Angelus (12 page)

“Sophia's a person, Troy, not a thing. Angela's feelings are natural.”

“Sophia is our last chance to survive,” Troy spat at him. “And now we have to die because Angela feels guilty? What kind of weakness is that? And here I'd grown to respect her.”

“Exactly,” Kim shot back. “Because you've grown attached to Angela, even though you don't want to admit it. You're friends, whether you realize it or not. She's a person to you now, she's not just the Archon. Have you even realized how you call her by her name now?”

Troy's eyes went wide. With a snarl she shoved Kim aside and started stalking down the ice-cold tunnel again.

“Running away won't change how you feel, Troy,” Kim said after her.

“But it will keep me alive,” she snapped back. “Now you'd better follow me in silence. I'm not averse to sewing your mouth shut if I have to. We've talked enough already.”

“There's one way to help Angela,” he whispered. Troy was right; it might be foolish to continue talking, but if Kim didn't speak now he knew it would be too late.

“I'm listening, then,” Troy said, though her tone now said she wouldn't be for long.

“We need to talk to Raziel ourselves.”

Another pressing silence. “Impossible,” Troy said at last. Yet once again her breath stirred unsettlingly close to Kim's neck. “You would at least need to scry a Mirror Pool for that. You don't have the skill. You'd go insane just peering into the water.”

“You're forgetting,” Kim said. “I have this.” He jangled the chain of his hourglass pendant. It still felt oddly warm. He wondered how much sand had drained away by now. Kim had been too afraid to look. “It connects me to Angela. It's a part of both of us now. I'm certain we could contact Raziel's spirit that way, though we can't do it alone. We need someone skilled in scrying like you said.”

“There
is
someone . . .” Troy said. Did Kim hear fear in her voice? “But if I take you to her, here's the deal: in exchange for my help, you will help
me
.”

“How?”

“I already told you,” Troy said. Her voice boiled with revenge. “The demon and his mother will suffer for what they've put us through. My people haven't forgotten how my
namesake city was destroyed thanks to Python. I wonder how he would feel if the same happened to his little nest? You're going to help me topple him and his mother from their already decaying pedestals.”

“Python will find us eventually, Troy,” Kim whispered. “No matter where we go. Even Luz will be connected to Hell again soon enough, before both Realms are destroyed.”

“Good,” Troy said. “I'd love to see him face-to-face again.” There was the crack of her nails splitting a stone. Then her wing brushed past him, and Kim sensed she traveled in the opposite direction now.

“Where are we going?” he dared to ask one last time, spinning to follow her.

Troy's voice sounded reluctant, but Kim could imagine the determined look on her face. Even Troy's need for revenge would have to take a backseat to opening the Book of Raziel, or at least speaking to Raziel himself. “We're returning to Luz,” Troy said, and her words fell heavily enough to suggest their frightening fate—whatever it might be—was sealed. “And for everyone's sake, its angel had better talk.”

HEAVEN
THE CITY OF MALAKHIM

Though he was a great angel, Israfel knew what it was to be outmatched and overpowered.

Adamant cuffs, impervious to energy of any kind, connected his wrists and bit into his skin like fangs. His chains dragged behind him, clanking musically. Step by painful step, he slid his bare feet across the cold glass floor of his old throne room in Heaven, listening to the murmurs of an invisible crowd.

An excruciating headache throbbed in his temples, and even with the blindfold over his eyes he saw red.

“Force the prisoner to halt,” a voice finally said. Its soft, familiar tone cut into him even more painfully than the manacles.

Firm hands grabbed Israfel and stopped him from moving forward. A tense silence swelled throughout the chamber. Perhaps the other angels could now hear Israfel's heartbeat, roaring in his own ears.

He could only imagine what they thought of his apparent ruin. In the jails, everywhere he'd turned, the smooth glass
had reflected back his image in a tousled mirage of silvery hair and large but tired blue eyes. The adamant cuffs and chains kept him from unfurling his six wings, imposing even more of his natural majesty on his sister and her worshippers. But Israfel always made certain to never lose his dignified poise. Only the slight twist to his lips could possibly betray his feelings.

“Take off the blindfold,” the voice continued. “He
will
speak.”

Hands worked on the fabric tied behind Israfel's head. Then the sash slipped to the floor. Israfel blinked, his eyes watering. A red haze still tinted the world.

He searched the shadowy mirage that was his old throne room. Now that Lucifel had taken over, she'd dimmed the light of the glass and crystal walls to nearly nothing. But Israfel needed little more than blurs to recognize familiar fixtures. The chamber was gloriously large and composed almost entirely of crystal and glass that usually shimmered and shone. Pillars held up a high domed-glass ceiling and gave the illusion of supporting the galaxies pinwheeling in the ether far beyond them. Two more intricate pillars flanked the throne, and feathered serpents carved into the crystal coiled toward arches etched with hieroglyphs in the shapes of constellations. Stretching from either side of the throne, long benches and chairs holding hundreds of angels dipped into the shadows. Row upon row of seats surrounded Israfel, and the angels upon them stared down at him, blanched with anxiety at the sight of the Creator Supernal at his sister's mercy.

