The Revelation of Gabriel Adam (17 page)

Gabe was thankful for that at least. Micah was in no condition to deal with adults. He wasn’t, either, for that matter.

“Let’s get you home, then.” He put her arm over his shoulder and held her waist to steady her balance. As they walked up the hill to the university, he glanced back at the new flakes beginning to cover the exposed patch of concrete. The only explanation was that the snow had been instantly melted away, but that didn’t make sense.

Nothing does anymore
, he thought.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

BBC One blared from the clock radio accompanied by an electronic alarm that beeped like the warning signal of a reversing truck. Gabe woke and thought he was about to be run over. Correction—he felt like he
had
been run over. He squinted to a rush of daylight. It hurt, like a migraine twisting to life.

In the glare, he caught a glimpse of the red numbers on the clock’s digital face. He was already late for Carlyle’s study at the vault.

Noon
, he thought
. So much for breakfast.

With one slap, the alarm quieted.

Muscles ached from head to toe. A film that tasted like chalk covered his tongue. He wanted—no, he
needed
—water. By the gallon, if possible.

A stab of pain shot through his hand as he sat up in bed. There he discovered a mosaic of purples, greens, and reds surrounding two knuckles.

Memories from last night trickled through the alcohol-soaked synapses of his brain.

She kissed me
, he recalled
.
The notion kept repeating itself as if it might become easier to believe, but it happened—he was there. For the most part at least.

He moved and felt another shock of pain. His knee throbbed when it bent, and then the rest of the night came back.
The intruder. Micah lying on the ground. The strange patch of missing snow
.

Carlyle and his father needed to know about the attack, but Micah would never forgive him if he went back on his word. Gabe decided to keep it to himself for now. He’d work on her later and hopefully change her mind about keeping it secret.

In the meantime, he needed to see about the break-in.

Gabe entered the vault, now cleaned and straightened from the intrusion with the exception of a dented lamp shade and the broken mirror. Even the blast mark had been scrubbed from the fresh dent in the vault’s door. Micah sat at the desk, turned away from the entrance, with her nose in a book and her face hidden by a curtain of hair. She didn’t look up when he walked in. Gabe tried coughing a little to get her attention, but she kept reading.

Trouble
, he thought.

Carlyle and Gabe’s father looked caught in one of their intellectual sparring matches, their discussion a series of animated whispers and hand gestures. Probably something to do with the security at the vault.

Gabe ignored them and sat down beside Micah. “What’s going on?”

She didn’t look up.

He let his book bag fall to the floor in a heap, hoping to get her attention.

“We’ll be with you both in a moment,” his dad said with a dismissive gesture.

“One second,” Micah said rather loudly, without a glance.

Gabe’s heart sank. He recalled the kiss at the playground. “Look, I know what you’re thinking—last night was a mistake. We drank too much,” he whispered.

She kept reading, lost in the book.

“It’s fine. I won’t let it get weird,” he continued. “But what happened last night, the
other thing
. . . we need to tell them about the—”

“There,” Micah yelled and closed the book. She pulled her hair away from her ear and removed two earbuds connected to a small music player hidden in her pocket. Its black cords were invisible in her hair. “Sorry. Was I shouting?” She leaned over and kissed Gabe. “How are you feeling? My head’s killing me.”

Gabe’s mouth hung open, and he noticed a silence had filled the room. The hushed debate had stopped. He turned to Carlyle and his father. They looked frozen, eyes wide as if someone had punched them both in the gut.

“What was that?” his dad asked. “Did I just see you two kiss?”

“Did you kiss him, Micah?” Carlyle asked.

“Yeah. So, what’s on the agenda for today?” she asked.

“What’s on the . . . ?” Carlyle fumbled through his documents and books, none of which, Gabe suspected, were written on the complexities of raising a teenage daughter. “You two can’t bloody kiss. You’re Watchers!”

“I don’t care if I’m the Pope. I can kiss whomever I please. Including Gabe, unless he should prefer I didn’t.”

“I’m just here to learn,” Gabe said.

Micah cleared her throat and cocked an eyebrow.

“But the kiss is good, too.”

She winked and nodded, as if to say,
Damn right it is
.

“You weren’t meant to
be
together,” his father said. “I mean, you’re meant to be together, of course. But not
together
.” He made a horrible colliding motion with his hands that nearly caused Gabe to dissolve from embarrassment.

Micah rolled her eyes and began fixing a nail. “Calm down. It’s just a kiss. It’s not like we’ve had sex.”

“Oh, my God.” Gabe put his face in his hands.

Carlyle and his dad nearly choked on their tongues as a frenzy of arguments spun around the small room. Gabe couldn’t understand a word from any of them as the bickering rambled on.

“Right, then!” Carlyle slammed his hand on a book like a gavel, bringing the room to order. “For the meantime, you two are not to see each other outside the context of what we’re doing and learning here. Is that clear? There is too much at stake for the both of you to be anything less than totally focused on our cause.”

“Whatever.” Micah’s tone said something else entirely.

“Yes, sir,” Gabe responded.

For an awkward moment nobody looked at each other.

“As you both know, there was another attempted breach last night on the vault,” Carlyle began. “All the security cameras had been disabled, and the police have discovered that whoever entered the gallery had access. A key, it seems.”

