Ignite (25 page)

I sit on the picnic bench for a few minutes, watching the flames lick lazily against the blackened stones of the fireplace as I distractedly spin my bracelet around my wrist. The beads are clear and cold, reminding me how far away Michael is.

When I’m around him, I feel almost like my old self again. He has an energy about him that is bright and inviting, like a fire in the middle of a snowstorm. Maybe he holds the flames of Heaven inside of him, I think, just as I hold the ice of Hell inside of me.

But I won’t for much longer. One day soon, I’ll be warm too. And tonight is my first step. I’ll take the time to peel away the layers of my past, step out of the shadows, and wade into the light. I’ll bury my old life in these woods and walk away, but I won’t forget. I have to remember my mistakes if I have any hope of learning from them.

I stand up from the table, grabbing a dirty t-shirt from my backpack, and walk over to the pallet bed. I ball the shirt up, setting it at the head of the bed, and lie down. My shoulders dig painfully into the hard frame and I try to shift myself into a comfortable position, but there isn’t one.

Somehow, this wooden bed is more painful than the uneven bench of the cave. At least in the cave there was the comforting glow of the mason jars and the lingering scent of honey. All I have here is a gloomy cabin that smells like animals, dirt, and sweat. Even the fire doesn’t do anything to cheer up the shack.

I stare up at the ceiling, willing myself to fall asleep, but my mind is too loud.

I try closing my eyes, but when I do, I picture the way Azael will look at me when I betray him. His sharp, dark-featured face fades away into Michael’s, his eyes bright and hopeful.

We can do it
. I hear his whisper swirl in my head.
You’ve woken up. You see what I see.

I imagine reaching out to him and placing my cool hand on his cheek.
I’m almost there,
I tell him.
I may still need some convincing, a reminder.

He smiles and leans forward as if to kiss me again.

I open my eyes and roll over, facing the back windows. I’ll see him again soon. And when I do, I’ll tell him that I’m different. I’ll tell him how he’s changed me and that I want to run away with him. Run away from Heaven, from Hell, and from the war. We’ll run until we can’t run anymore.

I take a deep breath, close my eyes, and touch my bracelet again.
We can do it, Michael.

I’m on the brink of sleep when I think I hear him answer me.
Pen?

His soft voice relaxes me and I fall over the edge of sleep, landing dreamlessly into unconsciousness.

Chapter 21

The sound of Azael’s needlelike voice wakes me up.

You like poetry, don’t you, Pen? How about a little Percy Bysshe Shelley.

It’s early, Az.
I throw my arm over my face, shielding my eyes from the hot sunlight that streams through the window of the shack.

He ignores me and begins to recite the lines of a poem dramatically.
“Horror covers all the sky / Clouds of darkness blot the moon…”

I sigh.

“Prepare! for mortal thou must die / Prepare to yield thy soul up soon.”

Why the sudden interest in literature?

I thought you would appreciate it!
He sounds mildly offended.

Sure, I love it. Just maybe not at this ungodly hour.

Great choice of words. This hour is indeed Godless.

Har, har.

I peer out from under my arm and look around the empty cabin. The fire is dead, the logs reduced to ashes. By the angle of the sun outside, I realize it’s not as early as I thought it was. I sit up, swing my legs over the bed, and stand up stiffly, stretching my arms and rolling my shoulders.

Remind me never to wake you up again
, he complains.

It’s fine. But did you have something else to say, or did you just want to share with me the fact that you’ve learned how to read?
I tease.

Wrong-o, dear sister.
He tsks.
I heard that poem from Lilith. She sings it as she makes her way across the globe, creating one Lilim after another. The virus is spreading at an impressive rate, and I would like to think that I am the reason it is so successful.

I’m sure Lilith would love to hear that.
I laugh.
So you still can’t read, then?

I’ll have you know I can read at an advanced level. Tolstoy, Kipling, Shakespeare, all the so-called greats! None of whom can compare to John Milton, though. You know my fondness for
Paradise Lost.

Indeed I do.

Even though most literature bores Azael, he’s always been attracted to
Paradise Lost
. He’s read it more times than I can count. In fact, I think it’s the only book suggestion that I’ve given him that he actually read himself.

I used to read to him while he trained or as he drifted off to sleep in our frozen room in Hell. He didn’t like to read, didn’t understand why it wasn’t a waste of time, and would usually end up losing or destroying any books I lent him. So I would read to him, making sure my books stayed safe. Even more often, I would quote scenes of dialogue or poetry at him and he would deflect my words with a scoff or an eye roll.

One of my favorite stories to read to Azael was
Romeo and Juliet.
I thought the sudden, consuming love—a love that was impossible and forbidden—was fascinating and tragic. Azael, on the other hand, hated it. He was a much bigger fan of Shakespeare’s
Macbeth.
Murder, mayhem, an evil plot… It was right up his alley.

But there was something about Juliet that I found almost familiar. I could never quite identify what it was. I could relate to her on a strange level, and I felt her story strike me through my chest. Her loss became my loss, like in most books I read, as I threw myself completely into the story.

I couldn’t explain to Az how books were a kind of rare magic. Words have a power of their own. They build worlds, create lives, shape futures. You can delve into these foreign worlds just by opening the cover of a book and escape from it as quickly as you could shut it again. I was able to travel through time and space just within the pages of a novel. I could be a hero, a villain, or someone driven mad by romance.

For days, I would surround myself with the delicate parchment, fingering my way through chapters of adventures I would never experience first-hand. I would emerge with another stack of books or sheets of sonnets, my fingers dark and bruised-looking, stained with blue and black ink.

