Last Rite (23 page)

Out of nowhere, all at the same instant, the sharp edge of guilt twists in my gut and a blast of Hellfire erupts from his whole body, throwing me back. I hit the ground and he bounds to his feet. He plants the sole of one shoe in my chest, his glowing fist pointed at my face. “Gotta love it when the holier-than-thou get what they deserve.”

I twist out from under him just as a blast of Hellfire leaves a crater in the lawn where I was lying.

“Stop!”

The shout comes from the porch. I look up to find Grace standing there in the waning light, a glass of lemonade in each hand.

“Go inside, Grace,” I call as panic crawls through my chest, but when I turn back to Matt, he’s standing, arms hanging limply at his side, staring at Grace.

She squints back at him, a mix of repulsion and fear on her face, and drops the glasses where she stands. They explode in a shower of glass and lemonade when they hit the brick stairs. Her lips start to move in what sounds like a mumbled prayer.

Matt winces but doesn’t break her gaze, almost as if she’s holding him hypnotized. A second later, he’s on his knees, hands over his ears. “I’m sorry, Grace. Please…”

Grace moves slowly toward Matt, her lips still moving in her murmured prayer.

I’m on my feet the next second, standing between them. Out of the corner of my eye I see Daniel and Claire pour out onto the back porch.

Daniel sprints down the stairs toward his daughter, crunching through broken glass, but I call him off with a raised hand.

“Grace,” I say, reaching for her shoulder, but she keeps moving past me as if in a trance.

“… having fastened on the belt of truth, and having put on the breastplate of righteousness…” she mutters.

“Grace,” I say again, spinning her to face me and shaking her gently.

She blinks, then lifts her eyes to mine. For a second she doesn’t seem to see me, but then her eyes well and she says, “I thought he went to Heaven.”

“Go inside, Grace. Please.”

I loop my arm around her and we start walking back the way she came. Claire takes her when we reach the porch and guides her through the door with a last glance back at Daniel. When I glance over my shoulder, Matt’s gone, but Daniel is standing on the lawn, looking out to where Matt was, stunned.

“Matt?” he says, dazed.

I lay a hand on his shoulder and flood him with peace. “I’m so sorry, Daniel.”

He drops his head. “He’s chosen.”

“I’m afraid so.” I give him a pat on the back and head with him to the door. “Go check on the girls.”

He nods, locking his eyes with mine in a silent plea, before ducking through the door.

“Well, that was interesting.”

Aaron’s simper from behind me does nothing for my shaky nerves. I turn to tell him to shut up and do his job, and find his hand raised in my direction, delicate white lightning dancing over the surface of his skin.

He shrugs and a cold smile cuts across his face. “Who would have known a fallen could take down the great Gabriel?” he says, then his expression shifts to a mask of feigned grief. “It’s just a shame I was too late to save you from him,” he adds as a blinding streak of lightning erupts from his palm.

17

Second Coming

FRANNIE

The door clicks closed and I just stand here in the bedroom for a second trying to remember what Grandpa said. My mind feels full of cotton candy. He said something about being safe, I think.

I give my head a last shake, then crack the door open. Grandpa is gone and the lights in the hall and family room are out. It’s totally dark except for the yellow light slanting into the hall from the dim overhead fixture in my room. I make my way the few steps to the bathroom. It takes a second for the fluorescent bulb to flicker to life, and I realize I’m breathing too fast. As the fluorescent glow fills the room, I look in the mirror and almost gasp. My eyes are sunken and purple, and my skin is so pale I look dead.

But then my eyes are drawn to the metal pendant that I couldn’t bear to remove. I trace my finger along its curved surface and feel it call to me.

I yank my eyes away from my reflection and pull open the medicine cabinet. Inside, I find a hotel toothbrush wrapped in plastic and a travel-size tube of Crest. I run the toothbrush over my teeth, then crank the shower on full blast. I pull off my clothes and step in, letting the warm water trickle through my hair and down my body. At first I just stand here, intending to take my time, but then I decide too much time alone with myself is dangerous, ’cause I have a sudden, overwhelming need to call for Gabe. I think of him and Luc. I’m sure they’re looking for me, and it tugs at my heart that, for the first time in months, I don’t have either of them at my side. I’m on my own, for better or worse.

