Scarred (the Spellbound Series Book 3) (15 page)

“Hey, Jenna? It’s Heather. How much do you love me?”

“Tons,” Jenna answers. “In a very non-gay way.”

“Good.” I turn away from Nick and Alyssa, and place a hand on the edge of the roof. “Second question: how much do you know about interrupting a national broadcast signal?”

15

The next few weeks, I keep a close eye out for any signs that we’re being watched. Thankfully, it looks like my assumptions about relocating were correct; nobody has come looking for us here just yet. Apparently, the rumors that New York City was hit by a nuclear strike were enough to keep people from trying to repopulate the place. Nobody wants to live in an atomic wasteland, no matter how cheap the real estate is. That’s just as well. Now that there’s no one left to find out my “secret”, all of Manhattan is my playground, and there’s nothing quite like soaring above and between the skyscrapers to clear my head after a long day.

Thankfully, the time passes in a blaze of activity and planning. After talking through my sudden burst of inspiration with Jenna, we settled on a plan of attack. I’m in charge of writing out exactly what’s going to happen. Alyssa and Nick, on their down time, have been hunting down other metahumans in the areas surrounding New York City willing to help our cause. Jenna herself isn’t much of a hacker, but she’ll be putting us in contact with someone who can help… on one condition.

“Get me the hell out of here,” Jenna pleaded. “My parents think following our orders is the right thing to do, even if it means shooting my best friend.”

“Are you sure?,” I asked. Knowing how dangerous it is to be in my company, I’m hesitant about bringing yet another loved one closer.

“Absolutely. Besides, you already owe me a favor. Let me and Emma join you guys, and we’ll call it even.”

The next day, I teleported to the address Jenna gave us, and collected both her and Emma. I noticed that Emma was carrying some basic hunter gear, but Jenna was only carrying civilian clothes. When I asked, she said, “Getting into the family business was always my father’s idea. Now that I’ve seen their true colors, I’m out of the game.”

Until that moment, I’d never considered how much Jenna and I had in common. I nodded, and teleported the three of us back to New York City without comment.

While snooping through the apartment I’ve claimed as my own, I happen upon a working cell phone and its appropriate charger. And after deleting some unsavory pictures, I’ve taken to using it myself, instead of going through Alyssa when I need to contact someone. Every now and then, Lily will call me with an update, telling me about the Nephilim she’s met and convinced to help us should we need it. Apparently, they’re not quite as numerous as I’d imagined; aside from the two of us, Lily’s research has only dug up ten of them living in the continental United States. And of those ten, she’s gathered four recruits thus far.

“The latest one is Lucas,” she tells me one night over the phone. “He’s lived in L.A. all his life, never officially joined a clan. His father, Balthazar, taught him everything he knows, but ditched when Lucas turned seventeen. He’s looking forward to giving these feathered pricks exactly what they deserve.”

I allow myself a small grin. I still don’t like Lily very much, nor am I anywhere near forgiving her for the part she played in what we’ve been through. But I have to admit, her enthusiasm about rebelling against our fathers is incorrigible. “That’s nice, Lil. Is he cool, or is he as unstable as we are?”

“Hey, speak for yourself. And he’s alright. Very excited to meet you.”

“Why me?”

“You’re sort of the unofficial leader of our band of winged youths.”

“Again, why me?” I pinch the bridge of my nose, and rub the weariness out of my eyes. “This is all your idea.”

“Yeah, but you’re the only one of us whose father is actually an archangel. You’re the highest girl on the food chain, so they look up to you. And besides, the Fallen is much cooler than any name I could come up with on the fly.”

I groan into the phone, and try to change the subject. I don’t want or deserve any of the authority I’ve found myself stuck with recently. With a track record like mine, these people should know better than to follow my lead.

In the time I have between writing and scrapping various speeches, planning out my next move with the others, and sleeping, I’m honing my combat skills. We may have moved, but Michael is just as insistent on training me as ever. The morning after we arrived, he tossed me my new sword and shield, and instructed me to meet him on the street as soon as I was ready. I groaned, and followed him downstairs, before enduring the first of many grueling training sessions.