He clears his throat.
“The mind is its own place, and in itself / Can make a heav’n of hell, a hell of heav’n.” Milton could not be more right! Heaven was my Hell, but Hell is my Heaven.

I stay silent.

Anyway, this all brings me to my point.

You have a point?
I say in mock surprise.

Two points, actually. Point number one: It’s getting closer. The war, that is. Gus says that they’ve nearly severed the connection between Michael and Lucifer, so when the time comes, you’ll be able to either bring him with you back to Hell or kill him. I personally am rooting for the latter of those two options. I say goodbye and good riddance to the glowing bastard. I don’t want to fight next to him. You couldn’t pay me enough!

How soon? Will they be severed, I mean?

According to good old Gus, they should be split by tomorrow night.

That’s great!
I say, forcing enthusiasm. He’ll be free from Lucifer. I don’t let myself smile about this fact, however, because I know that this freedom comes at a cost, as most freedom does. He won’t be safe anymore. Every demon will be after him if he doesn’t join Hell. And he won’t. Neither will I.

Hold on to your seat, Pen, because if you thought that that news is good, wait until you hear what I have to say next.

I sit down on the picnic tabletop and grab the splintered edge.
Consider my seat held.

The second point I needed to tell you was that Lucifer has been taking notice and is impressed. Gus has been reporting back to him every day with the new data I’ve given him, and it’s helping with the whole disappearing future thing. Sort of. We’re getting a clearer date…

Did you get a gold star?

Better.
He takes a pause.
I’m second in command.

Second…
I shake my head, confused.
In all of Hell?

Soon to be all of Hell
and
Heaven! When we reclaim the throne of Heaven, I will be in charge of Hell, oversee the demons that prefer the basement to the attic. I’ll be ranked even higher than an L1 demon, with special quarters in Heaven.

My mouth hangs open in shock. I try to grab at something to say but can’t think of anything coherent.

Don’t be worried
, he continues.
I plan on making you my number two. Which, if you’re doing the math, would make you overall number three. Bronze—that’s not too bad, right?

I—

Listen to Milton, Pen. “Better to reign in Hell, than to serve in Heaven.” Do you see how poignant that is? Are you appreciating my grasp of literature now?

I guess congratulations are in order.

We’ll throw a party after the war. I expect you to give a moving speech that speaks in wonder of my accolades.

I’ll get started on that right away.

I put my head in my hands. He’ll rule Hell, and I won’t be there for it. For a brief moment, I reconsider my decision about Michael. If Azael will be in charge, maybe I should…

No. I’ve made my choice, and nothing is going to change that. Azael won’t control my future anymore. I may not have any guarantee of what my future will be without him, but I’ll have the possibility of something better. And sometimes the possibility of something different is better than the promise of sameness.

You must! Because if it does not meet my expectations, I’ll have the strength of an army behind me to express my dismay.

I wonder how soon Lucifer will reconsider putting you in charge,
I joke.
Probably moments after you make your first decision.

I can tell you one thing: Expect casual Fridays!
He laughs to himself, and I swear I can hear someone else talking to him. A higher female voice that’s as thick as smoke and smooth as velvet. It must be Lilith.

Az, I have to go. I need to—

I couldn’t care less, I’ve got things I’ve got to do.
He says something else. It’s muffled, clearly not directed at me, and I’m wondering what Lilith has made of him. Azael, I think, will be perfectly fine without me. He won’t even have the time or energy to miss me.
I’ll check in later if there are any updates. Remember Michael.

Michael?
I ask, dazed.

Convince him. Or don’t. You don’t have much time left either way.

And then he’s gone, my head filled with only my own thoughts again, which are loud and tumultuous.

***

Lucifer will overthrow Heaven and Azael will rule Hell. At this point, these two facts are inevitable. I’m coming to understand that Hell has grown far too powerful for Heaven to defeat. The demonic army is expanding at an alarming pace—the demons and fallen angels are stronger than they have ever been before, and with the added strength of the Lilim, Heaven stands little chance.

I want to call Michael, to talk to him and share my worries with him. I want to tell him that I believe in him, too, like he believes in me. I want to take his hand and flee the darkness, and if we aren’t able to find any light, we’ll make our own. I want to make sure he knows that I know I can save myself, I just need him to stand by me. I’m still not strong enough to face this entirely alone.

The fact is, Michael makes me
feel
again. I’m not sure what I feel yet. I’m still trying to untangle the confusing knot inside my mind.

But I can’t talk to Michael, and I have no idea when I’ll see him next. He didn’t tell me when he’d be back, and all I can do is sit and wait. I hate being useless; I hate being still. I’m antsy and have the urge to do something—anything, really. I just need to move.

So I move.

I jump down from the tabletop, take my balled up shirt from the pallet bed, and throw it in the open backpack, which I zip up quickly and throw over my shoulders. I rush out of the cabin, pulling the door closed behind me, the hinges whining pathetically.

I run down the mountain and into the mist that hangs between the peaks, following the twisting trail as it winds between tall trees and overgrown wildflowers. My boots crunch loudly on fallen twigs and leaves, keeping rhythm with the puffs of my breath.

As I near the bottom of the mountain, I hear other people’s voices. I slow my run down to a brisk walk, and when I round the corner, I see a man in his mid-forties with two small girls. They all have bright, rosy cheeks, twill pants, and matching sweatshirts on, keeping them warm in the autumn chill. They are also wearing strange, flat packs on their backs. A plastic tube strings out from the bottom of their packs. One of the girls chews on the gummy end of the plastic tube and then sucks water through it. The other girl is holding a narrow container that holds a sliced green apple and a dollop of peanut butter.