Archon (11 page)

Sophia’s warning sounded ominously all over again.

Some people have the courage to be cruel.

A
ngela kept her finger beneath the small print of the page, careful not to lose her spot in the paragraph. The illustrations had become stranger and stranger the more she perused them. Long gone were the chapters on angels and demons. What information there was seemed half guesswork and half anecdotal experience, not to mention the repetitive scripture passages and commentary from people with names she could barely pronounce. But this chapter, “Of the Jinn,” had struck her immediately. Kim had never mentioned anything called a Jinn since they’d started talking about angels. In fact, she was certain he’d purposely avoided the entire chapter.

Angela stopped at a picture of the same angel with black wings and long ears. Unlike the real angels, its eyes were larger and its feet and hands had horrible-looking nails.

It was eating a human.

She skimmed the sentences below the gruesome image.

It has been learned through consistent and most excellent sources that these creatures are perhaps the most dangerous of the angelic races. Violent and prone to bloodlust, they have been cited in many cultures as the devourers of human souls, though how this is possible is not entirely known.

Angela turned the page, fearful of what might show up next.

This time the Jinn in the illustration hovered possessively over a human woman. Below, a black cat inked with yellow eyes stared back at her above a new caption.

Regrettably, it has been proven through various instances in history that the children of such unions exist, despite the majority being killed in their infancy. To prevent such a misdeed, often the witch will use a Binding contract to control her lover’s actions, ignoring the fact that this usually leads to tragic circumstances. It has been well said that Jinn, in all their promises, are never to be completely trusted.

She proceeded to read the formula for the Binding, thinking of the gargoyles she’d seen on the mansion rooftops, and how similar they looked to these mysterious Jinn. It made sense. If angels and demons could be depicted with a fair measure of accuracy, then it was entirely possible an artist could chisel out these horrors with a nasty—if much cruder—kind of detail.

No wonder Kim had skipped over this section.

The more Angela browsed, the more the silence seemed to weigh on her, darkness wrapping around her like a thick quilt.

Without warning, there was a loud knock on the door.

Angela’s heart could have shot out of her chest. She gasped, slapping the book closed on her lap. “Who—who is it?”

“It’s me. Sophia. Is it all right if I come in?”

Thank God.

“Yeah. Go ahead.”

The door popped open and Sophia stepped inside, gently shutting it behind her again. She was carrying a small plate of crackers and cheese.

“You scared me,” Angela said, sinking into the bed, her face burning. She pointed at the dresser. “Set it over there. I’m not really that hungry right now.”

“If only I’d known.” Before setting the plate down, Sophia took a cracker for herself and nibbled on its corners. She then made her way to the window seat, passing a picture of the beautiful angel Angela had put on display for Kim. It was an oil portrait with darker colors than she commonly used, most of the image focusing on the angel’s heavy-lidded eyes and enticing smile.

Sophia paused in front of it, suddenly somber.

“I really didn’t think your visitor would be gone so soon,” she said, still examining the picture.

Angela slid the book off her lap, setting it on the floor. That last sensation of Kim’s lips on hers tingled inside of her, forbidden and unmentionable. Somehow, it felt like he’d left only a second ago. “I was tired. Really, I just had a few questions about things, and after that—”

“Questions,” Sophia said, adjusting the ribbon at the end of her braid. “About what?”

“Well . . .” Angela flipped back the covers from her legs. “What did you mean when you said that Stephanie couldn’t be ‘the One’?”

Sophia froze, her fingers still on her hair. “It was nothing.”

“Don’t lie to me,” Angela whispered back. “You were talking about
Her,
weren’t you? The Ruin.
The Archon
.”

Sophia whirled on her. “Who mentioned that name?”

But she was too delicate to be intimidating, and Angela continued, vaguely aware that she was treading in even more forbidden territory. “Why do you know it? I’ve just learned that the Archon is supposedly the reincarnation of a pissed-off,
dead
angel. And no matter how ridiculous that might sound, I can’t help but wonder what Stephanie’s power trip and my dreams have to do with all that.”

The quiet lingered, and for once, Sophia seemed genuinely upset with her. She was trembling. “I told you earlier that it’s not a good idea to toy around with Stephanie. Whoever’s toying with you”—and her face suggested she already knew Kim had his hands all over Angela’s face—“I hope they’ll show how much they really care and let the matter rest.”

“Why don’t you want me to help you?”

“That has nothing to do with it,” Sophia said gently.

She wavered, reluctant to leave the room. But when it became clear Angela would ask more questions, she took the plate away and whisked out into the hallway, leaving for her own room. Angela listened to her soft footsteps and the creak of the mattress, the click of the lamp. Then it fell silent, and Angela cursed under her breath, angry for them both. This was all Stephanie’s fault.