These were Lucifel's most devoted followers and supporters, but even they knew the power Israfel's cuffs barely restrained.

Their black coats rustled as they shifted back and forth, conversing with one another again. But Lucifel, the Devil herself, slouched not in the embrace of Israfel's old glass throne, but at its base on the floor, her arms hugging her tucked knees. She looked pensive, or perhaps asleep. She wore a form-fitting black suit and a fitted coat without any other adornment whatsoever and at first seemed little more than a shadow cast on the ground. Then she lifted her head and regarded Israfel. The gray storm of Lucifel's hair blended with the ashen shadows, yet her skin still gleamed. Her red eyes glittered like rubies set in the statuesque perfection of her face.

Lucifel regarded Israfel, and the tension in the room grew unbearable. At last, she spoke. “Do you have any idea why you aren't dead yet?” she whispered.

Israfel refused to give her the satisfaction of a reply just yet.

“Answer me,” Lucifel said after a while.

“You're right, I have no idea why you're keeping me alive,” he said softly.

His musical voice carried effortlessly throughout the room. Despite all Lucifel's attempts to subdue his power, energy thrummed around them. The other angels stirred anxiously. Some shouted in fear. Murmurs broke out. Whispers erupted everywhere. Israfel refused to leave his sister's gaze now. Their spirits burned into each other.

“Enough,” Lucifel said, straightening.

All noise died instantly. The angels on the benches froze.

Lucifel strode toward Israfel until they would have stood face-to-face if he hadn't been forced to kneel. She loomed over him, her mouth set into a tight line. Then, with lightning speed, she slapped him hard across the face.

Israfel pitched to the side but caught his fall.

He looked at her again, licking slightly at the salty blood trickling from his lip. Gasps of barely stifled terror rippled through the room. A few angels stood, as if ready to run away.

“Your former subjects might fear you still,” Lucifel said, bending down to whisper in his ear, “but we both know the chance you had to play Archangel has been over for quite a while. Perhaps all that time in the jails didn't get the message across to you well enough.”

“You know suffering of that kind means nothing to me by now,” Israfel muttered.

Lucifel pulled away and stared him down again. Her red eyes narrowed.

“So,” Israfel continued, “go on, then. Why haven't you killed me by now, sister?”

A slow smile touched Lucifel's lips. Gently, she touched Israfel's stomach with her finger.

Israfel breathed hard. His pulse quickened.

“I know what's inside of you, Israfel,” Lucifel continued. “I know what you are. I also know what you fear the most. I'm sure in your pride you never stopped to consider that even though you killed the Father, that doesn't mean I can't send you back to him. Just imagine—an eternity with his corpse by your side. Though I assume you'll eventually starve. The Father has only so much blood to give, and you've stolen quite enough of it already. Don't you agree?”

Israfel clenched his fingers.

“Isn't it depressing to know,” she continued casually, “that you followed me back home for no good reason? Your history is such a mess, Israfel. You murdered your own Creator to escape your Heavenly cage. Perhaps you thought you were doing the universe a favor by finding the Archon,
atoning for your sin in some backward way by joining with Her to rule over a re-created world—using the body of the abominable child inside you to do it. But look, you couldn't protect Angela Mathers from sitting on Hell's Throne in my place. Was following me back to Heaven meant to serve as another penance? How ironic, considering in the end it's you who'll be sent back to decay with the Creator who caused all your misery.”

“You mean the Creator you loved?” Israfel whispered icily. “And still love—”

Lucifel grabbed Israfel's chin, forcing him to go almost nose to nose with her. Her fingers couldn't hurt him no matter how hard she pinched, but her words cut like daggers. “What I would love is to know what it's like to be you,” she said. “You—both male and female. What is it to be the only creature like yourself in this universe, Israfel? What was it like to have the Father's heart like no other angel?”

Was she saying that just to hurt him, or was she genuinely curious? Her envy had always been an unfathomable thing.

Israfel gazed unflinchingly into his sister's eyes. “It's better than being a fraud of a ruler like yourself.”

Lucifel thrust him away from her. She laughed, but the sound had no humor in it. “It's too bad the Father isn't alive to know that of all creatures in this universe,
I'll
have the honor of reuniting you with him once more. I wonder how he would have reacted knowing I'm about to open the Book of Raziel and silence this awful mess of a world?”

Israfel knew she wasn't looking for any real answer this time.

