The Warrior Prophet: The Watcher Saga, #3

By Lisa Voisin

Mia Crawford is a prophet.

She can see angels. She also sees demons. Everywhere.

She knows the angels are preparing for war to get her fallen angel boyfriend, Michael, back.

A war that could take years.

Haunted by visions of Michael’s soul being tortured, Mia can’t rest until she knows he’s safe.

To save him, she must make an impossible journey through Hell. Her only guide is the one person she prayed she’d never see again.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Inkspell Publishing
• Release date: Feb 8, 2016
• ISBN: 9781939590824

Book preview

Chapter 1

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In my new black dress, I was a dark speck in an ocean of colored light.

The Great Hall heaved with angels gathered from around the world for Turiel’s funeral. They wore dress uniform: cropped white suits cut and sewn from raw silk. The vibrant sash draped across each angel’s chest matched the color of his or her wings, which shone in opalescent shades of purple, gold, and blue, igniting the walls of the Luminarium in a splendor of heavenly flames.

Rhys led me by the elbow through the crowd as though I were a glass object easily shattered. We wove past gilded walls and around thick, ornate columns carved from solid light. Snippets of hushed conversation reached my ears:

Remember the Great War, when Turiel saved the first rank from...

He knew what it meant to serve...

The day the wards fell, Turiel was inexhaustible...

Some of the angels glanced at me as we passed, but none of them mentioned Michael. It was foolish to expect them to. My relationship with him was hardly orthodox. Angels weren’t supposed to fall in love with humans, not even prophets like me.

Now, Michael’s body lay in a coma, and his soul was trapped in Hell.

Are you going to be all right? Rhys gently patted my arm, but his voice lacked its usual cheer. The others will understand—

No. Turiel died protecting me. My stomach twisted at the memory of Raguel tugging the blade through Turiel’s neck. I linked my arm through Rhys’s and leaned into his strength. I was going to need it. With both Turiel and Michael gone, he was my protector now. I have to be there. Michael would’ve... I took a deep breath to control the wave of emotion threatening to engulf me.

Michael had been gone a week, and in all that time I hadn’t heard of a single plan to get him out. No matter how many different ways I pleaded, no one could tell me if I’d ever see him again.

Without a word, Rhys led me to one of the alcoves off to the side, so I could view the ceremony. Plush cushions lined a bench behind me, but it seemed wrong to sit while everyone else stood, even though my toes throbbed in these new high heels. I shifted my weight from one foot to the other to alleviate the discomfort, but the movement only made the pain worse.

In the corner, a few feet away, stood the ghostly shape of a man. He seemed more light than solid, his form a golden flicker, and when I tried to see his face, his features washed out like an overexposed photo. Before I could ask about the man, Rhys stepped away. Whoever it was had escorts. Two golden-winged angels flanked him. Their gazes fixed on the main event, they paid no attention to me.

One angel separated from the rest and stepped up to an onyx podium. His hair was as silver as Turiel’s had been. And, while all the angels were huge, he stood a few inches taller than the rest.

Brothers and sisters of the Grigori. The master of ceremonies’ deep, choral voice resembled a Gregorian chant, with the angelic Host upon him. Welcome. We are here to remember our brother Turiel, whose life was cut short in the line of duty. It’s been millennia since one of our own has been killed. And though our brother is at rest—never to fight again, perhaps—he lives on in all of us and will always be remembered.

The emcee invited Arielle and Rhys to speak about Turiel. Arielle stepped up to the podium first and stretched her iridescent purple wings out behind her. As Turiel’s former commander, she listed the battles he had been in and positions he’d held, from the Great War all the way up to the collapse of the wards over the Pacific Rim signaling Raguel’s escape.

Rhys’s share was more personal. When he spoke about Turiel’s selflessness as a friend, his voice broke, and my chest constricted with guilt. Turiel had sacrificed his life to protect mine, and yet he’d been a total stranger to me.