Michael’s role in my combat training may have been miniscule, but he’s more than making up for it now. The man is deadly, and dangerous; if it weren’t for the spells that dull the edges of our blades, we would constantly slice each other apart when we practice. When my guard is down, he exploits it. When I’m having trouble with a technique, he forces me to perform it over and over until it’s perfect. When I’m exhausted, he pushes me further, slashing at me blindingly fast with cold fire in his eyes. I keep forgetting how similar we are; it almost makes me wish I were learning from Tyrael or Valtiel instead. If we’re not careful, one of us might end up killing the other.

Even now that I somewhat know what I’m doing, I occasionally fear for my life. The sword Michael gave to me hangs from a makeshift scabbard Landon made me out of old leather, the ruby set into the hilt glinting in the morning sunlight. Flames leap along the length of the blade as I pull the whole sword free. Michael reaches for the blade he frequently borrows from Valtiel, and assumes a defensive stance. Each of us puts the protective spells around our blades, and a shimmering white aura extends a couple of centimeters from the shining metal.

He normally waits for me to make the first move, and this morning is no different. I slash at Michael, and he parries so swiftly that I have to wonder if he can read my mind. I try in vain to slip under Michael’s guard, but it’s no use. He’s too fast to outmaneuver, and too intelligent to fool. I hate to admit it, but he’s a genius with a blade in his hands. Michael sidesteps the majority of my attacks, but infuriatingly enough for him, he has just as much trouble laying a finger on me. I may not have the hang of parrying or striking, but I can dodge just as well as he can.

Michael is dripping with sweat by the time he calls for a break. We sit side by side on the curb, our swords between our feet while we share a plastic bottle of water. He offers the bottle to me, and his intense gaze hones in on my face. “You’re improving at an incredible rate,” he observes.

I take a few sips of water, and reply, “Not really. I feel like I should have your old ass on the ropes by this point.”

“Heather, you’re a beginner, an infant in the grand scheme of things. I’ve had millennia to perfect my craft.”

I grunt, and hand Michael the water bottle. He’s right, I know he is. I just hate that I’m pushing myself to learn what he’s teaching me, and only he can see any real progress. My sword should feel like an extension of myself, but it feels unnervingly foreign. And the fact that I’m constantly scared I’ll burn myself doesn’t help me feel confident wielding it. I don’t even bother with the shield; I leave it stored with the rest of my weaponry, in the space provided by my bangle. I prefer having the option to wield my sword with both hands.

On a whim, I ask, “Why did you wait until this year to come to me?”

“Hmm?” Michael looks at me questioningly.

“I mean, I thought I had a normal, dead, human father up until a few months ago. Where were you the first nineteen years of my life? Why did you wait so long?”

Michael folds his hands over his face, and stares out into the street. “I wanted to, Heather. I did. But your mother forbade me from making myself known until you were old enough to make your own decisions. But I kept watch over you, made sure you were safe. I’ve endured many pains over the years, but among the greatest of them was watching my daughter grow up from a distance.”

Six months ago, I would have rolled my eyes at that kind of statement. But now, watching Michael’s expressions and hearing the rise and fall of his voice give the slightest tug at my heartstrings. Maybe I care about my father a little more than I’d planned to. I nudge his arm, and tell him, “You’re here now. That’s gotta count for something.”

Michael huffs, and stands up before helping me onto my feet. He handles these moments between us about as well as I do, but that’s just how we are. Neither of us are particularly sappy people. We pour our emotions into the blood and sweat we shed, and that’s just fine by me
.
“One last question,” I mutter before we jump back into sparring mode. “Why did you and Mom decide on Heather? That’s literally the whitest name I’ve ever heard.”

Michael shrugs, and replies, “It was your mother’s idea. Her first choice was Gabriela, but I objected for… personal reasons.”

That’s about as much information as I’m going to get out of him. I wrap my hand around the hilt of my sword, and mentally prepare myself for what’s to come.

After practice with Michael, I stash my sword with my other weapons, and take a long flight to cool off. I take care to glide as much as I can; flapping my huge wings takes a lot of effort, and a full day of swinging a sword around usually leaves me exhausted. I soar through a sky pockmarked with skyscrapers, and a feeling of freedom washes over me with more ferocity than it ever has before. I finally get to be myself, in the one place I’ll ever truly call home. Maybe one day, after my plan has been successfully executed and people start repopulating the city, I’ll have to dial back on how often I take to the skies. But for right now, I’m enjoying the newfound freedom while I can.

