Archon (29 page)

Lucifel, he was sure, would never stand for it.

“Even if you aren’t the Archon, I don’t like sharing, Angela.” Whether he should have said so or not didn’t matter anymore. He at least deserved her honesty in return, and he’d make sure to have it. “I hate it when I think I’ve found a partner and that person turns out to be—
faithless
. Stephanie did that to me, not to mention waste a lot of my time. Whether she’s the Archon or isn’t, the day I see her on the Throne of Hell is the day it freezes over.”

“What do you mean?” Angela said, whispering. “You’re not saying that—”

“I’m working for Lucifel?” Kim sighed, tipping his head and shifting his bangs aside. “I’m sure your new friend would tell you so. But can you really believe anything an angel says? In my experience, the word angel denotes place over personality. And angels and demons tend to think alike.”

Israfel laughed gently, like he’d heard a secret joke.

Kim turned the blade slightly against Israfel’s neck, spiderwebbing more blood across his beautiful skin. “Remember, there is only one Archon, Angela. But there are two who can be the Ruin. I’ve known this, and Lucifel has known for a long time. Troy might have been right: the Archon doesn’t necessarily have to be Raziel himself. Perhaps She is only protected by Raziel. But either way, I want to find out. For your sake.”

For both their sakes.

“I want you to make the smart choice, the best choice, and to have me by your side when you make it.”

“So . . . you
want
me to take Lucifel’s place. You
want
me on the Throne of Hell.” Her voice was a murmur, barely audible above the storm.

“Not so much to take it, as to consider it. The option is better than what he”—Kim’s hand shivered, the knife scratching more blood out of Israfel—“has to offer you. Either way, life will be a living hell from this point on. The time to be an ordinary girl is over.”

At the word
ordinary,
Angela’s eyes widened.

“Angela,” he pressed further, aware of how vulnerable he sounded. “You have to trust me.”

She gazed at him, obviously confused. “Troy will kill you. What reason would she have to keep you alive?”

“She won’t know. We’ll leave before she knows.”

“For where?”

He sighed again, trying to control himself. Was she being deliberately obtuse, or was she just trying to gauge how committed he was? “For Hell.”

Her breast heaved gently, and Kim overflowed with the madness of wanting to murder Israfel and kiss it, just as he had the other night. He beckoned her closer, yearning inside. “Come with me, Angela. That pleasure we shared was a real thing. I know you want more of it. I know how much you want to step all over this world, to crush it beneath your heel, like it has crushed you time and again. I see it in your eyes. We’ll work this out, together, because you and I are the same.”

She closed them, sighing along with the temptation of his voice. “I don’t know . . .”

“Angela . . .”

When she opened them again, they were wide, blindingly blue, and utterly fearless.

But it was Israfel who answered for her. “I think I’ve heard enough.”

He snapped his fingers.

Kim’s lips sealed shut against his will.

Another snap of his fingers.

The knife whipped out of Kim’s hand, clattering pathetically onto the tiles. Then Israfel lifted his hand and curled his palm, freezing Kim into place.

The angel spun around, smiling and lovely, the most beautiful creature that could be imagined. His eyes were so proud, his lips so sensual, his face so perfect that it nearly took Kim’s breath away. He was like a delicate swan—but one that hid all the inner stealth of a tiger. It was only through harsh experience that Kim knew the truth, even if Angela couldn’t see through Israfel’s veneer. The angel didn’t have Troy’s sharp teeth, but they were far more alike than they first seemed.

Now, he was in real danger.

“For a priest, you seem to be somewhat agitated. I also think you’re mistaken. You see, this young woman is no longer your property,
Kim
.” He said his name with subtle and deep dislike. “You’ve also injured me, claimed some kind of backward loyalty to my sister, and made a mess of my coat.”

Israfel looked to Angela, his voice honey sweet. “Shall I kill him?”

She stared at Kim, silent. She didn’t seem as upset as he’d expected, but it was obvious she was trying to peer through him, as if she could peel back more layers and see how honest he was being.

