Aestrangel the Chosen, page 16
I open my mouth to respond, but she cuts me off. “And listen,” she says quickly, “I know there’s something ‘off’ between you and your brother. In fact, I don’t believe for a second he is your brother.”
I chuckle a little at the thought. If you only knew, dear girl. “Oh, trust me, he is!”
“Well, it’s weird. Ya know? The way he looks at you.”
“What are you talking about? What do you mean by that?”
“You know the day you went out on the Rim Trail with Scott and I stayed behind with your brother? I tried to flirt with him. Had a big ole plan, too. I even made a bet with that Janice chic before she went on her excursion. I bet her ten bucks I would be able to get him to flirt back with me and maybe even insinuate something. Wink wink, nudge nudge. But guess what? Nothing. Nada. Zip. Zilch!”
A slight surge of jealousy jolts the pit of my stomach, but I ignore it. “So, you were mad at Scott for going on a hike with me, and you wanted to get attention from my brother?” I ask, confirming her story.
She huffs. “You mean your ‘brother.’” She uses two fingers on each of her hands to make air quotes when she says the word brother. “Because when he’s with you, he lights up something spectacular. That’s not the way a brother acts around his sister. But whatever, that’s your business and none of my concern.” She drifts off, and I think I understand what she’s saying—she longs for someone to look at her that way. She wants to be revered and adored and held to the highest of highs. Now, whether Malek feels that way about me is yet to be seen, but she sees something there, and she likes it, she wants it, she covets that feeling. And we all know once you start coveting your neighbors’ possessions, well, that can most definitely lead to the breakage of some of those other human commandments.
We hear voices approaching and Jess shoots up from the ground. “Anyway, I’m letting you know what I’ve decided, and nothing you say is going to stop me.”
But it’s obvious she’s unsure. Twitching. Nervous. She’s hoping I’ll talk her out of it. Tell her it’s crazy talk, they’ll work things out, don’t be so foolish, you’re being crazy, how could you ever think of doing such a thing, you’re hormonal and need to ride it out, kick him out when you get home, and on and on and on with the typical human responses. People don’t normally declare they plan on murdering their lovers. People don’t boldly waltz into the tents of strangers and declare they are going to commit the most heinous and primal act of slaying another human being. It is crazy talk! She wants me to talk her out of it. Practically begging me. But I won’t because it was I who stirred those feelings up inside her in the first place. I was the one who kind of “green-lit” her plan and made her somehow feel it was okay. This display right now, her approach to me—this is the last-ditch effort of her human condition that desperately seeks salvation. Once she goes down that path, down the road of slaughter, she will never return. She will have given over to the darkness and, most likely, won’t be able to come back from it.
“Why would I try to stop you?” I say.
“Okay, then,” she says and backs out of my tent.
I take a deep breath, replaying Jess’s plan in my mind. I had thought her words would have filled the aching void in my soul with the knowledge I would be one step closer to my destination. But they didn’t. Her words don’t fill in my empty gaps, it makes them bigger.
Malek comes back into the tent with a plate of food for me. “Here,” he says, placing it in front of me, “I thought you would…”
I push it away. “No, thank you.”
He senses my frustration. How could he not? It must be written all over my face. “What’s up? What happened?”
“The girl. My girl. She’s planning on doing it.”
Malek’s eyebrows raise. “Yeah?” A hopeful smile slowly creeps on his face.
I sigh. “That’s the word on the street.”
“Okay, okay,” he says nodding his head. “This is a good step.”
“What happens next?”
“Well, ‘planning’ and ‘doing’ are two different things. ‘Planning’ is step one. ‘Doing’ brings everything to fruition.”
I sigh again. Sometimes speaking to Malek and deciphering his riddles are exhausting. “Okay, let’s say it gets to that point… to fruition, as you call it.”
“Then you’ll be free.”
I run my hands across my head and grip chunks of hair at the roots. “Can you please be straight with me right now?” I practically beg. “What does being ‘free’ mean?”