I feel my phone buzz in my pocket, and make a hasty landing on a nearby rooftop to answer it. I stumble to a stop, and fold my wings back before answering the call. “Hello?”

“Hey,” Nick replies. “Where are you?”

“Uhh… standing on top of the MetLife building. Why?”

“You might wanna make your way over to Rockaway Beach.”

“What for?”

“You’ll see. Just get here.”

The line goes dead, and I shrug as I slip my phone back into my pocket. Nick isn’t usually so cryptic… what could he possibly be up to? I leap off the edge of the building, spread my wings, and angle myself east. The buildings in front of me seem to gleam as I fly by, their windows reflecting the radiant orange sunset like rippling water. I follow the lone set of train tracks that reach across the Jamaica Sound, and bank left when they diverge on solid land. I haven’t been this far east in years, since my first beach trip with Rachel and her family, but I still remember precisely where to go.

As I soar along the length of the beach, I pick up on Nick’s presence with my second sight. I recognize Alyssa’s wavelength as well, along with Rachel’s, Landon’s, and Jenna’s. I find the beachfront condo they’re holed up in, and land as gently as I can just outside of the front entrance. It isn’t until I step inside that I notice the several dozen unfamiliar faces staring at me. Alyssa and the others are standing behind the front desk, watching my reaction. “What’s going on?,” I ask as I let the glass door close behind me.

Nick jogs over to me, and grabs me by the shoulders as he guides me over to where the others are standing. “You said you needed a lot of outside help, right?”

I glance around the room at the small crowd gathered here. Now that I can focus on them with my second sight, I can see these are no ordinary people. This crowd is comprised of vampires, werefolk, spellcasters, a couple of faeries, and other beings that I can’t immediately identify. My jaw slackens ever so slightly when I realize what I’m looking at. “These are the people you recruited?”

“Yeah,” Nick says proudly. “Every willing metahuman left in a twenty mile radius is standing right in front of you.”

“Holy cow.” I’m actually impressed by how well Nick and Alyssa have done; I was only expecting a handful of willing participants. This far exceeds what I had in mind.

A werewolf down in front catches my eye, and asks, “Are you the Angel of Death?”

All the excitement in me sinks like a stone; what have they been
telling
these people to get them here? “No,” I reply. “My name is Heather. I’ve been painted as a terrorist, but trust me when I tell you, I’m anything but.”

“Then what are we here for?,” asks a familiar melodic voice. I notice Amy floating a couple of feet back from the werewolf who spoke. “I thought this was all about helping you stick it to the government.”

“It is, but-“

“Did you really do all those horrible things they say on the news?”

“NO.” I climb up onto the front desk, and stand high above the throng of metahumans before me. “I haven’t killed anyone. Nor have I stolen any souls, kicked any puppies, or ripped any tags off any mattresses. If you’re here to see a terrorist, you can leave. I need people who are willing to work for change.”

For a few seconds, the entire lobby falls silent. Dozens of eyes watch me with rapt attention, and I become thoroughly aware of just how crazy I must look and sound. Amy flutters a little higher so she can be clearly seen, and asks, “Just what are we trying to change?”

“Each of us here has spent at least part of our lives participating in the biggest cover-up in history. We hide who we are from everyone we love. We live in the shadows, watching normal human life unfold from the sidelines. We run in fear from hunters who would rather exterminate us than let the world know the truth. And I for one have had enough.”

A murmur ripples through the crowd, and I can tell they all feel the same way I do. A familiar flame sparks in my veins, but this time, I have it under control. This time, I won’t let it consume me and the people I love; I’ll use it to ignite twin flames in the people before me. “No more,” I tell the crowd. “No more hiding. No more pretending. No more lying. We are going to show the world we are here, and if they can’t accept that, so be it. Our voices won’t be heard unless we scream ourselves hoarse. So we’ll claw our way to a brighter future if we have to, but for now, we need to build ourselves from a whisper to a scream. We need to let the world know we are here. That we won’t leave, and we won’t be ignored, or downtrodden, or hidden anymore.”