Archangel Evolution (9 page)

Relief washed over Taylor, leaving her
feeling fresh and clean again. The pit left her stomach and she
felt a slight fluttering of butterflies. She had trouble finding
her voice, however, and only managed to mumble, “Thanks,” before
walking off.

Despite her reassurances, the demon insisted
that he follow Taylor around the Lair as she searched for Sampson.
He wasn’t worried about her safety; rather, he wanted to know when
she was heading back to UT’s campus, so he could resume his
security detail with the rest of her guard. “Fine. But you can damn
well stay at least twenty feet away. I’ll be damned if I have a
freaking entourage walking around this place.” The guard, taken
aback by the directness of her demand, backed off immediately much
to Taylor’s satisfaction.

It didn’t take Taylor long to find her
friend. Sampson was in the demon café, scarfing down platefuls of
food as if he hadn’t eaten since his birth more than eighteen years
earlier. He was sitting with a group of his fellow Hell’s Angels,
but stood and strode to meet Taylor upon spotting her.

As he approached, Taylor outstretched her
hand to fist-bump him and then blow-it-up as was their typical
greeting, but instead he moved past her arm and hugged her firmly.
It was the first time they had hugged, and although Taylor thought
it would be awkward—as they just didn’t have that type of touchy,
feely relationship—it wasn’t. The hug felt natural, sincere,
brotherly.

When he released her, his face was serious.
“Taylor, I don’t know how to thank you.”

“C’mon, don’t get all mushy on me. You can
thank me by not making a big deal out of it. I want the jokester,
doesn’t-take-himself-or-life-too-seriously Sampson back.”

Sampson screwed up his face, fully closing
one eye and bugging the other eye out. Touching his tongue to his
nose, he mumbled, “Isth thut besser?”

Taylor laughed. “Much better. Thanks. Hey,
I’ve got training today, do you want to come?”

With a gleam in his eye, Sampson said, “I
would love to, but I have an important briefing to attend. I’ve
been booked on a mission. You may have heard about it. It’s called
Operation Kill-the-Bastard-Head-of-the-Archangel-Council.”

“What!? You’re on my mission? But don’t you
need to rest and recover?”

“Thanks to you, I’m already at one hundred
percent. Clifford asked me if I would do it and I said yes, of
course.”

Taylor couldn’t hide her excitement as a
smile filled her face. “I’m so glad, Sampson. It will mean a lot to
me having you there.”

“Me, too,” Sampson said. “Now, where’s that
chump of a boyfriend of yours?”

“Preparing to train me back at UT. That’s
where all the action is. Sure you can’t come?”

Sampson said, “I’ll try to stop by later. I
heard it’s being held in the football stadium, right?”

“What? How’s that possible? Gabriel said it
was a surprise but that’s outrageous!”

“A surprise? Oops, I guess the cat’s out of
the bag. Listen, can you pretend you didn’t find out from me? Or
even better, that you didn’t find out at all? Just act
surprised.”

“I’ll do my best.”

“Thanks.”

Taylor checked her watch—only five minutes
until Gabriel would come by her dorm. She swiveled on one foot,
panning her surroundings and quickly locating the demon. While she
knew it seemed cold, she refused to learn the names of her demon
guards and preferred to refer to them as Demon A, Demon B, etc.
They preferred it, too. Less personal was better in war. If
something happened to any of them while protecting her, she
wouldn’t even know their names.

Sensing that she was ready to leave, the
demon met her at the tunnel that would lead them to the transporter
that would deliver them back to the teleport room. Taylor set the
pace, a light jog down the passageway. They needed to hurry;
Gabriel was generally very punctual.

In four minutes and thirty seconds they
appeared in Taylor’s room. With no reason to linger, the demon said
a muffled and succinct “Goodbye,” and disappeared. Less than ten
seconds later there was a knock at the door.

Out of habit, Taylor checked the peephole and
saw Gabriel’s distorted head through the portal. Opening the door,
she said, “You would look really funny if your head was twice as
big but on the same body.”

Gabriel smirked. “And you would look like
some bizarre big-headed chicken from Mars.”

“What are you saying, that I have chicken
legs?”