During a moment of silence for Turiel, a brush of air crept across my skin, the sensation of being watched. In the Luminarium of all places? With all the angels around, this was the safest place I’d ever been. I wiped my sweaty palms down the front of my black dress and checked the other guest over my shoulder. I couldn’t tell where he was looking. And his two escorts had their attention fixed on the speaker.

At the emcee’s signal, the angels lifted their voices into song, filling the hall with rich, ethereal music that sent goose bumps dashing down my arms. But the hairs on the back of my neck bristled as the sense of being watched intensified.

The emcee invited Zadkiel up to speak. Zadkiel’s dark eyes locked with mine across the room and he gave me a nod, publicly acknowledging me. The day Michael fell, he had changed Michael’s limp body out of his shredded, blood-stained clothes and stayed by my side until the ambulance came. We hadn’t spoken nor seen each other since.

Zadkiel’s voice lifted to a rich tenor. I bring news from the Grigori Council. Though now is a time of mourning, it is also a time to show our strength. The high council bade me to tell you their decision. He paused, and the room fell silent. Raguel’s call of violence will not go unanswered. We will go to war. Turiel will be avenged. And justice. Will. Be. Done.

The room exploded into cheers. Angels rose into the air, their wings beating like drums, building wind currents that whipped through my hair. My pulse raced in my ears.

War. Since Raguel’s return, the wards had been under constant attack. The Earth was already a battlefield. What further horrors could war possibly bring?

Maybe it meant they were going to get Michael back.

The ceremony ended, and a crowd of mourners swallowed Rhys and Zadkiel. The room buzzed with conversation and movement. Arielle spoke with the officiator a moment before she approached me. Sadness pinched the corners of her mouth, but her gait was strong, her shoulders set. The last time I’d actually seen her, she lay bleeding on the pavement after being stabbed by an angel-killer sword. I threw my arms around her.

We separated and her golden eyes bore into me, scanning me to my soul. How have things been working for you with Rhys? He’s been busy, I know—we all have. But you’ve been safe?

Yes. A painful tightness squeezed my throat. I swallowed it back. My safety had always been Michael’s first concern. I’ve been safe.

He should be here for this. He would have wanted to honor Turiel, despite their differences. His absence left a great hole where my heart used to be, a phantom pain I avoided facing the way an amputee must avoid the empty space left by a lost limb. I was terrified my body would realize my heart was gone, and I’d keel over and die.

Arielle’s sad, awkward smile told me she missed Michael, too, and I had to keep reminding myself I—we—hadn’t lost him yet.

Let’s find someplace quiet. She motioned to one of the doorways at the other end of the room and took off through the crowd. I followed, struggling to keep up with her brisk pace.

When can you go get Michael? I asked. Rhys wouldn’t tell me.

She sighed. It’s not so simple. We can’t just go in—

Can’t? Or won’t?

"We can’t. She stopped walking and spun on her heel to face me. Don’t you think I would if I could?"

Arielle was always calm—never emotional. Now folds of sorrow creased her face. She was Michael’s sponsor. They were close, and today was Turiel’s funeral.

I’m sorry, I said.

With a nod, she resumed walking. She led me through a high, arched doorway and we entered a small sitting room. I’d never seen this part of the Luminarium before. It was a comfortable space, set up with a sofa, armchairs, and side tables. Since most of the angels were in the reception hall, we had the place to ourselves.

I collapsed on the sofa. It was hard and unyielding, yet my feet ached with relief.

Arielle perched on one of the beige leather armchairs next to the transparent crystalline walls. Below us, the wards shone through the clouds like blue-silver sheet lightning. A massive dark cluster rolled in like a storm. Repelled by the force field, it splattered into smaller clouds that swiftly darted away.

No angel can enter Hell. Just like no demon can come in here, she said. Our dimensions are barred from each other. Like oil and water, we simply cannot mix.

That explained why Raguel needed Michael to get Damiel back in the first place. Raguel couldn’t come here. But how could Michael go there then? He’s an angel.

