Have you ever had a feeling when you wake up in the morning and notice something is awry right off the bat?
Awaking from her deep slumber, Sara jolted into a sitting position, her wavy hair tatted and her breath choppy. Usually, she’d awoke by chattering outside her door, screaming of delight bouncing through the hallway...or a horrible nightmare.
This morning, an eerie silence greeted her as unwelcoming, which stirred uneasiness in her stomach. The young assassin left the comfort of her bed and strode barefooted out of her bedroom. She rubbed her eyes sleepily, crust caked on the corners of them.
She must’ve slept like a rock, and Sara wondered how late it was.
Sara walked into the vacant corridor in her unicorn pajamas. Strolling down the quiet hallway and not hearing any noises behind closed bedroom doors, she came into the passage that led to the Harmony Sanctum.
Sunlight beamed on windows, radiating in bright sunshine that the sixteen-year-old girl wasn’t prepared for from just getting up. She blinked with a tired groan and found herself standing on the second floor, where the sun blazed on the window walls in the lobby of the Harmony Sanctum.
Feeling like the sun was playing a game with her this morning, Sara moved downstairs, her feet touching the coolness of the glass. She found Choirs muttering at one another. They glanced at her for only the briefest second and continued their private conversation.
The atmosphere felt odd like tension was building up around the Celestial Realm for unknown reasons. Heading to her father’s office, she heard a Choir whisper: “Timothy is still in the hospital…”
The girl’s heart sank with dread, and without thinking much, she darted to the hospital wing.
Leaving the Harmony Sanctum and into the warm, sunny day in the middle of September, Sara hurried on concrete paths leading to the hospital wing. If a human had accidentally entered the Celestial Realm, their first impression would be wondering if this place was a college.
The Harmony Sanctum was connected to the Celestial Hotel with a passage. Underneath the passage was a building dedicated to meetings and party rooms. In addition, there were two wings on opposite sides of the Sanctum and Hotel, forming a U shape.
One wing served as the hospital, in addition to several more rooms. The other one served as the training wing. Window walls shone around the white modern buildings, facing the green courtyard that was in the middle of the complex.
Sara entered the hospital, the glass panels sliding open. She ambled through the waiting room, where mostly Harmonies waited for their loved ones out of surgery from getting badly injured on a mission. Very few needed an emergency checkup for regular human issues.
Even though Sara disliked being the Archangel’s daughter for several reasons, such as always being mannerly formal, dressing modestly, and representing her father, there were advantages to being Michael’s child. She went to the front desk, asking where Timothy was without any Choir questioning her.
She found her way to the third floor, room thirty-one.
Worried and curious why the young warlock was in the hospital in the first place, Sara knocked gently on the door and walked in, her footsteps so quiet that only animals could pick up the smallest patter on the floor. She had met Timothy once so far, but he had been nice to her the first time they met.
Timothy had been sitting on the bed and gazing out of a window. Refusing to wear hospital clothing, he wore a loose-button shirt and black sweatpants. Once the warlock noticed her coming in, he smiled and said, "Oh, hey, good morning.”
Even with his pleasant smile, she noticed the worn-out look and stiffened body posture. “What happened?” asked Sara, flickering concerned her coal eyes at him.
The warlock stared at her with surprise. “Wait, you haven’t heard?”
Shaking her head slowly, Sara felt she had missed something.
“Well,” Timothy started, chewing on his bottom lip. “I guess I must be the bearer of bad news, but Thomas Pitch escaped last night.”
“What?!” shrieked Sara, staring alarmed at him. She thought over bringing Pitch into his prison and made sure the magical barrier had been secured. Did she miss up? Her heart pounded with fear.
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However, Timothy seemed to read her mind because he quickly said, with a despairing tone choking in his throat, “I was there when he escaped! I messed up and let him go, falling for his trap.” The young warlock gazed down, glimmering hopelessly at her.
He clutched his jaws, combing his fingers through his choppy black hair. “I fucked up.”
Understanding why today had been quiet, Timothy still hadn’t acknowledged why he was in the hospital. The assassin guessed Pitch was part of it, but she didn’t see any noticeable signs of injury. Yet, the more Sara peered at Timothy, the more she watched him winch in pain when he moved. “What happened to you?”
Timothy mumbled, “When Pitch broke out, he flung me against the wall, and my spine broke, but I healed myself; don’t worry. Although my whole body aches like I’ve been pulling weights nonstop for the past twenty-four hours, the Choirs demanded I stay here.”
