“As a Seer, you don’t possess what the average person would consider ‘magic.’ It’s more a manipulation of energy through speech. When you acknowledge the true nature of something, you are able to unlock its abilities.”

Michael paced back and forth in front of me as I sat in the grass on top of a small, secluded hill in the park. In the latter part of August, the heat slackened its moist grip on the city, leaving cooling breezes and pleasant atmosphere. I waited until he finished his small speech to respond.

“Now, in English, if you please.”

He rolled his eyes at me, but grinned anyway. “Fine. In Layman’s terms, you’re going to be defending yourself through speech, not some kind of mystical mumbo-jumbo. I’m going to teach you how to channel your energy so you can protect yourself.”

“See? Was that so hard?”

“Not as hard as it’s going to be,” Michael said with a sigh, plopping down in front of me. He crossed his legs and regarded me seriously with those green eyes of his.

“Gabriel has already exposed you to some of the language I’m talking about. When you invoke a spirit’s crossing over, you’re accessing a kind of verbal power. There are three basic versions: to heal, to defend, and to attack. For example, Raphael’s greatest strength is in healing incantations, which is how he was able to bring your body back to life after you were stabbed. Gabriel’s greatest strength is in defending, which you haven’t seen yet, but trust me when I say it’s impressive. My greatest strength is in attacking, but we won’t get to that until you’ve had experience with the first two. It’s dangerous if you try to utilize the energy untrained.”

“What exactly will I be saying to access this power? Bible verses? Ominous Latin chanting?”

He grinned. “More or less. There’s no need for the Latin, in actuality. It only works if the person has faith. There are hundreds of religions, but they all draw strength from the same source. Therefore, the one most relevant to you is Christianity, and since you understand the Bible in English, that’s what you’ll speak. The same would go for a Hindu Seer and so on. It’s the belief that counts.”

Michael scooted a little closer. “Close your eyes.”

I did. “Now keep breathing slowly and tell me if you can feel what I’m doing.”

I arched an eyebrow, though my eyes were still shut. “This isn’t going to be one of those awkward moments that changes our friendship forever, is it?”

He sighed again. “Jordan.”

“Sorry.”

After I had been slowly inhaling for about fifteen seconds or so, I felt a strange sort of warmth surrounding me. It wasn’t exactly physical—it simply felt as if the air around my body had risen in temperature. Then, something within my chest responded to the heat and sent wafting waves of coolness towards it.

“Do you feel that?”

“Yes.”

“This is what I was talking about a moment ago. You’ve been emitting this kind of energy at an unconscious level and that’s what draws the ghosts to you. It calls to them, like it does to anything that isn’t purely human.”

I opened my eyes. “Demons too?”

His expression hardened. “Yes, unfortunately. The Fallen don’t have as many powers as the angels, but they did retain many of their old ones after the War in Heaven. It’s why we’ve had so much trouble fighting them.”

“So this energy I’m feeling now…is that why I can sense your emotions sometimes?”

He gave me a surprised look. “That’s exactly why.”

“So what does it feel like to normal people?”

“Since you’re a Seer, you feel it directly. To them, it’s more like a…mood. If I were to influence, let’s say, one of my bandmates, they would feel a change in mood and wouldn’t know why. It’s not exactly a kind of control, although I could force that on them.”

“And that’s why the demons wanted your body.”

He nodded. “The demons could incite rage, hatred, violence—any sin they could think of—over human beings. It’d be mayhem.”

“Is there anyway to block it?”

“For normal people, no. For you, yes. You can draw your energy back into you and form a sort of shield. Here, I’ll show you.” He straightened his back and shoulders, resting his large hands on his knees.

“I’m going to try and influence you. When you start to feel it, try to wrap the energy around yourself as protection.”

I shut my eyes again and reached deep down until I felt that odd cool sensation once more within my grasp. When the warmth tried to reach me, I concentrated on twisting the energy around me. It began to seep through the cracks so I raised my hand, which seemed to give my power more physicality. The heat receded after a moment or two, leaving goosebumps on my bare arms.

“Good. I’m impressed.” Michael smiled, his voice genuine instead of teasing like usual. “From now on, we’ll practice this every morning until you’ve got the hang of it.”

I pouted. “Aw. When do I get to do the cool stuff like shooting mind bullets?”

He grinned again. “You have much to learn, young Padawan.”

“If you start in on the Star Wars quotes, I am leaving.”

“Fair enough. Now that you’ve got the basic feeling down, we can start on defense incantations. Before you say anything, you have to have drawn the energy around you, much like you did just a moment ago, and say ‘In the name of the Father, I reject.’ This causes a metaphysical barrier between you and whatever’s coming at you. It’s not going to be very strong the first time you do it, but the more you practice, the stronger the barrier becomes. Give it a try.”

I cleared my throat, feeling vaguely silly as I repeated his words. “In the name of the Father, I reject.”

After I spoke, I felt the cool, invisible energy crystallizing around me.

Michael nodded. “Good. If done properly, it can buy you enough time to fight back, retreat, or come up with another plan. You have to remember that it’s not permanent. The only person who can sustain one for long is Gabriel.”

“If he can do that, why didn’t he form one to protect me when Belial attacked?”