He submitted to Raguel, thus relinquishing his power and, with it, any connection to us.

He did it to save me. If I hadn’t butted in—

Don’t, she said. You didn’t cause this.

Didn’t I? Haven’t I always been Michael’s downfall? Raguel used me as bait. I’d played that wretched afternoon in the Smith Tower over in my head too many times to count. If I hadn’t called for Michael through the network, he wouldn’t have known to come. Or if I’d hidden somewhere, Raguel would never have caught me. If I’d done something—anything—differently, Michael would still be here. Safe.

No matter how I looked at it, his being in Hell was all my fault.

Worse, this wasn’t the only time he had sacrificed himself for me. He’d done it the first time we’d been together, in a past life thousands of years ago. After my death, he fell so far into despair and debauchery, it took him centuries to recover. How long could he hold out now against Raguel’s torture before the darkness took over?

So one mistake and he’s cut off from all of you?

None of us would choose such a thing for him. Ever. Arielle’s shoulders fell. She took in a long, deep breath and let it out slowly. I’ve loved him his whole life. When he first left Heaven, everyone was scandalized. I was afraid for him, but hoped he’d do well in his life with you. I wanted him to succeed as you would anyone you really cared about.

Does she care more for Michael than she lets on?

She shook her head. I told you before. He’s like a brother to me.

I hated it when she read my mind. It was so easy to slip into their telepathic network here. In order to keep Raguel from breaking in and finding out the angels’ plans, they changed the network’s frequency every day, like a password, making it nearly impossible for me to connect to it without their help. Here in the Luminarium, the sound of the angels communicating with each other buzzed through my head like background noise. But it also meant my thoughts could be amplified, heard by the entire Host, sometimes without my notice.

She continued, It’s bad enough having lost so many to darkness and addiction. But to lose one whose intentions were good. Even as an adversary, he never fully embraced evil. And it would have been much, much easier for him if he had.

So what are you going to do, Arielle? Michael can’t—he can’t stay there. You don’t know what he’s going through right now. I could imagine. I’d had visions of the torture Raguel had inflicted on him in the past. His flesh had been ripped and torn until his suffering had broken him. The memories pushed into my thoughts, threatening to take over. Though I had seen only a fraction of what Michael had been through, it was still too much.

Arielle’s voice blasted me with a fierce, sharp note cutting through my thoughts. Don’t think for a moment we’re going to let Raguel get away with what he’s done. The angles of her face grew tight; her hands clenched into fists. You heard them today. It’s not just about Michael anymore. Turiel is dead. No one can defy Heaven as Raguel has done without retribution. We have to make the cost of taking one of ours so high Raguel will yield to us. We will wear him down until he surrenders and gives us Michael back.

Can it be done?

She crossed her long legs and folded her hands in her lap. It’s the best we can do. The fact his heart is still beating may just save him yet.

It could? I sat forward. Hope? There is hope in all of this?

She shook her head and answered my thoughts, It’s not enough to bank on.

It’s better than what I have, which is nothing. Angels could be so damned evasive. "You know what? Screw all your stupid rules about protecting me from what you know. Not getting people involved. I am involved. Stop hiding things from me."

She sighed. You’re right. As much as I try to keep you out of it. Her eyes closed and she rubbed her forehead. The fact he’s still alive may slow the effects of Hell on him a little bit, but it’s just a matter of time. This war could take weeks, months even, and that’s our most optimistic estimate.

Months? I could hardly stand Michael being gone a week, knowing the kinds of things Raguel could do to him.

But months? No one could endure that.

Chapter 2

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Ever since my sight opened, I’ve seen hospitals in a different way. Though doctors and nurses sterilized every tool, and teams of people scrubbed every inch of flooring and walls, the general ambiance of human suffering remained. Drawn to the pain, lesser demons and minions draped their cloaks of despair over patients and visitors like dust covers in a forgotten mansion.

