Days of New: The Complete Collection (Serials 1-5) (21 page)

It’s what she did.

“What now?” Maya whispered when they were out of the dungeon. She leaned into Camille, as if they were gossiping girls hissing in the corner of gym class. Camille rolled her eyes.

“We get some sleep.”

“I thought we needed to help with the cleanup?”

“That’s what humans are for.”

Chapter Five

I
n Camille’s opinion, Bailey had stretched the truth when he’d said there was no real damage.

She and Maya walked through the central part of the compound and stopped, their mouths hanging open in shock. If something could be broken, it was. If it could be crushed and ruined, it was. Precious water spilled across the floor like a tsunami had come through the compound; everything was damp and dripping. Smoke lingered in the air, mixing with the nose-tickling scent of vinegar from the slew of broken jars containing canned vegetables and fruits—the compound’s primary winter staple. Even food, the great calamity that had started the riot, was strewn across the floor. Rice and grain were sprinkled over the stone, bloated in the stagnant puddles of water. Bread, torn and tossed, grew moldy in the corners, too late to be saved. Frozen meat was flung about, and the Descendants had to run off an endless horde of dogs and cats—a new riot in their own right—from carrying the meat away.

It looked like a war, but it was just a waste.

Camille growled in distaste. The humans would fight and possibly kill for something that they were willing to ruin so no one else could have it. It was disgusting and pathetic, and it infuriated Camille so badly that the air around her sparked with electricity. Wide eyed, Maya stared up at her, cringing away when the particles zapped her.

“We should go,” Camille said. In her head, she added,
before I hurt someone
.

Maya didn’t argue as they sidestepped the swath of destruction and hurried up the main staircase to the second floor. They left a tidal wave of chaos and activity behind them, which suited Camille fine. She rushed farther away from it, threading her way through the compound to Clark’s apartment, where it was quiet and calm. Only then did she take a deep breath.

Inside, things were as they should be. Camille could almost picture Clark sitting at the dining room table with a glass of whiskey in his hand. He would look up as she entered and grin, his eyes flashing as he took in her tight outfit, thoughts of dirt and plants instantly forgotten. But he wasn’t here, and Camille didn’t look at the table. Leaving Maya in the dust, she went straight to the bedroom and collapsed onto the bed, instantly losing herself to the darkness of oblivion.

After what seemed like a second but could’ve been hours, something laid across Camille’s stomach, but she was so deep in sleep—bones heavy with exhaustion—that she didn’t think about it until her skin started to burn.

With a growl crawling up her throat, she reared up in bed, her hand slicing under the pillow for her sword. Before she could grab the blade, another heavy chain was dropped across her wrist, freezing her arm in place with a horrible fire. The room was still dark, and she blinked to let her eyes adjust. But she didn’t have time for that either. Something hard hit her in the jaw, sending pricks of light dancing across her vision.

She fell back on the bed with a grunt, losing slivers of time to the massive swell of pain in her head. More chains fell across her legs to pin her to the bed. She knew they were chains because of the clink and clank of them, the press of twisted metal. She knew the chains were gold because of the way they fried her skin and made her writhe in hissing pain as each new one was laid over her.

When the world stopped spinning, she opened her eyes again and saw it was a brick that had it her in the jaw because it laid right next to her, gold blood splattered across it.

She couldn’t move. The pain was so great that she didn’t want to. A haziness curled into her brain and tried to pull her under.

Maya screamed, the sound wrenching Camille from the dredges of unconsciousness. She struggled and thrashed, every movement causing waves of searing, horrible pain to radiate from her toes to the tips of her hair. The gold sizzled through her skin, leaving wisps of smoke escaping from around the edges of the metal. Through the opened bedroom door, she finally saw her attackers.

