Refracted (The Celadon Circle Book 2) Page 5

  With the shrug of his shoulders and a confession of incompetence, Aamon not only dimmed the light, he smothered it. Jordan knew she’d never have the courage to try and revive the tiny spark, even if it were possible.

  And she hated him for it.

  The laughter that forced its way from somewhere dark and deep inside her had a maniacal edge. It ended in a scream that was both hair-raising and sad, like a banshee’s wail.

  Afterward, Jordan felt empty, yet somewhat better. She had purged herself of the toxins for the time being.

  Aamon wasn’t surprised by her PG-13 meltdown. He’d obviously been expecting it. Jordan didn’t care. What her fiendish father did not know was that his admission of ignorance rendered him insignificant. He didn’t have any information that could help her. She didn’t need him. That realization was a double-edged sword. It was a kind of relief to know she was truly on her own. She didn’t have to wait on others to make decisions. She could do research on the internet, use the books in Aamon’s study – hell, she would even contact Gabe if it got her closer to her goal of reuniting with her family, of going home.

  She was scared, though. Being on her own meant no one would have her back. Eventually, she would have to leave the warded safety of the Hurons. When that happened, she would not only have angels circling overhead but demons nipping on her heels. She could use a trusted friend.

  Oh well, no sense wasting time wishing for things I can’t have.

  Jordan got to her feet and the wolf followed. The hair on the leg she mended was missing but there was no sign of the horrible injury. She reached over and scratched behind his ear. The wolf made a sound almost like a purr.

  “Tell me one thing,” she said. “That is, you know, if you can.”

  Aamon ignored her jab. “What?”

  “Why didn’t the wolf attack? He’s wild, yet never showed any aggression.”

  Aamon took hold of her elbow and, using the flashlight, began to guide her down the path to the cabin. The wolf walked on her other side as if he’d known her all his life.

  “Did your eyes reflect your status as a Cambion?”

  Jordan thought back. “Yes. I thought it would scare him but I couldn’t change them back. I still have trouble controlling that part.”

  Every part, she added silently.

  Aamon nodded. “That’s how they identify us – our eyes. God may have created the animals but the wolves have always belonged to us.”

  “You mean demons?”

  Her father looked thoughtful but his voice was flat, barely above a whisper. “No. I mean those of us who are misunderstood. The wolves can relate. It’s why they trust us above all others.” He gave her a sad smile. “Maybe he can teach you.”

  Before she could reply, he walked on ahead, leaving Jordan to her new companion.

  <><><>

  The luminous green numbers on her alarm clock cheerfully displayed the time of 1:12 a.m. Jordan wanted to fling it out the window. Giving up on sleep, she flicked the lamp on and reached for her copy of Rachel Caine’s latest release. Might as well pass the sleepless hours with the Morganville Vampires. It was one of her favorite series. Myrnin could always make her laugh. If only real vampires were as humorous.

  A muffled sound interrupted an excellent fight filled with witty snark, wooden stakes, and crossbows (God, she really needed to get one of those). Jordan thought she’d imagined it, but Koda raised his burly head, signifying he’d heard it, too.

  After a full minute of silence, the wolf relaxed. Jordan flipped back to her spot in the book, eager to continue the story. The sound came again, louder this time. The eerie chord – something between a moan and a sob – made her jump out of bed and reach for her knife. Koda leapt to the floor and stared at the opposite wall, hackles raised.

  There were only three bedrooms on the third floor of the cabin. She and Ivy occupied two. The last belonged to twelve-year-old Mazie. The noise came from there.

  Jordan’s bare feet sank into plush carpet as she silently crossed the room and eased the door open. The hallway, dimly lit by a single nightlight, was empty. A television grumbled from Ivy’s room. She always fell asleep with it on. Koda brushed past her and went to sniff at the dark crack beneath the door to her left. She followed him.

  Characters from the X-Men movies stared from numerous posters that covered Mazie’s walls. Jordan smiled, remembering the first time she’d visited the girl’s room. Their eyes seemed to follow her as she moved about, examining different knick-knacks, and she’d commented on it.