The sigils of protection around the hospital shook under the strain of constant attack. While some creatures stopped at the barriers, many more got in. The sigils required continuous reinforcement. An angel, Sammael, had been stationed to watch over Michael should any creature break through.

At least Michael had a private room, so he didn’t have to share his space with other visitors carrying in all sorts of minions who would quickly leave their hosts for the chance to jump a wounded angel. A downed angel was demon bait.

Arielle teleported us directly to Michael’s bedside, so nobody would notice our unusual arrival, and we entered the room with a faint popping sound. Once she’d checked to ensure the area was clear, she left to relieve Sammael.

Outside Michael’s window, rain drenched the parking lot and black clouds smothered a gloomy afternoon sky. No. Not clouds. A rolling mass of heads and claws and teeth lurked at the sigils’ boundaries. In the darkness, a lone blue light flashed. An angel fought any creature trying to break through the barrier. His blond hair fell around his face in waves untouched by rain. Arielle joined him. Her sword raised, she gave Sammael a nod hello.

I turned back to the bed. The beep of Michael’s heart monitor and his slow, rhythmic breath were the only indications he wasn’t dead. I’d already overheard one nurse calling him Sleeping Beauty this week. Nobody understood why he couldn’t wake up. And though his golden skin had paled to the color of whole wheat dough, he was beautiful still. His dark hair and lashes accentuated the smooth planes of his face. A week’s worth of stubble lined the strong line of his jaw. I’d never seen him with a beard before. It didn’t look bad and was softer than I would’ve expected, but it made him seem way older than eighteen. It was probably time for a shave.

I pulled up an armchair and sat beside him. The green vinyl stuck to the backs of my knees. I took his hand in mine.

I’m here, I said. I hope you can hear me...maybe my being here is something you can use to get through this. He’d once told me his love for me was what helped him survive Hell the first time. It was what brought him back. The others will get you out. They will. Though it may take a while. Hang in there. I can’t tell you more, in case anyone else is listening. But we will get you back. And I’ll never give up until you’re safe again...with me.

Shadows crept along the corners of the walls, shrinking from the light. Michael’s breathing intensified, and his monitor spiked as if he’d broken into a run. His spine tensed, his neck curled back into the pillow, and his jaw pointed to the sky. He drew breath in a wheezing gasp.

What was happening? Was he waking up?

Michael? I stood and squeezed his still-limp hand in mine.

He let out a loud sigh.

One of the nurses rushed into our room. His sudden change in heart rate must have registered on a computer somewhere. But, as soon as she arrived, he stilled.

Oh, hello, she said. Didn’t see you come in. Grabbing a clipboard attached to the end of his bed, she motioned to the machine monitoring him, on the same side of the bed as me. Can I get in there?

Sure. I backed away from Michael. Is he waking up?

She checked the equipment and scribbled something on the clipboard. Not this time.

His pulse had already slowed. His breathing seemed to return to normal.

But he moved. His whole spine curled back.

It happens, she said with a shrug. It could have been a dream.

He lay peacefully again. Though he had the rhythmic breathing of someone in a deep sleep, it was no dream. His neck reddened. Blood rushed beneath the surface of the skin. It quickly turned blue, as though bruising. What’s that? I asked, pointing to the bruise, now darkening to a deep blue-black.

The nurse checked him. What’s what?

He’s got a bruise. I motioned to the darkening stain pooling on the right side of his neck. Right there. How could she not see it?

She moved in for closer examination. Where?

The bruising faded. It lightened, spotted browns then yellows. Within seconds, his pale skin color returned and any sign of injury disappeared. What happened? Was his body healing itself?

Clearing her throat, the nurse blinked down at her clipboard and double-checked what she’d written then returned it to the hook at the end of his bed. How long have you been here today?

Not long, I said. It was obvious she hadn’t seen anything.

I’ve seen you here before, though. Her gray eyes locked with mine, and I could see concern in them, the kind verging on pity. The same look my friends gave me. Have you been getting enough sleep?