Was this a mistake? What if I royally screwed up by coming here? Have I put Luc and Gabe in danger? The last time I ditched them, Taylor ended up dead. I feel suddenly cold and crank the hot water, then hurry through my routine and wrap myself in a towel, tucking it tightly around me. I chance one last glance at the dead girl in the mirror before flicking out the light and heading back to my room.

I lock the door behind me and cross to the window, where I look outside for Matt. When he’s not there, I turn and lean against the window frame, trying to settle my nerves, and let my eyes wander over the familiar treasures on the heavy antique dresser. These things have been here all my life. I walk over and pick up a picture of all five of us kids with Santa when Maggie was only a baby.

I miss them so much.

Panic kicks in my chest. I have to get to them—to Maggie—before it’s too late.

I feel all my muscles tense as the image of Maggie and Marc surfaces in my mind. What if it’s true? What will I do if he’s already hurt her?

I close my eyes, breathing back the threat of tears. She’s going to be okay. I have to believe that.

I don’t understand my Sway, what it is or how it works, but I’m starting to trust it, just like I trust my visions. I’ve seen it work. I can’t deny it. And I also have the feeling Gabe is right. If I’m gonna have a chance, I need to learn to use it. It seems to come easiest when it comes from my heart, and when I try to force it, it doesn’t seem to work at all.

I need it to work now.

I feel love for my family swell in my heart and send a message out to Maggie.

Be safe. Be safe. Be safe.

I focus on moving air in and out of my lungs as I put the picture down. I run my fingers over a lump of clay that Matt painted a smiley face on in kindergarten and gave to Grandma and Grandpa for Christmas. Next to it is a round tin with powder and a fluffy white puff that used to smell like jasmine, but now smells like dust. Grandma’s silver brush with horsehair bristles and matching hand mirror is here too. I pick it up and bring it to my nose, but her smell is long gone from it. The assortment of bobby pins and hair clips in an old polished abalone shell sits next to the brush. I smile at the memory of my oldest sister, Mary. She thought she wanted to be a beautician when she was nine. We’d spend hours in here, Mary doing everyone’s hair and makeup. Even Matt’s.

My eyes slide to the small wooden jewelry box where all Grandma’s costume jewelry was stored—Mary’s stash for accessorizing her younger siblings. I lift the box, remembering that, after we were all dolled up, we’d sit in here for hours playing games and listening to the tune from the jewelry box, stopping what we were doing every so often to wind it. I remember Matt telling me to stop playing it and grabbing it away.

“That’s very old and delicate,” Mom had scolded as she lifted it from his hand and placed it back into mine. “It can’t take rough handling.”

I stroke a finger over the carved lid, inlayed with some pure black stone. The stone has absolutely no shine, but it’s not dull either. It seems almost alive, devouring the light around it. And, as I trace my finger around the spiral of the design, I feel the tip of it go numb.

I wind the tiny key at the back of the box and curl my fingers under the lid, lifting it ever so gently, heeding my mother’s words from so long ago.

As the first notes waft up to meet me, I start. It’s the tune from my dreams. This is why I recognized it. I close my eyes and start humming along, swaying gently to the old familiar tune. I only realize I’m gripping the pendant in my other hand when I feel the sharp edge cut into my finger.

I lift my palm to my face and watch thick crimson blood seep slowly from the wound on my finger and trickle down my hand. I’m mesmerized by the tune and the blood and barely hear the low rumble followed by a wet ripping sound.

Then a musical voice is humming with me to the comforting melody.

When I look up, the green-eyed angel is standing near my door. He moves cautiously to stand next to me and looks at me in the mirror over the dresser. “I was waiting. I knew you would call.”

I turn and raise my eyes to his, and he smiles down at me.

“You’re wearing it,” he says. He lifts a hand and traces a finger down the leather strap around my neck to the pendant lying on my chest, and I hear the tuning-fork hum come from it again. He smooths a finger gently over the metal and the skin under it tingles. “I made this for you.”

