The Night Everything Fell Apart (The Nephilim Book 1)(83)

“We’re guardians of humanity,” Michael replied. “What did you expect? That Arthur could pull Merlin’s staff from the stone and flood the world with hellfiends, and there would be no consequences?”

“He didn’t know it would happen.”

“He didn’t need to know,” Michael said. “He only needed to obey Raphael’s orders.”

“What?” Cybele’s vision went red. At that moment, she wasn’t sure which was greater, her grief or her rage. Every breath she took stabbed like a knife.

She jumped to her feet, hands fisted at her sides. “All he had to do was obey? Are you serious? Raphael tried to wipe out our entire race. Fuck obedience! Fuck you and your fucking celestial privilege! You righteous prick. Everything on Earth and Heaven—every damn thing—is rigged for your benefit. You have no idea—” Her voice broke. “No idea—” She drew a shuddering breath. “No idea what it’s like to be a Nephil. To be cursed before you’re even born.”

She dropped back to her knees, laid her cheek on Arthur’s chest, and sobbed. So much for never crying. If Arthur died, she wasn’t sure she’d ever stop.

After a long moment, she felt Michael crouch down beside her. He laid a tentative hand on her head. “Does he really mean that much to you?”

She lifted her head. “He means everything,” she said dully.

“Cybele,” Michael said. “Look at me.”

Reluctantly, she turned her head and looked into the angel’s eyes. Her first thought was...how could anyone’s eyes look so soft? And so forbidding at the same time? It didn’t make sense.

He held her gaze for a long moment, until she had the impression that he was no longer looking at her, but gazing inward.

“All right,” he said at last.

“All right, what?”

“Just remember, I’m doing this for you. Not him. For you.”

Her heart pounded. “Doing what?”

In lieu of an answer, he laid his right hand on Arthur’s head. Closing his eyes, he inhaled deeply. On the exhale, he breathed a word she’d never before heard. The sound of it burned her ears.

She sucked air into her lungs and held it there. She was afraid to move, afraid to speak, afraid to so much as breathe. Her eyes were riveted on Michael’s hand, on the glow seeping from his fingers.

The light whispered over Arthur’s body. His skin lost its grayness. His collarbone shifted under his skin, resuming its normal line. His bleeding stopped. His wounds closed. The bruising faded. Even the blood on his jeans disappeared. Arthur drew a single deep breath. His spine arched and his chest expanded. His body relaxed into a long, deflating exhale. With his next breath, his respiration resumed a normal rhythm.

Cybele felt as if she were in a dream. She opened her mouth. “I—”

“Um...Michael?” Fortunato popped up, out of nowhere, cutting her off. He buzzed over to Michael and tugged on his pant leg.

Cybele closed her mouth. She reached out and cupped Arthur’s cheek. It was warm. “Arthur?” she whispered. His chest expanded, and then fell with an audible sigh. Cybele willed his eyes to open. They didn’t.

“Michael?” Tug. “Michael!”

At some point—she wasn’t sure exactly when—Michael had removed his hand from Arthur’s head and stood. “Not now, Fortunato,” he said.

“But Miiiiichael—”

“I said, not now.”

Cybele tipped her head back and met his gaze. “Why...why isn’t he waking up?”

Michael closed his eyes and sighed. “Raphael’s Sword of Righteous Vengeance struck him on the head. It must have been only a glancing blow, else he wouldn’t have survived. But a wound like that isn’t easily healed.”

“But it will heal, right? He’ll wake up?”

“When he’s ready.”

Cybele looked back at Arthur. His bruises were gone and the color had returned to his face. By all appearances, he was sleeping peacefully. “When will that be?”

“Hard to say. Hours? Days? Maybe as much as a week.”

Fortunato popped up again. “Michael?”

Cybele rose slowly to her feet. “And when he does awaken? Will he be the same?”

Michael looked skyward. The stream of hellfiends spewing from Merlin’s Hill hadn’t abated. If anything, it’d grown thicker. A fine ash fell, drifting earthward like black snow.

“I imagine no one in the world is going to be the same after today,” he said.

“That’s not what I was asking.”

“I know.” He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “But it’s the only answer I’ve got. Here—” He took his hands out of his pockets. “Give him these when he wakes up.”

He held what looked like two gnarled sticks. The objects expanded rapidly in his hands.

Cybele’s jaw dropped. “Merlin’s staff?”

He shrugged. “Such as it is.”

She couldn’t believe it. “And you’re giving it to me? To Arthur?”

“It’s his, isn’t it?” he said irritably.

“Of course it is. But you— I mean, but Raphael— He nearly killed Arthur because of it.”