"Son? I'm no son of yours," Michael yelled.

"That is precisely who you are," Ezekiel answered calmly.

Michael then flew off the stage toward Ezekiel. This time, Ezekiel was ready. He propelled himself upward, into the rafters high in the ceiling of the hall. As Michael followed him, I started to lift off in pursuit. I couldn't let Michael fight Ezekiel alone.

Tamiel pulled me down to the ground. "Michael must combat Ezekiel unaided."

I struggled to free myself from her grasp, but she was incredibly strong. "Michael is trying to protect me from Ezekiel. I can't let him do that by himself. He needs me."

Tamiel took me by the shoulders and stared into my face. "Ellspeth, only the child can kill the parent. Let Michael fulfill his destiny, if he can."

"Ezekiel is really his father?" I was shocked, although it explained the link between them. I thought Ezekiel had been speaking metaphorically.

"Yes, he is. Only one with Ezekiel's blood in his veins can destroy him."

The news tore my attention from the battle raging overhead. "But I thought angels couldn't procreate?"

"They usually can't. But you and Michael are unique."

"So we really are Nephilim?"

"Yes."

"Where are our mothers? Our human mothers?" I felt a sudden, deep yearning for mine.

Tamiel stared at the floor. "Your birth mothers are no longer with us."

"They're dead?" I wanted to cry, but knew I couldn't. I had to keep my focus.

She nodded slowly, still not meeting my eye.

"What about my father? Where is he?"

A crash sounded out above us. Ezekiel had flung Michael into the metal scaffolding bolstering the ceiling, and I screamed despite myself. I twisted and turned, trying to get out of Tamiel's grip so I could help him.

"Stay here, or you will only complicate matters for Michael," she ordered.

Tamiel's hold was unbreakable, leaving me no choice but to stare at the war above us. Michael and Ezekiel dove up and over and around the ma.s.sive rafters reinforcing the ceiling. Each took equal turns harming the other, and for a time, I felt heartened that Michael might actually win the battle. But then Ezekiel caught Michael by the foot and swung his head into a huge beam. Michael flew away, but I knew he was badly hurt. I could smell the blood flowing from his wounds, and I could sense him weakening.

Suddenly, I knew how I could help. Somehow I wrenched Tamiel's hands off my shoulders and raced to the side of the stage. I looked up. Michael and Ezekiel were hovering directly above me. It was my moment.

I forced a sob and cried out, "Ezekiel, stop. I can't watch you hurt Michael any longer. Stop. I'll go with you. But only if you deliver him to me-unharmed and flying of his own accord-right here."

"No, Ellie!" Michael yelled back.

"Yes, Michael." I pointedly looked down at the exposed iron rod, hoping desperately that Ezekiel didn't catch my meaning as well. "It is the only way."

"You have made the right choice, Ellspeth," Ezekiel called out.

Side by side, they began their descent. Ezekiel was careful not to touch Michael, but he didn't let him out of his sight either. I stood near-but not next to-the iron rod, and watched as they neared the floor. Just before they touched down, I stretched out my arms to Ezekiel, to distract him.

"It is almost time," I said. As if to Ezekiel.

Ezekiel reached out his arms for me. With an expression of triumph, he looked away from Michael and smiled at me. Just then, Michael flew at Ezekiel's back and shoved him into the iron rod with all his strength.

We raced to Ezekiel's side to make sure the deed was done. But we needn't have. Within seconds, the smell of the blood pouring from his body was overpowering. He seemed weak-even near death-but his eyes were still open and blinking.

"I am not alone. There are others. Others even more powerful than me. Like your father," Ezekiel whispered, and smiled his sick smile out at the crowd. And then the blinking stopped.

I looked out at Quincy Market, in the direction of Ezekiel's final gaze. There, in the throngs, I spotted a man with black hair and bright blue eyes staring right at us. As if he saw us. Then he disappeared.

Tamiel raced to our sides. She nodded in agreement with Ezekiel's last words. It was over, but only for the moment.

I didn't care. I stood up and hugged Michael as hard as I could. Even if we had only a short time of peacefulness together, even if I was this other, elect, strange creature, I wanted this moment, this moment of peace.

We looked into each other's eyes and smiled. I closed my eyes and surrendered into the warmth of Michael's arms.

Chapter Forty-seven.

I opened my eyes. I was in my bedroom.

My bedroom.

I had no memory of returning to Tillinghast from Boston.

How had I gotten here? The last thing I remembered was holding on to Michael in Quincy Market, after we looked down at the body of Ezekiel. Oh my G.o.d, Ezekiel.

I sat up in my bed. I lifted up my quilt, blanket, and sheets. I was in my flannel pajamas. Who had dressed me in these? I looked at the clock. It said seven A.M. A.M., but I had no idea what day it was.

