Ignite (22 page)

“What was that?” His voice, when he speaks, sounds rough, like it did after he nearly drowned in the pond just the other day. It’s like we are underwater again. Is he drowning now?

I shake my head, biting my lip. It feels like
I’m
drowning. “I don’t know. I was hoping you could tell me.”

“You kissed me back.” He laughs lightly and presses his forehead against mine. “You kissed me back,” he repeats in an almost silent whisper.

“You should see the stars,” I tell him suddenly. “I want to show you my stars.”

Chapter 18

“I’ve seen the stars.” He keeps his forehead resting against mine and brings his one hand up to cup the nape of my neck. With his other hand, he twines his fingers with mine and circles his thumb across the back of my hand, drawing strange patterns I can’t identify.

“Not my stars,” I insist. “You haven’t seen what they really look like. You’ve seen them from behind, in Heaven.”

“And what are your stars like?”

“Magical,” I sigh. “When the sun sets, they blink on like Christmas lights. They’re cool and bright, dusted across the sky in beautiful patterns. Some are more gold, their light warm and hazy, while others are a sharp silver. When you look up into the night sky from Earth, it looks limitless. You’re dwarfed in comparison to this wide open universe. It’s not the same from Heaven.”

He nods. “The stars are hollow, tinny.”

“From above, but not from below. They’re dreamy.”

“Dreamy,” he echoes, closing his eyes. “Earth is so different.”

“I want to show you my stars,” I say again.

“I can’t.” He sits back, raising his face to mine. “Not tonight, anyway.”

“Because of your curfew.”

“That, and there’s something happening in Heaven. I’m not exactly in the loop up there, but it’s something big. I may not be able to come back for a couple of days,” he says.

I let out a breathy, halfhearted laugh. “You don’t owe me an explanation. And I think I’ll survive a couple of days without you.” I drop his hand gently and knot my own fingers together to keep from reaching back out to touch him.

“I have no doubt you’ll survive. I’m more concerned about myself.”

“Ah, worried about cabin fever while locked behind those pearly gates?”

“Sure, let’s call it that.” He shrugs, taking a moment to find the right words to share. “I’m alone up there. Isolated, really. I have no friends, no one to talk to. Actually, that’s not entirely true. I have lessons every so often. History, mostly.”

I make a face and he laughs.

“I know. It’s very dull. But it’s the only time I’m not by myself.”

“You are alone in Heaven?”

He nods once, small and quick. “Almost always. It’s like they don’t want me up there. But I don’t think I’m ever completely alone, even when I’m by myself. I feel them watching me all the time.”

He glances up through the branches and into the cloudy sky that hangs heavily over us before looking back at me.

“They don’t trust me and I’m not sure why. I haven’t done anything wrong.” His voice is sad. “I think my presence makes them uncomfortable. Just being back, not fully belonging. Maybe they’re afraid that Hell has done something to me that they won’t be able to undo. I’m different, and they don’t know how to handle me.”

“Haven’t they been training you? Isn’t that what you were doing when Az and I first saw you at the asylum?” I ask, leaning into him.

“Yes, but I’ve proven to be a disappointment to them. They’ve tried training me to become an archangel again, the Michael I used to be, but I ask too many questions. The wrong question, it seems. I can tell that the things I ask—it is upsetting to them. But I have no one else to ask.”

“I’ll answer any questions that I can,” I offer. “But I haven’t been in Heaven in a very long time, so I don’t know how much help I’ll actually be.”

He gives me a ghost of a smile. “You’ve already been very helpful. You told me how I died.”

I study his face. His eyes are bright, and his smile is lopsided, one corner of his mouth raised higher than the other. But even though he is smiling, he looks wounded, upset at Heaven’s distaste for him. He doesn’t like being a disappointment to anyone, let alone the angels.

“They really leave you by yourself?” I ask.

“No one wants to be near me. That’s why they let me come down to Earth by myself, I think. They’re probably relieved when I’m gone. But when I’m not, when I’m in Heaven, they still keep me separated from everyone else. They just lock me away in a room. Lately, I’ve asked for books to be left for me so I have something to do other than stare at the walls and wait for the door to open again.”

“You can’t even leave your room?”

“Not without an escort. Ariel or Sablo, usually. I can’t tell if they’re meant to make me feel safe or make the other angels feel safe. Either way, they hate it.”

“They hate most things,” I agree. “Including me. They always have.”

“I don’t hate you.” He smiles at me conspiratorially. “What did you do to make them hate you so much anyway? They wouldn’t stop talking about you two after we left.”

“They’re not overly fond of pranks. I, on the other hand, am quite enamored with a well played trick. As is Azael. Though he is known for taking things a bit too far.”

“That sounds about right. They’re not much fun.”

“
Angels
aren’t much fun in general,” I point out. “It’s the demons who are up for a good time.”

He raises an eyebrow.

“There’s a saying—go to Heaven for the climate, Hell for the company. I, personally, prefer Hell’s climate, but maybe I’m the only one. Az doesn’t seem to like the cold very much. But he tolerates it.”

“I didn’t know Hell was cold,” he says.

“Didn’t learn that in one of your history lessons yet?” I grin. “It’s completely frozen. A barren land of icy blues and grays with rivers of blood pulsing under the ice. Peaceful and still, in a gruesome way.”

I look over at him, perched between the thin white branches of the tree. Even in the overcast gray of the late afternoon, Michael shines golden. I try to imagine him in Hell, but the images clash. Something so bright and warm doesn’t belong in the cold darkness.

He leans back, resting one leg on the branch in front of him with the other dangling below him. He looks so comfortable, so at ease, sitting up here. On the ground he seems unsure and a bit clumsy. But far above the Earth, he breathes more easily, relaxes more.

“You don’t like Earth very much, do you?” I ask suddenly.

