The Watcher

In that moment I knew he might have to fight to protect me, and if he did he would think nothing of it—even if he got hurt. And as much as I was scared for him, I was twice as grateful he was there.

Light grew around Michael as darkness built around Damiel, and the energy between them pulsed and throbbed as though the two forces had a life of their own. The dark smoke reached toward the light and then pulled back, reverberating—gaining in mass—until it arced back and slammed into the light with all the violence of waves against rock. While the rock would hold, with enough time and pressure it could also be eroded. Could darkness erode light?

“It’s her that I want,” Damiel said, and his eyes flashed a terrifying shade of red, the same as in my dream. I inhaled sharply and the red was gone. His tone changed to one of mocking. “Besides, how can I leave her out of it when you can’t? She’s always been a part of it—thanks to you.”

Before I could ask what Damiel meant, who Michael might be to me, the dark smoke drew closer, swirling around me, forming spikes like an iron maiden. The scents of creosote and sulfur filled my nose.

I coughed. “Michael, what’s happening?”

Damiel’s smile broadened, chilling me. “See? You can’t stop me. She’s a weakness to you now as she’s always been. She’ll take you down again, Michael.”

Again?

The darkness encased me. Spiraling tendrils drilled the light around us and inched toward my skin, piercing and burning with a mixture of pleasure and pain—both captivating and revolting. The evil eye necklace quickened at my throat.

Michael whispered in my ear, his voice taking on that musical quality I’d heard before. “Trust me. It’s okay. Don’t worry.” His fingers against my collarbone sent a rush of light and heat through me like sunlight, reminding me how cold I was. I leaned into him as though I were drowning and he was dry land.

“You have no idea what he’s capable of,” Damiel said. “The things he’s done.” There was a force behind his words that made the necklace thrum like a tiny, terrified heartbeat. Darkness amassed behind him, and the light from Michael faded.

I needed to do something.

“Leave, Damiel,” I said. “Leave now!”

A jolt of energy pulsed through me, thrusting against the darkness. Damiel staggered from the force of it. Anger and revulsion crossed his face.

“Good,” Michael said. “Use your free will.”

“I think it’s time you remembered,” Damiel said. With one hand he covered my face, and the force of blackness around him enveloped me again. Before I could blink, a flurry of images poured into my mind—senseless scenes of darkness and fear.

“Don’t touch her!” Michael erupted and charged Damiel, heaving him down the front steps. Damiel laughed as he regained his balance with an u

As Michael dodged and parried his blows, the light around him grew. It glowed brighter and stronger, until a transparent blue shimmer formed like gossamer behind him into an outline of wings.

Damiel noticed it too and it seemed to compound his fury. Quickening his attack, he landed a fist on Michael’s temple and Michael staggered, blinking sweat from his eyes. Damiel lunged at him again but Michael recovered quickly, leaping up onto Damiel’s black Maserati, his boots denting the hood.

Pulling a weapon from behind his back, Michael swung a sword around himself that flamed a brilliant blue. Damiel ducked and backed away, but the sword made contact, slicing his cheek. I gasped. Although it visibly weakened him, it didn’t leave a mark.

I saw Michael in that other time and place as if it were a dream. He was still beautiful, but more severe, pained, like he lived his life in shadows. In the background stood someone equally beautiful: Damiel. How was it possible? Could all three of us have existed both then and now?

“See the way she’s looking at you?” Back in the present, Damiel goaded Michael. “It’s just a matter of time before she knows what you are—Brother.” His words had the same effect as Michael’s sword, cutting him down without leaving a mark. He stepped in, grabbing Michael’s arm above the wrist, trying to take his weapon. “That is, if she doesn’t go insane first.”

The images flooded in faster than I could make sense of them, leaving me dizzy and sick from the recollection. I leaned into the doorway for support.

A cold rage came over Michael. With his left hand he threw a solid jab that co

A scream caught in my chest, unable to escape. I could hardly breathe. The necklace, which had vibrated since Damiel’s arrival, stilled.

Crouching beside the limp body, Michael placed his hands over its heart and pressed his lips to its forehead. The boy opened his eyes.

“W–where am I?” the boy stammered, sitting up. His voice, smooth and pleasant, held traces of an Italian accent. Even his features were different from Damiel’s now: coarser, more masculine, less otherworldly in their beauty—more human.

“What’s your name?” Michael asked, offering him his hand. “Can you stand up?”

The boy accepted and stood groggily. “Giulio.”

“You should go home. Your family’s been worried about you.” Michael placed a hand on his shoulder to steady him. “Do you know where you live?”

Giulio nodded and Michael helped him into his car.

After Giulio left, Michael turned back to me and let out his breath. The fight with Damiel had popped a few buttons on his shirt. It gaped open, exposing a tightly muscled chest. The flashes of memory I’d seen in that other reality were fading as disbelief took hold of my thoughts. Even this battle with Damiel seemed unreal.

But what did seem inescapably real was Mom’s Toyota pulling up the road and Michael quickly zipping up his sweatshirt to cover his torn shirt. In all the evening’s tension, I’d forgotten she would be home so soon. It was barely seven-thirty. How had so much transpired in so little time? As Mom’s car pulled into the driveway, Michael strode up the drive.

“He’ll be back. That boy Giulio has no defenses against him,” he said. “If not him, he’ll find someone else to possess.”

My knees slackened. Luckily I was still leaning against the doorjamb for support. I really needed to sit down. “He was possessed?”

“It’s what demons do.”

What? Surely I’d heard him wrong. “You mean Damiel is a…”

In the doorway, Michael stood so close that the heat of his body sheltered me from the cold night air. All I could think about was the dream I’d had the night before, the good part where he’d kissed me. I wished it were real.

“We’ve got a lot to talk about,” he said quietly and stepped inside.

Mom eased out of her car as though tired from a long day at the hospital. When she came in, I greeted her with a hug, glad for the sense of normality her presence brought. I tried not to think about what had just happened so the shock and horror of it wouldn’t show on my face. But I could already see her curious expression when she registered my behavior, my new outfit, and then Michael standing by the sofa. We looked more like we were going on a date than friends hanging out, which was the story I’d told her last night.

“Mom, this is my friend Michael,” I said, introducing him.