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  For my mom—without whom this story would never have been told

  Sometimes people deserve more.

  Sometimes people deserve to have their faith rewarded.

  —Batman in The Dark Knight

  PROLOGUE

  LUCAN, IRELAND

  APPROXIMATELY

  THREE THOUSAND YEARS AGO

  IN THE BEGINNING, there were two.

  The shimmering silver spilled as the Arch Angels passed through the fixed gateway. Eden took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of Earth’s warm summer day as his bare feet patted down the fresh planes of green grass. He stepped from the apple tree’s shade, and his white feathered wings rose up and out, fluttering against the gentle breeze.

  Orifiel followed behind, turning up his nose as he entered the second dimension’s atmosphere. The land underfoot was damp. Sometime before their arrival, water had fallen from above.

  Mortals called it rain.

  Cold, wet drops that came down from the sky.

  And they drank it.

  Water and food—mankind required both of these things to keep their fragile forms functioning. It was an unfamiliar concept to Orifiel. In Styclar-Plena, the crystal had not only created his world and the beings that inhabited it, but it sustained their immortal lives, too. The crystal’s light was all he and his kind needed to survive and flourish.

  Unlike humans, the Arch Angels’ forms were not weak. Created in the crystal’s image, their bodies were hard-wearing. Here, in the second dimension, Orifiel had yet to find anything that could scratch, mark, or damage him in any way.

  There was only one thing that could penetrate an Arch Angel’s suit of white armor.

  Darkness.

  True darkness.

  The same that had fallen upon Styclar-Plena the day the crystal began to fail.

  That day, a rift had appeared in his world—in the first dimension—and Orifiel had traveled through alone, finding himself in the second dimension—Earth. It was in this second dimension that Orifiel learned of a way to quell the darkness and to keep his world alive. By moving the clean, light souls of mortals that were released in death across the planes, he was able to refuel the crystal and keep the darkness at bay.

  That was the day Orifiel saved Styclar-Plena.

  The first of the last of days.

  “Is it far from here?” Eden asked.

  “No.” Using the power of thought, Orifiel concentrated on the dipping branches and willed them to part. Here in the second, he preferred to touch as little as possible with his bare skin. The branches abided, and Orifiel pointed ahead, directing Eden away from the aging tree to a small clearing.

  Eden hesitated, marveling at the red apples blossoming. He reached up and picked one. Taking a step forward, Eden, in quiet contemplation, pressed his thumb to the smooth, waxy coat of the sumptuous piece of fruit.

  Hurried whispers came from the young of the land hiding behind the nearby bushes. The boy and the girl were well camouflaged, wearing fig leaves that covered the delicate parts of their naked bodies. They blended seamlessly into the setting as they spied.

  Side by side, the Arch Angels continued on, the wind delivering the sweet scent of the roses growing from the ground.

  “You like it here?” Orifiel asked.

  “I do. What do you call this place?” Eden said.

  “A garden.” Orifiel cast his gaze all around. The rose stems here had no thorns, and he thought then that they were like the friend beside him. “Then I shall name this the Garden of Eden. A tribute to you, my dear brother, for all that you have done.”

  The children raced from tree to tree, following the winged beings, observing and listening to them with curiosity.

  Eden smiled and, extending his hand, called out, “Come … tell me your names.”

  The children froze and then ducked down low, nervous and unsure.

  “The boy goes by Adam. The girl, by Eve.” Orifiel answered on the children’s behalf, taking a moment to smile reassuringly at the pair in the shrubbery.

  “You know them, and they you?” Eden asked.

  “They are harmless. Same as the elder mortals, the young are ignorant. Mankind’s understanding of things appears to be … limited.” Orifiel waved his hand dismissively. “The first time I came to this second dimension, the boy saw me enter through the gateway, having taken shelter from the rain under the branches of the apple tree. He did not try to run and so I asked his name, and he gave it. He thought me to be a servant of the God of light and so referred to me as an Arch Angel. I did not correct his belief.”

  “A God of light?”

  “Yes. Mankind worships the day and a God who commands their sun, for the light grows their crops. They fear the night and a Demon God they call Zherneboh, whom they believe wields the darkness.”

  “Zherneboh…” Eden repeated curiously. “And Arch Angel? You took the name Adam gave you and bestowed it upon us?”

  “Yes, I rather liked it. The mortals here call their offspring ‘descendants.’ Fitting, it also seemed, to adopt that terminology for the Angels we are creating ourselves, given the human race inspired the solution to our population problem.”

  Eden nodded thoughtfully. “I am surprised the boy did not try to follow you through the gateway.”

  “I told Adam that this tree holds the knowledge of good and evil and that what glistens within its branches must go untouched by man and remain concealed by the apples that grow and hang low. I forbid the fruit from being picked so that the gateway would remain hidden from view. To make quite sure he listened, I explained that should any man or woman disobey my will, their God of night would be given a physical form and would deliver a terrible darkness, bringing about the beginning of the end of this world.” Orifiel paused, searching Eden’s expression. As he anticipated, Eden’s lips turned down at the corners as he struggled to understand the concept of deceit.

