Embrace, Entice, Emblaze (8 page)

“She
must
be told. You’ve gotten too close, Lincoln. Remember
who
you are,
what
you are. Remember what she is!” Lincoln sounded urgent, pleading. “She’s not ready! There are

things we didn’t know about her. She needs more time.”

“Her or you?” the stranger said crisply. “Violet has come of

age; she must decide, as we all have. You know this—that’s why

you’re here.”

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My stomach was sinking. I stayed quiet— apart from my thud-

ding heart— mushroomed under my umbrella like any passerby

taking a moment to rest.

“Griffin, her life will change forever. You don’t know her like I do,” Lincoln said quickly.

Griffin wasn’t happy. I heard him tapping the doorframe impa-

tiently. “You’re not looking at this properly. You’ve lost faith in her.

Or is it something else? Is it that
you
want to play protector to her, rather than allow her to become a protector?”

“Protector”? What the hell?

They were both silent for a moment and I thought they must

have noticed me. I held my breath, but then Lincoln spoke again.

“Fine, have it your way, but not today. Give me a few days.

Finding out you’re part angel is a lot to take in, let alone the rest.

I don’t want Violet to panic when she realizes her whole world is going to change.”

I couldn’t be sure if I was breathing. It was all happening in some bizarre virtual reality and I wasn’t in control. I let the umbrella slide out of my hand as I stepped toward the base of the steps. Lincoln was in the doorway, his back to me. The other man, Griffin, saw me instantly and met my eyes with recognition— the kind that said he knew I’d heard everything. The kind that said he knew exactly who I was.

He looked back to Lincoln. “I’m sorry, Lincoln, but today’s going to be the day after all. It seems it’s now out of both of our hands.”

“Well, I won’t do it,” Lincoln snapped, still not realizing I was 58

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behind him. “I won’t tell her!” He punched the door so hard it

splintered and caused me to flinch.

I took a step up, realizing in that instant that everything had changed. Somehow I knew I could never go back.

“Too late,” I said.

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chapter
eight

“The Angel said, ‘Let the one who does wrong, still do wrong,
and the one who is filthy still be filthy; and let the one who is
righteous, still practice righteousness.’”

reveLations 22:11

It felt like hours passed as Lincoln and I stood, staring at each other.

Images of that fi rst day we met, of us just
accidentally
meeting in that self- defense class, fll ashed into my head. Had everything been a lie?

I had to get away. I turned and stumbled toward the street. My

umbrella was still open, dangling by my side. I was glad for the rain now. It covered the tears streaming down my face.

“Violet, wait!” Lincoln called out to me, running down the stairs.

I stopped but didn’t turn.

“I can explain!” he yelled over the rain.

It felt like the skies were crying for me. “Fine! Explain!” I yelled back, still not turning to face him. How could I ever look at him again knowing that it was all lies— and I was more sure of it by the Embrace_FinalINT.indd 60

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second, sure that the whole time he had known me he’d been lying to me.

“We’re called Grigori. We are part angel, part human. It happens soon after we’re born, but we only come of age when we turn seventeen. The same way you’re coming of age now.”

I spun to face him, desperate to prove to myself that this was

all some sick joke. Droplets of water fell from the tips of his hair and pooled in the crease of his lips. He looked amazing, which just made everything worse.

“You’re insane!” I yelled in a shaky voice. Oh my God, was he

delusional? What had I missed? Usually, I had a good psycho radar.

“I wouldn’t lie to you about this,” he said, his eyes pleading.

“No? Just about everything else then!” I spat the words at him, literally, sprays of water flying from my lips as I spoke. I looked around for an escape, for salvation. The streets were deserted; no one was stupid enough to be outside. “How do you know I’m one

of these ‘Grig’ whatever, anyway?”

“Grigori. It happened when you were born and your mother

died. If a parent dies within twelve days of his or her child’s birth, the combination of new life coinciding with new death creates a gateway for an angel to impart a piece of its essence.”

“That doesn’t explain how you know about me!”

He looked back at Griffin as if seeking support. Griffin did

not move from the shelter of the doorframe. Lincoln turned back to me, arms wide. “I know because an angel told me. I know

because we all have a destined partner, someone who is already

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a Grigori…or will become one. I know because…you’re my

partner, Violet.”

He dropped his head and I knew this was bad.

Bad, bad, bad
.

He put a hand on my shoulder. “Please…come inside. We’ll

explain everything.”

I wanted to run, to scream, to cry, to do something, anything,

but I needed to know. My brain urged me to call it what it was:
bullshit
. I mean, this stuff just doesn’t happen, not in real life, and last I looked, I wasn’t in some twisted sci- fi flick. The problem was, my mind was screaming one thing while some other part of me was holding me back, grinding me to a heavy halt. Something in my

gut, the place I had learned to trust, that place I had always credited with instinct and intuition. And then there was my mother’s letter, her words taunting me:
There
are
spirits
in
this
world
…Could this really be true?

