Chapter 16

Turns out we’re gathered here for Orientation.

That should be a good thing. I am in dire need of anything to orient me.

Godric threw that bombshell at me, ordered me to tug on the leash once it’s over, and left me scrabbling with it like a slippery bar of soap. I couldn’t stop it from exploding.

Godric. Grim Reaper Jr. Son of Death. Angelhole. My personal tutor.

My. Personal. Tutor.

What does that even mean? Tutor how? Why? In what? Being a bullseye for Nephilim target practice? Surviving exposure to their semi-heavenly crap?

Not that any role I’d be assigned worries me now. Only one thing horrifies me. Being leashed to him for four more years.

Four. More. Years.

That takes the award of Fate Worse than Death.

Okay. So I’m exaggerating. It’s slightly better than death.

And then, there’s one thing that soothes my confusion and horror. The knowledge that I’m as much a thorn in his side as he is a leash around my neck. His volcanic frustration left me in no doubt of that.

I am the maddening pebble in his shoe. The scraping splinter in his eye. And everything else that will turn his life into a wonderland of aggravation.

Silver linings do exist.

Finding my lips twitching at imagining years of Godric writhing in the hell of being my dedicated jailor, I finally look beyond my turmoil.

I’m still at the periphery of the groups buzzing like human-sized bees. There are hundreds here. Maybe more. Males and females in almost a one-to-one ratio. And they’re all here for said Orientation.

Unless I’m totally off base, that’s an event to welcome new students and introduce them to an institution’s programs and rules.

So does this mean they—we—are attending Celestial Academy?

How can this be possible? And more importantly, why?

Guess I’ll find out soon enough. For now, something else worries me. The burning questions in everyone’s eyes about my constant presence with Godric. At least they’re not ambushing me like before. Probably afraid Godric won’t like it.

Just as I hope they continue to avoid me, an abrupt, deafening hush falls over the vast space. It alarms me more than if a bomb has gone off. Then I see the reason for such jarring silence.

The archangels.

Flanked by two lines of angels, they’re descending from the now-sealing, two-hundred-foot dome. It feels made of some cosmic matrix until it closes and becomes solid again, extravagantly painted with frescoes like the Sistine Chapel. I cringe with the memory of the similar dome where that celestial laser unmade me.

I realize it’s only Azrael and Gabriel again. Their wingspan isn’t as massive as Godric’s, but they seem to have more than one pair. It has to be some illusion, but it fooled me into thinking there were more of them. And they’re back to their working-hours celestial attires.

From the shockwave of profound awe and reverence that razes out from the crowd, I’m certain everyone knows who they are. And not from some obscure, forbidden video. Another proof that these people know far more about the angelic world than I do. My only advantage here is that I already had a personal audience with these dudes. Twice.

Everyone drops to their knees in a thunderclap of human joints meeting marble, reverberating the ground beneath me. I don’t realize I’m the only one left standing until I get death glares from those around me.

Don’t literally stand out, moron.

Just as I start to kneel, the leash slams me down on my knees.

Oh, I’m so going to enjoy introducing this archangelspawn to my own brand of hell.

But even with the leash pressing me down, I’m still the only one to look up as the archangels and their companions land before us. A platform blossoms from the ground to meet them, as if it were alive. It probably is.

“Rise, my children.”

Gabriel’s deep voice cascades over us in a sweep of power and tranquility, seeming to come from everywhere. Weird. His voice didn’t have that surround quality when he talked to me before. Everyone gets up in a synchronized wave, as if compelled. I know they’re not, free will, and all. But his demand is compulsion enough on its own.

After both archangels fold their wings, I notice that Azrael is sporting his soul-reaping scythe today.

A shudder runs through me at its sight. To my shock, it’s one of pleasure. As if something inside me delights at the scythe’s proximity. At its macabre power. Other sensations follow, those familiar, almost kindred feelings.

That Divining did a number on me. Combined with exposure to this place, and those beings, my senses must be scrambled by now.

Just as I wonder if Azrael is here to reap some young, unwitting lives, Gabriel spreads his arms, encompassing everyone in the gesture.

“My children, you are here today because you were chosen during the Divining. It has ascertained that you are all Angel-Graced.”

Angel what now?

“Each of you has been singled out,” Gabriel continues. “Whether from childhood or more recently, and groomed to attend the Divining. But you only knew its verdict might bestow the honor of training alongside the angels’ offspring—or of joining the demons’ elite forces. But no knew which fate awaited you—like you know not what it means to be Angel-Graced.”

Wait! Does this mean I’m Angel-Graced—whatever that means?

Is that what that angel at the Divining meant, when he so wearily said I am definitely one of theirs?

Bating my breath for the archangel to elaborate, I feel everyone else doing the same.

Gabriel doesn’t let us suffocate with anticipation. “It means that our presence on earth has altered you, whether in the womb, or later in your lives, imbuing you with a measure of our Grace. You, of all humanity, will develop angelic powers.”

I don’t know if the gasp that quakes through me is mine, or a reverberation of the collective one. I feel like a guitar cord that was strummed mercilessly, and left to twang so violently it might snap.