He laughs at my frustration. “You won’t be stuck in Asphodel, for one thing. And like I told you; you’ll move up the ranks of the Demonic Order, Aestrangel.”
“Will I be a demon like you?”
“Only if you want to be.”
“All I want is to see Camael,” I say, exasperated. “That’s all I’ve wanted throughout this entire ordeal.”
“I’m sure The Morning Star can make that happen,” he says.
But I’m not fully convinced. I fear he’s lying to me because, in all my angelic knowledge, a demon has never been granted an audience with one of the Powers That Be.
He reaches into his backpack next to his sleeping bag and pulls out two small vials filled with a sapphire blue liquid. I remember a similar vial from when I was a human on my first Calling. I remember Aunt Ruth handing it to me and telling me about how it was my ticket back to Ilarium. I remember standing in the park with Malek before I drank it. He comforted me, told me things would be okay, told me he owed me because I was his successful Calling. “Once the girl completes the act, you and I have one more thing to do.”
“I know. But I’m guessing that won’t take me back to Ilarium.”
He puts a vial back in his pack and hands the other to me. “No. I’m afraid it won’t. But keep this one safe. You’ll know when to use it.”
I remember our conversation on the day I had to return to Ilarium. Aunt Ruth had given me the purple vial and told me to go back to the park where I had descended. I thought I would be alone, but Malek was there to see me off. “You won’t fail. I’ll see to it,” he had said.
“I don’t need anything, especially from you. I think I’ve gotten myself into enough trouble as it is.”
“No cost. Consider it a favor for a friend.”
“We’re not friends, Malek!”
“Trust me, I owe you more than you know.”
I remember his unpaid debt. I fold my arms across my chest and inhale deeply. “You owe me though. You said so yourself.” My voice is heightened, frantic.
He moves next to me and puts his arm around my shoulder. “I didn’t forget. I made a promise to you, and that debt will be repaid. No worries.”
I let my body melt into the comfort of his embrace and lean my head close to his chest. There is no heartbeat sound. No thump-thump-thump rhythm of the typical human organ. No blood runs in this body, at least not the kind of blood that is equivalent to our human counterparts. There is a secret stillness in his chest. Not hollow. Not empty. It is musical, like a whooshing sound. Something moves inside, something hums. Like ocean waves crashing on sandy shores. Like a soul waiting patiently for its mate to return.
“When it happens,” I say, my voice muffled in the crook of his arm, “when we’re ready to move on, we’ll be together again at the end, I guess. Just like how it was the first time around.”
“Seems so,” he replies, but I detect a hint of sadness in his voice.
“I was so mean to you, wasn’t I,” I laugh, thinking back to my last moments on Earth with him.
“You’ve come around a little bit since then,” he jokes.
I tug on his shirt to get his attention, and when our eyes meet, I see nothing in his. Not a gray storm, or a violent tornado. Not a beach backdropped by a golden sky, or the ashen landscape of Asphodel. His eyes have gone completely black, like two round pieces of onyx set in his beautifully perfect face. My own reflection doesn’t even appear in the glossy orbs. What is he thinking? Why the strange countenance that is so un-Malek-like?
“You always seem to take care of me,” I say searching his eyes for any kind of sign or symbol. “Why? You are like my shadow in the day, and my ray of light in the dark. And you always give me another angle, another perspective to look at the world with. Why? And how is it you can completely frustrate me, enlighten me, and excite me all at the same time? Like, what is this?” I touch my medallion, then grab onto his hoping to tap into his essence, to break the code, to figure him out.
He pushes some of my hair from my face and kisses my forehead, then pulls me close to his chest again and strokes the back of my neck. “Because it’s about you, Aestrangel. It’s always been about you and will always be about you. Always.”
