Chapter 1 Prologue: A Flowering Thorn

"The Dead travel fast, but Death travels faster."

Prologue:

This is what I remember:

He stands by the howling void. Chalk white cliffs plummet downwards to the raging sea. The blue-blackness froths beneath him. Wind screams. It is absolute zero.

Shadows fall like dolls into the abyss. There are no cries of pain. Merely silence.

The Legion stands before him. Michael brandishes his flaming sword. His face is raw with suffering.

"Don't do this, brother," he pleas.

His cry falls on deaf ears. It is a corpse that stands before him. Razor thin. Pale as winter snow. He towers over the archangel, still as the grip of death.

He opens his hollow eyes. All Heaven holds its breath. The void yawns, grating its jowls. Its master smiles wretchedly. His flesh cracks like ice as he speaks:

"Either way, I win." His voice is like bitter wind.

The pull of the Pit wraps around the Host like a vise. The weakest crumple like smashed mica. Their shards plummet into the abyss.

Michael's bones shake. His sorrow turns to wrath. He roars, then delivers the killing blow. The serpent is crushed beneath him.

The corpse laughs as the sword pierces him. "Come with me, my brother," he whispers. He takes him by the heel. Lightning strikes fire as they embrace. Michael surrenders himself to his adversary. Finally, the Host is freed.

The brightest stars blaze into the darkness. The void is sealed shut. They leave a graveyard of angels behind them.

Time begins.

Death is born.

"You should run, human girl."

Chapter 1: Disposable Teens

I woke in a sweat again, screeching. Running my hands through my hair, I bolted upwards, struggling for breath. The same dream again, probably spurred on by the chili corn dog of questionable origins the cafeteria had served up for dinner. "Holy frappacino," I whispered as a slamming headache hit me. My stomach rolled, whether from fear or indigestion, I couldn't tell.

My roommate flipped on the lights, groaning: "Again, Fianna?" She tossed her pillow at me, eyes bruised like a racoon's.

I clutched it to my chest and collapsed. "Yeah," I sighed. "I'm so, so sorry." I glanced at the alarm: 3:00 AM. Just the latest in a string of witching hours I'd awakened to in the past month. Perhaps it was the darkness of winter that drew out the strange visions each year. The unyielding cold that dug into one's marrow weighed heavily on us all, stirring upsets that lay buried in the subconscious.

"Quinn? Quinlan?" I asked, tossing the pillow back at her. She caught it drearily.

"What?" She lounged on her bed, eyes dead. "Was it them again? The twins?"

"Yeah. I think the caf's food was laced with something. Roofies. Crack..."

"Holy water? No offense, but you have religious wing-nut dreams."

"But I'm an Atheist-"

"Zip! I've had to put up with this for..." she glanced at her hands. "Three, four, five weeks. And girl, early morning wakings do not bode well for beauty. I've had to change foundations three times for these skull hollows under my eyes."

I flinched, reminded of the dream. "He was bones in the end. Charred bones. Like those medieval plates of villagers dancing with the dead."

"Never seen 'em," Quinn said flatly. "Look, I have an organic chem test in the morning, which we both know I'm going to fail. You now owe me dinner at Peter Chang's and a seriously large shoulder to cry on."

I pulled at my PJs, distracted. "I do have man shoulders, don't I? Moulders. Crap."

"That wasn't the point, Fee. I need your empathy, not your masculinity."

"I am not a guy! See? No five o' clock shadow."

"Every girl has an inner dude. It's your animus. Embrace it."

"Like a spirit animal?"

"Sure. Your inner hot man totem. It's for balancing your psyche-"

There was a soft knock at the door. I paled. "Oh crap, it's Phoebe. Come in!"

Our RA stood in her Amish-worthy nightgown, bleary-eyed. "Everything alright, girls?" she asked, voice cloying with concern.

"Just a nightmare," I said flippantly. "It was... nothing."

"Nothing?" Phoebe cocked her brows. "Because it sounded like murder. Are you sure you don't want to go to the Health Center?-"

"Yes," Quinn and I said shortly.

"Right. Well, maybe cold water. There's medication for this, you know."

"No, and thank you, Phoebe!" Quinn said sunnily. "And a good night to you too." With that, she closed the door. Face flashing grimly, she glanced back at me. "She's right, you know. You can end up in the hospital for this stuff. Nightmare syndrome. I Googled it."

"Which totally makes it legit," I said, sardonic. "It's just stress, or the weather, or- oh, I don't know, Quinn! Maybe I'm the reincarnation of some fire and brimstone preacher."

"Well, Miss Billy Graham. If that's the case, I must have lived on the island of Cyprus, like a priestess of Aphrodite! A slave to beauty and piña coladas, not a dredge to chemistry." She made the sign of the cross against her textbooks. "Can you damn them for me, preacher?"

"By the power invested in me by God, burn, unholy tomes!"

We giggled, ominously fanning the flames.

"Twin psychos through and through," Quinn observed sagely. She flipped the lights. "Back to bed, Fee. And the General Tsao's chicken tomorrow better make up for this lovefest."

I tossed her pillow back at her, smiling. "Pinkie-swear, roomie," I said, voice dripping with sweetness.

She harrumphed and promptly began to snore. So much for beauty sleep.