The doll that resembled Sophia seemed disjointed in the shadows. Shy and pained.

I’m actually afraid of losing her. I actually want another human being around, and I’ve already made her mad.

She should have known Kim’s visit would have more than one downside.

Angela cursed again, finding his book on the hardwood. She flipped pages aside randomly, still angry, searching for answers that always eluded her. When she stopped to glance at the pictures of her angels, her temper softened a little, but it couldn’t stop that gnawing sense of failure from laughing at her inside her head. Then she paused at a paragraph, appalled at the idea that, according to this old monk, humans were nothing to angels, little more than toys that could become possessed and infatuated by them in the blink of a proverbial eye.

No wonder she felt guilty about Kim’s kiss.

In a sense, her angel had been watching her the entire time. Once she entered her dreams, she’d find nothing but regrets.

But at least that was better than nothing at all.

Nine

S
urprisingly, he was happier than she’d ever seen him before.

But it wasn’t the kind of happiness born from love or joy. Instead, his face shone with triumph. Angela had suspected for a long time her angels didn’t like each other. If they were in a portion of her dreams together, they either argued or ignored each other.

This time, the beautiful angel could have been emitting his own light.

His victorious smile was that brilliant.

His slender body and high, arching wing bones had been covered in an armor more like fabric than silver, terrible splotches of crimson staining his beautiful hands. Feathers framed him in a bronze aurora, and his pink lips curled around teeth whiter than pearls. His hair had been gathered into a tight topknot, and glass formed into the shape of snakes wrapped around his winged ears.

Far from lovely and delicate, he was the picture of beautiful terror.

Below him, the gray angel waited, tensed for the blow from the magnificent spear in his hands, her figure more vaporous than usual.

Tension and violence permeated the air.

Then the bronze angel turned to Angela, much as he had when Sophia had entered her dreams.

Only his face betrayed horror instead of triumph, and behind him, the sky revealed itself, its ether hazed over with a snow of bloody feathers, falling and falling to an invisible ground. She only had a second to scream back at him, silently as always, before she felt a piece of herself rip away, and all of her mind die in a void that consumed the world.

Ten

Those She interacts with are destined for darkness. It will only be logical.

—
I
MWALD’S PRIVATE LETTERS

“I
’m kind of insulted that you won’t talk to me about last night.” Nina flicked ash into the plate on their table, and then took a long drag from her cigarette. The smoke had a way of bringing back bad memories for Angela, but Nina wasn’t stopping the habit for anyone, even someone who associated smoke with grotesque burns and failed suicide attempts. “I’m not as stupid as I look, you know. Stephanie grilled you about Kim, didn’t she? Sophia’s a spy, Angela. You’ve got to throw her to the curb—”

“Shut up,” Angela hissed back. “She’s not a spy. She hates Stephanie, okay? You don’t know the half of it.”

Sophia was still heading back to their cafeteria table, her tray loaded with the most sugary drinks on Earth and a dish of crisped potato skins. Most of the nearby students ignored her when she stood next to them or asked a question, but a few gave her nasty looks. They were obviously people sympathetic to Stephanie’s cause—whatever that happened to be. Apparently, part of Sophia’s punishment involved others shunning her.

“Whatever you say,” Nina said, setting the stub of her cigarette down, “but I smell a rat. You don’t know Stephanie like I do. She has this magical way of making you think you have her all figured out and then BANG”—she slammed her fist on the table—“suddenly you’re drowning in a social cesspool.”

“Just keep it to yourself for now,” Angela said. She poked at the pudding in her bowl, swirling its insides with her spoon. Sophia’s shadow had fallen on them, and now she spread her skirt to sit, sliding into the chair next to Angela. No “good morning.” No “hello.”

Why is she still mad at me? Because of last night?

Maybe it was more than that. Sophia had a knight in shining armor in Angela, whether she wanted it or not. For various reasons, that could be a blow to her pride.

“I didn’t hear you leave the dorm this morning,” Angela said to her.

Nina raised an eyebrow, glancing up at them as she returned to her peanut butter on bread. She was perusing the newspaper despite the gloom, squinting every so often beneath the reddish glare of the stained-glass storm lamp on the table. The cafeteria was cavernous and resembled an actual cave in many ways besides size, its walls set with huge blocks of crudely hewn stone. The tables—if you were lucky enough to get one—were mostly twisted by water, and the chairs were equally ravaged, their plush cushions worn down almost to their stuffing. Tapestries of the Academy’s history covered the high windows, blocking out the gray sky and replacing it with clumps of blacks, reds, and sickly yellows. The tapestry near their table was easy to understand: the Academy had formerly been centered around the massive tree in its Western District. From what Angela had learned, that area had been off-limits to students for at least sixty years.