Her eyes still burning, Lucifel straightened away from him. The mad light that had brightened her face while speaking of the Father faded as she scanned the angelic faces sur
rounding and observing them. “You see,” she said, “this is the end result of your misguided hopes, Israfel. Look at how many of your former subjects had grown disheartened waiting for your return. By the time I arrived, they knew whose side to join.”

Israfel dared to get back on his feet. No one stopped him as he stood up and glared regally at the black-robed angels thronging around them. Lucifel wasn't speaking all of the truth, but it wouldn't surprise him that some of her worshippers had remained like woodworms in Heaven even after her Rebellion, thriving on secret darkness. Even so, how had she managed to rise to the pinnacle of power so quickly after returning to Heaven?

“Israfel,” a whispery voice said.

He looked up sharply, and a male angel stepped down from the strange shadows behind Israfel's old throne. The angel's hair was silvery like Lucifel's, and one of his red eyes glowed brightly. His four gray wings fanned behind him, blending into the darkness. It was Zion—one of Lucifel's forbidden children, long thought to be dead, and the current ruling Archangel. But his eye . . . something was wrong.

Lucifel gestured for Zion to join her side.

Zion stepped toward his mother reluctantly, never taking his eyes off Israfel.

It hit Israfel all at once. “Mikel,” he said icily. “What have you done to your brother?”

But Israfel already knew. Mikel's brother, Zion, was dead. Mikel—a spirit—was possessing his body. Or at least possessing it by halves. Only one of his eyes glowed, after all. As Israfel had long suspected, Mikel had the ability to possess two bodies with her spirit at the same time, though it certainly weakened her to divide her essence.

“You wouldn't understand my actions,” Mikel said through her dead brother's voice and lips. “I couldn't forgive Zion for the suffering he caused me. From the start, he schemed with you to seal me away and laughed at my pain from this crystal throne. While the stars gleamed like jewels at his feet, I cried in my loneliness, and he was happy to keep me locked away in the shadows. Mother is the only creature who can free me from those shadows, and I won't let anyone stop her. It's over, Israfel. Angela Mathers can't win this battle. The Archon is trapped in Hell, and even if She leaves, I'll make sure She doesn't get far.”

Israfel regarded Mikel sadly. Unlike her mother, Lucifel, Mikel was having difficulty staring him down. Like the other angels she cowered under Israfel's regal bearing.

“That's your fatal flaw, Mikel,” Israfel said. “You'll never escape the shadows if you continue hiding in them. In your irrational pride, you've forgotten there's always a way. Besides, I know without a doubt that Angela Mathers
will
win this battle for life and souls. And when she does, you'll regret siding with your poisonous mother and justifying all my fears about you. Remember, Angela's soul is different from all others. Even my sister fears it. And if the Devil isn't certain of her victory, why are you?”

He glanced one last time at Lucifel.

Lucifel made a sweeping gesture at him, icy indifference all over her face. “Take him away,” she spat. “And make sure you gag him this time.”

Israfel examined the stars through the glass ceiling, barely struggling as rough hands cinched the blindfold around his eyes and thrust him into darkness again. More fabric pushed between his lips.

He could sense Mikel's guilt like a fire spreading through the chamber.

“Enjoy your last night in the prisons, Israfel,” his sister murmured. “And when you see the Father again, tell him how much I miss him. Your death will be that much more meaningful for me.”

Her words followed him like a curse.

Israfel's darkness continued for countless hours, not ceasing until he was forced out of his jail by his guards for the final time to march up the spiraling stairway to Ialdaboth—the same place where their brother, Raziel, had plummeted to his death. With every extra step, Israfel's heart threatened to stop beating. Then, he was finally on the threshold of the vortex whirling above him, abandoned to his fate. As it began to swallow him, and he took that first step into the Father's nest, the blindfold slipped from his eyes.

Israfel turned and looked down upon the angelic city of Malakhim.

It spun like a gigantic disc of iridescent fire, glittering with thousands of turrets and bridges. The dull screech of a feathered serpent shivered through the stairway he stood upon. On the horizon, the human city of Luz glistened like a mirage the size of a moon. The air rippled slightly, as if reality were bending. The Realms were about to merge.

Surely, Lucifel knew this.

Mikel knew it.

Now Israfel knew it, and he could no longer help. Only the Archon could save everyone now. Yet despite his ultimate faith in Her, something crucial indeed nagged at Israfel. Who was She really? The thought had bothered him
for so long. From the start, Angela had seemed so familiar, but not just because her soul was protected by Raziel's spirit and resembled the dead angel superficially. There had always been something else.

Israfel thought of the Father, and his great green eyes, so much like the Eye known as the Grail. The Grail that only Angela could wield properly, as if it belonged solely to her. He thought of Angela's resemblance to the Father in the shape of her face and her long hair, and he thought most of all about her indefinable soul. Last, he pondered Raziel's strange death and the forbidden knowledge he'd obtained.