He turns his head, resting his cheek on the rough branch to look at me. “I think it’s fine. It’s better than being locked up in Heaven. And it’s so full of life. Everything seems to be growing and changing.”

“It’s just, you seem more relaxed up here.”

“We’re still on Earth right?” He cocks an eyebrow up at me and twists his mouth into a teasing grin.

“Technically, sure, but we’re not
on
Earth. You like to be higher up, I’ve noticed. Or hidden away.” I think back to the cave and his small, secret room, tucked behind the veil of a waterfall.

“It’s different than I imagined it would be,” he says. “Earth, I mean. In my lessons I thought it would be more solid. More concrete. But everything seems uncertain and precariously balanced. Like a house of cards. If I’m not careful, I could topple everything over. I feel like I shouldn’t be here, like I’m upsetting the order of things.”

“You’re an archangel, so you feel more than a typical angel,” I explain. “You can sense things, see things others can’t.”

Briefly, his eyes land on a spot just below my ribs and he nods.

“But the Earth is fine. Well, no, it’s not exactly fine, but you being here shouldn’t disrupt—” I stop.

He’s right.

His presence
has
disrupted the order of Earth. The Lilim virus has resurfaced. Gus said that the future has been erasing itself. And it’s all tied to Michael’s return. So if everything Michael does or touches changes the future, what effect have I had?

An archangel and a demon should be trying to kill one another. That is the order of the worlds. They shouldn’t be talking like friends, and they definitely shouldn’t be kissing.

Oh, Hell. Oh holy, flaming shit.

I kissed Michael.

My cheeks burn hot with shame. I think immediately of Azael and what he would say if he knew. There would be derision, and of course he’d make some snide comment. I can practically hear his voice.

Pen and Michael sitting in the tree. K-I-S-S-I-N-G. You sure do go above and beyond the call of duty, don’t you?

I practically lobbed that one right over the plate for him. But underneath his jokes and behind his jeers, there would be disgust. There would be the anger of betrayal burning hot in his dark eyes. A demon and an angel! It’s unnatural; it’s wrong. I don’t know how I feel about Michael, but there is no question of how Hell would feel about us. I would be a traitor, executed immediately and shown no mercy. If I’m lucky.

If not, I would spend eternity being tortured, ripped apart, almost completely destroyed, and then pieced back together only to be torn apart again. And repeat. And repeat again. Heaven’s reaction wouldn’t be much different.

Gus gave me an assignment,
I try to convince myself.
He told me to get close to Michael, whatever it took. So what if this is just what it took?

But I’m having a more difficult time lying to myself. It’s more than that—so much more than that. This is a thought, a wish, a stupid dream that’s haunted me since I first saw Michael, since he first spoke to me. He asked me what I was reading, and I couldn’t answer because I wasn’t reading anything. I was
writing
.

He asked if he could see, so I showed him my notebook, and he read page after page of me, spilled out in ink. After just a minute, he closed it, glanced over me and said “Thank you.” We had never spoken again unless it was him handing down orders, or me reporting fates.

This moment has been played and replayed in my mind more times than I can count. If this was an assignment, I wouldn’t be so conflicted. When I look at him, I don’t see a target. I see
him
; I see
Michael
—the only angel who asked about my writing, who didn’t mock me for keeping my nose tucked inside the pages of a book. If I were doing my job, I wouldn’t feel anything towards him. But I do. I
do
and I can’t crush the part of me that is glad.

“Pen?” Michael’s face is pinched with concern. “Are you okay? You don’t look so good.”

I laugh shakily. “Just what every girl wants to hear.”

“I didn’t mean it like that—”

I cut him off. “I’m all right, just a little dizzy.”

“Should we climb down?” He looks overhead through the thick cover of leaves. “I think it stopped raining.”

I swallow a lump in my throat. “Yeah, sure, let’s climb down.”

He slides off of his branch, placing his feet on a limb below, and then hesitates. “Do you need any help?”

“Big girl,” I remind him, pointing to myself. “More experienced than you.”

He scrutinizes my face closely, nods, and then begins to climb down the tree wordlessly.

I watch him lower towards the ground, and the farther he descends, the less I can see him. Soon enough, he is completely blocked behind large leaves that bridge between the white, twisting branches. I take a few breaths, trying to calm down.

I need to distance myself from him. I can’t do this—I can’t be vulnerable. He’s changed something in me, and it’s terrifying. Even now, without his lips on mine, my veins feel warm, thrumming with heat. The ice inside of me doesn’t seem as piercing, as painful as it did before. It’s melting away, transforming me from the inside out. His kindness is disorienting, and his blue eyes… I shake my head, trying to erase his face from my mind.

Stop. STOP.

With another deep, steadying breath, I begin to climb down the tree, my feet gingerly touching down on the branches. When I can see the ground, I jump, falling the rest of the way down the tree. I land on the hard ground in a crouch and then stand up. I look at my hands and am pleased to see that they aren’t as scratched as they were after the climb up.

Michael is standing there waiting for me. He lifts up the sword that he left lying against the base of the tree and re-holsters it into his belt. I touch the dagger that hangs at my hip, reassuring myself that it’s still there.

“How will I find you again?” he asks. “I’m assuming you won’t still be here when I come back, whenever that will be.”

Whenever that will be?

“Um…” I fiddle lightly with the bracelet on my wrist, feeling the warm, round beads slide across my skin.

He steps closer to me and takes my hand in his. He touches the bracelet. “This is interesting,” he says curiously. “I hadn’t noticed it before.”

“Yeah, it’s, uh, just a bracelet Az gave me,” I lie.

“It’s warm,” he says. “Is it special?”

I pull my hand away from him. “It’s from Azael.”

“Of course.” He places his hands at his sides, nodding understandingly.