Ezekiel and a group of older Nephilim were in Clark’s apartment. Ezekiel had a hold of Maya, but she gripped doorframes and furniture, clinging for her life as he pulled on her waist, trying to pry her from the apartment. She screamed and kicked for all her tiny might; it was a pretty good fight, Camille thought hazily when Maya’s heel landed squarely on Ezekiel’s mouth. The Nephil reeled backwards, clutching his yellowed teeth, which spewed out of his mouth like rotten sprinkles.

Maya raced back through the apartment, dodging the grips of the other Nephilim, who were older and less determined. She ducked and spun, slipping past them like a vapor. She was quick, Camille realized, and not nearly as helpless as she’d imagined.

“Get her!” Ezekiel screamed.

The Nephil who had put the gold chains on Camille sprung around the bed and grabbed Maya’s arm as she dove past. He wasn’t fast enough though, and Maya latched her small hand around the chain over Camille’s legs, ripping it loose as she was jerked back.

It was enough for Camille to tear herself free. With a howl of rage, Camille whipped out her wings and flew across the bedroom to the Nephil holding Maya. Seeing the angel bearing down on him, he shoved Maya away and started screeching in fear, backing away as fast as he could with his hands up in surrender. But Camille didn’t care. She snapped his neck and moved to the next.

“Camille!”

“What the hell?”

Camille looked up. Her right hand was wrapped around a Nephil’s head, the other gripping his chin. Already she could hear the complaining groan of his vertebrae. One tiny flick and he’d be gone. Her vision was tinted with red, her fingers itched to tighten her grip. But once she saw Zarachiel next to Maya, picking her up off the floor with delicate care, she calmed. She shoved the Nephil away from her with a growl and landed on the floor with a slight limp.

“She attacked us!” Ezekiel screeched, murky eyes crazed.

Gold blood was splattered everywhere. Camille had made quite a mess, it appeared. But she turned to Ezekiel, her eyes locking on his. She was next to him in half a second, her hands around his neck.

“You better start praying, bastard,” she hissed and launched him into a wall, making the rock crumble beneath him as he slid back to the ground.

Once she was certain he was unconscious, she turned her focus back to the other people in the room. The other surviving Nephil was huddled in a corner, his eyes on his friend with the wrung neck. He wasn’t a threat, Camille assessed. Finally, she turned to Bailey, her eyes flicking to Zarachiel and Maya.

“No, listen!” Maya was shouting. “They attacked us! Look at Camille’s body! They had gold chains and Ezekiel grabbed me!”

“Is this true?” Zarachiel said, his voice low and very, very controlled.

Camille looked down at her legs, where two thick lines threaded across her shins, exposing burnt flesh and pink muscle beneath. Gold dripped down her ankles and fell to the floor. Her wrists were much the same, and her shirt was burned into the exposed flesh of her belly. She touched a sore spot on her neck, where another chain must have grazed her. A huge knot was forming on her jaw, and she couldn’t move it much. Pain radiated throughout her head, and she staggered slightly before sinking onto the couch. Maya hurried over to her.

“Oh my gosh, Camille,” Maya said as she crouched in front of the angel. Maya examined the wounds on Camille’s legs, fingers delicately probing the tortured flesh.

“Are you okay?” Camille asked.

Maya’s light brown hair was mussed, and her clothes were torn. A scratch slashed across her cheek, but other than that she looked well enough. “I’m fine,” she answered. “But I’m pissed off.” And she was. Her gray eyes flamed with fury when she looked up from Camille’s injuries.

She stood and wheeled around to face Bailey. “Do you see? Do you see what they did to us?”

“I see that Camille killed a Nephil and assaulted another,” Bailey said.

Zarachiel turned his gaze from Camille to the Descendant. “You’re smarter than prejudices, Bailey.”

Bailey glowered at Zarachiel, but didn’t speak. Instead, he looked around, his eyes lingering on the Nephilim. He rubbed a hand over his face, his shoulders sagging. It looked like he hadn’t slept in days, but, then, Camille really didn’t have much sympathy for the Descendant. She hadn’t slept either. And when she tried, she was attacked.

