Page 8 of Uriel
It rings once before a smooth, sardonic voice answers. “Well, well. If it isn’t my favorite stick-in-the-mud archangel. To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?”
“Lucifer,” I growl, my jaw clenching. “Are you behind all of this?”
There’s a pause, then a low chuckle. “You’ll have to be more specific, Uri dear. I’m behindquitea lotof things.”
“Don’t play coy,” I snap. “The earthquakes. The prophecy. This... union.” The last word leaves a bitter taste in my mouth.
Another pause, longer this time. When Lucifer speaks again, his tone has lost its mocking edge. “Believe it or not, Uriel, this is above my paygrade.”
“What?”
“You heard me,” he says, sounding almost... concerned? “Whatever’s happening, it’s big. Bigger than me, bigger than you. Hell’s stirring, but I’m not the one stirring it.”
A chill runs down my spine. If Lucifer isn’t orchestrating this...
“Then who?—?”
My question is cut off by another violent tremor. This one doesn’t stop. The floor beneath my feet bucks and heaves. Cracks spiderweb across the ceiling.
Through the phone, I hear Lucifer shouting something, but his words are drowned out by an inhuman shriek that seems to come from the very earth itself.
As my office crumbles around me, one thought blazes through my mind:I need to find Emilia. Now.
CHAPTER 8
Emilia
Consciousness returns slowly,like wading through molasses. My head throbs, a dull ache pulsing behind my eyes. I blink, trying to bring the world into focus. The ceiling above me is unfamiliar—all smooth, pristine white instead of the industrial tiles of the hospital.
Where am I?
Panic flutters in my chest as I struggle to piece together my last memories. The earthquake. The ER. Raphael’s kind smile. Then... nothing. Just a void where hours—days?—should be.
I try to sit up, but my body feels leaden, uncooperative. The silk sheets—wait, silk?—slide coolly against my skin as I manage to prop myself up on my elbows. The room swims into view, and my breath catches.
This is definitely not the hospital.
I’m lying in a massive four-poster bed that looks like it belongs in a medieval castle, not... wherever this is. The room around me is vast, easily twice the size of my entire apartment. Every surface gleams with understated opulence—rich mahogany furniture, plush carpets in muted earth tones, artwork that looks like it belongs in a museum.
It’s beautiful, in a cold, impersonal sort of way. Like a luxury hotel suite designed by someone who’s only read about human comfort in books.
I swing my legs over the side of the bed, wincing as my bare feet sink into an impossibly soft carpet. My clothes are gone, replaced by silk pajamas that probably cost more than my monthly rent. The thought sends a shiver of unease down my spine. Who undressed me?
Wrapping one of the obscenely soft blankets around my shoulders like a protective shield, I pad across the room. My reflection catches my eye—a pale, disheveled stranger staring back at me from an ornate full-length mirror. Dark circles shadow my eyes, and my usually unruly hair is a rat’s nest of tangles. I look... small. Vulnerable.
I turn away, unable to face that version of myself.
The window beckons, promising answers. Or at least a clue to where the hell I am. I approach cautiously, half-expecting to see the LA skyline or maybe the hospital parking lot. Instead, my breath catches in my throat.
Dense woods stretch as far as the eye can see, a rolling sea of green under a clear blue sky. Towering redwoods and pines crowd right up to what looks like a manicured lawn, their branches swaying gently in a breeze I can’t feel through the glass. In the distance, I can just make out the hazy outline of mountains.
It’s breathtaking. And completely, utterly foreign.
“This can’t be real,” I whisper, pressing a hand against the cool glass. But the forest doesn’t shimmer and fade like a mirage. It remains stubbornly, impossibly there.
Awe and terror wash over me in equal measure. I’m not in LA anymore. I’m not even sure I’m in California. How far have I been taken? And by whom?
As if summoned by my rising panic, the door behind me opens with a soft click. I whirl around, clutching the blanket tighter, my heart hammering against my ribs.
