Archangel Evolution (3 page)

As he forced his way through the last circle
of gawkers, he saw that Kiren was kneeling beside her boyfriend,
her head tilted to allow her ear to rest on his lips. She was
listening for breathing. She looked up, her eyes wild with panic,
and said, “It’s there, but very faint. He needs immediate
help.”

“Take me with you,” Gabriel said.

Nodding, Kiren clutched Gabriel’s hand and
placed her other hand on Sampson’s chest. The world twisted upside
down and sort of sideways, as Gabriel felt himself being
transported through space. He had teleported a few times before,
but still wasn’t used to it; flying was always his preference if he
had a choice.

When the whirlwind stopped, they reappeared
in a small room, next to a bed. Typical medical equipment beeped
and droned along the edges of the space. Gabriel recognized it as a
room in the medical wing within the Lair. He could hear shouts,
screams, and cries outside the open door—the sounds of death
resounded throughout the facility.

Kiren reached down and scooped up Sampson’s
bulky frame as if he weighed no more than a feather, and set him
down on the bed. “Medic!” she yelled to whoever might be
listening.

A shadowy woman in a black lab coat appeared
across the bed. She hadn’t used the door—there was no time for
formalities. “Patient’s condition?” she said simply.

The words rushed out of Kiren, no dams or
rocks to slow them: “Multiple slash wounds, at least a couple of
which penetrated his chest plate…Scorch marks on his body indicate
he was hit by several light orbs…Breathing, but barely…Heartbeat is
erratic…He’s my freakin’ boyfriend so please save him!”

“And my best friend,” Gabriel added.

“No pressure there,” the black-haired doctor
said wryly. And then, “We’ll do what we can.”

Two more doctors appeared on either side of
her and began setting up equipment, removing Sampson’s armor and
clothing, and securing various suction-like probes to his chest.
One of them turned to Gabriel and said, “You have to go. You both
do.”

Gabriel took one last look at his friend.
Despite his solid frame, he looked weak, exposed, like he was
already dead. His face was even paler white than normal and his
skin was glistening with bright, white blood. Because Sampson’s
eyes were closed, Gabriel tried to make himself believe that he was
only sleeping, and not in critical condition, on the verge of
death.

Kiren appeared to be in shock, her face bland
and emotionless. She allowed Gabriel to take her hand and lead her
from the room. In the hall, Gabriel pulled Kiren over to a row of
chairs and helped her sit down. He slumped down next to her.
Lifting her head, a single tear stained Kiren’s face; it dangled
precariously on her chin after having meandered down her cheek.
“How did this happen?” she asked.

“We underestimated Dionysus’s desire for
retribution,” Gabriel said.

“We should have known…”

“Yes.”

The tear drop released itself from her
chin.

They sat in silence for what felt like a few
minutes, watching the nurses and doctors rushing around the
hospital trying to save the dying angels. Gabriel’s eyes wandered
to his watch. “Damn,” he said when he realized that over an hour
had passed since the attack.

T
he boy sat in
silence, meditating. From afar, he could’ve been mistaken for his
brother, Gabriel, only younger, with wavy, sandy blond hair, a
wide, firm, kingly chin, and a physique that was fast developing
into that of a soldier, strong and tight. The meditation was part
of his training, but he didn’t mind. Since his family had been
abducted on the Warrior’s Plateau and his filthy traitor brother
had escaped unscathed, he had been spending more and more time
wrapped up in his own head trying to make sense of the
senseless.

Why had Gabriel betrayed his own kind? Why
did his parents seem to agree with it? Why had the human girl
killed the Archangels? There was only one answer that made
sense—the same answer he had gotten from Dionysus: They were
Traitors, Demon-Lovers, modern day Judas’s.

The more he thought about it all, the angrier
he became. Rage filled him, causing his fingers to tremble until he
pulled them into tight fists. Sometimes he kept his hands balled
for hours until they ached from the pressure. It hurt, but helped
to douse the fires raging within him. It also helped to clear his
mind. He had learned this technique from his master, Lucas, who had
instructed him: “David, pain can be either a positive or a negative
event, depending on how you use it.” David Knight had always
thought that pain was negative, to be avoided. And it was, for most
angels. Most angels focused on the pain, rather than letting the
pain focus them. Now, he used pain to his advantage, just like
Lucas had taught him. His mind was clear.