Gabe remained quiet, staring at his feet.

Micah put on a show of feigned ignorance. “Is the curator going to shut us down?”

“No,” his father said. “There will be no internal investigation by the board or the gallery. Mortan Balor has gone missing.”

“That man had access to the Norman Gallery,” Carlyle said. “I’ve spoken with the Vatican. They’re investigating his background. It’s possible he may have been compromised.”

His dad sighed. “We’ve also come to the conclusion that your need for acceleration is justified.”

Gabe remembered Micah’s warning about Thecla.

His father continued, “Whoever is conspiring against us clearly has the upper hand. We can no longer afford to treat time as a luxury.”

“The accelerant,” Carlyle said, “is a ritual device used in ancient ceremonies where the devout would attempt to commune with God.”

“Entheos Genesthai,” Micah said. “We know all about it. And what it can do.”

If Carlyle was surprised, he didn’t show it. “Good. Then you must now understand how dire our circumstance is to resort to such extreme measures. I’ve made the request to the Vatican, and we should have possession of the substance shortly. Since we are now pressed, I believe it is time to share all I know about what secrets the vault holds.”

“Before you begin,” his dad said, “I’d like a word with Gabe in private.”

“Agreed. Perhaps Micah and I have some things to discuss as well.”

Upstairs, Gabe followed his father through the glass exhibits of the gallery to the entrance to the Norman Chapel at the end of the hall.

The small ancient room was the pride of the castle’s exhibits, and inside, they would have privacy from the foot traffic of the hall. Soft candlelight bathed the vaulting pillars and low-hanging stonework ceiling of the eleventh-century Saxon architecture, giving the prayer room a solemn atmosphere appropriate for what Gabe knew was coming.

His dad walked across the herringbone floors to the altar table at the end of the room, his footsteps echoing around the tightly enclosed space. He looked conflicted and unsure of what he wanted to say. He hesitated as if choosing his words carefully, his hands folded in front of him.

“Nothing makes me happier than to see you happy, Gabriel. Especially in light of what you’ve been through. I’m glad you and Micah are getting along so well. Truly, I am. You both have a common empathy that draws you together. I understand that, but you must know that whatever your feelings are right now, you were not meant to be with Micah.”

“First of all, I don’t know if we are
together
,” Gabe said. “We’re just getting to know each other, so you and Carlyle can stop acting like I’ve put a ring on her finger.”

“She kissed you. That’s hardly nothing.”

“It was only a kiss, okay?”

“Regardless of your casual feelings toward this behavior, it is the beginning of what will certainly become complicated in the future. There is something you need to know about Micah.”

“What, that she’s the archangel Michael?”

“Obviously, but she is also the
Michaelion
to whom Constantine attributed his victory over Licinius—
the
turning point of the Roman civil war that established Christianity,” his dad said. “Micah is believed to possess powers great enough to favor an army. Obtaining control of the Michaelion will be central to our enemy’s plan. She may be one of the greatest weapons in this war.”

“A weapon?”

“Yes. You all are. This war won’t be fought on a supernatural plane. Unless we stop the End of Days, there will be nations and armies involved. Guns and soldiers. Different factions playing against each other. And now, because the archangels are human, and humans are corruptible, you’ve each become the greatest advantage to achieving victory.”

“And this has what to do with a kiss?”

“Everything and nothing. It is a distraction. You both need to focus on the reality of who you are. More importantly, you don’t need to get attached to her. Her path will likely be different than yours. Should we be unable to keep the spark of Armageddon from lighting and this war from spilling over into the nations, she will be called to lead the armies.”

Gabe laughed. “Micah leading an army? An army of what? Fashion designers?”

“This is serious. The archangel Michael presided over the nations of man. Also, as a practical matter, she is the archangel
Michael
. Once you partake in the ritual of the Entheos Genesthai, we expect you both to begin to recall who you were as archangels. You can see where there might be some . . . complications there.”

“That’s a bit narrow-minded, Dad.”

“That’s not what I mean.”

“Then what do you mean? Like we’ll recall our former selves?”

“We believe so, yes.”

“So we’ll become somebody else?”

“In a sense. But no more than we all grow and become more than who we were. You will always be Gabriel Adam. You are who you are. What you’ll recall won’t affect your personality to any great extent but rather your knowledge on how to fulfill your roles. At least that is what we think.” His father failed to hide the uncertainty in his voice, and he looked at the altar.

“But you don’t know, do you?”

“You are a smart, strong young man. And Micah is a smart, strong young woman. I have no doubt that when this is over, you’ll both continue to be yourselves and hopefully free to pursue whatever you wish in life. For now, you and Micah need to concentrate on the tasks at hand and not each other.”

He took a step toward his son, his demeanor even more severe. He leaned in and whispered, “Archangels are not immune to the lure of the enemy. They have fallen before. The darkness is listening for you. It can hear your presence in this world. And though it cannot see you, its focus is certain. Its plan in motion. Make no mistake—any departure from your path will invite temptation. Any opportunity you give, it will seize. Take care of who you are and who you are to become, because that, ultimately, is the prize for which our war is fought.”