The Fallen 4 (13 page)

She wanted him to catch her.

Vilma swore beneath her breath, hanging her towel on the rack and then getting herself dressed. It was crazy; she didn’t have any feelings for Jeremy. It was Aaron whom she loved.

Then why dream?
a nasty voice asked from the back of her mind.

She remembered flying down to tackle him on a rooftop, and that moment’s hesitation before…

Vilma’s lips tingled with the memory, and she reached up to touch them.

“This is so crazy,” she said to herself.

She would have been lying if she’d said that she wasn’t concerned about Jeremy. It had been weeks since he’d disappeared without a trace. But her heart raced with the thought of the dream—the thought of him. Her skin prickled as if caressed by a cool breeze.

“Enough is enough,” Vilma said aloud, pulling on her jeans.

“What’s enough?”
asked a familiar guttural voice from the doorway, and Vilma looked up to see Gabriel standing there, his tail wagging.

She grabbed a clean blouse from a pile of folded clothes and started to put it on.

“This day… this life… ,” she grumbled, buttoning her shirt.

“That doesn’t sound so good,”
the Labrador said, padding into the room.

“I’m sorry, Gabe,” she said, bending down to pet him. “I’m just a little stressed right now.”

“Want to talk about it?”
he asked, turning his brown soulful eyes to hers. She was tempted to talk to him about the dream, and about Jeremy, but she didn’t think that she could.

“Thanks, but I’m okay,” she said instead. She hugged his thick neck, and bent forward to kiss his blocky head. “I’ve got to go.”

“Where are you going?”
the dog asked with a curious tilt of his head.

“Aaron and I are going out.”

The dream was there, at the periphery of her thoughts. She could feel Jeremy’s hands upon her back, stroking the sensitive feathers of her wings.

“You’re going on a date?”
Gabriel asked.

She pushed the dream as far away as she could, but could still see it—
feel it
—off in the distance.

“Yeah, you could call it a date,” she said, and smiled at the dog.

“That’s nice,”
Gabriel said, sitting at her feet and wagging his tail.
“You two need some time alone.”

“Yeah,” she said. “I think we do.”

*   *   *

Lucifer remembered the love of his God, the love He had for all of His angels.

Although He had loved Lucifer most of all.

Adrift in this mindscape of the past, Lucifer Morningstar tried to look away. He would have preferred not to remember this time in his distant past, but it appeared the choice was not his.

He saw himself as he had been, the Son of the Morning, sitting by his Creator’s side as He established order from the chaos of nothing, the cold darkness driven away by His divine light.

How proud Lucifer was.

He heard the choirs of angels singing in praise of Him, their celestial voices raised to the Lord God as He created the universe and the planets that would populate it. Oh, what a time it was, and Lucifer wished that the moment could be frozen in a perpetual loop to be played—lived—over and over again.

That was when he was the happiest, when all who had been created to serve Him were the happiest.

Lucifer tried to move on to some other time in his existence, for he did not want to see what was to follow. But this memory continued.

The Almighty had crafted a place like no other. Such attention He paid to this world, as if it were to be a jewel in His crown of glory.

“What is this place?” the Morningstar asked his Master.

“It is to be the home of my latest creations,” God replied proudly.

“And what shall they be?”

“They shall be my greatest achievement,” the Almighty lauded. “Through them, all that I am and all that I shall ever be will be exemplified.”

“But what of us, your angels?”

“You shall always have a place,” God said, and continued about His task, making sure that this new world—this Garden—was perfect for His newest creations.

Lucifer watched this vision, transfixed, as God took up mud and dust and dirt and fashioned this new creation.

And then He breathed life into what had none, life and a piece of Himself.

“I present to you the first of humanity,” the Lord of Lords said proudly to His angel, who had once been His most loved.

Who had once been, but was no more.

That was the moment when Lucifer Morningstar first knew the feeling of hate.

A hate that would gestate over time, giving birth to his fall and destruction. But from this fall there would also come a gift.