“The others who attended the Divining with you have been deemed Demon-Blighted. Those have been affected by the demonic presence on earth, and will manifest demonic traits or powers. They will attend Pandemonium Academy in the Infernal Court, as you will attend Celestial Academy in our Court.”

Gabriel stops, as if to give us a chance to digest the mind-blowing info he just dropped on us.

In the ragged silence, I hear people whimpering, some outright weeping.

I can’t blame them. This is momentous. Fate-changing.

My heart slows down to deafening thuds, as if curbing its beats waiting for Gabriel to continue.

He does when he deems his words have sunk far enough in our minds. “All Graces or Blights remain dormant until a certain age, even in the Nephilim and most demons, historically around twenty-one. And yes, there have always been Angel-Graced and Demon-Blighted on earth, since both angels and demons were always present.

“But for ages, there was no way to tell which side the Altered belonged to before their powers manifested, and then it was too late. Without guidance, the humans usually went mad. This necessitated the creation of the Divining ritual with the demons, as both sides have a vested interest not to let those humans go rogue.

“The Altered have long been found, deciphered individually, before being trained and placed in strategic positions to serve the cause of Heaven, or the purposes of Hell.

“But after the Apocalypse, with our pervasive presence on earth for the first time since creation, we detected a sharp increase in the numbers of the Altered. So we had to add a collective Divining clause to the Armistice Accords. You are the first to have reached the age of Manifestation since the Apocalypse.”

The Apocalypse ended twenty-two years ago, and Heaven and Hell’s denizens have been here in force since. Since everyone here seems around twenty-one, it all computes.

“Being Altered has signs, some from infancy,” Gabriel continues. “When your individual signs showed themselves, that was when you were approached, and groomed. This was why you were selected, and summoned to the Divining. This is why you are here, and will be the first collective class of Angel-Graced to be inducted into Celestial Academy. To nurture that kernel within you, to make it grow, so you can come into your full powers, and join the Army of Heaven.”

Someone bursts out clapping.

He or she falters when they realize no one else is doing it. Then another one joins in, hesitantly. Then another, and another. And suddenly the hall is shaking with the thunder of frenzied applause.

These guys are really happy to be here. I’m the only one around not clapping my hands off.

Maybe I should be happy too, what with those latest revelations. But apart from the—irregular circumstances of my presence here, this sounds too good to be true. I have trouble believing in anything good at all happening to me. Anything that good?

Forget it.

But that would mean Gabriel isn’t telling the truth. And I feel he is. So do we really have Angel Grace inside us? I do? That’s why the light pulled me up, forcing the dark to relinquish its hold on me?

Only one problem with this theory. The light didn’t pull me up. I was pushed by that thing that enveloped me.

So maybe this was the test. Since as a human being, I have both within me, and that’s why they almost tore me apart in their stalemate. Until that shrapnel of angelic fallout inside me rose, and pushed me to the light.

Does that mean I had Angel Grace all my life?

But I never felt a thing. I still don’t. And then, this isn’t why the archangels sent me to the Divining. They wanted to find out whatI am, not what I have. They said that Angel Essence collecting ability is unprecedented, and that I can’t be entirely human.

So if neither the light or dark chose me, what does that make me? Humanoid? Human-lite? Nothing, like Godric said?

What is really going on here?

I’m brutally tempted to ask when Azrael steps forward, and the simple step makes everyone fall to their knees again. Some drop in a dead faint.

As he again gestures for us to rise, everyone struggles to brace themselves in the face of such inexorable power. I sure wasn’t anywhere near that affected when I first met him.

Then Azrael’s voice inundates us, and I think everyone is no longer breathing. “Today, on your first day of enrollment in Celestial Academy, you enter a new world beyond anything you ever imagined. Your enthusiasm for what comes next gladdens me, but you must also heed that you are enlisting in our army, and that it will be anything but predictable, or safe. You will face challenges and trials, few of which we have control over, and all of you will be changed forever, in every way. Some of you might not survive.”

I can almost feel hearts stopping wholesale. I bet they’re not that happy to be here anymore. It’s not that exciting having the Archangel of Death telling you now you enlisted in his army, he might be reaping your souls soon. And of course, he’s not offering the choice of backing out.

“But you have been prepared for this all your life. And from now on, you will experience what few other mortals ever did. You will have a purpose far greater than your own lives, lives that will be what your fellow humans could not even dream of. Rest assured that whatever comes next, it will be glorious.”

Okay, gotta admit, that’s a great sales pitch. And I can already feel its magic working, the crowd once more seething with eagerness.

Well, I’m not buying it. They can keep their glory. I want nothing but my own lousy life back.

Problem is, I’m even more trapped than any of my fellow conscripts. My conscription is a penalty, not a privilege.

Azrael, that inexorable force of entropy, goes on. “Today, we welcome you to your new distinguished lives and our sublime purpose, and I am certain each and every one of you will do us proud. In the coming days, your professors will introduce themselves and their classes, will apprise you of your schedule, and of the upcoming Imperium Trials.”

Moretrials? And I bet they’re the kind we might not survive, too.