“I hope you weren’t upset that I slept in,” Angela ventured, watching the light glance off of Sophia’s sorority ring. “I was too tired to get out of bed on time.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Sophia said. She nibbled on a potato crisp and placed it daintily back on her plate. “I tend to be a light sleeper. When I’m upset, I often awaken hours before my alarm.”

Nina dropped the paper, her voice barely audible over the chatter at the table next to them. “Don’t worry about sleeping tonight. It’s Halloween.”

“And?”

“And?” Nina laughed, crossing her arms. “When the Vatican outlaws a holiday, everyone does their best to observe it. There are going to be a lot of parties tonight, some of them pretty wild. I’m not invited to any of them, of course, but we could sneak into a few, grab a drink here and there. I purchased”—she ducked down, rummaging through her bag, reappearing with a headband topped by triangular, fuzzy ears—“these cat ears after all. I have devil horns you could borrow, if you’d like.”

Or I could just go as myself. Without the tights.

“Actually,” Angela said, picking her words carefully, “I heard that Stephanie’s having a party tonight.”

Nina’s eyes seemed more bloodshot than yesterday. “Oh, God—and you want to go? How did she blackmail you into that?”

“She didn’t. I’m just curious about what they do there.”

Sophia sighed, pushing her tray aside. “I’ll be right back.”

She left her chair and walked into a crowd blocking the bathroom.

Nina rested her cheek against her hand, grunting. “What perfect timing. Off to tell Stephanie you’re interested, I’m sure.”

“You talk as if you know her, Nina. You don’t know a goddamn thing.”

“I know enough. She’s a member of the Pentacle Sorority, and she wants to get back into their good graces. But I’m telling you, of all nights, tonight isn’t the time to get interested in what goes on in Stephanie’s inner circle.” Her voice lowered conspiratorially. “Because it’s Halloween night, she’s having the sorority gathering in the Bell Tower, in the unused chapel that has the veranda porch to the outside. She’s a witch, Angela; you’re forgetting that. It’s no coincidence that she wants you there, if that’s what you’re driving at. For all you know, she’ll curse you to vomit up nails or something. That spot has a reputation—”

Noise rippled through the cafeteria. Chair legs screeched against wood. Students of all ages murmured to one another, some standing to get a better look at the sudden commotion on the other side of the room.

Nina stood up with them, straining to see. “You’re not going to believe this.”

“What is it?” Angela felt her insides seize up. This wasn’t going to be pleasant.

“Your brother’s chewing out Stephanie and Kim, right in front of three other novices and a superintendent priest.”

“My brother—” Angela bolted out of her chair, scanning heads.

There he was, with those curled hairs below his ears, and that face that could have been a clone of her father’s, all soft jaw and sloping nose. But Brendan’s usually calm demeanor had cracked. His acidic tone could be heard even from where they sat, angry to the point where one of the novices reached out a hand to restrain him. Stephanie glared at him in shock, her green eyes narrow, her arms crossed above her hip as she dared him to keep speaking. And all the while Kim stood next to her, impassive, unreadable.

“Where are you going?” Nina said, grabbing for Angela’s arm. “Angela—”

“Wait here.”

Angela pushed through the crowds of students, weaving her way through tables and chairs, until she broke out directly in front of Kim. His eyes brightened as they caught sight of her, but he showed a wry smile, turning away as Stephanie did the opposite, staring at Angela with genuine surprise. Brendan’s voice died, and he looked at her too, slowly blinking as if he couldn’t believe she was standing almost right next to him. He was a mess, his long coat stained and torn in odd places, his hair greasy, like he hadn’t washed it for a week. A strange, sour odor, like a mix of flowers and old meat, clung to him in a cloud. What was wrong with him?

“Brendan, I—”

He ignored her, rounding back on Stephanie. “You thought I wouldn’t find out? Is that it? Well, here’s news for you.” He thrust an accusing finger at Kim. “I knew for months, that the two of you were in bed, Stephanie. IN BED. At least four times a week—”

The superintendent priest shot an angry questioning look at Kim, but Kim merely shrugged off the matter, shaking his head like Brendan had gone crazy, which certainly seemed to be the case. The other novices continued to stare at the proceedings, pale-faced.

“It is over, Brendan Mathers.” Stephanie’s voice was too soft.

“You’re damned right it is.” Brendan laughed, pushing back his hair. “After all, I don’t need this charade anymore.” He tore off his novice’s coat, throwing it onto the floor and shoving it with his foot toward the superintendent priest. “I’m done. No more vows, and no more of your occult bullshit, Stephanie. God, you’re going to get what’s coming to you.”

