Death, Doom and Detention
Page 74Then she went on about how much she loved me and how she knew I was going to be okay because she couldn’t live knowing I wasn’t. With my heart breaking, I exited the text before reading on. Her sadness caused a pain deep inside me.
I rose and exited the vault in search of hydration. While an orange soda would be preferable, water would do in a pinch.
“Hello?” I called out.
No answer. I figured Harlan must have been sleeping. I could hardly blame him. It was hot and dark. Not much else to do.
I took the stairs all the way up to the Sanctuary where Mr. Walsh and Delores—who, while working at the library, was taking online classes to learn to be a paralegal—had volunteered to keep watch on the doors. Through the old stained glass windows, I could see the sun peeking over the horizon when I topped the stairs.
I wondered if Brooke was going to school today. I wondered if anyone was going to school today. Surely they’d closed it after the shooting. There were probably reporters camped out there.
“Delores?” I said into the darkness.
“We sent her home.”
I turned to the male voice coming from the back of the church. I didn’t recognize it, but I knew it wasn’t Mr. Walsh’s. It sounded young, perhaps someone my age, but no one my age was in the Order, besides me and my closest friends, of course.
“Not a problem. I like the dark. Makes killing humans so much easier.”
THE DESCENDANT
I stopped.
“You seem surprised, Lorelei.” When I started to back up, he said, “I wouldn’t bother. You won’t get far.”
“What do you want?” I asked, looking around for a weapon. Churches were so lacking in that area. I fought the paralyzing effects of fear as I inched back.
“I just wanted to see you. In person. Not through someone else’s eyes.”
In that instant, I realized who stood in the shadows. Vincent. The new guy. The descendant. He’d seen me through Isaac’s eyes.
“Killing you has become quite the challenge. vzyl First the truck. Then that useless football kid. Then the chess nerd whose aim is shit.”
“What do you mean, the truck?”
“You’re Lorelei. You’re in every prophecy ever written about this new war. Hell, Nostradamus himself prophesied about the last descendant of the first witch, the girl who saves the world. This was going to be the end of humanity as we know it. But you, the prophet, are supposed to do something completely stupid and figure out how to stop it before it even starts. You don’t honestly think you were supposed to die before that time came, do you?”
I stopped and gaped into the darkness. “You … you sent that truck?”
“Gosh, you’re quick.”
I heard a swishing sound and he was in front of me. I tried to back away but he caught me around the neck and pulled me forward until our faces were mere inches apart. His sandy brown hair hung messy over his brow and he still wore that same tweed coat, long and loose.
“No wonder you make good grades.” Turning my face to inspect it, he said, “Did you know that in Germanic mythology, Lorelei was a siren who lured men to their destruction?” He ran his thumb along my jaw. “Fitting, don’t you think? Though I’ve never heard of an archangel being brought to his knees by a human girl.” With a hoarse laugh, he shoved me away from him. I tripped and stumbled to the ground. “I thought you’d be prettier.”
I looked at what I’d tripped on and almost screamed. It was an arm. Delores’s arm. She lay sprawled between two pews. I couldn’t see her face, but I’d tripped on her arm and she didn’t move an inch.
“The truck thing was a big disappointment,” Vincent continued, unmindful of Delores. “All that work. Do you have any idea how hard it was to get that timing down? Having that kid shove you into the street at exactly the same time that truck sped through town? That took crazy planning. And then the freaking Angel of Death shows up?” He scoffed. “What are the odds?”
He finally looked at Delores. “Unless her head has the natural ability to turn counterclockwise three hundred sixty degrees, then probably yes.”
My hands shot to my mouth. What was it with supernatural beings and the breaking of necks? “What did you do to Jared?”
“Jared? Ah, yes, Azrael.” Vincent was enjoying this cat and mouse play. Jumping on a pew, he sat on the back and looked down at me as I lay sprawled in the aisle, inching away from him. “Did you know that the most powerful psychotropic in existence is the blood of an archangel?” When I didn’t say anything, he continued. “No? That’s understandable. Not many people do. But lo and behold, Riley’s Switch just happened to have one. How else do you think we were able to control so many students at your high school?”
He seemed to pause for an answer, but I couldn’t imagine he actually wanted one.
“Convincing a high school student to try to kill a perfectly innocent girl is not as easy as it might sound. But with the blood of an arch—” He spread his arms wide and looked toward the heavens. “—all things are possible.” Laughing at his own joke, he hopped to the ground and straddled me, looking down from his tremendous height to intimidate. “Let’s face it, shortstop, blasphemy is fun.”