Chapter Eighteen
Salvation
I anticipate the finale of our Wild West Tour. It will be coming to a screeching halt in a short while, and tensions among everyone are at an all-time high. Steve and Tara have been on edge practically this entire vacation—with all the waiting, and rushing, and interruptions, and change of plans—I know they feel like this tour has been a failure. I can hear it in the way they speak to each other. They were fighting before about when we should leave for the West Rim because they were being conscious of our time. After our tour is over, they must head back immediately to pick up another group to take out on the road. Perhaps it will be another group of damaged angels and reformed demons to entertain? Tara insisted on leaving at daybreak so we could all get the full effect of the scenic drive, but Steve was adamant about leaving as soon as possible. He said something about his friend (the guy who picked up Janice and Dylan to take back to Vegas) knowing some kind of back road shortcut that could save us about an hour from our four-and-a-half-hour drive. “It’s still gonna be scenic,” I overheard him say to her, “just not the scenic we’re used to.”
Tara was apprehensive at first, but she ultimately gave in to him because here we are—bobbing up and down in the van as we trek across mostly dirt-paved roads and rocky terrain. Tara had called out to us to buckle up, and we all mostly laughed it off, but right as Steve took the van in a low-lying ditch the clicking sounds of fastening belts could be heard simultaneously.
I lean my head against the window of the van and stare out into the inky black sky. The dome of the world overhead is littered with thousands of twinkling stars. They’re all watching me, waiting for me to make my next move, curious as to how the ultimate finale will play out. Looking at them makes me feel small, and the weight of my mortality pulls on my chest as I realize that. Yes! I am another cog in the machine, another spoke in the wheel. And if this situation didn’t involve me, it would have involved someone else, for I am replaceable—one star in a sky of millions.
Before I turn my head to look away, I witness a white streak blaze across low on the horizon—a falling star. Well, to the human perception, at least! I know what just happened. An angel was disengaged from Ilarium and is now headed toward his or her Calling.
Revalia and Lozhure are sitting together in the row behind me. They saw the angel as the falling star, too.
“Azura?” Revalia asks him.
“I don’t think so,” he answers. “Maybe Leonas? Sa’rai?”
“Hmmm… I don’t know.” She snaps her fingers. “Oh, oh, what about Maselith? She was right on the verge when we left and…”
“Yep! I think you’re right,” he agrees.
They continue to talk about the angels with names I do not know. Names I don’t recognize. Names that have no meaning even to my de-gelic ears. I guess I have been gone from Ilarium for much longer than I originally thought.
Jess and Scott are in the row in front of me, chatting softly, giggling every now and then. She’s keeping up appearances, maintaining the status quo. But I know her secret. I know the true intentions in her heart, and a part of me wishes it would all be over with as soon as possible. I tune out their meaningless conversation as the van bumps along. Tara yells at Steve to slow down a little. He apologizes to her, and to us, but I don’t notice any change in the speed he’s going.
The bumping didn’t disturb Malek, who is sleeping like a baby in the row directly across from me. His backpack is nestled firmly in his lap, and his head is resting on his side of the window. Eyes closed, he looks so perfect and peaceful in his slumber. Perfect and peaceful, the way a true devil should. The unsuspecting human eye would never in a million years be able to peg him for what he truly is. Suave. Handsome. Charming. Everything most men aspire to be and everything most women desire to be with. I try to stifle a laugh and end up snorting through my nose. If they only knew the truth. If they could only see the darkness beneath the mask. They would not have favorable things to say then, would they? Even more so if they were able to glean the two of us together in all our deformed glory! Oh, what a pair we make—Malek with his stony, cloven hooves, and me with my blood-stained wings and slightly protruding horns. What a sight we would be if we could reveal our true selves to the world!