“You can’t form shields for others because the energy doesn’t work that way.”

“That sucks.”

He smirked again. “Yeah, it does.”

“Are you any good at shielding?”

Michael shook his head. “That’s why I got my ass kicked by Mulciber.”

A shudder went down my spine at the mention of her name. Evil soul-sucking bitch. I hoped she was rotting in Hell where she belonged. “Why didn’t attacking her with your energy work?”

“The weapons she had been using on me were resistant to those kinds of attacks. They pretty much bounced right off of her. You have to understand that there’s sort of a hierarchy of demons. Mulciber is among the most powerful. Belial is the so-called favorite of their little ‘family,’ but she’s the brains of the outfit.”

“What can you tell me about…Belial?” His name left my mouth like a whisper. Part of me still felt hesitant about saying his name, as if he’d hear it and appear. I may have been a brave fool at times, but I did not want to see him ever again.

The archangel paused, thinking. “Not much. You read Paradise Lost, right?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s pretty accurate on that account.”

I shivered a little, rubbing my arms. “‘Belial, in act more graceful and humane; a fairer person lost not Heav’n; he seemed for dignity compos’d and high exploit: but all was false and hollow; though his Tongue dropt Manna, and could make worse appear the better reason, to perplex and dash maturest counsels. Book II.’”

His eyes softened their gaze on me. All at once, I felt my shield crumbling because of my lack of concentration. Calming waves of emotion flowed out of Michael into me. For once, I didn’t mind. I honestly needed it.

He opened his mouth to say something sympathetic, but I interrupted. “What can I use to attack?”

Michael shook his head. “Your power is too raw for that right now. It could be dangerous.”

“To whom? You’re an archangel,” I pointed out.

“No, that’s not why. Attacks take more energy out of you than defense or healing. If you use too much, you’ll end up drained. I’d rather not carry your unconscious body out of the park,” he added, arching an eyebrow.

I fought the urge to frown. “Alright, good point. Let’s keep going with the defense, then. But the mind bullets had better happen eventually or I’m calling shenanigans.”

“One more comment about ‘mind bullets’ and I’m taking away all your Tenacious D CDs.”

“You’re no fun.”

“We’re here.”

Michael’s voice interrupted my thoughts, and I realized that my mind had drifted off to memories of the past during our silent car ride back to the hotel. After we collected Marianne, we’d be heading to the orphanage for a meeting with Jameson. That would at least be a step in the right direction to solving the mystery of where all these ghosts had come from.

Speaking of which, the timid ghost was waiting for us outside of the lobby when we rolled up. She glided straight through the back door of the car without hesitation. Some ghosts picked up on the odd phasing thing quickly while others, often children, took some work.

I withdrew the directions I’d gotten out of my back pocket and read them aloud as Michael weaved his way back onto the main road, though Marianne’s hovering above the seat behind me was awfully distracting.

Around twenty minutes later, we arrived at the orphanage—a large, four-story brownstone building settled on its own few acres of land outside of the city. There had been light rain earlier, so the ground was slick and the children weren’t out in the playground out front. We drove into the parking lot around the left side of the building and got out. The plan was simple—we’d be interviewing Jameson pretending to be novelists while Marianne completed her final wish. It sounded a little creepy, but then again my job involved helping ghosts, so that was a given.

Thankfully, even with the disturbing deception, everything went smoothly and we helped her cross over. Still, I couldn’t help feeling bad for Jameson, because he would never know how she felt about him.

“You okay?” Michael asked after we were both back in the car, strapping in for the ride back into town.

“Yeah, I just…” I took a deep breath. “It’s a shame he didn’t get to find out she was in love with him. It sounds like she carried it with her for a long time. I wish she had been able to tell him before she died.”

He nodded, starting the engine. “Unprofessed feelings tend to eat at the soul. It’s not healthy.”

“Yeah. People really should just say how they feel.”

Our eyes met. Silence spilled between us for a paralyzing few seconds before I cleared my throat and grabbed the directions from inside the glove compartment.

“Right. Let’s get the hell out of here,” I muttered, mentally chiding myself for letting such a stupid thing out of my mouth. Just as I retrieved the directions, the picture frame of my mother tumbled to the floorboard. As I scooped it up, my fingertips brushed against something bulky and rectangular in the back of the frame. What the hell?

I put the papers down and flipped the frame around, running my hands over the back until I found a thin seam at the bottom, so thin that I could only squeeze two fingers inside. When I pulled, a small leather-bound notebook no larger than the palm of my hand slid out.

“What is it?” Michael asked as I flipped it open. Inside, there was curly cursive writing on small sheets of tablet paper in Castilian Spanish, my mother’s native language so it was only natural she would write in Spanish.

“I think it’s a diary.”

Michael leaned across the seat to see. “Your mother’s? What’s the date?”

I read the date at the top, though it took me a moment. She had taught me Spanish and English as a child, but I rarely spoke it so I was a bit rusty. “If this is right, then it’s after they took her to the psychiatric hospital.”

I turned more pages, finding that entry after entry, starting from the day they brought her in to the day the file said she died. A thrill went through me. This is what I had been searching for all this time. Answers.