Leviathan

With a howl of fury, the chieftain launched himself toward Camael, moving with supernatural speed. But Camael was faster, swinging his sword of fire and cleaving the leader in two.

“Your dream was just that,” he said as the two pieces of the once living thing fell away in flames. “A dream.”

Without his leader, the Orisha with the burned wings seemed to lose his urge to fight. The fluttering beast drew back his arm, threw his spear, and turned to run. Camael slapped the projectile away, then pointed the tip of his sword at the fleeing primitive. A tongue of flame snaked from the end of the burning blade, and in an instant the Orisha warrior was engulfed in heavenly fire. The creature squealed: words of prayer to some long-dead fallen angel that was its creator upon its lips as it was incinerated.

There is one more, Camael thought as he returned to the ground, wings folding upon his back. Sword ready, his birdlike eyes sca

Aaron moaned in the grip of the poison-induced fever, and Camael turned his attention to the Nephilim. His sword dissipated as he moved toward the youth and squatted beside him. He touched the locking mechanism on Aaron’s manacles and watched as the restraints fell smoldering to the ground. “Get up, boy,” he said sternly.

Aaron’s eyes fluttered open. “Camael?” he whispered. “How …?”

“I purged the poison from my system,” he said, grabbing the teen by the front of his shirt and hauling him to his feet. “It’s something you could have done as well, if you’d bothered.”

He swayed drunkenly. “Why … why did you wait so long?”

Camael strode toward Gabriel still trapped beneath the net. “I was waiting for you to act,” the angel answered as he pulled the stakes from the ground.

Gabriel surged up and shook himself free of the net. “Thank you, Camael.” He sniffed at one of the still burning corpses of the Orisha warriors.

“So this … this was some kind of test?” Aaron asked, stumbling toward them on legs still numb with toxin.

Gabriel nuzzled his friend’s hand. “Are you all right? I was very worried about you.”

Aaron absently patted the dog’s head as he waited for Camael’s answer.

“You handled yourself quite bravely against the Powers—but now comes the difficult part,” the angel said. “I wanted to see what you would do.”

“Don’t you worry about me. I’ll be ready to deal with Verchiel when the time comes.”

Camael scowled and motioned to the Orisha bodies littering the ground. “These are merely pests in the grand scheme of things, bothersome insects that should have been swatted away easily.”

“I’m still new to this,” Aaron defended himself. “I have a hard time killing. There’s a lot I need to learn before—”

“You do not have time,” Camael interrupted. “Verchiel is like a wounded animal now—he will do everything and anything in his power to see you destroyed.”

“What’s this?” the angel heard Gabriel mutter. He glanced over to see the Lab sniffing at a patch of overturned dirt, his pink nose pressed to the ground, his furry brow wrinkled in concentration.

“I’ll be ready,” Aaron said bravely, distracting Camael from the dog’s curiosity. “Don’t worry about me.”

“I hope you are right, Aaron Corbet,” Camael said with caution. “For there is far more at stake here than just your life.”

He was about to suggest that they continue on to Blithe when the Orisha shaman exploded from the earth in front of the dog, eyes bulging with madness, jagged teeth bared in a grin of savagery.

“You will not keep me from the Safe Place!” it screamed as it lunged at the startled animal.

The shaman grabbed hold of Gabriel’s flank and bit down into the fur-covered flesh of his thigh. The dog yelped in agony, snapping at the creature as it scurried off into the protection of the forest, wiping the dog’s blood from its mouth.

Camael and Aaron ran to their injured comrade.

“He bit me, Aaron,” Gabriel whined pathetically. “That wasn’t very nice. I didn’t even bite him first.”

“He’s got a pretty good bite here,” Aaron said as he examined the bloody puncture wounds near the dog’s hip. “What am I going to do?” Aaron asked, looking to Camael for help.

“That’s an excellent question,” the angel answered, folding his arms across his broad chest. “What are you going to do?”

“Nothing’s happening,” Aaron said as he laid his hands on the dog’s bleeding leg.

“Perhaps you’re not trying hard enough,” Camael responded in that condescending tone of voice that made Aaron want to tell him to stick it up his angelic butt.

He was still angry with the angel for putting their lives at risk just to test him—although part of him did understand why Camael had done it. After all, there was quite a bit riding on this whole angelic prophecy thing. If he was in fact the one the prophecy spoke of, and they were both pretty sure that he was, then he had a major responsibility to fulfill for the fallen angels living upon the planet.

“Yeah,” Gabriel added, interrupting his thoughts. “Try harder.”

“That’s enough out of you,” Aaron said, pressing his hands against the bite. If only he could remember what he did that awful morning in Ly

“It hurts, Aaron.”

“I know, pal. I’m going to fix you up, just as soon as…”

Camael bent closer. “Let go your humanity and embrace the angelic,” he boomed. “To fear it is to fear yourself.”

Aaron was reminded of similar words spoken by Zeke that fateful Saturday—had it really only been two weeks ago? So much had changed in such a short time. He closed his eyes and willed the power forward.

He could sense it there, somewhere in the pitch black behind his eyes. He beckoned to it, but it ignored his call, perhaps perturbed at him for not allowing it to manifest during the battle with the Orishas. He concentrated all the more, his body trembling with exertion.

“That’s it, rein it in,” he heard Camael say quietly from beside him. “Take control and make it your own.”

Aaron commanded the power to come forward, and it slowly turned its attention to him. He pushed again with his mind, and suddenly, with the speed of thought, it moved, shifting its form—mammal, insect, reptile, all shapes of life, the menagerie of God. The force surged through him, and Aaron gasped with the rush of it. His eyes flew open, and he gazed up into the late afternoon sky, at the clouds above and the universe beyond his own. “It’s here,” he whispered, feeling his body throb with the ancient power.

“Excellent,” Camael hissed in his ear. “Now wrestle it, take control—show it you are master.”

And Aaron did as he was told. The power fought him, trying to overwhelm him with the sheer force of its might, but Aaron held on, corralling it, moving its strength to where it was needed. He felt the power flood into his upper body, moving down the length of his arms and into his hands.

“I … I feel something happening, Aaron,” Gabriel said, fear in his guttural voice.

“It’s going to be all right,” Aaron soothed as he felt the raw energy flow from the tips of his fingers into the dog’s injured leg. He willed the power to heal his best friend, and he stared at the gaping wound, waiting for it to close—but nothing happened. Again, he willed it, and the power danced about the injury—but it did nothing.

Aaron pulled away, exhausted, hands tingling painfully. “I don’t understand,” he said in a breathless whisper. He looked up at Camael looming above him. “I did what you said—I took control and I commanded it to heal Gabriel’s wound—but it didn’t do a thing.”