Iron Inheritance (13 page)

Obviously the Fallen. A third of the angels rebelled with Lucifer and had been cast out of Heaven. Grandpa had taught me that before I could walk.

What an excellent story for a youngster.

At least I understood why he told me about it now.

“Slide.”

It was Lyra, the last of the Blood Nephilim. Unlike the Graced, they had all seven talents. She stood in a red valley with her hands thrown up to the sky, her head arched back in elation, and thousands of shredded bodies scattered around her. She was one of the main reasons God killed everyone in the flood. After that, Blood Nephilim weren’t allowed to be created. Any angel who did shack up with a human got locked up for eternity. Not that it stopped the Fallen from finding a loophole in God’s plan.

And seriously. This was supposed to be God. How had
He
made things that had loopholes?

Finkelstein talked on and on, but I knew it all already. The Fallen started making the Graced initially, and then the Heavenly Host joined in. A few millennia later, here we were. The Babylonians attack humans. Patrons save humans. Pretty cyclical. Unending.

But even the meaninglessness of it all did little to stifle the boiling inside me. The one simple fact that the Babylonians killed both my grandpa and my mom thumped in my chest and seeped into the rest of me, all of me.

“During what period, Ms. Brooks?” Finkelstein’s monotony stopped echoing around the room.

I inhaled sharply, caught off-guard.

“The antediluvian period,” said Ria, sitting to my right, sounding more like a textbook every day.

It used to be the other way around.

Professor Finkelstein, his brown tweed suit and bow tie perfectly pressed and cleaned, looked at me expectantly for something more, his eyes—like the other professors’—trying to figure out why there was such a discrepancy between expectation and the thing in front of him.

The long lost granddaughter of Solomon Brooks was supposed to be as smart and cunning as he was. The library verified that Grandpa had been a Scribe—another angelic talent kind of like a superhuman reading and writing machine—but he’d done more than read books. In the ’70s he’d organized a country-wide plan to push the Babylonians back. A grassroots revival ensued, and hundreds of thousands of people were “saved.”

But then Mom was murdered and Grandpa left everything to take care of me.

“Very good, Ms. Curly Hair,” Finkelstein said without the slightest sign that he was insulting Ria. In all, it was one of the better nicknames his lopsided mind had created. When he couldn’t remember Josh’s name, he called him “Mr. Eyebrows.” I hadn’t noticed them before, but now every time I saw him, I looked at the cute, bushy caterpillars over his eyes.

I glanced right and left to find him, but he wasn’t there. Why did he keep ditching?

“Next time.” Finkelstein flicked on the lights with a small shudder. “We will evaluate the choice that it takes to be evil or good. The Blood Nephilim taught us well that power makes that choice even more important, especially in how they packed enough power to nuke Russia five times over.”

“Cold War’s over, Professor,” said a girl in a pastel halter top in the front row.

“Not for me it isn’t.” Finkelstein tried to wink as his shoulder came up to his ear in an uncontrollable spasm.

Twenty chairs scraped against the tile floor at once.

“This whole skipping high school and going straight to college is my kinda thang.” Ria jerked her hip to the side to push open the door. “See you at dinner tonight?”

I nodded, Finkelstein’s last comments sticking in my head without really resounding loud enough for me to hear them. “Tonight.”

Ria headed to the left with a group of Pesahs toward their training area. I trailed behind Freddy and Miranda as they headed toward the arena, Nate in tow behind me like a silent shadow. He barely talked anymore. The glares of everyone in the school were enough to make anyone cower—apparently Guardians had let the Patrons down more than Nate had let on. Many of them had betrayed Patron leaders so badly that they were now considered no better than the Babylonians.

Whenever I asked Nate about it, or anything else related to Babylonians or the Fallen or demons, I was met with short clipped answers that constantly left me with the feeling he was either holding something back or his thousands of years of existence had passed him by without him realizing it. You’d think he’d be the best resource out there because he’d lived it all. He should have been able to tell me everything I needed to know about the Babylonians and Kovac and how to find them.