A gift of salvation.

*   *   *

Verchiel waited for the healer and the two Nephilim to depart and leave their patient unattended, before he stepped from the darkness.

Mallus lay upon the cot, his dire wound tended to by Kraus’s expert hands. If there was ever a human amongst them who understood the biology of the angelic, and could save Mallus, it would certainly be Kraus.

Verchiel loomed over the unconscious fallen angel, resisting the urge to strike him dead. How long had he and the Powers searched for this criminal of war, often coming close but never able to lay hands upon him?

Gazing down at the powerful magickal sigils tattooed on Mallus’s flesh, Verchiel now understood why. He extended his hand, holding it over the markings, feeling the magick emanating from them in waves. If it hadn’t been for the wound in his chest that had broken the patterns scrawled upon his flesh, Mallus would have remained completely invisible to him.

But now…

“I think I wanted you most of all,” Verchiel said in a soft, menacing whisper. “Even more so than the Son of the Morning.”

Verchiel had a brief, painful flash of memory. The battlefields of Heaven, awash with the blood of brothers; Mallus’s leering face, speckled in gore, looming above him, a spear of fire ready to be brought down.

Verchiel experienced that wave of helplessness again, which fueled his present anger. A fiery sword came to life in his grasp as he looked upon the injured criminal.

It was then that he saw that Mallus’s eyes were open. They
were little more than slits, and Verchiel was unsure if the angel was fully conscious.

Until his mouth began to move.

Mallus’s lips quivered ever so slightly. He was trying to speak. Leaning closer, Verchiel attempted to hear the angel’s words.

They were soft, barely a whisper, but Verchiel understood.

“Do it,” Mallus urged. “For what I have done…”

Verchiel clutched the burning sword hilt all the tighter as the blade hissed and burned brighter, fueled by his emotions.

“Kill me.”

And even though there was nothing he would rather have done at that very moment, Verchiel refrained. Was it that he wished the angel to continue to suffer for his sins, or was it something more… something that went back to another time when they were brothers beneath the loving gaze of the Creator? Verchiel could not bear to think of it any longer. He wished his weapon away and stepped back into the darkness from which he had come.

Before he could change his mind.

*   *   *

Aaron opened his wings, releasing Vilma from his arms.

“Can I open my eyes now?” she asked with a smile, eyes still tightly closed.

“Go ahead,” he said.

She opened them and looked around, nose wrinkling at the funky smells.

“Where are we?” she asked.

Aaron took her hand, leading her out from behind the Dumpster at the far side of the parking lot, and toward the building across from them.

They passed an open screen door and could hear the sounds of people talking, and smell the delicious aromas wafting out from vents in the building’s roof.

“Is this a restaurant?” she wanted to know as they rounded the building to the front entrance.

“It’s nothing fancy,” he told her.

“We
are
at a restaurant,” she said, and he could hear excitement in the tone of her voice.

Aaron let go of Vilma’s hand to open the door for her, gesturing with a sweeping motion for her to go inside.

“I can’t believe you,” she said. “Why are we doing this?”

The hostess at the wooden lectern at McKinney’s Grill greeted them and gathered two menus, directing them to follow her to a cozy booth at the back of the restaurant.

“Here ya go,” she said as they seated themselves, and she handed them each a menu. “Kathy, your waitress, will be right over. Enjoy your meal.”

They thanked her, and Aaron opened his menu.

“What are you doing?” Vilma asked him.

He lowered his menu to find her looking at him, surprised. “What do you mean?”

“Why are we doing this? Why are we here?”

“Answer me honestly,” Aaron said. “Have we ever been on a date? A real date, where we weren’t killing something that crawled from a sewer or attacked a school bus or something?”

She thought for a moment. “No, not really, but—”

“Well, here we are, then,” he told her. “Our first real date.”

“I can’t believe you,” Vilma said, shaking her head but smiling at him.

“Get whatever you want,” he told her. “The sky’s the limit.”