He had tried to help his brother, to talk to
him, to make him see the truth, but he was too far gone. Now David
had only one choice to make things right, to fulfill his destiny.
He had to kill Gabriel. And he would.

G
rudgingly, Taylor
walked back to her dormitory. As a first year student, she was
required to live in the freshman dorms—hers was called Shyloh Hall.
As she approached the nondescript building, she had her student ID
card in her hand. Reaching the security door, she robotically
swiped her ID through the card reader. Her mind was elsewhere.

Something bad had happened—that much she
knew. Selfishly, she hoped nothing had happened to Gabriel. He
could be dead; or worse, captured by Dionysus. The knot in her
stomach tightened at the thought. Gritting her teeth, she pushed
through the door and took the stairs to the seventh floor—the
elevator was broken as usual.

The trek up seven flights of stairs didn’t
bother her. Not anymore. Earlier in the semester she would have
been winded, huffing and puffing and on the verge of collapse. Now
she felt energetic at the top, ready to climb another seven floors.
For a moment the exhilaration of the physical activity swept aside
her fears about Gabriel. She opened her dorm room door, number
715—it wasn’t locked.

“Hey, Tay,” she was greeted as she walked
in.

At first she couldn’t see her roommate,
although her voice seemed to come from the shadowy figure lying on
the bed. “Hi, Taylor,” a deeper voice said.
The demon is
here
, Taylor thought.

Without speaking, Taylor outstretched her arm
and performed a basic angel skill, the only one she had really
mastered: flashlight. A strong beam of light shone from her hand,
piercing the shroud of darkness around Samantha’s bed.

As usual, Christopher Lyon was smiling from
ear to ear. His tanned, muscular body was naked from the waist up.
He wore a short, dark, well-trimmed beard that accentuated his
black eyes, giving him a ruggedly handsome look that most girls
would go crazy for.

Behind him, she could barely see a shock of
blond hair: Samantha.

Chris kicked his legs off the bed and sat up,
allowing Taylor’s best friend to do the same. Typically, Samantha
Collins looked beautiful. Whether she was dressed to the nine’s or
garbed in her “bumming clothes”—shorts and a tank top—as she was
now, Sam was a classic beauty. Her long, toned legs seemed to
extend a mile to the floor, and Taylor could almost believe that
the term
hourglass
had been named after her friend. Even
though she had clearly been lying on the bed, likely making out
with Chris, her long, silky hair still seemed to fall perfectly
across her shoulders. Her casual but dazzling smile revealed two
rows of straight, white teeth. Looking at the couple, Taylor’s
breath caught for a second, in awe of their perfection. Her awe
didn’t last long though.

“Why don’t you two get a room?” Taylor said
sarcastically.

Chris laughed. “Nice to see you, too. And
perhaps you should knock.”

“It’s my room, lover boy.” Taylor liked Chris
and was very happy Sam was dating him. He was funny, nice,
and
easy on the eyes. Finally her friend had found a
boyfriend that lasted more than two weeks. Dating back to pre-high
school, Sam had gone out with dozens of guys, most of them jerks.
She usually didn’t have the best taste in men. But Chris was
great.

“Good point,” Chris said. “Where’s
Gabriel?”

Abruptly, Taylor remembered why she had
returned to the room. “I was going to ask you the same thing. Have
you heard from him?”

Chris said, “No. Wasn’t he supposed to meet
you?”

“He didn’t show. So you haven’t received any
calls?”

“Well, uh…I kind of turned my phone off…We
were busy with something.”

“Busy my ass. Turn your phone back on. I have
a bad feeling.”

Obediently, Chris fished his phone out of his
pocket. Sam said, “Are you sure you got the meeting time right?”
Taylor glared at her. “Okay, okay, I was just asking.”

“Damn,” Chris said.

“What?” Taylor asked.

“Twenty-six missed calls…Mission leader,
squad captain, central command…Nothing from Gabriel. No messages
either.”

Taylor’s face was emotionless. Just because
he hadn’t called or shown up didn’t mean that something had
happened to
him
. Just that something
had
happened.
The twenty-six missed calls confirmed that fact.