  “Hmmm…” Eden mumbled as he stroked the apple’s skin. He was about to ask more on the subject when something unfamiliar caught his attention. Eden tipped his chin and focused intently. The nearby river whooshed and spat as it collided with a rock formation.

  “They call that a river—a natural stream of water. There are objects—rocks—that block the water’s passing, and the fight between the two causes that sound,” Orifiel explained.

  “The fight?” Eden said.

  “To fight, to battle, is to try to defeat something. The river is one force and it runs, hitting the opposing force—the rocks. For the water to get past, it will try to go under, to go over, and to find holes and cracks within the object. The water is clever; it seeks a path to get beyond what stands in its way. To win the fight.”

  Words such as fight, battle, and win were new to Eden, and he sighed heavily. “We have so much to learn about this world; we must do so quickly when we relocate here.”

  Orifiel nodded, slowing his pace. He gradually fell behind Eden. Holding his hands behind his back, h
e rubbed his fingertips into his palms.

  Searching the scenery, Eden paused. “Where is Malachi to greet us? I wish to see the structures he’s created, to see our new home.” Eden had no desire to leave Styclar-Plena, but he knew they must. It was not right to stay and continue as things were.

  “He is not far. Come, walk with me a little longer.” Orifiel didn’t have to persuade his fellow Arch Angel to abide by his request.

  Born into a perfect, peaceful world, the inhabitants of Styclar-Plena had never been exposed to things such as deceit. But unlike the other Arch Angels, Orifiel had frequented and explored Earth. He had seen the horrors this world had to offer firsthand. Horrors he had no intention of sharing with his kind, whom he wished to remain untouched and pure, just like their world.

  Ahead, Eden came to an abrupt halt, startled by what appeared in front of him.

  “Orifiel?” he said quietly. His wings fluttered as he observed the black fissure slicing through the air.

  Orifiel stopped, too, and began to speak. “When I first traveled through the rift from Styclar-Plena, the gateway, as you know, became fixed. It seems the very moment I stepped across, another gateway opened and has also remained. But as you can see, it’s somewhat different in its nature.”

  A cold chill crept up Eden’s neck as he studied the dripping ink. “Where do you think it leads?”

  “I don’t think it leads anywhere.” Orifiel paused. “The light from the crystal creates life on Styclar-Plena, and we now know that in our world, without the light, the true darkness takes its place, erasing that life. That gateway is black, nothing more than a void. I believe it to be death.”

  Eden glanced from the dark gateway to where Orifiel stood behind him, trying to comprehend what his leader was telling him. “Why has Malachi built our structures so close to something so dangerous?”

  Orifiel’s answer came swiftly: “Malachi hasn’t.”

  “I don’t understand.” Eden turned around fully now, his back to the rift.

  “I am sure that you don’t. I am sad to say that today I am the river, and you, my friend, are the rock.”

  Eden shifted his weight from side to side. “You do not mean for us to leave Styclar-Plena, then? We are not relocating to Earth?”

  “No, Styclar-Plena is our home. Our only home.” Orifiel brought his hands forward, his knuckles cracking as he flexed them in readiness.

  “But we cannot remain there.… The cry, it was so, so…” A tear formed and splashed down Eden’s cheek. “We cannot continue. You heard it—”

  “Yes, I heard it. And, like you, I know what it means. But it changes nothing.”

  “It does. It must. I will tell the others—” Eden retaliated.

  “No. You won’t. The Arch Angels are my people. Styclar-Plena is my world. You will not take them from me because you heard it cry.” Orifiel brought his hands to his chest and willed a spark of light to form within his palms. “But I will bestow upon you something else you do not understand. My mercy. I will spare you from having to hear another second of that sound.”

  A white flame ignited, twisting between Orifiel’s fingers as he entwined them together. Still, Eden remained fixed where he stood, unable to grasp Orifiel’s intention.

  Orifiel blew into the center of his palms, feeding the white flame so that it projected the energy forward. Parting his hands and flexing his fingers, Orifiel commanded the countless dazzling crystal spheres to form into a set of slender, spiral curves. “I don’t suspect you have ever seen a serpent before.” Orifiel’s words were easy, and he willed the crystals to create a cluster at the end of the coils, manifesting into the shape of an arrowhead. Meeting Eden’s eye, he finally said, “Good-bye, dear friend.”

  Orifiel clapped his hands together, and the crystal snake darted forward.

  Startled, Eden stretched his wings and bent his knees, preparing to jump, but he was too slow. The white inferno struck him above the eye, propelling his solid body backward, and the apple fell from his grasp, tumbling to the ground. Eden’s wings wrapped around his form, covering his face and neck, as he flew through the air. His light rose to the surface, electrifying each feather and acting as a shield. But Orifiel did not need to strike Eden twice; the force of the first blow had catapulted him to the center of the dark gateway.