Using his best chicken voice, Gabriel said,
“Bawk, bawk, bagaw!” and then tried to grab her bare legs, left
exposed by the old denim shorts she was wearing.

Taylor felt as if he were moving in slow
motion, as she easily sidestepped and kicked him in the butt as he
lunged through her room. Almost crashing into the microwave sitting
on top of the mini-fridge, Gabriel barely managed to avoid losing
his balance. “Damn, you’re fast,” he said.

“You’ve already said that.”

“I’m still getting used to it.”

“You will,” Taylor said. “So…where’s this
secret place you are taking me for training?”

“You’ll see,” Gabriel said.

Leaving Shyloh Hall, the pair took the long
way to the stadium, which basically meant walking rather than
flying. As they strolled along, hand in hand, Taylor thought about
her life before Gabriel. Dull, boring, uninspired. It wasn’t that
she hadn’t been enjoying her life, or that she didn’t have a lot of
fun. That wasn’t it at all. God knows her and Sam had fun—and
laughed a lot, although mostly at each other. But there had also
been something missing. Something that maybe she wasn’t aware of
until she met Gabriel. Something that might have left her life when
her mom died. Something she needed and would never again be able to
live without. Excitement, adventure, inspiration. A reason to wake
up in the morning and to get a good sleep at night. It wasn’t only
the thrill of battles and wars and angels and demons and auras;
rather, it was the feeling of being part of something important.
She would cling to that feeling desperately, firmly, as long as she
could and hopefully forever.

Taylor was still lost in her thoughts when
they reached the stadium, but was jarred back to reality when
Gabriel said, “We’re here.”

Taylor thought,
No kidding we’re here
,
but then remembered she was supposed to pretend to be surprised.
Her reply was a tick late. She said, “What do you mean we’re here?
This is the stadium.”

“I knew it! Someone told you, didn’t
they?”

She was caught in her lie and lamely tried to
recover: “What? Uh, no. I thought it would be somewhere less
public.”

Gabriel was not to be fooled. “You weren’t
paying attention. I practically let you lead the way here and you
never wavered or questioned the direction we were taking. You knew
exactly where we were going. Who told you?”

Busted
, Taylor thought. “Sampson,” she
said.

“Yeah, like I’m going to believe that!”

Taylor was glad to know something that
Gabriel didn’t know for once. He probably assumed Sampson was still
bedridden, barely able to eat or talk. But she knew better.

“I’m not lying. I went to visit him this
morning while I was waiting for you. He’s fully recovered and
walking around as if he was never critically injured. He’ll stop by
later to watch the training.”

Gabriel looked dazed. “Incredible,” he
whispered.

“What? That I wasn’t surprised by the venue
or that I cured Sampson so fast?”

“The latter. You may be even stronger than
any of us think.”

“You keep underestimating me. I’m one tough
chick,” Taylor joked.

“Evidently,” Gabriel said, still looking
dumbfounded.

Taylor turned her attention to the stadium.
Her eyes scanned the exterior. The massive structure was
constructed on a base of concrete blocks, which gave way to exposed
steel girders and cross-beams. Typically the uppermost rising seats
could be seen through gaps in the top portion of the crater-shaped
stadium, but were now hidden beneath the retractable domed roof,
which could be closed in the event of rain during a sporting event.
The dome was closed, but the skies were blue, the sun was shining.
The place looked like a fortress, impenetrable to all but the most
heinous enemy weapons.

“How’d you get us private access to this
place? And get the dome closed? What about the maintenance staff,
isn’t there a chance they will show up?” Taylor rattled the
questions off while counting on her fingers.

“I’m awesome, I’m awesome, and no,” Gabriel
said, laughing. Taylor rolled her eyes. “Just kidding, Tay. I
actually had nothing to do with it. There is a woman in the demon
army whose husband is one of the top dogs on the stadium operating
council. He made this all possible. We won’t be disturbed. The only
rule is that we have to clean up any mess that we make.”

Taylor was impressed. And excited. Training
in the massive enclosure that was the football stadium would be
incredible! She couldn’t have asked for a cooler location.
“Awesome,” she said. “Let’s do it.”