  Mazie’s laugh, like her personality, was warm and happy. Her soft-brown eyes twinkled with innocent mischief. “Of course their eyes follow you! The X-Men are my heroes. They watch over me.”

  Now, the girl called out in her sleep. Her small form thrashed upon the bed as she struggled to escape some nightmare-induced terror. Jordan looked up at an oversized poster of Hugh Jackman as Wolverine. “Dropped the ball on this on, Big Guy,” she mumbled.

  Koda, confused by Mazie’s distress, took it upon himself to search the room for hidden monsters while Jordan attempted to wake her. She gave the girl’s small hand a gentle squeeze. “Honey, wake up.”

  With her free hand, Mazie clawed at her throat. “Gina, please…I’m sorry!” She gasped for air.

  Gina.

  Jordan’s temper flared like dry timber during a drought. Her eyes glowed, stimulated by power, fueled by hate.

  Chapter Seven

  Gabriel

  The soldiers in Michael’s army were known as Aeons, and Illyria was first in command under the archangel. Handpicked by Michael, they were drilled in discipline, combat, and kept isolated to inhibit distractions. Due to their lack of communication with anyone except each other, Aeons were not as familiar with the human condition. Their loyalty belonged to Michael and Heaven. Any protection they provided for mankind was based on orders and nothing more. A majority of the soldiers behaved this way because they knew nothing else. They weren’t intentionally apathetic – most of them used to be human themselves. But centuries of strict instruction and explicit decrees of behavior rubbed at the soul like sandpaper, smoothing the rough spots and transforming it into something more polished, though not necessarily better.

  Gabriel studied Illyria and was reminded that, while some soldiers were creatures of habit and could not be blamed for their indifference where humans were concerned, Michael chose others specifically for their lack of emotional capacity.

  Standing at attention, she kept her face devoid of expression and her eyes focused on the wall. Michael circled, appraising her appearance like one would a thoroughbred horse. If his brother ran his hands down her leg and asked for her foot, Gabriel would not have been surprised.

  Finished with his inspection, Michael stopped in front of his best soldier. He stared at her face for so long Gabriel felt uncomfortable for her. Illyria, however, never moved a muscle. If Michael intimidated her, she didn’t show it.

  Somewhat of a mercenary in her former life, Illyria had received training in the military. She’d proved proficient in combat and with weapons. When not on active duty, she took it upon herself to deliver justice to those she deemed unworthy to live. Rapists, child and animal abusers, murderers…it mattered not. There were even a few people on the F.B.I’s Most Wanted list that would never be found.

  Illyria rationalized the killings by calling herself God’s sword, purging the world of the “unwashed.” Torn to shreds by an IED during the Gulf War, she’d been surprised when the reaper who came to collect her soul quipped, “You’ll be moving a little farther south. Kind of ironic, especially since you always thought Alabama was hell in the summertime.”

  Lucky for her, Michael interceded. He offered to save her soul under the condition that she serve in God’s army. Illyria was happy to accept. The reaper, on the other hand, was having none of it.

  “I’ve got my orders. Death doesn’t give reprieves.”

  “This is a special case,” Michael arg
ued.

  “Why?” The reaper fingered the onyx scythe pendant that hung around his neck, eager to finish his job and move onto the next, “because she’s ‘God’s sword?’ The last I heard, God didn’t need help doing His job, Archangel. Humans aren’t supposed to judge, and neither are you.”

  It was hard work convincing the reaper. Though angels themselves, reapers were a different breed and only answered to Death. The status of an archangel did not impress them. In the end, Michael got his way. He usually did. Illyria joined his Aeons and flourished under the extreme conditions he forced them to endure.

  <><><>

  Gabriel believed the ex marine’s real motive for killing 58 humans during her time on Earth was not as holy as she professed. The truth, he felt sure, was that she enjoyed it.

  “That’s an odd choice of attire, Illyria,” Michael said.