  Eden whimpered, but as his dovelike feathers melted, stripping back to their liquid keratin base, the sound transformed into a shrill shriek. As his face, neck, and shoulders were pulled into the dark gateway, ink overspread his form, shaping black quills, which tattooed his skin. His body lurched backward, and his white cloak darkened to soot.

  The twinkling serpent broke apart, dispersed into millions of microscopic crystals, and faded away.

  The dark gateway rippled and then pulsed inward, swallowing Eden whole, before returning to the stagnant state it was in before Orifiel and Eden arrived.

  Orifiel headed back the way he came, and the whispers from the children still hiding in the bushes fell quiet. Approaching the apple tree, he willed the branches to part and stepped toward the sparkling gateway. He took a moment to stretch his magnificent feathered wings, and a triumphant smirk crept up the left side of his face, as he believed that he had once again saved Styclar-Plena.

  In fact, unbeknownst to Orifiel, he had sealed its doom.

  Dipping his toe into the rift through which he’d arrived, Orifiel allowed the coolness to rush over his foot. Moments before the gateway took him, a quaking roar tore across the land. Orifiel twisted his neck in surprise. Through the foliage, a cloaked beast pointed its talons at him from the depths of the Garden of Eden.

  The river and the rock.

  In the end, there would be only one.

  ONE

  I WAS WEIGHTLESS IN THE WATER. There was nothing to be done now but wait for the tide to take me to shore.

  Nothing happened.

  Perhaps I had already washed up.

  Perhaps I hadn’t survived the journey to the third.

  Perhaps I was dead.

  As quickly as my thoughts turned over, so too did the realization that the word I had formed in my mind, and I knew then that I was still alive. In the nowhere, that empty space where I was trapped between life and death not long ago, I’d had to fight to comprehend the “I” that referred to my existence.

  But I still knew my name.

  Lailah.

  I knew his name, too.

  Jonah.

  I struggled to see, but there was nothing to be seen.

  Malachi had said that the third dimension existed in a state of cold, dark matter, which was nothing more than a void, just another version of nothingness.… But then, the Purebloods existed here as did their scavengers, so nothing had to be some thing, some place, surely?

  And then I hit the rocks.

  * * *

  DISORIENTED, I was slow to react to the chill creeping up my neck. The ground was black ice, and I lay facedown, my cheek pressed against it. As I pushed myself up, my skin ripped, like Velcro being peeled apart. I flinched, but it was at the thought of it, not the sensation. Pain was a feeling I hadn’t felt in so long it was almost forgotten.

  It belonged to a girl who hadn’t known her real name.

  A girl who both sought out and hid from change.

  A girl I’d said good-bye to.

  Now, with my Angel and Vampire lineage joined in the perfect balance of light and dark, my gray being made me superior to anyone and anything to walk any of the worlds. No amount of darkness would be able to blind me from the truth of what was here.

  And with that thought, the dark veil that shrouded my surroundings began to lift.

  I bent my knees and stood, brushing an object as I did.

  Caught off guard, I jolted backward on my unsteady feet at the sight of a Pureblood Vampire. He loomed above me, his arm stretched out, with his razor talons pointed dangerously above curled claws. I raised my hand defensively, but a second later I realized he wasn’t moving.
/>   The Vampire was a statue, but he was no monument—he was a real demon.

  At least he had been, once.

  Present in body but not in mind, the Pureblood was frozen from the inside out—he had perished in this place.

  I stepped around him, quick to continue on. Beneath my feet, the black ice shimmered like a dusting of stars in a night’s sky. All around, there was nothing more than the same, just a landscape of freezing, dead rock. But as I followed a line of cracks and splinters running into the distance, out of the ground a tower grew, giant and magnificent in its perfectly cylindrical design. The same speckles twinkled along the tower’s exterior, twisting all the way up the building’s curves. There were no windows or doors, no joins or seams, no evidence that it had been constructed piece by piece. Instead, it appeared to be formed from only one material, as though it had once been a lump of clay molded into this.

  Whatever this was.

  A massive cloud sat static, covering the peak of the tower, and elongated raindrops fell from it like stringy tar. Each drop was collected in a moat that circled the base of the astounding structure. In the river, the liquid churned clockwise at a sluggish speed. Two shoots branched out from the moat, allowing the river to flow farther, but from here, I couldn’t see where they went. Everything beyond the tower remained shrouded in shadow.

  I shivered at the bitter cold running the length of my fingers, but my attention quickly refocused. High above me, the sound of rifts opening rumbled through the atmosphere, and in this former vacuum where sound could not exist, now it demanded to be heard.

  I tried to make sense of it all.

  Malachi, an old and wise fallen Angel, once known in Styclar-Plena as the Ethiccart, had told me to “bring the Arch Angels and the worlds they exist in to an end,” implying that the Purebloods had once been Arch Angels. That they were the ones who had fallen through to the third dimension and then emerged as Pureblood Vampires; that it was not the fallen Angel Descendants, as Gabriel had once believed, who became Purebloods.