The Heir of Ambrose

I'm Not Crazy, You're Crazy!

I closed the book I was reading. No. To be more accurate, I slammed it shut and let out an exasperated groan. It was hopeless. I would glean no useful information from the Nephilim history book I had smuggled out of Macelton's library. Normally, he kept his library locked. It hadn't always been that way, but ever since I moved into his house, my brother had done everything he could to keep me from learning more about the Angel Warriors.

I watched as the white vapors escaped my mouth, twisting and twirling in the crisp morning twilight air before disappearing in front of my face. Of course, it wasn't just the Angel Warriors that I was concerned about. No, I had something else on my mind.

It isn't every day that you learn monsters exist, demons are real, and that you are destined to destroy the universe. But five months ago, that was precisely what I'd discovered. And I was … well, coping? Okay, no, not really. I was hardly holding it together.

Aedyn basically said I was evil. Where did he get off telling me something like that? Up until recently, I thought the man was my biological father. Then he showed up out of the blue, dropped that bomb on me, and disappeared again without an explanation. How was I supposed to react to that?

I twirled my feet in the cold water, staring at my reflection in the Ogeechee River. As the February sun began to rise over the horizon, the shifting light of its golden beams in contrast to the bluish tint of the falling moon made my mocha-colored skin appear to glimmer. I ran my hands through my curly hair, each tuft springing back to its natural position as my fingertips passed over it. I was sitting in this very spot when Aedyn delivered the bad news. "Kalib, you don't save the world­­ … you end it." I wasn't sure I even believed it.

I sighed, picking up the Nephilim History book and continuing to thumb through its pages. Who were the Angel Warriors anyway? Where did they come from? Why am I the last one? Were they evil? Am I evil? Aedyn obviously knew something about the Angel Warriors that I did not. Why else would he come to me with such an outlandish proclamation?

"I thought I'd find you here," a voice announced from behind me.

I threw my hands into the air, sending the history book flying. Macelton reached out and caught it with ease.

"Whoa," he said, the side of his mouth curling upward. "I didn't mean to scare you."

Macelton was my brother, although no one would know it by looking at us. We looked nothing alike. In fact, we were completely different ethnicities. He was clearly from a European background—Irish, I think. And I had always identified as African American. But now I've learned that I'm… biracial, I guess. When we met last year, he explained that we shared a father but had different mothers. But I still identify the same.

"Jesus, Mac!" I said, pushing myself up from the wooden planks of the dock and climbing to my feet. "You're like a freakin' ninja."

"And you are not," Macelton replied. "A word of advice, the next time you want to sneak out of the house, you might at least try not slamming every door on your way out."

"I wasn't trying to sneak out," I defended, still brushing the dust off my sweatpants. "I just wanted some fresh air."

Macelton peered at me suspiciously. "Fresh air to read …" He glanced down at the large textbook. "A Brief Chronology of Nephilim History?" He raised an eyebrow as he handed the large book back to me. "I thought I told you to stay out of my library."

"And I thought I told you that I needed answers," I retorted. "If you're not going to give them to me, I'll find them myself."

Macelton's biceps bulged as he crossed his arms like an annoyed parent. He looked good for his age. Considering he was over a thousand years old, Macelton didn't look a day over thirty. Nephilim didn't age the same as humans. A strand of Macelton's "always perfect" brown hair fell over his forehead as he peered down at me suspiciously. I guess he didn't have much time to make his hair as immaculate as he normally did.

"Why the sudden interest in the Angel Warriors?" he asked.

I never told him what Aedyn said to me a few months earlier. I didn't see what good would come from it. The truth was I was searching the history books for a hint about what the Angel Warriors were really like.

Did Aedyn assume that I would be the destroyer of worlds because I was one of them? Or was it something else altogether? What did it mean to be an Angel Warrior anyway? I had only ever heard good things about them, but what if the good things weren't the truth?

With great power also comes great corruption. What if the reason that Aedyn thought I was going to go "dark-side" on him was because it had already happened with the first Angel Warriors?

That's why I needed to know the truth. The reason I had been sneaking into Macelton's library every night, searching for answers. But Macelton wouldn't understand that.

"It isn't sudden," I explained. "I'm one of them, and I need to know what that means. What happened to them? Why did they disappear?"

"Is that what this is all about?" Macelton asked. "You're afraid that whatever happened to them will happen to you?"

"This book says the Angel Warriors vanished," I said, waving the large textbook at him for emphasis.

Macelton's lips spread across his face into an amused grin. "That same book also offers the theory that the Angel Warriors migrated to the land of the fairies," he replied with a laugh. "It's a book of theories, and there are thousands of them."

"Still," I persisted. "It implies that someone killed them. Is it too far-fetched to wonder if someone would also try to kill me?" I picked up a flat rock from the ground and hurled it across the river, kneeling at the edge of the dock to watch the rock skip three times before plummeting to its final resting place at the bottom of the river. "It wasn't even six months ago that I was kidnapped by a secret society commanded by a psychopathic demon who attempted to sacrifice me to Beelzebub. It's not unreasonable to be concerned about what else might be lurking in the shadows, waiting for their chance to attack."

"No," Macelton agreed. "It isn't unreasonable."

He shoved his hands into his pants pockets, furrowing his brows with an expression that told me he had more to say. He let out a deep breath. "But obsessing over it won't do you any good either. The bottom line is no one really knows what happened to the Angel Warriors. And you're not going to find answers in any of these books. Now, come on. Let's get back home. We've got to get ready for school."

I stood up, pensively tilted my head, lost in thought, and began to follow Macelton through the trees and back toward the house. He was probably right. Everything that I'd read about the Angel Warriors up to that point could basically be reduced to fan fiction. I knew nothing more about the Angel Warriors and how they met their demise than when I started reading those books. But that wouldn't stop me from looking. If I didn't do something, I was going to go crazy.