Chris pressed a button on his phone and then
raised it to his ear. Before the call could be connected, two
bodies crashed onto Taylor’s bed. Sam shrieked. As quickly as he
had come, the darker of the two bodies disappeared, leaving only
the blond-haired beauty.

“I hate
porting
,” Gabriel said.

Despite the casualness of his comment, Taylor
instantly knew something was wrong. Typically her boyfriend was
cool, calm, and collected. At the present, however, she wouldn’t
use any of those C-words to describe him. Instead she might choose
pale, tired, or even haggard. Regardless of what evil news he might
be about to impart, Taylor couldn’t help but to feel a sense of
relief upon seeing Gabriel alive and relatively well.

Chris had removed the phone from his ear and
was waiting expectantly. Even Sam was quiet for the moment, which
was unusual for the girl who had been blessed with the gift of gab.
Taylor went to Gabriel’s side and said, “What happened?”

Gabriel’s eyes were clear but had a look of
defeat in them; they were half-closed, like he didn’t have the
energy to keep them fully exposed. His head slumped and he looked
at the floor. “Hell’s Angels were targeted in the battle
today.”

“Who?” Sam asked, not being privy to the code
names used by the demon army.

“Sampson’s squad,” Taylor said. “What do you
mean
targeted
?”

“Dionysus had one goal for the battle today:
kill the angel traitors. He used a sneaky tactic that confused the
demon defenses. There were casualties.”

Taylor was afraid to ask the question
Is
Sampson okay?
so instead she said, “Where’s Kiren?”

Gabriel looked up, his blue eyes nearly fully
black as his pupils dilated to soak up the light in the room.
“She’s in the hospital, with him. He’s alive…but barely. The next
twenty-four hours are critical.” Like Taylor, Gabriel seemed to be
afraid to say his friend’s name, as if speaking it would curse
him.

Sam said, “That’s good, right? I mean, he’s
alive. He’ll make it, I know it.”

Chris put his arm around her. “Yeah, he’ll
make it. What about the others?”

Gabriel sighed. “Eleven dead. Ten in critical
condition. A handful are already back on their feet.”

“I hate him,” Taylor said. “We can’t let him
get away with this.”

Knowing exactly who she was referring to,
Gabriel said, “Dionysus is pure evil and must be stopped, but first
we have to plan. Given what you’ve become, we need to use your
abilities to our advantage.”

“What am I, Gabriel?” Taylor asked.

H
e laughed. “That
was fun,” he said.

Dionysus was celebrating the victory with his
inner circle, comprised of Lucas, Cassandra, David, and the
remaining Archangels—Johanna, Sarah, and Percy. They were in a
large room with a long, rectangular table, named the War Room.
Every surface in the room glowed from within, as if they housed
miniature suns. The source of the power was hidden beneath the
glow.

His laughter decreased until it settled into
an arrogant smirk, and he took the time to read each of the faces
in the room. He had been deceived once before, by someone he had
trusted, and it had cost him dearly. Not wanting to make the same
mistake twice, he considered each of his chosen ones in turn.

He started with the three remaining
Archangels and glossed over them quickly. While he had had
disagreements with all of them in the past, particularly Johanna,
he knew that their vision of the future mirrored his own.

He moved on to his new Special Mission’s
Leader, Lucas, who had replaced Gabriel when he defected. Dionysus
almost patted himself on the back regarding the selection of Lucas.
He was a perfect example of the type of angel that could be
trusted. Despite the fact that Lucas was smiling, his mouth still
managed to look angry, as if his lips had been engineered into a
perpetual snarl. There was a gleam in his eyes that couldn’t be
faked. The gleam showed his excitement at the destruction of the
angel traitors. “Too bad Gabriel wasn’t there, too,” Lucas sneered.
Yeah, he was pure evil
, Dionysus thought,
perfect for
mission he had planned for him
.

Next, Dionysus shifted his gaze to Cassandra.
He knew little about her, but had trusted Lucas’s judgment in
selecting her. Looking into her eyes now, he knew it was a good
choice. If there was a female version of Lucas, it was her. Despite
her skin-deep beauty—she looked like a model in every sense of the
word; tall, thin, symmetrical facial structure, perfect
smile—Dionysus could sense the evil that lurked beneath her
sparkling exterior. As he gazed at her, he could almost feel the
malevolency simmering just beneath the surface of her skin. He
looked forward to unleashing her on his enemies.