How could she pity me? I had it easy. Michael was trapped in Hell. Swallowing my anger, I bit at the side of my cheek. I shouldn’t have said anything. She thought me delusional. Making a mental note to ask Arielle about what happened, I said, I didn’t sleep at all last night.

We’ll take good care of him. She patted me condescendingly on the arm and her crow’s feet crinkled with her smile. She was about my mom’s age and meant well enough. But she was ignorant. Everyone was. You should go get some rest.

Some rest. As if a nap would solve anything. Outside, the volume of black creatures had shrunk considerably, due entirely to Arielle and Sammael. They put themselves in the line of fire to protect Michael because he couldn’t do it for himself anymore. No amount of rest on my part would make him safe. It wasn’t time to forget what he’d done. And if one of those creatures broke through, Michael was the first thing it would devour.

He’d said once a sick, unprotected angel is a sitting duck. Now, more than ever, I knew he was right.

Chapter 3

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The next morning was my first day back at school in over a week. I woke up with barely enough time to pull on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt and zip Michael’s gray hoodie over it. Though its sleeves were so long I had to roll them up, its softness comforted me. His scent was barely detectable now. One more wearing and there would be no trace of him left. Not ready to let him go yet, I peeled the jacket off, folded it, and placed it beside my pillow. Wearing it would only give people more to talk about anyway.

It was a good call. Word had gotten out Michael had returned to his coma. The murmuring and curious, sympathetic glances from people in the halls filled me with dread. It took all my strength to hold myself together.

Elaine had even written a touching full-page spread in the school paper about his health, titled We Miss You, Michael. Get Well Soon. Nothing like the spiteful gossip she used to write. She must have lost her taste for it a few weeks ago, after I found out about her situation at home, and we brought the school counselor into the picture.

After a long day of straining to catch up in class, I dreaded the long bus ride to the hospital. Luckily, my best friend Heather took pity on me and offered me a ride.

You’ve lost weight, she said as I got in the car.

I guess. My favorite jeans, which used to be snug, gapped at the waist. Being around hospital food, sick people, and an army of minions this past week did nothing for my appetite.

Heather tucked a strand of sleek blond hair behind her ear and smiled. Wanna get something to eat first?

She must have noticed me pretending to eat my soup at lunch, and her look of concern made me think she wasn’t going to accept no for an answer.

Okay. Something quick? Like a pizza slice?

I thought she would lecture me about needing to take a break from the hospital or tell me it wasn’t healthy to spend so much time there. But she just smiled and said, Sure.

We stopped at a trendy little pizza shop on California Avenue, close to the school, and I managed to scarf two slices during the ride to the hospital, washing them down with a cola. I must have been hungrier than I thought.

When we arrived at Michael’s room, his mother was already there, her dark blazer draped over the back of her chair, and the sleeves of her fuchsia blouse rolled up. She’d pulled her hair back into a bun. It was the same wavy brown hair as Michael’s except tinged with gray. On the table beside her sat a basin of soapy water.

She carefully swept a dollop of lather onto his face with a shaving brush. Hello, Mia.

Hi, Mrs. Fontaine, I said.

Katharine, she corrected. She shook the straight razor into the basin of soapy water on the table beside the bed. With a stroke of the blade down his face, the dark stubble cleared as though she wiped it away.

I introduced her to Heather and they exchanged hellos.

Um. How is he today? I asked.

He seems paler. She ran her fingers down his cheek, examining her work. It could be the shave or the lack of fresh air. Is it me or is it stuffy in here?

I’ll open a window. I headed to the window and slid it open, checking the sigils outside. The blue force field glimmered strong. At its edge, an angel stood watch. I let out my breath.

Thank you, dear... This is my father’s razor, Katharine added. I used to shave him in the hospital in London the days before he passed. The nurses were too busy, and he hated being scruffy. He was so fastidious. She swallowed hard and I had to look