This was a problem for them both.

Kim couldn’t say that he loved Angela. It was too soon for love. But he could say with all sincerity that the thought of her sharing anything with Israfel nearly made him crazy, and that for her to be out of his sight was painful. If he could, he would have forced out the memories of how easily they’d seduced each other, how perfect she felt against his legs, and how powerful their connection had been.

Maybe she was remembering. For a moment, she hesitated, creeping closer to him.

“No,” she said, and her face reddened. “Don’t kill him.”

Angela slipped around Israfel, and except for Sophia’s dark presence, she seemed on the same level as the angel, powerful and suddenly intimidating, and not even knowing it. Maybe that was the real reason behind Kim’s desire, his infatuation. He was enthralled, absolutely, by the sinister mystery of her soul. Mikel’s words continued to echo, reminding him of how ignorant humanity could be:
If she is not the Archon . . . then we are all very mistaken about who the Archon is . . .

She reached out, touching the side of Kim’s face.

He shivered, wishing for more, pathetically unable to say so.

“You’re right, Kim—I enjoyed being with you. But you’ve got it all wrong if you think I’m ready to sit on a throne, in Heaven or Hell.” She tossed her blood-red hair over her shoulders. It was as long as a curtain, tangled by the rain. “Don’t you get it? I don’t know anything but my dreams. I don’t know how to trust anything besides them. I never said anything about changing that. I don’t think I can.”

She didn’t even know what she was saying.

The cathedral seemed to be falling apart around them, mirroring Kim’s sudden need to break apart everything that stood between them. He could tear that angel limb from limb. Watch the universe collapse for the simple satisfaction of crushing his wings.

“If it’s a choice I have to make,” Angela whispered, “then I also need to make it on my own.”

She leaned forward to kiss him.

Kim turned his head, not wanting her to notice the anger in him, but against his will, her lips caressed his softly and he groaned inside.

Ever since she’d taken the Grail, Angela had changed.

Like she’d found a piece of herself and was fast becoming whole again. Right now, it appeared Kim wasn’t one of those pieces, and he was being discarded, set aside.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered to him. “Thank you. For everything.”

As if it could erase all that had taken place between them.

“I’m sorry,” she said one last time.

Oh, yes. So was he.

“T
ime to learn a little respect.”

The demon’s wings buckled, snapping and creaking under the force of Troy’s ambush, the weight of the cloth. In an instant they plummeted, Naamah’s sword cutting through the white satin—just far enough for Troy to wrench it out of her knife-riddled hands.

It smashed against a wall.

The shards of the demon’s blood liquefied, raining down to the floor.

“
Why do you bother?
” Troy hissed over the storm, more angry and irritated than afraid. She knew better than to intentionally damage sacred objects, but like all demons, Naamah lived with a curse and enjoyed it. Her race respected nothing and feared nothing, partly because she had nowhere left to go but up. “Why did you let the witch summon you?”

Naamah dropped from underneath her shroud, blasting Troy backward with a burst of crimson light. “Summon? You think and talk like the ignorant rat you are.” She hit the floor, steadying herself with a hand, and gazed up at Troy, smiling triumphantly. “As for my reasons—I think you can sympathize. The moment the Archon opens the Book will be the moment of Hell’s renaissance, Jinn. Not every demon worships Lucifel with their hearts as well as their words.”

Traitorous scum.

“Or do you have a soft spot for our soon-to-be-dethroned Prince?”

Now her presence made much more sense. Naamah, and the demons who mouthed loyalty to Lucifel yet kept her caged, wanted another god. One much more easily manipulated. Troy folded in her wings, preparing to descend and finish what she’d begun, grinding her teeth together in frustration. Naamah’s tattoo was reappearing, its swirls of black ink pooling near her shoulder and neck.

A jolt of silvery lightning swept in their direction.

The smell of flowers and flesh pounded Troy in waves, overwhelming her other senses.

Israfel had finally joined the battle.