Gabriel grinned. “Follow me.”

He led Taylor through a player’s only
entrance which he happened to have a key for. Three hallways later
and they were in the locker rooms. Taylor always expected that a
football team locker room would stink of dried sweat and body odor,
perhaps with the slight metallic hint of blood from past gridiron
battles. In this case, however, all she could smell was lilac and
cotton candy.
Weird
, she thought. Evidently, even tough-guy
football players appreciated a well-perfumed preparation area. She
spotted five or six automatic, continuous air fresheners plugged
into simple wall outlets—the source of the lilac and the cotton
candy.

From the locker room they followed a wide,
high-ceilinged corridor that grew lighter in the distance. It led
directly to the field. As Taylor walked out of the tunnel, she
realized why football players always appeared so energetic and
emotional when they ran out onto the field before a game. The
stadium looked mesmerizing: rising seats pyramided upwards in what
might have been a stairway to heaven; bright lights gave the field
the appearance of being a giant stage on Broadway; the perfectly
trimmed grass seemed to stretch on for miles, rather than merely a
little over one-hundred yards. Even without the band, or the
cheerleaders, or the fans, or the cameras, the sight was still
thrilling. Taylor tried to imagine what it would be like with the
stadium filled to the rafters, fans cheering and clapping, and
dozens of players streaming all over the field. She had been to
many games, which all proved to be fun and exciting, but she now
had a whole new appreciation for the experience.

On the field, Taylor noticed a handful of
dark figures—demons—as well as several angels who were hovering in
the air by gently fanning their wings. Gabriel explained: “They’re
here to help. A few demons volunteered to assist with your sword
work, and a few guys and girls from Hell’s Angels came along to
demonstrate flying and light powers.

“Hell yeah,” Taylor said. “I can’t wait to
try flying for real this time.”

L
ucas was screaming.
Dionysus was grinning. Cassandra was the angel who had grabbed
Dionysus’s shoulder from behind. She was yelling, “Stop! Stop the
machine! It’s killing him!” Dionysus ignored her, soaking up the
beauty of the tortured cries from within the room.

It was nothing personal against Lucas. He
certainly didn’t want him to die and truly believed that he
wouldn’t. His theory was simple: no pain, no gain. In fact,
Dionysus had only heard such a cry of anguish once before. More
than five decades earlier, he himself had once issued a similar
noise. Because it hurt—really, really hurt—when he evolved from a
demon to an angel. The pain had been worth it then and it would be
worth it now for Lucas.

Which is why Dionysus was smiling.

Because it was working. Or so he
believed.

What he really wished was that the blonde
would stop yelling in his ear. Without turning around, he angled a
fist backwards over his shoulder and fired off a powerful orb of
light. At such a close range the impact was deafening. BOOM! He
heard the girl crash to the floor; she would be unconscious for at
least an hour.

He heard laughing from behind—probably
Johanna finding his response to Cassandra’s yelling amusing. She
was always amused by the pain of others.
At least she was
consistent
, he thought. Whether angel, demon, human, or
gargoyle: sadistic Johanna loved watching the destruction of
others.

Dionysus was aware that the screaming had
stopped, which meant one of two things: Lucas had died from the
strain on his body, or Lucas had evolved. There was a third
possibility—that he was still alive and no evolution had
occurred—but Dionysus the optimist discounted it immediately.

He shut down the system and waited. Slowly,
bit by bit, the cover slid over the dome, blocking out the
sunlight, as the lower lights were extinguished, restoring the room
to a dull gray; the only light was provided by the filtered rays of
sun finding their way through the covering. The process took about
ten minutes.

When the shutdown process was halfway
complete, they got their first glimpse of the raised platform,
which had partially descended and was continuing to creep towards
the floor. On the platform, Lucas remained standing—or had regained
his feet. He stood up straight, his spine in line with his legs,
his head tilted back, his eyes looking up as if towards heaven.

Lucas shone.

As the room continued to darken, the contrast
of his gleaming body against the dim background became more severe,
until he looked like a beacon of hope—a lighthouse?—in a sea of
rough, stormy waters.