He chuckled dryly. “And they probably want to keep an eye on me since I was the last person to witness Pitch’s escape, so of course they suspect me.”
Sara sat on the edge of the hospital bed. She looked worriedly at him and muttered, “Timothy, I know you didn’t do anything. I’ll make sure they don’t drag you into a cell.”
"Thanks, Sara!" laughed Timothy. He slumped his shoulders, “More bad news; I’m afraid I should tell you. One of Pitch’s warlocks managed to break out of the H&H bank with footage of him announcing to the world that Pitch was alive. Now, that footage is all over the GAL news, so everyone knows now.”
He huffed, “I know my destiny is to be the next High-warlock to serve Galas to keep the balance between the supernatural," Timothy glanced at the presents lying on the table and sighed, “but don’t they know I could’ve prevented Pitch from escaping? I don’t deserve these stupid presents, even if I almost died.”
“They were worried about you. You survived Pitch’s attack, which is a miracle on its own,” Sara replied, grimacing about everything crumbling apart. She glanced away and said, “I know we only met once, but I’m glad you are okay.”
“No, we met before but never talked. Remember what I told you?” grinned Timothy. “You saved me from that auction two years ago. I am forever in your debt.”
Sara smiled at the warlock’s kind words but belittled herself. “You don’t need to thank me or be in my debt. It’s my job to serve and protect.”
Timothy hadn’t noticed the resemblance Sara had to Michael until now. Apart from being the Archangel's daughter, she had learned to talk softly and sweetly from her father. Besides being unnaturally pale, her skin was smooth like her father’s, although it had a more golden tone today. She always had hope sparkling in those eyes.
In addition, the way Sara had walked in, her steps unheard and graceful, was so much like Michael’s strides, despite him being so tall and muscular.
But Timothy remembered that Sara’s thoughts were much different than Michael’s, curious about her surroundings while the Archangel was confident in his wherever he went.
Of course, Michael ingrained in her the desire to serve and protect the human race, but Timothy noted that she had her way—silently killing the Infernals that hurt the humans backstage, with no one barely noticing her hard work while they moved along their daily lives—safe and protected.
Did Sara realize how hard she worked to please her father?
Maybe Timothy was reading this too much, and she was happy and content with her life—forever by the Archangel’s side, loyal and doing his bidding.
“How have you been?” he inquired, hoping that was a subtle enough question without prying into her personal life.
Sara eyed the presents, and a smile masked her tentative stare. “I’m good, I guess. I can’t believe that Pitch broke out again.” She stood up and said, “My poor father, I need to see if he needs help.”
Irritation built inside of Timothy, and he hated to see all of Sara’s life, a girl who was so young, worked all the time, and worried if her father needed her right away. He exclaimed, getting off his bed and flinching from his aches, but ignored it. “I have so many gifts to open; do you want to open them with me?”
Usually, Galas could retaliate quickly with a blow to them; however, Thomas Pitch was an extremely powerful warlock. Any Galas weaker than their foe, such as a vampire fighting a Prince of Hell, the damage is more to the vampire because the Infernal has stronger magic. Unlike vampires and werewolves, who have the same amount of strength, they would equally damage themselves if they fought, unless one of them were trained better in battling skills.
One of the reasons the vampires and werewolves hated each other.
Sara’s eyes brightened up, and she stayed without much convincing. “Sure. Stay in bed, and I’ll bring the presents over.”
As they unwrapped the presents, with Timothy telling Sara to go eat as much chocolate as she wanted, the morning passed by quickly. He looked at the clock to see the time, but read twelve; the minute hand wasn’t moving one bit. Knowing he had lunch two hours ago and light came from his window, it read as twelve.
He thought the Choirs forgot to change the battery in the clock and moved on to see Sara elated to have chocolate for breakfast, even though she knew that was an unhealthy meal. She bit a chuck of a Hersey bar. A hard lump formed in the back of her throat. She hoped her father didn’t mind her hanging out. Michael had so much work ahead of him in finding Pitch.
Even though today was Sara’s birthday, which she didn’t share, she couldn’t help but be gloomy that no one had sent her a text message. She refused to pity herself, knowing that a birthday was just celebrating another year she had lived.
Maybe this was why she had eaten so much chocolate—to drown in her sorrows because everyone had forgotten?