Her jaw healed slowly, and she opened her mouth to test its mobility. The skin on her legs, wrists, and belly itched as it grew over the wound, her muscles twitching as they regenerated.

“You better…” she said, gritting out the words and grimacing as she spoke, “…get those assholes out of here before I finish them.”

“I swear to the Heavens, I will help her do it,” Maya snapped.

Bailey heaved a sigh before pointing to the Nephilim. “Get them to cells,” he said to his posse of policemen.

They advanced into the room, giving Camille a wide berth, and gathered Ezekiel from the floor. The other Nephil stood and hurried out of the door of his own accord. It took two Descendants to haul out the dead Nephil, his weight hanging limp between them.

“Not cool, Bailey,” Maya said when they were alone in the room. Zarachiel sank onto the couch next to Camille and picked up her wrist to examine the wound, which was mostly healed by now.

“You okay?” he asked quietly. Camille nodded.

“I believe you,” Bailey said, his gaze unflinching on Camille, but he turned his next words to Zarachiel. “And I’m not prejudiced toward the angels like some. I’m a good cop. We came in here, and it looked like Camille was killing Nephilim.”

“I
was
killing Nephilim,” Camille hissed. “And if I ever see their faces again, they’re as good as six feet under.”

“I get it,” Bailey held up his hands. “Things are falling apart here. I think they probably took advantage of the chaos. Maybe like someone else did when they broke into the monastery?” Bailey cocked a brow.

“We don’t know what you’re talking about,” Maya said evenly. “I’m sure lots of places were looted today.”

“Nothing close to the monastery,” Bailey returned just as fast. “It was funny too, because only books on exorcisms were stolen.”

“You’re right, that is pretty funny.” Maya squared off with the cop, her hands on her hips. Camille sat back and just enjoyed the show.

“Clark killed a good man,” Bailey said quietly, his eyes narrowing.

“That good man was already dead. A demon was in his body. Now it’s in Clark. You’d be an idiot not to see that,” Maya said, her eyes just as dangerous.

“We’ll see. His trial starts tomorrow.”

“You’re going to have a trial in this mess?” Zarachiel asked, clearly shocked.

“The government officials are coming in a few days. We can’t delay their visit any longer. They will see that we can execute justice in this town.”

“Hopefully they don’t see you executing an innocent man,” Maya fired back.

Bailey glared at her. “They will see the truth. And they will see order and peace in this compound.”

“Then you should probably execute justice on Ezekiel and his friend,” Camille said, her lip lifting in a snarl.

Bailey nodded at that. “Everyone will feel the consequences of today.”

“Where are the refugees?” Camille asked.

“We thought it best to keep them inside,” Zarachiel answered for Bailey. “They’ve moved their tents and belongings to the gun range. It was the only place big enough to hold them. We gave them plenty of food and water to calm them down.”

“That’s a good idea,” Maya said.

“It was Zarachiel’s,” Bailey added. “Everyone else is confined to quarters for the rest of the night. So
please
just stay inside.”

“We’ll stay in here, but I’m not leaving them alone,” Zarachiel said.

Camille worked her healed jaw and spat blood onto the floor. “I can handle things.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.”

* * *

The night was a cold one. Windows rattled from the blustery gusts of icy wind outside; snow fell thickly, creating a mindless haze of white. Zarachiel, Camille, and Maya huddled by the fire with blankets wrapped around their shoulders. Camille spread her wings across her back so their heavy warmth sunk into her spine. They were all hungry, but there would be no supper tonight, since most of it had gone to the refugees’ peacekeeping dinner. The compound was eerily quite aside from the wind. They didn’t talk, so when Maya broke the silence, everyone jumped a little at the sound of her voice.

“How do you know Clark?”

Camille looked up, hoping Maya had asked Zarachiel, but her doe eyes were focused on Camille. The angel sighed. “I met him during the war.”

“Everyone met during the war,” Maya said, pulling her extra blankets tighter. She sat the closest to the fire, the angels on either side of her like a buffer against the cold. “But how did you two get so close?”