Just then somebody called his name. They both turned to see Mrs. Vistorino, the guidance office secretary, coming down the hallway. She was notorious for her brightly colored pantsuits, and today she was wearing lime green with shoes to match.
“Aaron,” Mrs. Vistorino called again. “I’m glad I caught you.”
“Is there something wrong?” he asked cautiously, the sickly feeling in the pit of his stomach returning.
“There’s an admissions representative from Emerson College in the office, and he wants to see you about your application.”
“Emerson?” Aaron muttered to himself. “But I didn’t…”
The woman turned and started back from whence she came. “He mentioned something about a full scholarship, so I’d get my butt down there if I were you.”
Vilma touched his arm. “You’d better get going,” she said, looking genuinely excited for him.
He was torn. He really wanted to go to lunch with Vilma, but the potential for a scholarship was something he couldn’t pass up. “What about you?” he asked. “I really want to—”
“We can do lunch tomorrow,” she said, cutting him off. “Don’t worry about me.” She turned toward her friends who were still gawking from across the hall. “I’ll just grab some lunch with them. No problem, really.” Vilma pointed him down the hall. “Maybe you could meet me later—let me know how the interview went?”
“Sure,” he responded, stunned by her interest. “I’ll meet you at your locker after last period.” He was going to turn and wave good-bye, then decided against it. It wouldn’t be cool.
But as he turned the corner he lost control, looked back, and waved. Vilma was still watching him and waved back. Her two nosey friends were with her now and they both began to laugh.
As he headed toward the guidance office, he mentally reviewed the college applications he had already sent out. And try as he might, he couldn’t remember ever sending one to Emerson.
Mrs. Vistorino was on the phone behind her desk as Aaron entered the office.
“He’s in Mr. Cunningham’s office,” she whispered as she put her hand over the receiver. “Mr. C’s gone for the rest of the day.”
She removed her hand from the phone to resume her call. “Good luck,” she mouthed as he tapped on the office door. Then he turned the knob and entered.
The man’s back was to Aaron as he stared out the window on to the school’s parking lot. Aaron gently closed the door and cleared his throat. The man turned and fixed him with a stare so intense it was as if he were trying to see through Aaron’s skull to the inside of his brain.
“Uh…hi,” Aaron said, moving away from the door. “I’m Aaron Corbet—Mrs. Vistorino said you wanted to speak with me?”
He held his hand out to the man. It was something his foster dad had stressed. When you meet someone for the first time, always introduce yourself and shake the person’s hand. It shows character, he’d say. The man looked at Aaron’s outstretched hand, as if deciding whether it was clean enough to touch.
“And you’re…?” Aaron asked, to break the uncomfortable silence.
“Call me Messenger,” the man said in a powerful voice, and took Aaron’s hand in his.
“It’s very nice to meet you Mr. … Messenger.”
Aaron was suddenly overcome with panic. He couldn’t remember ever feeling this way before. He wanted to run—to get as far away from this man as he possibly could. What’s wrong with me now? he wondered, using every ounce of willpower he had to not yank his hand away.
Messenger released him, and Aaron quickly brought his hand to his side. It felt odd, tingling, like it had when he’d brought Gabriel back from the brink of death. He rubbed his palm against his pant leg.
“I’m glad that I have reached you first,” Messenger said, studying Aaron with a strange look in his eyes. “You’ve matured much faster than most, a sign that you are certainly more than you seem.”
Aaron was startled by the admissions rep’s words, unsure of their meaning and how he should react. “Excuse me?” he began. “I really don’t understand what…”
“I believe that you do,” Messenger’s voice boomed, and for a split second, Aaron saw the man for what he was. He was clothed in armor that seemed to be made from sunlight, and in his hand he held a sword of fire. From his back, enormous wings emanated.
“I am Camael,” he said in a voice like the rumbling growl of a jungle cat. “And I have come to protect you.”
Aaron closed his eyes and then opened them. Camael had returned to his human state. No armor, no wings, no flaming sword; just a distinguished-looking gentleman with spiky, silver-gray hair and a goatee to match.
“Messenger my ass,” Aaron grumbled with disgust. “I should have known. Zeke said you’d be coming for me.”
Camael looked perplexed. “Zeke?” he asked.
“Ezekiel,” Aaron answered. “Zeke—he’s a Grigori…”
“A Grigori,” Camael said, interested, stroking his goatee. “Then you’ve already made contact with our kind.”
“Right, and he told me the Powers would be after me because of what I am—but I won’t go easily.”
Camael chuckled. “Spirited, that’s good. We’ll need a bit of fire if we’re going to weather what is to come.”
Aaron started to back toward the door, at the moment, confused. “Aren’t you one of them—the Powers?”
Camael shook his head as he casually sat on the corner of Mr. Cunningham’s desk. “Once it was my holy mission to eradicate the likes of you.” He pointed at Aaron and then crossed his arms. “But that was long ago. I’ve come to save, not destroy. If my suspicions are correct, you have a very important destiny to fulfill, Aaron Corbet.”
Aaron suddenly remembered his dream from the weekend—the old man and his tablets. “Does this have anything to do with me building some kind of bridge?”
Camael nodded. “Something to that effect.”
Aaron could feel it again, that dangerous curiosity that got him into this predicament. If he’d ignored it originally, he would never have gone in search of Zeke and things would have stayed status quo, or so he tried to convince himself. Well, this time he would put an end to it here and now. He didn’t want to hear anything more from Camael.
“Sorry to disappoint you, but it isn’t going to happen,” Aaron said rather brusquely as he turned to the door. “I don’t care what or who you think I am, I’m not having anything to do with this prophecy business.” He grabbed the doorknob.
“You might not have a choice,” Camael said coolly.
Aaron spun to face the angel. “That’s where you’re wrong,” he barked, attempting to keep his voice down so that none of the insanity being tossed around the office would spill out into the real world. “I’ve been told my entire freakin’ life that I’m in control of my future—me, Aaron Corbet.” He jabbed his thumb at his chest for effect.
“And I’ve got it all planned out. I’m gonna finish high school, go to a good college, graduate in the top of my class, and get an amazing job that I love.” Aaron had no idea what that job would be, but he was on a roll and couldn’t stop himself if he tried. “I’ll meet a nice girl, get married, and have a bunch a’ kids.”
Camael said nothing, staring without emotion, allowing him to rant.
“That’s how it’s going to be, and note—there was no mention of angels, Nephilim, or ancient prophecies. Sorry, there just isn’t enough room.”
The angelic being stood and moved toward him. “You’re different, Aaron. I can feel it coming off you in waves. Let me help…”
“No,” Aaron spat. “I’m through.” He pulled open the door. “Go back to Heaven and leave me the hell alone!”
And as he stormed out into the main office, he thought he heard the angel whisper, “That is what we’re trying to do.”
Camael did not wish to be seen, and so, he wasn’t.
He stood on a grassy area in front of the high school beneath the flagpole and watched as students poured out into the world, finished for the day. The young ones had always fascinated him. So full of life, so sure that they had a complete understanding of everything around them and the universe beyond.