Twenty-eight

The Eye with which I see myself is the Eye through which the All sees me.

—
M
EISTER
E
LMHART,
A Delineation of Transcendence

S
tephanie stumbled to her feet, tears washing out her vision.

In so many ways, the hurt couldn’t go any deeper. She had proven what a worthy daughter she was, tried to help her mother, and in return had been forced to huddle like a wounded, useless puppy. Naamah no longer understood her little protégé, at least not in the way Stephanie had intended. Maybe the demon couldn’t fathom that Stephanie had reached a point where Troy was less of a danger to her than to Naamah. Or perhaps it was Naamah’s version of pity, though right now their intimate conversation during Halloween night rang strangely false. Naamah had acted cold, and yet, here she was, screaming for Stephanie to stand back and save herself.

If Stephanie was the Archon, that was only logical.

But it was hard to get past the way Naamah had looked at her ever since the angel’s kiss.

She wiped her mouth, spitting some blood into her palm. Glass had cut her lip and her throat burned from the sizzle of energy toying with the air. She’d tried going over in her mind what had taken place between her and Israfel after their embrace, only to realize that another unsettling lapse of time had passed. Stephanie had remembered nothing until the world was collapsing around her, and it was too late to stop it. She was responsible for part of that collapse—wanted it even—but she’d never meant for it to go this far.

She might lose a mother. Maybe her life.

Or Kim.

Stephanie whipped around, listening to the familiar tone of his voice, so smooth and charismatic. Just as it had in her bedroom, the world darkened around her, the single light left to her centering on Angela. The scar-covered freak was touching Kim’s face, leaning in to kiss him.

“You . . .”

It was all she could say. It summarized everything.

In the end, this was all Angela’s fault. Until she’d arrived at the Academy, everything had been so clear, so right. Then that irritating bitch had to taint Luz with her own cursed existence. Her dreams and failed suicides had somehow ruined all of Stephanie’s happiness in one merciless stroke, but even so, Stephanie was far from ready to make it easy for her.

Kim was expendable in the long run, but there was no way she would let go of a toy without a fight.

“You . . .”

The first to catch sight of her, Kim struggled to tell Angela only to meet with more silence for his efforts. The angel must have stopped him from speaking.

Stephanie dodged falling bits of plaster, barely aware of more rock crashing to the ground behind her. The world was like a blur, faded, buzzing with the strangest sounds. Her legs didn’t even feel like her own anymore, and by the time Sophia stepped out of the shadows to stop her, it was too late. Stephanie bit her lip, but screamed from the pain anyway, tearing the tattoo off herself as Naamah had done. She could feel the blood like a raw, red river along her arm. It was agony, enough to nearly faint.

“You greedy bitch,” she heard herself saying. “I can’t stand you.”

Everything after that was fast, and completely beyond her.

Israfel. The angel was preparing to swoop down and kill her. He swept around Angela, a perfect terror that no longer looked so dazzling to Stephanie’s eyes. What a relic he was. Like an ancient statue that had lost all its luster, more paint than substance. She noted the way his large eyes narrowed at her knowingly, angry at himself for not cutting her down sooner.

There was no anger in her though.

Just a callous, emotionless spite that took pleasure in his pain.

The shield erupted in a second. Less blood than energy, it took all of Stephanie’s soul to throw it at him, a red wall that blocked his progress. Israfel fell back, pained by its contact. Kim crumpled onto the floor, grasping to pull himself out of Israfel’s reach. The angel’s reaction was far from human.

Rage. Never had she seen it expressed so purely in the eyes of any creature.

Then she whispered the fateful invocation, and the blood sword formed, and she leaped for Angela, swinging the weapon wildly.

Angela shouted, dodging by a hairsbreadth.

It wasn’t enough to take her out of harm’s way.