She laughed, and Aaron just about melted. Now, that was a sound that he wished he could hear more often.

Aaron looked around the dining room. Many of the tables and booths were empty, but there were some brave souls who had ventured out to grab a bite. He could only imagine how the insanity in the world was affecting businesses like this one. Who wants to leave the house, when you risk being eaten by something?

As he craned his neck, he could see inside the next room. Nearly all the bar stools were taken. Those patrons were glued to the news broadcasts of the latest horrors to befall the darkening world.

“Hey,” he heard Vilma say.

He smiled as he turned his attention back to her.

“So, was this spur of the moment, or what?” she asked him.

“Yeah, kinda,” he said. He focused on his menu, trying to figure out what he felt like eating. “It just felt more important over the last few days and all.”

“Does it have anything to do with your new proactive plans?” Vilma’s demeanor became very serious. “Are you afraid that one of us might die?” She paused for a heartbeat. “That we have to have at least one real date before it’s too late?”

“No,” he said, reaching across the table to take her hand. “Not at all.” Aaron was lying but felt it was the acceptable kind of lie. He didn’t want to scare her, or make a potentially bad situation even worse.

What he was planning, what he was planning for all of them—it was risky. Who knew what the repercussions might be? He was desperate for a few special moments alone with Vilma, before everything that they knew slipped away into the darkness.

“I wish we’d done something like this sooner,” he told her. “But now seems just as good a time as any.”

They were still holding hands when their waitress arrived.

Kathy was an older woman with bleached blond hair. Just by looking at her, Aaron could tell that she’d worked at McKinney’s for a very long time.

“Sorry to keep you waiting, kids. Do you know what you’d like?” she asked.

Vilma ordered a house salad and the chicken piccata with a ginger ale.

He ordered the rib eye, medium rare, a house salad, and a soda water with lime.

Kathy wrote it all down, then excused herself to put in their order and get them some rolls and butter. They thanked
her as she went off, and Aaron realized that they were still holding hands.

No wonder Kathy had looked so amused.

“You have to promise me something,” Vilma said suddenly to Aaron.

“And what’s that?”

“You have to promise that this isn’t the last time we do something like this.”

“Oh, so you like the good life, eh?” he joked.

“We could be sitting waiting for a bus, just as long as we’re together,” she said seriously. “And just as long as the promise keeps you from getting killed.”

He ran his thumb gently over her knuckles.

“Waiting for buses,” he repeated with a nod. “Why didn’t I think of that? It would have been a lot cheaper than McKinney’s.”

That made her laugh, but Aaron could tell that Vilma was still waiting for him to say it. “I promise,” he finally said, feeling something twist in the pit of his stomach. “But you have to promise me the same thing.”

“I promise,” she said.

But Aaron recognized the look in her eyes, and understood that they both knew these were promises they weren’t sure they could keep.

CHAPTER EIGHT

T
he Architects had been searching for Mallus ever since he had abandoned their cause. Somehow he had managed to keep himself hidden, but the Architects were patient, knowing that there would come a time when he could hide from them no more.

Once, the Architects had seen something special in the one called Mallus. His beliefs had mirrored their own. They had welcomed him into their fold and had given him purpose. But something had happened.

Something had turned him from the path they had paved for him.

The path to the future.

No longer serving the Architects’ purpose, Mallus had become a threat. As resourceful as they knew him to be, he had managed to elude the many Agents sent to find and eliminate him.

Until now.

Mallus had suddenly reappeared, the familiar thrum of his life force resonating along the strands of invisible webbing that enwrapped the world.

And the Architects had immediately dispatched an Agent to kill him.

Agents were relentless in their pursuit, never resting until they found their quarry. But once they did, once their purpose was fulfilled, their lives ended.

This particular Agent had waited patiently for its prey to surface. Now it stood on the periphery of a wooded property, its skin-tight suit blending with the environment, making it invisible to the eye. It tilted its masked face ever so slightly to the cool evening air, tracking the scent of its quarry.