I pushed Lincoln’s hand off my shoulder and moved past him,

for the first time not wanting to feel his touch or look into his eyes.

Griffin stood in the doorway, waiting. I stopped in front of him, staring daggers. “Am I what he says?”

Griffin looked straight at me, holding my gaze easily. “We are

all
what he says.”

I don’t know how or why, but looking into his eyes, I suddenly

knew it was true. It was as if he had penetrated the deepest layers of my natural defenses and unearthed a truth buried deep within me. At first it felt like something poisonous was worming its

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way through me, but then I realized it was the rest of me that

felt poisonous— and that small hidden part was more pure than

anything else.

This
wasn’t
some twisted joke. No hidden cameras, no strait-jackets. I felt like I could see my world as I knew it shift, change. It moved away from me.

————

Inside the warehouse, Lincoln gave me towels, which I ignored.

Instead, I sat in his favorite armchair, soaking it. He didn’t say anything, and after giving Griffin and me coffee, he moved back to the kitchen stools, sensing I didn’t want him near.

Griffin sat on the couch, and while we both sipped our coffee,

I took a closer look at his face. At first I had presumed he was over thirty, but now I put his age closer to twenty- five. He was pleasant enough to look at. Dusty brown hair, short and neat. Clothes—

black pants and blue shirt— well- tailored and freshly pressed, at odds with his old, scuffed boots. It was a conservative look for someone so young. That was one reason I had assumed he was older; the

other was his light gray eyes. They were wiser, more knowing than his years could possibly explain. He looked boring; it was the only way to describe him, but I trusted him instantly. Trusted those eyes.

“I don’t know if I even believe in angels,” I said.

“It doesn’t matter. You will,” Griffin replied.

I lost count of the coffee refills as he told me the story and

history of angels and of the Grigori.

I listened as he explained that angels exist in their own realm.

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He went on about some kind of onion. I missed most of it. I mean, I was listening to the words, but I was still stuck on the
Oh
yeah,
you’re part angel
bit! It was something about the universe having layers. The angel realm is one; our world is another.

Angels have no physical form. Their purpose is to observe

and guide humanity, but never directly interfere. They work like a governing force over the human world, offering options and

even influencing free will as long as they do not directly force action. Angels influence all other creatures and the elements as well— animals, climate, nature— they have a hand in everything.

With humans, angels guide us through dreams, epiphanies,

or constructing coincidences. Angels can lead a person toward

choices of light or dark, and often somewhere in between. They

can encourage envy and lust as much as compassion and mercy.

But
encourage
is all they are
supposed
to do. The choice, in the end, still lies with the individual human.

“Light and dark? You mean, good and evil?” I asked. “But aren’t all angels meant to be good— like helping from above or something?”

“It’s not as simple as that, Violet. Angels
do
help us in the role they play in their realm, but with all things, there has to be balance.

Just as there are angels who perform miracles of rain in a drought, there are those who facilitate the drought to begin with. For every angel who encourages someone toward an enlightened path, there

is one who entices someone to a path of darkness. It’s about keeping a balance of light and dark in our world, without interfering with free will.”

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As he spoke, my hand went absentmindedly to my shoulder and

I thought about the man in my dream who’d told me he was me

and then lashed out at me with a claw. Was he an angel?

Griffin continued to explain that angels are forbidden from

leaving the angel realm. But there are some angels— both of light and dark— who resent their role of servitude. They believe that because angels are the superior beings, humans should be the ones serving them. The most determined of them abandon their duties

and exile themselves from the angel realm, assuming human form

to seek power and revenge.

In human form, exiled angels still possess angelic strengths

and abilities, along with immortality. But in choosing exile, they abandon all the morals and structure by which they were previously bound. Because they had never had a body before, the atmo-sphere of their new world eventually overwhelms them. Processing human emotions and adjusting to the physical senses— touch, feel, smell— is all too much. Ultimately, exiles lose their ability to maintain balance and sensibility, and deteriorate the longer they are in human form.

“So, being human works like some kind of disease?” I asked.

“You could look at it like that, like a mental disease,” Griffin said.

“But I don’t understand why the good ones, I mean…angels

of light,” I corrected, trying to keep up with all the lingo, “would choose to become exiles in the first place?”

He smiled as if my question had answered itself, which bugged

me. “That’s because you think of light as only good— it’s what

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you’ve been taught. But no creature is faultless. Angels are free to make their own choices and decisions, just like humans. It’s called free will,” he said simply.

“So all exiles are bad?”

“Basically. They do differ in their approach— for exiles of light, having a human body is like giving a cult leader with an insane cause free reign and no consequences. For exiles of dark, it’s more like giving a serial killer weekend release from jail and putting a gun in his hands.”

I shuddered. Griffin watched me carefully. It occurred to me

that he was sizing me up.

“Let me be very clear here, Violet: angels do not belong on

earth, no matter what their role once was. There are rare exceptions when an exile will try to coexist quietly among humans.