Besides, it wasn't like I had anything better to do. Half of the citizens of Hainesville already suspected that I was a criminal—long story, don't ask. Anyway, I had spent the majority of the last several months trying to pretend that I didn't see the dirty looks people gave me when I passed them in the hallway. I was relieved when we went on break for the winter holidays. But that day, I would be heading back to school. Back into the sea of judgmental people and outlandish rumors.

I followed Macelton as we pushed through the trees. He had a concerned look plastered on his face. He was contemplating something, although I couldn't tell what it was.

"I had a conversation with Dr. Zhuri," he finally pushed out after a moment of silence. "The school psychologist. She expressed concern about the evaluation you completed last semester."

He paused to look at me as if assessing my demeanor. I didn't give him any encouragement. "She informed me that your assessment showed signs of post-traumatic stress, and after watching your behavior this winter, I'm beginning to wonder if she is correct. And this conversation only reinforces that concern. I think you might benefit from spending more time with her. That's why I took the liberty of canceling your elective course and signing you up for therapy sessions with her. The school has already approved."

"You did what?" I protested.

Let me catch you up. Last semester there were two major explosions in town. I was moderately involved with both. Okay, maybe a little more than moderately, but neither of them was my fault. Last semester during the homecoming game, Patrick Jones sent a hellcat after me. It attacked me at the school, chased me into the chemistry lab, and you can guess what happened after that. Let's just say that a flaming cat from Hell and a classroom full of combustible chemicals don't go well together.

Anyway, my adopted parents, who were in Patrick Jones's front pocket—again, long story—pinned the whole explosion on me, making half of the town think I was a criminal. So, when I fought Patrick at the RavenTech building and sent him back to Xothog, inadvertently causing the entire fifteen-story building to crumble to the ground, people thought it was a terrorist attack. And who should be suspected other than yours truly? The guy who supposedly blew up the chemistry lab at school.

Anyway, since none of that could be traced back to me, most of it had blown over. Still, the city council decided that a psychologist should be instated at our school full-time to assess the mental state of our student body after two major explosions back-to-back like that. Personally, I think it's an excuse to keep an eye on whoever they suspected, but they would never admit that. So, at the end of last semester, Dr. Beth Zhuri was brought into the school to speak to each student for a fifteen-minute, one-on-one evaluation to determine whether she thinks they should spend more time with her. Of course, parents had the opportunity to opt-in or out, which is why I was furious that Macelton took it upon himself to opt me in without even consulting me.

"Before you object," Macelton interrupted. "Let me just say that this doesn't have to be a bad thing. What you're going through would be traumatic for anyone in your situation. But I think you're obsessing over something that cannot be determined," he continued. "The Angel Warriors are long gone, and the only thing I can teach you is what I know." A look of sincere concern passed over his face. "I think that perhaps you are catastrophizing what's happening at school because of a more deeply rooted feeling of—"

"Catastrophizing?" I howled. "You think I'm catastrophizing? Do you have any idea what it's like to walk through the school and have everyone look at you like you're some kind of sociopath? Even Sheriff McLain said that he'd be watching me. But yeah, sure, I'm the one catastrophizing."

"Okay." Macelton held a hand up in surrender. "Maybe catastrophizing was the wrong word. I just meant it would be a good idea to talk to someone about these emotions. Within reason, of course. You know, someone other than me."

"I talk to people," I said. "I talk to Triston. I talk to Damien—"

"Someone professional, Kalib," Macelton corrected. "Dr. Zhuri specializes in topics just like this. And if the reason you are resistant is that you think therapy makes you—"

"I don't have anything against therapy, Macelton," I countered. "This isn't about that. I'm just trying to make it through the rest of high school without people thinking I'm a freak, okay?"

"But that's the problem, Kalib," Macelton said, clearing his throat. "You don't know that people think that. I think you assume they do because of your deeply rooted feelings of abandonment."

"Abandonment?"

"Because of your adoption."

"Because of my—" I let out an exasperated breath. He didn't get it. Despite what he'd read in his parenting books, I wasn't struggling with any of those things. "So I don't have a choice then?" I placed my hand on the doorknob as we stepped onto the house's front porch.

"I think it's what's best, Kalib," Macelton reassured.

"Great," I said sarcastically, pushing the door open and entering the house. "I better take a shower then. I can't be late for my first therapy session." I knew that Macelton was only trying to do what was best. But going behind my back and making decisions for me was out of line. I started up the stairs when something in the living room caught my attention. It was the news. Macelton must have left the television on when he had gone to find me.

"Here's part two of our conversation with Interim Mayor Susan Donovan. She will be discussing life in the wake of her husband's disappearance and how she's managed these troubled waters with a volatile son. Mayor …"

Let me just point out that before I moved in with Macelton, he didn't even own a television. Seriously, no TV, no gaming system, not even a stereo, apart from the one that Damien had in his bedroom whenever he stayed the night.

So, after months and months of begging, Macelton finally caved and bought a TV for Christmas. And since then, the only channel Macelton would watch, or allow anyone else to watch, was the news. He wouldn't change the channel. It was just the news, 24/7: morning, noon, and night. Completely not what I imagined when I begged him to get a television. That backfired on me. But the backlash was working in my favor for once because I was the featured story that day. It was good to know, but I didn't like it.

"You've got to be kidding me," I said aloud.

Good Morning Hainesville was showing an interview with my adopted mother, Susan. You remember Susan. The woman who tried to kill me last year? Yeah, that's the one. And now, the most unflattering picture imaginable, from my ninth-grade yearbook, was displayed on the screen as my sanity was being discussed on television! This was turning into a nightmare.