The problem was that his whole focus was on me, on keeping me safe. He wasn’t going to tell me something that would lead me into danger. He’d already lost one Brooks, after all.

I glanced back and found his eyes piercing my back.

“You ok?” I said.

He blinked and looked at my eyes with the same intensity. “Remember to control your emotions. Essence is tied to it. If you don’t, someone could get hurt.”

I rolled my eyes and pushed through the double doors to the arena. Bright florescent suns blinded me from overhead, and I had to blink several times to adjust. White steel trusses spanned the forty-foot high ceiling above. I bounded across the rubbery orange track toward a gray cement rectangle in the center. Normally, it was set up with sparring circles and weapons for combat training. But today, the swords and axes and spears were hung neatly in racks at the far end while an obstacle course I’d never seen before was erected on the other side. It was a picture out of a Marine boot camp. There were swinging ropes and hurdles, belly crawl areas, and giant wooden walls to scale—even a pool I could have sworn I saw someone walking across.

For a bunch of angel people intent on protecting humanity, I was always surprised by how violent and intense this place was. Denisov, the lead instructor in the arena and the Patron military—The Defense—had her disciples in here at all hours of the day.

Maybe that’s why I hadn’t seen Josh very much lately, not that I’d been hoping to see him in every room I’d stepped into or anything.

I stopped and looked around at the whole arena, taking it in. In a way, it felt like home. Not exactly the same, but I’d grown up with this type training all my life. Part of me wondered if Grandpa meant for me to come here all along. What would have happened if I’d showed a talent earlier in life like Miranda? He would have had to tell me then.

A gust of wind smacked me in the face as a Messenger blurred past me. I shook my head and continued to walk. It was getting easier to see who had what talent. Besides Messengers’ obvious puff of air to announce their arrival and departure, Scribes were simple to see—they always watched your mouth instead of your eyes when they talked with you. Though, most of the time, they were in the library reading. I’d spent so much time in there lately that I’d started to kind of like them. They rarely joked, but their bookish, nerdy demeanor suited me just fine.

“Eve, catch!” Miranda threw a rabbit’s foot keychain my way. “For luck today.”

I caught it and smiled. Miracles always seemed a bit eccentric. She’d done this before every training session. The fur of the rabbit foot was dyed the exact purple of her plaid shirt.

Prophets and Praisers looked fairly similar. They stood at the far end of the arena most days, talking and singing and waving their arms around wildly. I considered it both a rehearsal for an upcoming performance and a psychic vision of the day people would swim through the air.

Healers scattered themselves throughout the population. They were either people who laughed all the time or studied every moment. I was glad Freddy was the former.

The Warriors were the hardest to see without them actually lifting something heavy over their heads. They ranged from average girls like me to giant, muscular guys bigger and more menacing than Freddy when he wasn’t smiling.

“Come on, Eve. Time to stretch it up!” Freddy called, bending to the side so far that he actually fell over.

I laughed and went over to help him up. Sometimes I thought he fell on purpose.

“Have either of you seen Josh today?” I said as I stretched.

Miranda did a cartwheel that carried my gaze to the far end of the arena on the outer-most sparring circle. Josh stood in the middle, his feet shackled to the floor, his hands raised as three people came at him at once.

Hit to the chest.

Fist to the jaw.

Headbutt to the nose.

All three went down before I could blink. Denisov stood to the side with her arms crossed, the sharp, stern lines on her face discernible even from where I stood.

I stopped stretching and stared, perplexed and impressed. “Why does she have his feet chained up?”

Freddy stopped trying to cartwheel like Miranda and said, “Denisov never wants anyone to rely too much on their talent. Says it shows weakness. That’s why Josh came here, isn’t it? To train with her?”

I nodded, my brow furrowed. Josh unshackled himself as Denisov spoke to him.

He certainly didn’t look weak.

Maybe because he was shirtless.

Not that I’d noticed.

Josh saluted when Denisov finished.

I turned away and continued to stretch before whatever Denisov had planned for the day. Normally, we sparred and ran the track, but the appearance of the obstacle course promised something more.

“Brooks!” Denisov’s bark made me jump.

