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I fail miserably.
Creature after creature comes at me, and I either don’t want to kill them or end up needing rescue. We’re one month in, and some rhino-looking beast all but takes my head off. Micah kills it, and he is not happy. “Use your magic. Use your damn fire.”
“I’m trying, but I couldn’t use it in the woods anyway. I’d burn it up.”
“That’s called precision, Ember. Precision matters.”
“Okay.”
“Okay?” he demands. “You’re afraid, and you have to use that fear to engage your powers, not suppress them. We don’t have time for this. Just as we’re plotting and planning, so is Jeremy.”
That evening, Micah doesn’t attend my training, and when I return to my room in the best physical condition I’ve ever been in post-battle, there’s a vial of soto on my nightstand.
It becomes brutally clear that Micah has decided he’s gotten too close to me to be objective or effective in my training.
For a week, the only time I’m with Micah is when we head into the forest, and I manage to win my battles every other day. It’s not good enough, and Micah says as much. “This is how we all die, Ember. Where is the fire within you? Where?”
“Maybe it only exists once I choose a side.”
“Bullshit. You’re still afraid.”
That night, the man, the angel, comes to me in the night, deep inside my slumber, with such vivid detail it feels as if he’s really with me. His wings sit against his broad shoulders, a part of him that swoops high and wide, and his feathers are a vivid red, each outlined with perfect eyeliner black. And when he looks at me, for the first time, I can see his eyes. They are the blue of a Crystal Seer, but this feels wrong, as if it cannot be the truth, and my mind is playing tricks on me.
He says nothing, and when I jolt to a sitting position, my gaze sweeping the deep shadows of my room, searching for him, I’m relieved to find nothing but candlelight dancing against the walls. Relief is short-lived, anger bubbling inside me as surely as the cauldron that I have yet to turn to fire, but for the first time ever I can feel the fire. This man, if that’s what he is at all, wants something from me that I do not want to give him. I don’t know what, I only know his demand as truth that he will take from me, and the very idea is a curved blade slowly gutting me.
It’s only four in the morning, but I throw away the blankets and illuminate the room, sitting down at the fireplace and once again asking the house for a book that tells me of this winged man. This time, a book lands in my lap, a page open, as if the house now believes I’m ready for what’s inside. I quickly study the page in front of me to discover a hard-to-read text that references the red wings of the Seraphim, but what makes me go cold is the word “Archangel.” Micah referenced a war between leaders and Michael, the Archangel of War. Is this Michael?
And why would he ask me where I belong?
It’s then that I notice the note on my pillow. Is it from him, the angel? I snatch it up and read:
Rest today. We’re going to try something new tonight. Meet me on the overlook at dusk. And I mean rest, Ember. You will need every ounce of energy you possess for this new challenge.
That’s it. No signature. No nothing.
I have no idea what this is or why I’m quaking inside with the possibilities.
The Sacred Book of Nephilim
Long ago, demons roamed free and wild, and they believed they owned the land of the humans. Michael came then, the Archangel of War, and he brought his brothers with him. Together, they drove the demons into the underbelly of this world and others. This is where they will stay until the Aza comes of age. The Aza, who will either refortify their prisons or open their doors.
Chapter forty-five
Iarrive at the overlook to find Micah waiting on me, a heavy shadow tracing the sharp line of his powerful jaw, the look in his eyes cold and hard. He has never felt as distant as he does now, and I find myself wishing for a lifeline between us to tug him back to me.
He offers me his hand, the act telling me we’re rifting to an unknown place. I do not reach for him. “Where are we going?”
“You’ve seen a small part of our world. It’s time you see more.”
More is not butterflies and cozy coves. It’s the danger and darkness. The unknown is fear, an emotion that has not been serving me well. I trust Micah. That’s what matters. He offers me his hand, and I can almost feel the question in the action. Do I dare accept the challenge he presents? There is no hesitation in me. I slide my palm against his. A moment later, we reappear at the edge of a waterfall raging down the side of a cliff carved from blue and gray stones, but when I look over the edge, there is nothing but darkness that spirals forever.
“What is this place?”
“It’s the entrance to the Elysium Underbelly, which is where we’ll train today.”
“What is it, though?” I press.
“The rough end of town.” He laces his fingers through mine. “This is necessary, Ember.” I blink, and he’s rifted us again. Now we stand at the door of a double gate, a demon with horns and yellow eyes etched in the steel, black flowers of some sort twined around the bars. Micah releases me and walks to the gate, where he places a crystal blue stone in a hollowed spot. The doors creep open, a shiver of foreboding sliding down my spine. Whatever lives beyond the barrier we have now breeched wants to kill me, and I haven’t even set foot inside.