“You’re such an idiot.”

There was a hint of childish desperation in Stephanie’s voice, and her cheeks were turning bright red, and then redder and redder as the news began to spread farther back into the cafeteria. Yet she bit her lip, obviously seething. Maybe planning revenge.

“Am I?” He smiled wickedly. “But you’re the one who’s ignorant, Stephanie. And it’s going to kill you. I promise.”

“Too bad
you
didn’t die while you were gone,” she spat back at him. “It looks like I shouldn’t have bothered caring.”

“We all know you didn’t. You’re a self-serving bitch, and you think you’re the best thing to walk on this planet. Well, I’ve found someone who makes you look like a pig in the mud, in bed and out of it.” Nearby students gasped, Brendan’s comments ricocheting back and forth from one ear and mouth to the next. “Soon, your fancy witchcraft’s going to backfire on you, and then I’ll be there to watch and say I told you so.”

Kim’s smile tactfully faded the second it appeared. He was enjoying this.

Stephanie trembled, her fingers digging into her own skin, the nails leaving horrid crescent-shaped marks. “You have it backward.” Her voice was too low for anyone but a few bystanders to hear. But the promise within it sounded much more inevitable than Brendan’s spastic outburst. Her expression cooled to that terrible apathy as she turned, her ponytail swirling around her. “It was fun while it lasted, little boy.”

She glanced at Angela once more before she left the room.

Her face was normal enough, but the emotions behind her eyes spoke volumes.

“Brendan,” Angela said as she shuffled closer to him, reaching for his shoulder, “you have to calm down. This is insane—”

He spun around, shocking her into silence. Who was this person? Definitely not the same Brendan who arranged candies by color and stuck to a curfew like it was law. He seemed to peer right through her, into a world invisible to everyone else. One completely hollow inside. “What do you want, Angela? Why are you even here?”

This really wasn’t the time or place, but—

“To apologize,” she whispered. She didn’t need any more explanation than that.

His tone had hurt her, like a punch to the gut.

“You’re talking about Mom and Dad?” He laughed again, almost as cruel as she’d imagined in her nightmares. “Why are you bothering now? Why apologize? Everyone excuses you anyway, so why not just assume I’m going to do the same?” Brendan widened the collar away from his neck, revealing a line of red bruises. “I can’t believe you even got into this Academy, but I’m sure it had nothing to do with your hair, with those mental diarrheas you call paintings—”

Kim stepped forward, grabbing him by the shirt. “I think that’s enough for today.”

Angela felt the tears gathering, but she wouldn’t let them go. Not in front of so many people. “Forget it, Brendan,” she heard herself saying. “You’re right. From now on, we should go our separate ways.”

His face glazed over, regretful. Before she could even ask why, he shoved Kim away, following Stephanie’s path out the double doors, and normal cafeteria life resumed.

“Are you all right?” Kim said. His eyes seemed to caress Angela, feeling her pain. Beside him, the priest snapped at each of the novices in turn, his face crimson with embarrassment. Brendan and Stephanie’s affair might turn their order upside-down for weeks. “Perhaps you don’t feel like going to the gathering tonight . . .”

All that anticipation for nothing. Brendan’s changed
 
. . .

“Stephanie didn’t invite me.”

“That’s because I’m doing it for her.” Lyrica Pengold strutted out of the crowd to meet them, her thigh-high tights seeming to absorb all the red light in the room. Her hair was pale for a blood head, more like a delicate strawberry shade, but still enough to qualify. She drew close to Angela, whispering excitedly. “She’d meant to ask you before your brother made a scene in front of a hundred students. So are you coming?”

“I’ll think about it.” A solid lie. Angela was coming, and she was going to summon an angel—participating in the very rituals that made other students shudder in fear. Nina would be very, very disappointed in her. But it was the only way to find the angels that haunted her dreams. “What time does it start? Just so I know?”

“Midnight. Of course.” Lyrica nodded at Kim, knowing not to display any further familiarity. Then a shadow darkened her face, and she frowned. “What’s this all about? I didn’t walk all the way here to look at
you
.”

“Save it, Lyrica.” Nina’s voice, shaky. She stepped forward next to Angela, Sophia’s delicate figure observing in the background. One sight of Kim, and Sophia’s polite, pretty face froze over with the withering glare she’d reserved for him in the church. Only this time, it was worse. “Tell Stephanie,” Nina continued, “that Angela won’t come unless I do.”

“Why?” Lyrica’s tone bordered on saccharine. “So you can botch the whole thing like last time? Face it, Nina Willis, you’re not a blood head. Whether you dye your hair or not.”

Botched? How and what did she botch last time? Is this the real reason why she talks to dead people in her sleep?