I stil had more questions than answers. Like what had happened to my birth parents. Like whether I could count on Michael while I tried to figure this al out.
Just then, I heard the crunch of gravel. Michael’s car pul ed into our roundabout. My anxiety—already sky-high—mounted. What would I say to him? I stil wasn’t certain what was real and what was a dream.
“Bye, Mom,” I cal ed out, and walked to his car. The day was cool and drizzly, chil y but not cold enough for snow.
Michael turned off the ignition and opened the door for me from the inside. I slid in and closed it tightly behind me. Then I sat silently, uncertain what words were appropriate.
He reached over and kissed me on the cheek. “How was your night?”
“Fine,” I answered warily. “Yours?”
“Good. I finished that awful calculus assignment,” he said as he turned the key in the ignition.
“That’s great.” I didn’t know what to say next. I couldn’t even remember what homework I’d been working on before I fled to Boston. So I stayed quiet.
The car started, and music flooded the car. The song was Coldplay, “Cemeteries of London.” It was one of my favorites, as Michael knew. It reminded me of our nighttime flying and exploring. If those things real y happened, that was.
“Feels like London out today, doesn’t it?” Michael said.
I looked over at him in surprise. Had he just said what I thought he had? We had been heading to London to see Professor Barr the day before—
from Boston. Or was he just referring to the song?
A smile spread across his face. A knowing smile.
“So . . . ?” My mind raced. It hadn’t been a dream.
As if reading my thoughts, Michael said, “Ignorance is the only thing that has protected you so far.”
In that instant, I realized what had happened. In the conversation among our parents that Michael had overheard, my dad had said the same thing.
Our parents wanted so badly to keep us in the dark about our identities—for our protection and to prevent the ticking of the end days clock—that they’d attempted to have our memories erased. About flying and Ezekiel and Boston and the Nephilim and the Elect One. They knew better than to try to make us forget each other; they had tried it after Guatemala, and it hadn’t ful y worked.
It had failed again here. We remembered everything.
I started to talk excitedly. Al the pieces were fal ing into place. But Michael shook his head and put a finger over my lips.
So I just smiled back at Michael. I knew that this wasn’t the end. It was only the beginning.
Turn the page for an exclusive excerpt of
Eternity
The captivating sequel to Fallen Angel!
Stepping into the hal ways of Til inghast High School was actual y weirder than acknowledging that I was an otherworldly creature.
I watched as girls chatted about their lip gloss, and guys shared apps on their iPhones. I noticed friends giggling about other friends’ outfits, and teammates thumping each other on the backs for games wel -played. I walked past kids furiously copying their friends’ homework assignments, and others fumbling with the towers of books in their lockers.
I couldn’t stop from staring at my classmates in amazement, like they were exotic creatures in the zoo. They had no idea that some kind of Armageddon was heading their way and that I was selected to play some special role at the end. Maybe even stop it.
I felt the simultaneous urge to sob and giggle. Because the whole notion of El speth Faneuil as savior to the world was both overwhelming and ridiculous.
The only thing keeping me sane while I walked down the hal way was Michael. The link of his fingers in mine was like a tether to our new reality. I believed I could navigate through our conflicting worlds—the frivolous Til inghast High School and the looming otherworldly battle—with him beside me.
But once I said good-bye to Michael before heading into English class, I lost my anchor. I felt like I’d been cast unmoored into an unreal sea.
English class brought me near to the brink. The minute I entered the classroom, Miss Taunton launched into me. Like a hawk circling a wounded animal, she bombarded me with questions about our latest assigned novel, which I could barely remember amid the more vivid recol ections of my days in Boston and my encounter with Ezekiel. I wanted to scream at her that none of this mattered.
The second that Miss Taunton laid off me, my best friend, Ruth, texted me. “Wait for me in the hal after class.” Normal y, I’d welcome a quick chat with my oldest and best friend in the world, especial y if it involved commiseration over Miss Taunton’s unfair, but not unusual, treatment of me. But I didn’t know if I could handle a one-on-one conversation with Ruth just yet. I had no idea what she remembered. The last time we were together—just before I boarded the train to Boston—she had confessed to seeing me fly. Had my parents tried to erase Ruth’s memory, too, with more success?
If so, could I pul off the act of regular El ie? I pled il ness and intermittently coughed throughout class to support my ruse.
At the ringing of the bel , I raced out of class. My head was spinning. I needed a moment to catch my breath, to reassemble myself.
Instead, I ran smack into Piper. My next-door neighbor and one of the most popular girls in school had been ignoring me for weeks since I decided to take the blame for that wicked Facebook prank. Unbelievably, she had decided that this was the moment to break the silence.
“I know what you did, El ie. I just don’t get why you did it. Why would you take the blame for something you didn’t do? Why would you sit through weeks of detention and walk down the hal ways knowing that al the kids in school hate you? Without ever pointing the finger at me or Missy. I bet you think you’re some kind of a saint,” she said with a flip of her perfect blond hair.
I didn’t know what to say. Part of me wanted to tel her the truth. That her snide little guess wasn’t total y off the mark. I was a half-angel, and I simply couldn’t have sat by and let others suffer at her hand. That she better rethink her future actions and ask forgiveness for those past, because there wasn’t much time left for malevolent games.
The conversation nearly delivered me to the edge. Who was I meant to be? How was I supposed to behave, knowing what I knew?
Before I said anything I’d regret, Michael appeared at my side.
He had been waiting for me after class, farther down the hal . When he saw Piper accost me and witnessed my obvious discomfort at the exchange, he raced to my rescue.
“Are you al right, El ie? You look real y pale,” he asked, once we were alone. I must have looked real y bad, because alarm registered on his face.
“I’m not sure if I can do this, Michael. I know we need to pretend, but I’m having a hard time already. Knowing what we know,” I whispered.
Michael put his arm around my shoulder and walked me down the hal way. He brought us into a darkened alcove. More than anything, I wanted to stay in that warm, shadowy recess, wrapped in his arms. It was the only place I felt safe. It was the only place that made sense.
Michael placed his finger under my chin, and tipped my face to his. “El ie, I know you can.” He slipped a letter into my hands. He nodded that I should read it immediately, so I smoothed out the paper and started.
My Ellie —
Do you remember the first time we went flying over our field? You were so nervous of everything. You were afraid to fall from such heights; you didn’t want to embarrass yourself in front of me; you were fearful of doing something so clearly otherworldly. But you were determined and strong. And I watched in awe as you furrowed your beautiful brow, willed your fears away, and took to the air.