“Melanie Anderson. Free soul,” Raphael boomed, and I released the breath I’d been holding.
Being first sucked.
A waif-thin, timid-looking girl with mousy brown hair shuffled to the stage, her chin down. When she stood before Raphael, he beamed at her and held his hands over her head. A fine sprinkling of gold dust fell into her skin and we all froze. Even though she wasn’t my family, I felt myself go rigid with anticipation. It was like watching a suspenseful movie.
Suddenly she began to cry, staring at her hands.
“No!” she shouted.
Raphael’s upper lip curled, and Lincoln, who stood behind him, discretely covered his nose.
“Melanie Anderson. Gristle.”
Oh shit.
I wasn’t a pro lip reader, but I thought Raphael muttered, “I’m sorry,” before she ran offstage crying.
Craning my neck back, I could see that my brother was as white as a sheet.
“Michael Atwater. Free soul,” Raphael said next.
I hadn’t expected the pang of pride that would swell in my chest when Raphael said “free soul” after my brother’s name, but there it was. My mother and I had made some mistakes, but Mikey was a clean slate.
Shea squeezed my hand, and I squeezed back.
Damn, going after a Gristle reveal was a hard act to follow.
“You got this, Mikey!” Shea called out like a loud New Yorker.
I flinched as the snooty people next to us scowled down their noses at us, but it had worked. Mikey smiled shyly, and the color came back in his cheeks.
Okay. Breathe. Just breathe. God, please don’t let him have black wings, or be a Centaur.
By the time I’d gotten out of my head, and focused on what was happening, Raphael had already started to drop the magic reveal dust or whatever it was.
Mikey just stood there, hands fisted and eyes forward. Terrified.
‘Poor lad,’ Sera said from my boot.
‘You scared me!’ I told her. I’d forgotten she was there.
‘Sorry,’ she whispered and then went quiet.
I was staring at my brother, waiting for something to happen, but nothing did. Raphael had finished sprinkling the dust, and now just stood in front of him watching, same with Lincoln.
Oh God. He’s a dud. A freaking worthless human!
He’d get no admission to Fallen Academy, no job with the Fallen Army, and would be homeless. Tears welled in my eyes, and Shea clenched my hand tight enough to hurt.
At that moment, a howl ripped from Mikey’s throat and he lurched forward on all fours, panting in pain. The hairs on my arms shot up, and I leaned forward in my seat.
That howl wasn’t human.
“Mikey?” I stood, brushing Shea’s hand off.
His body was contorting, and the sound of cracking bones was so familiar to me, I actually felt some relief, and sat back down.
He was a beast shifter, like Luke. I could handle that. That was okay with me.
I glanced at Shea, who was smiling in relief as well.
My brother’s suit tore as his body bulked out, black fur popping up everywhere, muscles stacking up over his form, and enlarging his mass. Beast Shifters were usually animals—deer, bears, mountain lions, and so on, whatever animal had been in the vicinity when the fall happened—and then they had horns, which gave them a demon look. Luke would be able to help Mikey through what shifting was like, and everything associated with being a Beast Shifter. I was actually okay with it. It felt right.
At least it did until my brother turned into a huge black wolf, with black velvet horns, and searing yellow eyes. He looked freaking possessed as he bent down low, and started to growl at Raphael.
The Archangel went stiff, and Lincoln slowly pulled his sword.
What the hell!
“Call Clark!” Lincoln barked to someone offstage, and the whole crowd gasped as Mikey lunged for Raphael.
Shooting out of my seat, I barreled towards the stage within seconds.
“Mikey, no!” I shouted, but it was too late. Raphael was forced to grab Mikey’s shoulders and slam him to the ground in self-defense.
Lincoln held his sword aloft; it was glowing blue, and my brother was staring at it with a venomous gaze. His lips peeled back and he growled from his place, pinned on the floor beneath Raphael.
What the hell is happening? That was not my brother. I knew Lincoln wouldn’t hurt him, but why the hell was he holding his sword at him?
I climbed onto the stage, and Lincoln’s gaze shifted to me. “What’s wrong?” I asked in a low voice.
Raphael still had my brother pinned, and I could tell it was taking great effort, his arms shook as the muscles flexed. My brother jerked, trying to slip free, but Raphael laid more of his weight on him and strengthened his hold.