I laugh again to myself, and this time I don’t try to hide it. I’ve been hiding so much for too long, that I make a promise to myself—after all this is over, I promise to be more like Malek. More carefree, and yet confident in myself. I promise that I will have renewed strength with a touch of stronger moxie. My will is strong, but I often find myself second-guessing my actions. Well, no more of that! I promise I will keep my emotions and actions cool and calm, not go spinning out of control the way the van is doing right now and…
I continue to stare at Malek’s face. My eyes are focused on his bone structure, and the center of his face is clear and sharp, but behind him and around him everything is a carousel blur. I hear everyone in the van screaming as we careen out of control. Malek’s eyes open and meet mine in a gaze of absolute horror. In what feels like a slow-motion dance, my body rushes up at an angle, and I am jostled back and forth in my seatbelt before the van comes slamming down sideways on the ground. Glass shatters and pops in the cabin like mini explosions all around me. It takes me a few moments to realize what just happened. We must have hit something or swerved to get out of something’s way, and that sent us spinning off the road and over the side of a small cliff.
Surprisingly, Malek and I don’t scream like the others. In fact, we never broke eye contact during the whole descent. For me, this accident is all too familiar, all too real, as if I’ve been through something similar before. This is all too reminiscent of my previous memories of my so-called human life. That time long ago when I lost my parents and my wings.
Except for the back of my head hitting the window, I think I’m okay. My side of the van lies on the ground. Malek’s side is suspended in the air, and he dangles in the aisle by his seatbelt. Once he’s processed what has happened, his eyes open wide with terror, and he frantically looks around. His backpack was thrown from his lap in the accident—the backpack that contains his blue liquid vial. Retrieving it seems to be a priority.
“Everyone okay?” Lozhure calls out.
Malek fusses with his belt, trying to get it off. “You good?” he asks me. I nod and pat my shorts pocket, letting him know my vial is still on me. He nods back and replies, “We’re good!” answering for us both.
Jess is wailing in the seat in front of me. “Scott’s not moving, and…oh, God! Where’s Steve? Where’s Tara and Steve?”
“It’s okay. It’s all okay,” Lozhure says, trying so hard to calm Jess down. “Can you reach him?”
“Yes!” she calls back.
“Is he breathing?” he shouts.
“Yes! Yes! Please, please hurry! Please! He needs help!”
Lozhure unbuckles Revalia and helps her to stand. “Come on, baby,” he says softly, as he guides her over the van seats. “I’m going to push out the back door,” he announces. “The front window is gone.”
And so are Steve and Tara, I think. Probably thrown from the van.
Revalia gets out of the van, and I hear Lozhure tell her to get as far away as she can. At the exact same time, I start to smell burnt rubber coming from the front of the van, and puffs of smoke begin to make their way into the cabin.
“Oh, God! Oh, God! Don’t leave me!” Jess cries, and I’m not sure exactly to whom it is she’s talking. Is she talking to Lozhure, begging him not to leave her in the burning van, or is she crying to Scott, begging him not to die—not to leave her in this mortal shell?
Malek hops over the seats, frantically looking for the pack. “Come on,” he calls to me. “You gotta get yourself out of here.”
“I’m okay. I’m okay,” I say dismissively. “I need a second or two.”
That’s not entirely a lie. My head hurts from the fall, and when I look down at my lap, my leg is cut open from my knee to my upper thigh—a piece of glass juts out from the bloody wound, and I can’t help but wince when my brain acknowledges the laceration and processes the sensation of pain. My first step is to unbuckle myself, then quickly, but gently, hobble my way to the back of the van.
Only, I can’t get the seatbelt to click open. I press the red button several times in frantic succession to no avail. My heart starts to race as the smell of the burning van gets stronger. I try to steady my breathing, so as to not have a full-blown panic attack!
“Jess?” I call to her. “Jess, you need to unbuckle you and Scott. Logan is coming back to get you.”
She doesn’t answer me, but I can hear her sobbing.
“Jess! Did you hear me?”
I hear the click of her belt. “Scott didn’t have his belt on,” she mumbles.
“Okay. Are you hurt?”
She mumbles something else unintelligible, and Malek creeps behind my seat. “Hey,” he whispers in alarm, “the pack’s not here. I think it got tossed out. I’m gonna go search around the accident site to see if I can find it.”
