Total pages in book: 35
Estimated words: 32125 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 161(@200wpm)___ 129(@250wpm)___ 107(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 32125 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 161(@200wpm)___ 129(@250wpm)___ 107(@300wpm)
“James,” Joseph croaked, his voice breaking with the relief that threatened to overwhelm him. But James didn’t even flinch. “James.” Joseph cut past the others to get to his brother. Joseph stared down at James, but James didn’t even move. He never had been very responsive, but this was different. Dread filled Joseph’s senses. “James?”
“It’s Michael now.” Joseph followed the path of that voice. The red-haired boy was lying casually back on his bed, a bored look on his face as he watched Joseph with overt curiosity. Joseph feared the boy would know he was a pretender.
“What?”
The redhead rolled off the bed and got to his feet. He pointed at the headboard of his bed. The name “Barachiel” was written on a wooden board above it.
“Barachiel?” Joseph questioned.
The redhead smirked. He had to be twelve, thirteen at the most. “Bara, for short.” Bara gestured to the blond with gray eyes. “Uriel.” He then pointed to the dark-haired boy with brown eyes. “Selaphiel, Sela for short.” Next was the black-haired boy with blue eyes. Joseph’s eyes met his, and Joseph froze. From this angle he could see the boy was chained to the bed by one arm. The chain was long enough for him to move some, but not far. “Jegudiel, which we all agreed was a fucking mouthful. So he goes by Diel. Oh, and don’t get too close to Diel.” Bara’s head dropped to the side, mirth in his green eyes. “He likes to attack.” Bara shrugged. “Little self-control, you see.”
Joseph felt the unease of the room begin to suffocate him, wrap around his heart like talons of evil. These boys were . . . different. The looks in their eyes, the darkness that radiated from them . . .
“The pretty boy over there is Raphael.” Joseph turned to face Raphael. His haunting golden eyes were fixed on Joseph, but his hands were busy. Raphael had a piece of string in one hand. He was winding it around the index finger on the other hand. Round and round, again and again. His finger was purple from where he was cutting off his circulation.
“Archangels,” Joseph murmured, putting the names together. “You’re all named after the seven archangels.”
“He’s quick,” Bara said to Uriel, raising a sardonic eyebrow.
“And that’s Michael.” Bara pointed to James. Joseph read the name across his brother’s headboard.
“Michael . . .” Joseph whispered. At the mention of that name, James lifted his head. His light-blue eyes were so pale they almost looked silver in the glow of the dim lamp. His dark eyebrows pulled down as he looked up at Joseph. “James, are you all right?” Nothing. No reaction. Joseph rocked anxiously on his feet. “Michael,” he asked this time. “Are you okay?” There was recognition in his eyes at that name, but James—Michael—stared through Joseph rather than at him.
Joseph’s hand delved into the pocket of his robe and withdrew the vial of blood he had kept with him all these months. He had tied a leather string around it, like a necklace. Joseph held it out to his brother. Michael’s widening eyes were the only indication that he was remotely excited. Before Joseph could say anything, Michael ripped the vial from Joseph’s hand and held it up to the faint glow of the lamp’s light.
“It’s Luke’s,” Joseph said, and Michael stilled, tearing his eyes from the vial to his brother. Joseph swallowed down the guilt of keeping the evidence of Michael’s sinful actions. “The blood you spilled . . . the first blood you ever spilled. I . . .” Joseph fought against the thick lump of guilt in his throat. “I thought you would have wanted to collect it.” He shrugged. “I did so in your absence.”
Michael went back to staring at the vial in his hands as if it were the Holy Grail. Yet as messed up as he knew it was, at the sight of Michael’s pleasure, Joseph could breathe. Michael was content. Michael was as happy as he could ever be. Michael would sleep.
Michael . . . not James. What had happened here that James was no longer his name?
He was Michael. He answered only to Michael.
Joseph ran his hand down his face, wincing when he accidently hit his swelling lip. He studied each of the boys in turn. None were his age, of that he was sure. He was the eldest here by a couple years at least. “Why the archangel names?” Joseph asked. He didn’t care who would speak. He just needed answers.
“A new kind of baptism.” It was Uriel who spoke this time. Bara walked toward Joseph. Joseph tensed, not trusting the redhead one iota. But Bara only put his arm around Joseph’s shoulders and pointed to the bed opposite where Michael lay still fixated on the vial of blood. Joseph let Bara lead him to the empty bed, then stopped dead when he saw the name etched on the headboard. “Gabriel.”