Pushing off my quilt, blanket, and sheets, I stood up, a little unsteady on my feet. I tottered over to my desk, where my bag sat. I picked it up, looking for any sc.r.a.p of evidence that I'd been to Boston. I found my notebook filled with the usual scribbles, my wallet with my identification and money, and my toiletry bag stocked as always. There were no ticket stubs or receipts or even any of the lists of questions I'd made on the train to Boston or during that long night in the Harvard Square coffee shop. But my cell was there. The cell phone I'd thrown into the garbage can at the Tillinghast train station.

Had it all been a dream? The flying and the blood? Ezekiel and the trip to Boston? All that stuff about the Nephilim and the Elect One? Was Michael a dream too?

I ran downstairs, not sure what to hope for. My mom stood at the kitchen counter b.u.t.tering toast and pouring orange juice, like she did every morning. She looked up at me, unsurprised that I stood in the kitchen. But she was surprised at my state, given the hour.

"Dearest, why are you still in your pajamas? You have to leave for school in five minutes."

I stared around the kitchen, as if I hadn't seen it in months. The kettle sat in its typical place, and the magnets on the fridge held up the normal pictures and reminders. Everything looked the same as when I left. But I felt entirely different.

My mom marched over to me and placed her hand on my forehead. "Do you feel sick, Ellie? You look a little peaked, but you don't feel warm."

I was afraid to speak. Almost any sentence that came out of my mouth could be really out of place. Even crazy.

"Dearest, is everything all right?"

Words finally croaked out of my mouth. "I'm okay, Mom. I just woke up from a really weird dream."

Her eyebrows rose in alarm, but her voice sounded calm. Very, very calm. "What was the dream, dearest?"

"Nothing. Just a dream. I'd better get ready."

I walked back upstairs and opened my closet to pick out an outfit. Hanging on the rack were some of the more daring clothes I'd bought since I started seeing Michael. And the red dress I'd worn to the Fall Dance. That wasn't a dream, at least. Maybe Michael wasn't either.

I grabbed a pair of jeans and a sweater and headed into the bathroom. Standing against the closed bathroom door for a long moment, I finally went over to the sink and turned on the hot water. As the steam rose up, I stared at myself in the foggy mirror. How could I look like the same old Ellie when so much had happened? Or had it?

But what choice did I have but to go through the motions of normalcy? I washed my face with my favorite lemony soap. I brushed out all the knots in my hair. I put on some blush and mascara, and I got dressed. All the while trying to ignore the sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach.

Dreading the uncertainty of school, I trudged back downstairs. "I'm ready to go, Mom."

She looked at me curiously. "But Michael's picking you up today."

"I'm not grounded anymore?" Michael hadn't been allowed to drive me to school since the Fall Dance. We were only allowed to see each other in supervised settings, like school or home.

"No, dearest. Your grounding was over this weekend." She paused and then asked, "Are you sure that you're all right, Ellie?"

"I'm fine, Mom." I hoped I sounded more convincing than I felt. I didn't want her to be worrying about me; I had enough troubles. "I'll just go wait by the front window for Michael."

"Do you want me to wait with you?"

"No thanks, Mom. I need to review my homework anyway." I needed a moment alone. And she seemed pleased that I mentioned something as normal as homework.

Staring out at the driveway, I tried to make sense of things. The list of questions that I'd written on the train to Boston kept coming back to me. If the past couple of months had been real-instead of some bizarre dream-then I might have a few answers to those questions.

What was I? The million-dollar question. a.s.suming the flying and the blood and Ezekiel and Boston had actually happened, I was pretty sure that I was a Nephilim. But aside from the powers it brought me, I wasn't certain what that meant. What was the purpose of a Nephilim? If I believed Ezekiel, then I was the "Elect One" with some special role in the "end days," whatever that entailed. Even my parents had said something about me being different and preparing for "war," and Tamiel had mentioned "end days." What was this war, and who would I be fighting against?

I still had more questions than answers. Like what had happened to my birth parents. Like whether I could count on Michael while I tried to figure this all out.

Just then, I heard the crunch of gravel. Michael's car pulled into our roundabout. My anxiety-already sky-high-mounted. What would I say to him? I still wasn't certain what was real and what was a dream.

"Bye, Mom," I called out, and walked to his car. The day was cool and drizzly, chilly but not cold enough for snow.

Michael turned off the ignition and opened the door for me from the inside. I slid in and closed it tightly behind me. Then I sat silently, uncertain what words were appropriate.

He reached over and kissed me on the cheek. "How was your night?"

"Fine," I answered warily. "Yours?"

