The Fallen

But am I strong enough? Camael wondered.

The boy was with a female, very attractive by what Camael had come to understand of human standards: dark hair, skin the color of copper, a radiant smile. And by the looks of it, Aaron was smitten.

This will not do, thought the angelic protector. There are far more important things for this boy than matters of the heart. He has no idea how much is at stake. Yet, there was something about the girl, the way she moved, the power in her smile—

“Is that the one that has caused so much excitement?” a voice said from behind.

Camael turned to face Verchiel standing just beyond him. He tensed, a weapon of Heaven just beyond his thoughts.

“Of course it is,” Verchiel continued. He leaned his head back slightly and sniffed the air catching the scent of the Nephilim that he had followed here. “Doesn’t smell much different than any of the others: heavenly power awash in a stink of offal.”

Camael chanced a quick glance to see where Aaron and the girl were. They were talking at the end of the school’s main walk.

He looked back to see that Verchiel had moved closer.

“Look at him,” Verchiel said, “completely oblivious to the world around him. He doesn’t even see us. How powerful can he be?”

“It’s not that he can’t,” Camael explained. “He just doesn’t want to.”

Verchiel mulled this over for a moment, his hawklike gaze still upon Aaron. “I see…he denies his true nature. He clings to his humanity while suppressing the angelic.”

The girl laughed at something Aaron said, and Verchiel flinched. “I hate the sounds they make,” he said, eyes narrowing with distaste. “Don’t you?”

“I have spoken with the boy and he rejects it all,” Camael said calmly, with just a touch of disappointment for Verchiel’s sake. “He wants nothing to do with his heritage.”

Aaron and the girl began to move across the parking lot.

“So he is of no immediate threat to us?” Verchiel asked, his head slowly moving as he followed the pair with his unblinking stare.

“He is content with being human,” Camael said, watching Verchiel closely.

“His contentment matters not, not in the least,” Verchiel said as he turned his attention to Camael. “He still needs to be put down, for his own sake.” The angel smiled, fully aware of the effect of his words. “He’s far too dangerous to live.”

Camael heard the sounds of car doors slamming shut and suspected the couple had gotten into Aaron’s vehicle. A burning blade manifested in his hand and he stood his ground, ready to fight if he had to. “Then you will need to go through me,” Camael said, an electrical energy radiating from his body and charging the air around them.

“You draw a weapon against me?” Verchiel asked as similar energy began to leak from his eyes and leap from the top of his head.

From the parking lot, car alarms inexplicably wailed, headlights blazed, and horns blared as if pronouncing the coming of a king. The humans ran about frantically, bewildered, not able to see the battle brewing in their midst.

“We were brothers once, Camael, sharing the same duty to our Heavenly Sire with equal zeal—and this is what it has come to?”

Over the din from the parking lot, Camael located the sound of a single vehicle starting up and driving away. Relieved that Aaron had managed to escape for now, he said nothing.

“I came here to warn you, Camael,” Verchiel said, his energy receding. “As former brothers, I believe I owe you at least that.”

Camael did not put his weapon away, sca

“It’s all coming to a resounding close,” Verchiel said as he casually slid his hands inside the pockets of his coat and turned away. “After so long, it is finally going to end. A day of reckoning, so to speak.”

Camael watched Verchiel begin to walk away. He wanted to call out to him, to make him explain further, but doubted that Verchiel would share any more.

“This moment of truce is over,” Verchiel said. “If you should stand in my way, I will not think twice about striking you down,” he warned. “Be careful which side you choose, for if you choose wrong—you will share their fate.”

The weapon in Camael’s hand gradually returned from whence it came. And as he watched his former comrade recede to nothing, he felt a familiar stirring from within. He knew the feeling well. It was something he had attempted to lock away when deciding to follow the words of the ancient prophecy, something he had held at bay, denying it freedom. But Verchiel’s words had drawn it from the shadows and fed its growth.

And its name was doubt.

CHAPTER NINE

Aaron drove his ’95 Toyota Corolla down Western Avenue and into McDonough Square. He had been in this area of Ly

This was Vilma’s neighborhood. Febonio’s Smoke Shop, Snell’s Grocery, Mitchell’s Men’s Shop—all establishments that he never knew existed until now, all landmarks he would use if he ever had the chance to return.

“It’s up here, Aaron. On the left,” Vilma said, pointing through the windshield.

Aaron followed her direction and noticed the narrow street just beyond a small store advertising “Everything Brazilian.”

“Here?” he asked, snapping on his blinker and slowing down.

“Yep,” she answered. “It’s a dead end, a real pain to get in and out of.”

Aaron waited for the oncoming traffic to slow. A guy in a black van with a crude air-brushed painting of the starship Enterprise on its side finally waved him by, and he drove down the dead-end court called Belvidere Place.

“It’s the brown house on the end,” she said, hefting her bookbag from the floor onto her lap.

The street was very small, only a little wider than his car from nose to backend. A chain link fence across the end of the street separated it from a church and its parking lot beyond. There were eight houses, four on either side, all looking pretty much the same.

Aaron pulled over in front of the last house on the right, put the car in park, and turned to look at Vilma. She was staring straight ahead, her hand starting to move toward the door handle. She can’t wait to get away from me, he thought. He knew he’d been distracted since leaving school. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t shake the effects of his meeting with Camael, and he was afraid that his moodiness was a turnoff for Vilma.

“I’m sorry your meeting with the Emerson guy didn’t work out,” she said, her voice filled with sympathy.

He had told her that the admissions rep had been a jerk and that he had given the man some attitude, probably eliminating himself from the ru

“That’s all right,” he said with a shrug. “I didn’t really want to go there anyway.”

He hated to lie to her—it didn’t bode well for their future—but what choice did he have? There was no way he could share with Vilma the freak show his life had become over the last week. He had even begun to wonder if it was a good idea to start any kind of relationship with her. The last thing he wanted was for to her to be sucked up into the maelstrom of insanity swirling about him.

The silence in the car was nearly unbearable. Vilma finally opened the door a crack and looked at him. He smiled.

“Thanks for the ride. I really appreciate it,” she said, returning his smile. Only, Aaron thought it put his to shame. “I think I had to bring every book in my locker home tonight. My bag’s popping at the seams,” she said, patting the stuffed nylon bag resting on her lap.

“No problem,” he said as he slid the palms of his hands over the smoothness of the steering wheel. “Anytime.”

The car door was open but she wasn’t leaving. He wondered if there was some gentlemanly thing he was supposed to do like go around to the other side and help her out.