Stephanie followed her with a twist of the foot, swinging in the opposite direction. She cut through air, but seconds later a chandelier snapped from the ceiling and smashed in front of her, forcing them both to throw themselves to the ground. She tumbled amid the glass and stone, still in agony, but fueled by such a mysterious energy that it no longer mattered. Stephanie clasped the sword tight, nearly losing her grip from the liquefied blood on her hands, breathing in shuddering gasps.

“Come on, you useless witch.” Her throat was hoarse from screaming. “Come on.
Come on!
”

There. Behind her.

Stephanie pivoted to her right, slicing cleanly through a chunk of wood Angela had grabbed as a shield. Angela shouted at her, but the words no longer held any meaning for Stephanie. Nothing mattered now besides Angela’s head, rolling like the archbishop’s had rolled, and the more she thought that, the more she hacked at her, again and again, fended off every time by her escape, or another makeshift shield.

Then Angela ran out of them.

She tried to run one last time, but Stephanie snagged her blouse, tearing it open near the neck.

An Eye hid underneath.

It was unlike any other. Green with life, but piercing, terrible, unfathomable.

Stephanie understood instinctively that she should look away, but she grabbed for the pendant anyway, insanely possessive, hardly astonished when its chain snapped with a violent tug of her hand and Angela fell against a mound of rubble.

The force shoved Stephanie backward.

The Eye on its chain hung, suspended, in the air.

A brilliant flash of white light raced in on her. Naamah shrieked, sounding to be in as much agony as her daughter, and Stephanie forgot all else, turning to the single person who could understand the abyss she had seen and could never forget.

T
roy shut her eyes tightly, hissing away the pain.

The light was blinding, excruciating. She collapsed shortly before her toes could brush the tile, curling into a ball, her spine contorting from the impact on her nerves. Naamah shrieked in the background, obviously wounded.

Stephanie’s voice echoed with her, equally pained, and a crimson shield exploded into life, blazing like fire behind Troy’s eyelids.

Then everything stopped. A gentler pulse of light signaled Naamah’s escape deep into the lower Realms, her curses resounding even after she’d left. Stephanie must have escaped with her—the girl’s scent had vanished along with the light—but Troy remained curled up like a spider, shivering from the horror of Israfel’s attack. Her sore muscles soaked up the chill of the tiles. Her wings twitched, their tendons and ligaments exhausted by the intensity of the battle and the draining power of Naamah’s ghosts.

Sariel’s voice was an unwelcome addition to the pain.

“You can get up,” he said coarsely. “They’re gone. All of them.”

His shoe scraped the side of her wing and she bit at him, mad with frustration.

He cursed even more savagely than usual, and then did the stupidest thing possible, pushing one of her wings sideways and stooping down to stare directly in her face. Troy would have lunged and chewed his eyes out, but there was a strange look to him that kept her suspicious and docile.

He was crying.

She watched the water slide down Sariel’s cheekbones, mesmerized. From what she had learned, humans cried when they were angry, upset, or hurt. Judging from her cousin’s face, he was all three at once.

“Gone where?” she muttered.

“I don’t know,” he said, hissing like a Jinn himself. “But they’re gone. Angela, Israfel, and that resurrected bitch Sophia.”

“Together?”

“Yes,” he said, biting at his lip. “Now get the hell up and help me arrange some of these bodies. Without gnawing on them, if you can even help yourself.” He shook his head, the tears continuing to glisten, his teeth bared. “What a goddamned fine mess this is.”

“The witch and her demon escaped to the Underworld,” Troy said. “I’d call that a victory.”

“Of course you would,” he whispered. “Chaos amuses you.”

He stepped over a corpse, its arm splayed sideways across the floor.

Troy laughed. She was so tired, the noise came out of her cracked and broken, but it was so obvious to her why Sariel was distraught. In the end, he was no different from his father, from any other male Jinn who’d suffered the loss of a mate, especially a faithless one. Angela must have chosen the angel over him.

Her cousin glared at her, his pale face white like his collar, and she continued to laugh, blissfully licking a cut on her hand.

When Troy paused, it was only to state the obvious.

“You are a ridiculous fool.”