  Gabriel agreed. The flowing shift dress was pleasing with its lace and tiny straps. The white color and cut accentuated Illyria’s perfect physique, honey-colored skin, and lush brown hair. If Gabriel had been in his natural form, he would not have noticed such things. The human soul he’d once shared his vessel with had departed long ago. Gabriel’s soul sustained the body now, and his grace kept it from aging. This was vital in order to visit Earth undetected. The only flaw was that the longer his soul occupied a vessel, the more comfortable it became.

  Right now, he felt anything but comfortable. Gabriel began to sweat – something he rarely did – and a strange sensation bloomed like a beautiful, virulent plant in the middle of his stomach.

  Illyria gave him a wicked smile when Michael’s attention was diverted. She returned to the model of subservience when the archangel turned back around.

  “Forgive me, Commander. It was not my intention to displease you. You did not specify the attire for our meeting.”

  Her voice was strong, steady, with no hint of deceit. Michael nodded.

  Gabriel wished he was someplace else. Illyria could add another talent to her resume – musician. He wondered how long she’d been playing Michael. It was embarrassing to see someone as powerful as his brother strung up and strummed like a harp.

  “I do apologize for my oversight,” Michael said. “I should have explained this assembly would be brief and your uniform would suffice.” When Illyria continued to stand at attention and did not reply, he added, “Repose.”

  She relaxed to a degree, switched one mask for another, but the soldier could be seen beneath the surface – a mirror that reflected the past and the present. She clung to it like a talisman. Gabriel wondered just how close she kept the killer.

  “Gabriel,” she acknowledged. “It’s always a pleasure to see you.”

  Instead of answering, he whirled on Michael. “Illyria is going to replace me?”

  She stepped aside as Michael came forward. “Yes, Gabriel. Illyria is now in charge of Jordan’s situation. She will leave tomorrow and you will report to The Focus.”

  Behind the archangel, Illyria smiled sweetly. Gabriel managed to resist frying her soul and mailing what was left to demons for hellhound chow, but just barely.

  “Michael, please tell me how this makes any sense. Illyria is an Aeon. How is she supposed to improve Jordan’s circumstances?”

  Head tilted, his brother’s eyes bore into him. Gabriel didn’t flinch or look away. He had a right to know.

  Michael must have come to the same conclusion. He took a deep breath and blew it out loudly. “As I’ve already explained, I need someone impartial – someone who can take in the status quo with fresh eyes. Illyria may be able to devise a solution, and with her special training, she will be able to keep Casen and his nephews safe.”

  “And you believe my time would be better spent helping the Hosts mediate and give advice at The Focus? I’m an archangel! I can help–”

  “Gabriel, no.” Michael pulled him into a tight embrace. “Please, trust me on this,” he whispered. “I need you to stand down and let me handle it.”

  Gabriel was too shocked to answer. His brother was not one to display affection, which worried him. He wished he could take Michael’s hug at face value, but his instincts screamed desperation. Love had nothing to do with it.

  Michael started to pull away but Gabriel held him in the embrace a moment longer. “I know something is wrong,” he said softly. “You are not yourself and haven’t been for a long time.” Michael went rigid in his arms. “Use caution, brother.”

  Gabriel let go and, ignoring Michael’s flared nostrils and clenched jaw, continued in a voice loud enough for Illyria to hear, “Do you swear no harm will come to Jordan or her family?”

  “I do,” Michael replied. “My objective is to find a result that will work for everyone involved.”

  Gabriel nodded and made his way to the door. He turned the knob and looked back to see Michael and Illyria exchanging glances. He knew they were impatient for him to leave.

  “I’ll hold you to that.” He spoke to Michael, but his eyes were on the soldier. “I know what Illyria’s specialty is and it has nothing to do with keeping people safe.”

  <><><>

  As soon as he closed the door, Gabriel transported to his heaven. He didn’t care if it upset Michael that he didn’t use the stairs. The archangel would sense the excess energy from his departure and know he had truly left. That was all that mattered.

