Heather Terrell - Eternity (v5)

“You didn’t tel her who she is, did you?” Armaros asked, his voice incredulous.

“Don’t be ridiculous. Her ignorance is the only thing that has protected her so far. The same goes for Michael. You know that,” my dad said. He was as angry as I’d ever heard him.

“Then why would you come so dangerously close to revealing the truth to her?”

“Her powers have started to emerge. The poor thing thought she was a vampire. We needed to give her just enough information to dissuade her of that misconception—and explaining the link between the fal en angels and vampires was the only way. We didn’t tel her anything more.” I knew that this last point wasn’t exactly true, but I was glad Armaros didn’t. He was fierce.

“Daniel, how could you be so foolish? We were meant to protect them longer, keep them unaware until they were ready. Until it was time.”

Armaros continued sparring with my dad.

“What were our choices, Armaros? To let her go on believing she was a vampire? And have Michael believe the same thing too? Such thinking would bring them precariously close to darkness. When Ezekiel or the others emerge, as they undoubtedly wil , it would make El speth and Michael easy prey for their dark purposes.”

I felt something snap in Michael, almost like he’d woken up. And suddenly I saw the image more clearly, not through some bizarre haze. I guessed that the haze was the residue of Ezekiel’s influence.

“You’re right, Daniel. But while it is one thing for El speth to be aware of her differences, it is quite another for her to even suspect who she is. You may have opened the door just enough to put El speth and Michael in play, assuming El speth told him what she knows,” Armarmos barked back at my dad. Then he said quietly, “You might have even triggered the end days.”

“You don’t think I know that, Armaros? Hananel and I tried so hard to make El speth feel like a regular human—to align her with mankind when it’s time and to stave off her powers and the clock. You don’t think I’ve worried myself sick over when to tel her who she is? When to begin preparing her for the battle that rages beneath the surface in this naive world? We have walked a very fine line between keeping her safe and innocent and preparing her for war. How can we possibly know the best course for El speth and Michael when we haven’t seen their kind since—”

Armaros interrupted. With venom. “Since the beginning.”

“Enough fighting,” my mom interjected. “We don’t know that either El speth or Michael know anything of significance. We do know that El speth is gone, and we need to find her. We have sent a gifted friend to track her down and bring her home, since obviously we cannot go ourselves—”

“Obviously,” Michael’s mom interrupted.

“And we were hoping that you might send one of your friends to do the same,” my mom finished.

“We would be happy to do so, Hananel.” Michael’s mom paused and then said, “Thank goodness, Michael doesn’t know anything.”

“Nothing?” My mom sounded skeptical.

“He senses his powers, of course. But, otherwise, he seemed perfectly normal at dinner tonight. If a little subdued.”

“He didn’t mention a fight with El speth?”

“No. But then, you know how teenagers are.”

“Are you certain that he is uninformed?”

“Insofar as I can be certain of anything with the limitations of this mortal body.”

“Perhaps you should check on him.”

“Perhaps I should.”

The stairs began to creak as Sariel walked up to Michael’s bedroom. I watched through his eyes as he scurried back to his bedroom and threw himself under the covers. The wooden floorboards squeaked as she approached his bed and hovered over it for several minutes. Then she tiptoed out of the room, closing the door behind her.

The image faded. I stood before Michael, staring into his waiting eyes. He looked almost sick as he anticipated my judgment on the image he had summoned up for me.

“Do you believe me? Do you believe that Ezekiel doesn’t have a hold on me any longer?”

I did. I knew he was tel ing the truth. In fact, I sensed the very moment when the cord between Michael and Ezekiel was cut—it was when my dad mentioned Ezekiel by name—and I knew that Michael came to Boston of his own volition. Not under Ezekiel’s sway or for Ezekiel’s purposes.

“I do, Michael.”

“Thank God.”

Michael wrapped his arms around me, and I let him. I didn’t return the embrace. I wasn’t ready. But I couldn’t stay mad at him either. Through Ezekiel’s eyes, I’d seen Ezekiel turn powerful, grown men and women into his fol owers. Into monsters. How did I expect Michael to resist?

“El ie, I promise that I wil never betray you again. We’re in this together, against Ezekiel.”

“I hope so, Michael.” I real y did. But how could I be certain that Michael wouldn’t fal under Ezekiel’s influence again? I knew Ezekiel would be a constant presence, in one form or another, and Michael seemed to be susceptible to Ezekiel in a way that I wasn’t. I would have to be vigilant, to constantly assess Michael for any changes, by touch or by blood if necessary.

But for now, it was enough that Michael was back. And that I was no longer entirely alone.

Chapter Forty-two

Hand in hand, we raced across the Harvard campus toward the square. The lights from the stores and restaurants and theater blinded my sensitive eyes after the dimness of the campus pathways. In the few seconds it took for them to adjust, Michael led me down into the murky tunnels of the T; the strange disorientation I’d experienced on the Harvard campus must have been an Ezekiel trick. I bristled at the thought of being underground—

trapped—but with Ezekiel so near, we had no choice.

I had told Michael where we needed to go and how fast we needed to get there. To his credit, he didn’t ask why. He just asked how he could help us reach Professor Barr.

At Michael’s suggestion, I had tried to reach Professor Barr by phone first, without success. The time difference was working against us, so we decided the quickest—and perhaps only—way to reach him under the circumstances was to fly to London.

After quickly mapping out the necessary connections to get from the Harvard Square Station to Logan Airport, we stood on the train platform.

Using Michael’s cel , we booked seats on the British Airways flight to London. And then we waited. An ancient clock loomed over our heads and tapped out the minutes, as if reminding us how little time we had before the gate would close. I wished that we ourselves could fly to London, but neither of us knew whether we had the ability to fly such far distances.

Final y, final y, in the far distance, I heard the rumbling of the train. I thanked God. I didn’t think my nerves could stand one more second of delay.

One more second for Ezekiel to find us.

The crowds started to converge on the cramped platform as the train slowed down. As the doors opened, people jostled for spots in the already packed train car. I reached for Michael’s hand to make sure we didn’t lose each other. Before his hand gripped mine, I saw a familiar head of blond hair in the crowd pouring into the train.

I stopped. Was it Ezekiel?

I felt the warmth of Michael’s hand in mine, and yet I stil couldn’t move. The man looked like he was about to hop on board, but was hesitating.

Should we stay here—and risk missing our flight—or get on an enclosed subway car with Ezekiel for company?

Michael pul ed me toward the open train doors. They had started to beep in anticipation of closing. “Come on, El ie. The doors are about to shut.”

My body was rigid. Michael spun around and saw my expression. He fol owed my gaze and understood immediately the source of my fear.