I look down and the pattern—an eye-shaped spiral that flares at the edges—is exactly the same design as the black stone on the box.

His touch is soft, but it burns as his finger follows the leather strap up to my neck. He pulls away and locks me in his astonishing green gaze, holding me mesmerized. Myriad emotions pass over his face, finally settling on a mix of relieved anguish.

Tentatively, I lift my shaking hand, expecting my fingers to brush through air, as they did before when I tried to touch the green-eyed boy in my dreams. But instead, they contact warm flesh. The air charges with static electricity as I trace my finger over the back of his hand, leaving a thin trail of blood from my cut that vanishes into his skin. And that’s when I see it. Red electricity skittering over my hand.

“You see,” he says hooking his finger under my hand and inspecting the dance of red lightning across my knuckles. “You belong with us.”

I’m struggling for air when I finally ask. “Who are you?”

He smiles. “Look deep within yourself and you’ll find me there.”

The rush of frustrated anticipation makes thinking straight difficult. I remember him slipping the pendant around my neck. I feel him cradling me, safe on the beach. But those were dreams.

His eyes glow with the light of a star, just as they did in my dream. I stare into them, mesmerized, and the pendant burns into my chest, pulsing with its own living energy.

His smile spreads, warm and genuine. “You recognize me from your dream—your morning star?”

Somewhere inside me terror takes hold as a deep corner of my brain registers what’s happening—who He is. But the pendant pulses on my chest and I’m paralyzed, unable to even pull my hand away from His.

He gazes down at me, disappointment clear in His expression. “I hoped I wouldn’t frighten you in this form.”

I shudder as the image of His other form, huge, with black bat’s wings and glowing green eyes in a jet-black face, surfaces in my mind, but I still can’t move. But then I remember what Gabe said. Can He read my thoughts?

I focus and build the wall up around my mind.

He looks at me a moment, then a smile breaks over His face. “Very good.” It’s not until He squeezes my hand and releases it that I realize I hadn’t let His hand go. “Gabriel has taught you to guard your mind. Wise, that.”

Finally, I find the strength to close my eyes and back away. I’m shaking so hard I’m half surprised my legs don’t collapse. I know I should run, but I’m not sure I could.

As I stand here, totally panicked, trying to figure out how to get not only me but also Grandpa out of here, it hits me.

This is it
.

This is what I’m supposed to do—the thing I’m meant for.

He has come to me, and I feel a deep certainty that this is how it was supposed to be. Gabe wanted me to lure Him to me and find out His weakness. I can do this. Even if He doesn’t have a weakness, maybe I can influence His thoughts. If He trusts me, maybe I can make the difference.
This
is what I’m supposed to do with my Sway.

It has to be.

“But … what is your
real
form?” I ask, setting my resolve and trying to find the courage inside me to follow through with this. I can’t hide the shake in my voice, but I hold His gaze.

His smile fades and His face transforms into a mask of sadness. “My true form…” He says, pensively with a slow shake of His head. But then His eyes lift to mine, hopeful. “This is my true essence—my Heavenly form. This is what I was meant to be.” There’s a deep longing in His voice as He adds, “What I could be again if I were allowed to return to Heaven.”

“You were an angel,” I say, trying to sort this out. He was an angel before He fell. He wants to be an angel again. If He returned to Heaven … what would happen to Hell?

His wings ruffle behind Him. Without realizing I’ve done it, I find myself stepping closer. I lift a hand to brush my fingers over the edge of the feathers, feeling myself drawn to Him. But before I reach them, I catch His gaze, and what I see there makes me pull my hand back. Even though His gaze is soft, there’s something hungry in it. I drop my hand and my wide eyes find His again. “Why did you change?”

He lowers His gaze and the anguish in His eyes is unmistakable. “Rage will change a being.” He sounds suddenly old and very tired.

“Rage…” I repeat. “At what?”

He still doesn’t look at me. “I’d never known loss like that…” The despair in His words wraps like a blanket around my heart and squeezes. But then His eyes lift back to mine. “I need you to understand me, Frannie. I’m not the monster that religion and warped histories have made me out to be.”

“I … I want to understand…” I say, but it’s a lie. I want to run.