Page 5 of Fallen

Sleep was elusive. He wasn’t due at HQ until after lunch for scheduled training with his squad, but Alex was up with the dawn anyway. Two hours of nightmare-filled sleep left him feeling wrong-footed and irritable. He choked down two pieces of toast, poured his coffee into a travel mug, and left for the guild. Anywhere was better than his lifeless apartment.

Mornings at HQ were an entirely different animal than the quiet nights before a patrol. The parking lots were packed with vehicles, and signs of life spilled from every crack and crevice. The admin building thrummed with activity. The prophets gathered on the third floor for meetings and meditations. Alex didn’t have clearance for that floor, so he only knew what happened there secondhand. Apparently, the prophets used a series of insulated quiet rooms to meditate for visions of the future. Prophets and paladins weren’t really allowed to speak to each other. Prophets answered directly to the guild’s council, which consisted of Commander Sloan, Father Hawley, Doctor Maxwell, Diviner Rousseau—the head of the prophets’ division—and Principal Jefferson Barker—head of the boarding school.

Paladins, the field agents who were on the front lines of the unseen war against demons, answered directly to Commander Sloan. Prophets would register their visions, which would be interpreted by the council and given a rating of importance. Some were passed on to a paladin squad for investigation. They saved many lives that way, but Alex always wondered about the visions that no one was allowed to see. How many prophecies were tucked away inside the vaults of HQ? He assumed there were vaults, anyway. It seemed like the kind of place that had vaults. They had a dungeon, after all—granted, it hadn’t been used in almost a century. The guild once performed exorcisms on-site, and the possessed would wait their turns for the holy rites in the blessed, underground dungeon. He toured it with his eighth grade history class. The student curriculum in the guild was a colorful one.

Morning sun winked at him through scattered white clouds as he left his car behind and wandered down the paved footpath. The grounds were immaculately maintained. Young children from the orphanage played on a fenced playground, their shrieks of laughter punctuated by the distant crack of wooden practice swords colliding over in the training yard. Very distantly, he heard piano music, carried on the wind from the open doors of the church.

It was an idyllic morning, and all he could think about was blood. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw them. The bodies, their blood splattered on the wall. He would give anything to wash it away.

Alex wandered over to the training yard, but he was too distracted to pick up a weapon right now, and he’d rather finish his coffee while it was still hot. He stopped at the wooden fence surrounding the sand pit, lifting one foot to brace on the bottom rung.

He recognized most of the men and women training out there. The guild was a small, tight-knit community. Everyone knew everyone, at least in passing. None of his squad were present—they were all likely still asleep, likeheshould be—but they would all arrive that afternoon for drills.

Those out in the sand pit were giving a wide berth to a pair of viciously sparring men, Luke Morgan and Isaac Morrow. They were some of the best. Luke, in fact, was so good that he wasn’t required to patrol with a squad. The only survivor of a demon attack that decimated his squad, Sloan had made an exception for him and allowed him to keep working without reassigning him to another. Alex wasn’t sure whose idea it was. Maybe Luke didn’t want to join another squad and risk losing them again. No matter how it had come about, Sloan somehow determined that the benefit of letting Luke work alone outweighed the risk of letting him go without backup.

It was clear to see in moments like this. Luke and Isaac were in a league of their own, their wooden weapons slamming into each other’s, sweat gleaming on their bare skin already in spite of the cool morning air. Luke was shirtless, his sun-browned body peppered with pale scars from his years as a paladin. Sweat twinkled in his short dark hair.

Isaac was the polar opposite. He wasn’t scarred at all. His pale skin was littered with freckles, and his red hair was pulled back in a bun. People whispered behind their hands about him, said he was crazy. Whether Isaac was aware of the rumors was a mystery. Alex had never spoken to him more than in passing, so he didn’t really have an opinion on the matter.

When he finished his coffee and the restless need for action hadn’t abated, he took to the track, warming up with a light jog and then pushing himself hard with some sprints. He might not be able to outrun his ghosts, but maybe he could exhaust them. It was the only thing that might quiet his mind, pushing his body so hard that all he could think about was how tired he was.

He slowed to a stop near the training pit, resting his hands on his head while he caught his breath.

“Hey, Hawk!”

Isaac swaggered closer, stopping just inside the fence. “Come spar with us. Luke says I’m notchallengingenough for him.” He rolled his eyes.

Behind him, Luke barked out a laugh. “I didnotsay that. I think you’re the one who doesn’t feel challenged enough.”

Isaac shrugged smoothly. “Come on. You look like you’ve got energy to burn, and I want to have some fun.”

“Fun?” Alex repeated, drifting over.

Isaac bounced on the balls of his feet. “You don’t find sparring fun? There’s nothing better than the weight of a weapon in your hand. There’s a reassurance in knowing you have the power to end a life, don’t you think?”

Yep, there was the crazy.

Alex gestured to the wooden practice sword. “You have the power to end someone’s life with that stick?”

Isaac’s mossy green eyes darkened with promise. “It doesn’t take a tool to end a life. It just makes the job easier.” He brightened then, twirling the sword with a cheerful grin. “So? You up for it?”

Alex glanced over at Luke, who gave him an encouraging nod. “Sure,” he decided. “I could use the outlet.”

Isaac slapped the fence post. “Excellent! Go grab a weapon. I look forward to seeing what you can do. I’ve heard good things.”

Had he? Was that why he’d invited Alex to spar with them? He was surprised to learn anyone had bothered talking about him, but maybe he shouldn’t have been. He heard things about the others, after all. It pleased him to know good things were being said, at least.

He fetched a practice sword from the weapons rack, and when he turned around, Isaac was there, his weapon arcing toward Alex’s face. He raised the glorified wooden stick, and Isaac’s glanced off, jarring Alex’s arms. He didn’t pull his punches, that was for sure. Alex glimpsed Luke jogging toward them over Isaac’s shoulder. When he got close, Isaac spun, sweeping his sword out. Luke blocked it smoothly and came up inside Isaac’s defenses.

Fighting both of them together was almost more harrowing than fighting a demon. Luke was tall and broad, his swings powerful and accurate as a pin, whereas Isaac moved with the fluid grace of a big cat, his unpredictable attacks aiming for weak points that would be devastating with a real blade. For the first time since last night, Alex stopped thinking about bodies on the floor and blood splashed on pale walls. There was only the clash of blades, the pulse of adrenaline, the spray of sand around them as they whirled to and fro.

Isaac swept Luke’s feet out from under him and came up swinging at Alex, who caught his wrist and hauled him in as he brought his knee up into his gut. Isaac grunted, staggering away, and movement past him caught Alex’s eye.

Nathan was standing at the fence around the yard, and when he saw Alex looking toward him, he waved him over.

Alex fell out of his defensive stance, letting his weapon dangle harmlessly between his fingers so Isaac and Luke could see, and raised his hands in surrender.

“I’m out, guys. Thanks for the spar.” He shot Isaac a thumbs-up. “You were right, it was fun.”

---