"Good. I finished that awful calculus a.s.signment," he said as he turned the key in the ignition.

"That's great." I didn't know what to say next. I couldn't even remember what homework I'd been working on before I fled to Boston. So I stayed quiet.

The car started, and music flooded the car. The song was Coldplay, "Cemeteries of London." It was one of my favorites, as Michael knew. It reminded me of our nighttime flying and exploring. If those things really happened, that was.

"Feels like London out today, doesn't it?" Michael said.

I looked over at him in surprise. Had he just said what I thought he had? We had been heading to London to see Professor Barr the day before-from Boston. Or was he just referring to the song?

A smile spread across his face. A knowing smile.

"So...?" My mind raced. It hadn't been a dream.

As if reading my thoughts, Michael said, "Ignorance is the only thing that has protected you so far."

In that instant, I realized what had happened. In the conversation among our parents that Michael had overheard, my dad had said the same thing. Our parents wanted so badly to keep us in the dark about our ident.i.ties-for our protection and to prevent the ticking of the end days clock-that they'd attempted to have our memories erased. About flying and Ezekiel and Boston and the Nephilim and the Elect One. They knew better than to try to make us forget each other; they had tried it after Guatemala, and it hadn't fully worked.

It had failed again here. We remembered everything.

I started to talk excitedly. All the pieces were falling into place. But Michael shook his head and put a finger over my lips.

So I just smiled back at Michael. I knew that this wasn't the end. It was only the beginning.

Turn the page for an exclusive excerpt of Eternity The captivating sequel to Fallen Angel Fallen Angel!

Stepping into the hallways of Tillinghast High School was actually weirder than acknowledging that I was an otherworldly creature.

I watched as girls chatted about their lip gloss, and guys shared apps on their iPhones. I noticed friends giggling about other friends' outfits, and teammates thumping each other on the backs for games well-played. I walked past kids furiously copying their friends' homework a.s.signments, and others fumbling with the towers of books in their lockers.

I couldn't stop from staring at my cla.s.smates in amazement, like they were exotic creatures in the zoo. They had no idea that some kind of Armageddon was heading their way and that I was selected to play some special role at the end. Maybe even stop it.

I felt the simultaneous urge to sob and giggle. Because the whole notion of Ellspeth Faneuil as savior to the world was both overwhelming and ridiculous.

The only thing keeping me sane while I walked down the hallway was Michael. The link of his fingers in mine was like a tether to our new reality. I believed I could navigate through our conflicting worlds-the frivolous Tillinghast High School and the looming otherworldly battle-with him beside me.

But once I said good-bye to Michael before heading into English cla.s.s, I lost my anchor. I felt like I'd been cast unmoored into an unreal sea.

English cla.s.s brought me near to the brink. The minute I entered the cla.s.sroom, Miss Taunton launched into me. Like a hawk circling a wounded animal, she bombarded me with questions about our latest a.s.signed novel, which I could barely remember amid the more vivid recollections of my days in Boston and my encounter with Ezekiel. I wanted to scream at her that none of this mattered.

The second that Miss Taunton laid off me, my best friend, Ruth, texted me. "Wait for me in the hall after cla.s.s." Normally, I'd welcome a quick chat with my oldest and best friend in the world, especially if it involved commiseration over Miss Taunton's unfair, but not unusual, treatment of me. But I didn't know if I could handle a one-on-one conversation with Ruth just yet. I had no idea what she remembered. The last time we were together-just before I boarded the train to Boston-she had confessed to seeing me fly. Had my parents tried to erase Ruth's memory, too, with more success? If so, could I pull off the act of regular Ellie? I pled illness and intermittently coughed throughout cla.s.s to support my ruse.

At the ringing of the bell, I raced out of cla.s.s. My head was spinning. I needed a moment to catch my breath, to rea.s.semble myself.

Instead, I ran smack into Piper. My next-door neighbor and one of the most popular girls in school had been ignoring me for weeks since I decided to take the blame for that wicked Facebook prank. Unbelievably, she had decided that this was the moment to break the silence.

"I know what you did, Ellie. I just don't get why you did it. Why would you take the blame for something you didn't do? Why would you sit through weeks of detention and walk down the hallways knowing that all the kids in school hate you? Without ever pointing the finger at me or Missy. I bet you think you're some kind of a saint," she said with a flip of her perfect blond hair.

I didn't know what to say. Part of me wanted to tell her the truth. That her snide little guess wasn't totally off the mark. I was a half-angel, and I simply couldn't have sat by and let others suffer at her hand. That she better rethink her future actions and ask forgiveness for those past, because there wasn't much time left for malevolent games.

The conversation nearly delivered me to the edge. Who was I meant to be? How was I supposed to behave, knowing what I knew?