“Once we depart, your welcome packages with everything you need to know about the Academy will be distributed. Afterward, you will each seek out your accommodations. Apart from that, there’s one thing you need to know, and always remember.”

Azrael pauses and the whimpers are back, as if human components are creaking under the pressure of his presence and power.

Then, as if judging it would break his new recruits if he remained silent a second longer, he carries on, “While we value free will above all else, and we do understand the demands of your youth, discipline and commitment to the Academy’s laws are paramount. Any serious disruptions and conflicts within the student body will be dealt with by Pax Vis, our peace force. They are authorized to assess and deal with infractions as they see fit.” Another pause that freezes everyone’s blood in their veins. Then he adds, “We sincerely hope you will keep them getting paid for being idle.”

He makes a gesture with his free hand, as if allowing us to react. Generalized choking and splutters ensue. Everyone clearly can’t believe the Archangel of Death just made a joke. And that they are actually allowed to breathe, even laugh in his presence, and at something he said, too.

I should tell them I called him a pompous ass.

As I snicker under my breath at the memory, I elicit more horrified glares. Then Azrael’s gaze finds me. Everyone scrambles away in a wide circle, leaving me exposed like a lone zebra in a lion’s crosshairs.

If he makes an example of me for my “disruption” or even addresses me by my full name as he always does, I would be “marked” for ignominy all over again.

But he says nothing as he holds my gaze. And again this searing kinship expands between us.

As my mouth dries with an inexplicable, unbearable—longing, he’s the one who looks away first and focuses back to the crowd.

I rock on my feet, not knowing how much of that they noticed, and how much was between Azrael and me on a private channel, like the one he has with Godric.

My senses come back online to him saying, “…but before I let you explore the Academy and find your living quarters, it’s time to meet with your fellow cadets.”

The doors open as if to obey his intention, and in walks Godric spearheading twelve others in formation like a squadron of fighter jets. Lorcan is behind him on his right hand side. All the others are way above angels in looks, exude way more power. It makes me conclude they’re all archangel offspring.

And four of them are female!

In their wake, about five hundred other Nephilim walk in.

I never even imagined such an enthralling sight.

While not on the level of the archangelspawn, the Nephilim are still above angels in caliber when it comes to looks and overall effect. There’s always something about hybrids that makes them surpass their parents. They usually amalgamate their traits into something new and mesmerizing.

Their collective as they march in, in their semi-celestial uniforms, a sea of breathtaking wings and superiority, is something else, too. I always admired the sheer synchrony of human soldiers in those parades I saw in documentaries. But when it’s the Nephilim, that inhuman quality to their carriage and precision is—above. Beyond anything humans captured even in fantasy.

And to think they’re only first years, too.

So what does that make Godric? A personal tutor was always a student in school. But he looks too old to be even a senior. Assuming he’s as old as he seems, and not a thousand years old. And Lorcan said he’s his superior, not senior. He’s also in possession of all his powers—and how. One of those Angel-Graced guys called him a level nine. An unheard of level of power. And his reputation seems to precede him. So, long established, too.

No, not a student. Of course.

So is he a professor? Sometimes those can be tutors. But he has the vibe of a seasoned warrior. Unless he’s both, I’d go with soldier—and secret agent—since Lorcan said they’re the undercover faction.

So did he drill the others in that entrance? But how, if this is their first day in the Academy, too? Or were they here already, the presence I felt yesterday? And they were here long enough for him to drill them in that immaculate parade? Why would they be here that long before the start of the academic year? Summer school?

Questions, questions. The more answers I get, the more questions crop up like mushrooms.

For now, I step aside like everyone at the Nephilim’s advance. I bet most of the deference is for Godric. Although they’re all imposing, they’re still the kittens to his sabertooth. The other archangelspawn range from bobcats to mountain lions.

As the squadron of hybrids follow him towards the platform, to pay homage to the archangels, their expressions are coated in severity and disdain. I can tell he is their role model in arrogance and ruthlessness. And like him, they hate having us here.

Great. A whole regiment of mini-Godawfuls.

I sure hope being Angel-Graced will somehow even the playing field with those superior beings.

Soon, the archangels fly off, leaving us to meet our “colleagues.” Not that any nephilim deems to look our way. I wonder if they’ll keep that up until graduation. They probably will.

Suddenly, I realize why Godric specified four years. That’s how long academies last.

I can’t imagine being here this long, or being here at all.

What am I supposed to be doing here again?

Yeah, I’m here to be probed and punished. They sure have the punishment down pat. Having Godric as my “personal tutor” goes under the cruel and unusual variety.

But how will sticking me in this place achieve the archangels’ other purpose? Finding out how I gather Angel Essence and produce Angelescence?

Yep. More questions. Ones I don’t expect answers to any time soon.

For the next hour, or seven, since I no longer trust my inner chronometer, I phase in and out of focus as I recede to the periphery, watching, and not really registering anything.

That is, until I see a set of horns.

A double take later, they’re still there.

A nephilim with horns?

Unless this isn’t a…

“What are you looking at, human?”

The hiss entwined in a rumble scrapes down my raw nerves.

A demon! There’s a demon at Celestial Academy!