Page 26 of Heavensent & Hellbent

I scurried away before I could be fully interrogated and caught Ehsan eavesdropping at the top of the stairs.

“Where have you been?” he asked.

“Work.” I walked past him straight to my room, but not before adding over my shoulder, “You’re so nosy.”

In the safety of my room, door firmly closed, I really let myself dwell on the day I’d had. There was nothing I could do but get out my laptop and search Google.

PROOF ANGELS EXIST

This yielded many results, mainly from Christian websites claiming that angels are in fact real, though invisible.

One paragraph in particular caught my eye.

Biblical depictions of angels are vastly different from what we see in modern media and in the public perception in general. In modern times, we often see images of angels flying on feathery wings, vessels of good who lack physical strength. In biblical texts, however, they are powerful, strong beings who carry out the will of God.

What I read reminded me of my conversation with Zain. I’d been surprised that an angel would fight a jinn, let alone kill one, because to kill anything, to snap the neck of something, felt like an inherently unangelic thing to do. It was somehow easier to believe in jinn, in evil, what with the sleep paralysis that haunted my REM life. But could there be forces of good out there, too?

I decided to go to bed early, my body spent by all the new information. I followed my nighttime routine, though my heart wasn’t fully in it. Despite the figure in the night terrifying me, part of me actually wanted to see it again. To examine it closely and work out if it looked like the jinn whose neck Zain had snapped.

After everything, my excitement for my Prada bag was short-lived, but I still snapped a picture and sent it to Nic, who I knew would appreciate it.

I turned the lights off and nestled into my bed, bringing my duvet up to my chin. Closing my eyes, I tried to force sleep to come, but of course it wouldn’t be that easy. It was only easy to sleep when I didn’t want to.

After about twenty minutes of trying and failing, I tookout my phone. The light from the screen illuminated my dark room. I searched “Zain Hashemi” on Instagram. Hundreds of users popped up, but after some inspection I determined that none of the top five was the Zain I knew. I thought of Cleo; she could be following him if they’d gone to school together. She was easy to find—I only had to go on the To the Lighthouse Instagram account and search through their followers. Cleo’s profile, however, was private. Sighing, I sent her a follow request, then locked my phone and put it under my pillow, resigning myself to the fact that I wouldn’t be able to look up Zain tonight.

My phone pinged. Obviously, I snatched it from underneath my pillow.

Zain

Just want to make sure you got home okay. Your dad didn’t give you too much of a hard time, did he?

No, it was oddly fine.

I hope you’re not too freaked out.

I could arrange for your memory to be erased? Schedule a lobotomy?

Hilarious. But no, I’d like my memory firmly intact

And then, something I had wanted to ask him but had gotten distracted.

You said something about powers. What are they?

I will show you next week.

Next week felt impossibly far away, but I didn’t want to sound too eager and directly ask why it had to be then. Luckily, I didn’t need to, because he sent another text.

I’m going to be away for training until Friday.

For football?

No, the other thing.

The other thing.Angel training?What was that like? Before I could press, he texted again.

If you change your mind about meeting let me know.

Saturday still works for me.