birthday, just sitting in my kitchen.”

A chill ran through my body as I thought about Azazel and him actually wanting to kill me. If this wild fantasy were true, then I’d been walking around for days with a huge target on my back and didn’t know it. Nothing said “
kill me
” like a person who didn’t know to protect herself! My lungs hurt when I took a breath. I rubbed my chest with the palm of my hand and gripped the edge of the table with the other.