  Gabriel took a moment to let his eyes roam the quaint cottage he called home. It wasn’t large or handsomely decorated. The furniture was worn but comfortable. The rooms were small but inviting. A multitude of picture windows acted like magic portals to a fairytale forest and a whispering brook outside. Like Gabriel, it was simple, peaceful, nothing like Michael’s heaven. He wanted to go outside, sit on the porch swing with the plump cushions, and let the sounds of nature ease his mind.

  Instead, he lay on the couch, closed his eyes, and let a sliver of grace slip from his vessel. It wasn’t much – just enough consciousness to possess something very small, something he could control safely from a distance. Carefully, Gabriel transported the tiny blue spark.

  The next second, he had safely concealed it in the flourishing garden outside Michael’s office. Soon, a curious black and yellow butterfly lighted nearby. Angels’ grace drew creatures of all kinds. The innocence of it closely resembled their own.

  Gently, Gabriel directed his grace inside the insect. He waited, letting the butterfly adjust to his consciousness, and then persuaded it to fly to the window ledge of his brother’s office. A gold-colored lamp resting on a side table blocked Gabriel’s view inside but that wasn’t a problem. He didn’t need to see – he needed to hear.

  Butterflies can’t see or hear like humans do. Instead, they sense vibrations through their antennae and wings. With a few adjustments Gabriel was able to transform those vibrations into words. He put his little insect buddy into a restful state and settled down to listen.

  “Have the arrangements been made?”

  Michael sounded preoccupied. Gabriel heard the shuffling of papers.

  “Yes,” Illyria answered. “Everyone has been given instructions. I will be made aware of any updates which, of course, will be passed to you.”

  Illyria paused before continuing. “You know, Michael, all of this worry may be exaggerated. The girl could be a Cambion and nothing more. You didn’t sense anything unusual when you approached her in the barn the day she had the vision of the Kongamato.”

  What was Illyria talking about? What could Jordan be other than a Cambion? It didn’t surprise Gabriel to learn there was more to the situation. Michael was expending way too much energy and time for a simple demon incident, and he’d known. He’d known Jordan was a Cambion .

  He heard a crash, the sound of breaking glass. “That’s just it, Illyria! I’ve been in close proximity of Jordan hundreds of times over the course of her life and never sensed the demon inside had grown more powerful.”

  “Perhaps her human essence is stronger – so strong it dilutes the dem
on genes.”

  “Or perhaps it’s something else,” Michael countered.

  His tone was caustic, like ammonia. The usual controlled, infallible demeanor his brother presented like a badge of honor had burned away. What remained was raw panic and urgency. This was the real archangel, the part Michael kept hidden.

  “I can understand why you didn’t sense that her demon powers had grown – you’re rarely around Cambions, not to mention that Aamon hadn’t fully released them yet. But if Jordan is also part angel, I mean, wouldn’t that be easier to detect?”

  Part angel?!

  Back in his Heaven, Gabriel’s eyes flew open. He sat up so fast he almost lost connection with the butterfly. Taking a few deep (unnecessary) breaths, he forced himself to relax and concentrate. He couldn’t afford to miss a word they exchanged, but Illyria’s insane gibberish echoed in his thoughts. She must be mistaken. To Gabriel’s knowledge no such being existed. It was not possible.

  “One would think so, especially for a more powerful angel like myself.” Michael paused, perhaps to let the meaning of his words sink in.

  Gabriel did not need to see his brother to know how he looked at that moment. Standing tall with fists clenched, his eyes would flicker with power – a warning for Illyria to remember her place. Michael did not like to have his authority questioned or challenged. Most angels in the Third Triad would never attempt it. Illyria, on the other hand, appeared to have no problem speaking her mind. Now that she was alone with her commander, the pretense of the obedient soldier – clearly another mask in her collection – had disappeared. Just like with Michael before, Gabriel felt sure this was the real Illyria, the brazen killer who did as she pleased with no fear of consequences.