I turned back around and found her watching me, suddenly only a few yards away. She didn’t even have to raise a finger for me to step forward. Her sharp nose, short gray hair, tight black tank top, and silver eyes communicated what she wanted at all times—attention.

“Has your talent revealed itself yet?” Her voice cracked like a whip.

I shook my head, a steady pressure rising in my chest. If I’d been able to, she would have been the second to know. It probably would have stopped the disappointed looks she cast my way every day.

Her brow furrowed for a long moment, then her sharp eyes looked up at Miranda and Freddy, who had been edging closer to the conversation with their stretches.

“Can I help you with something?” said Denisov in no more than a whisper.

Miranda and Freddy froze mid-stretch. Even Nate, who leaned against the wall behind her seemed to stiffen as if he’d been caught listening in.

“No? Then back to it.” Her strong, bony hand curled around my shoulder and pulled me into a stroll toward the track.

Nate’s freckled leg twitched as if he might follow, but the rest of him remained motionless.

“You have a unique status as a Patron at this headquarters.”

I chewed my tongue and waited for her to reveal what she really meant. This was the first time I’d spoken to her directly, and I’d seen enough to know that I shouldn’t answer unless asked a direct question.

“Not because of who you are—though, I admit, that’s part of it. Your grandfather was smarter than most. He knew what was coming, and after your mother was killed in action, he went into hiding. Complete radio silence.” She nodded, thin lines in the skin around her eyes. “I’d have done the same thing.”

My muscles tensed, but I kept my jaw shut. Killed in action wasn’t how I’d thought about my mom before. It made it seem like she was one of the faceless masses extinguished by fate in some war. Maybe that was partly how I used to see her, but now it was an insult. She’d been murdered, and every night before I went to sleep, I saw the face of the man who’d done it.

“Your unique status comes from the fact that you are the only Patron your age to have fought a Babylonian directly. There hasn’t been an overt attack in years. They’ve preferred other means of corrupting humans.” She glanced sidelong at me for a reaction. “Your Grandfather trained you—I’ve seen it these past two weeks in the way you carry yourself. Once your talent is revealed, others will look to you for advice and leadership.”

A new tension knotted in my stomach at the thought. Why would these people look to me? I hadn’t even fought Kovac. Nate was the only one who had and survived. Why wasn’t she talking to him?

She seemed satisfied with the terror on my face and smiled. “Good. Now fall back a few feet before I start yelling. I’ve busted more than a few eardrums, I can tell you.”

I nodded, suspicious of the small bit of warmth she’d just shown, and headed back to Miranda and Freddy. Josh was already at their side, a huge smirk between his slightly scruffy cheeks.

Denisov clapped her hands above her head once, and everyone stood at attention and faced her.

“Normal training and conditioning will resume tomorrow. Today, we’re going to do something a little different.” She clapped her hands again, and everyone formed military rank and file lines. She walked in between perfectly straight rows and columns with her hands behind her muscular back. “It is our duty to be prepared for battle at all times.”

“Ma’am. Yes, Ma’am,” the whole room shouted at once, myself included. It was natural—muscle memory from a thousand Saturdays spent with Grandpa training in the red sandstone hills behind our house.

She smiled. “By now, you all know that there was a Babylonian attack in Nevada two weeks ago. Solomon Brooks was killed, and if there was another attack today, you’d all die too!” Her voice reverberated off the concrete walls.

I raised my eyebrows. She was quite the motivational speaker.

If motivation meant scaring everyone to death, that is.

“So far this year, I’ve seen people attempt to master hand-to-hand combat, weaponry, and a minimal display of a talent.” She paused. “It’s not enough! Humans cannot see what is right in front of them, but we can.”

She walked around the side of the group toward the giant wooden wall that began the obstacle course, the muscles in her shoulders very apparent as she reached out and tested one of the handholds.

“Our fight is in two worlds—the spiritual and the physical. So far, you have lived and fought in the physical. Now, I need you to embrace the essence that lives inside everything, the angelic power that resides in you in order to protect humanity from the coming dangers of the Babylonians.”