Forgiven (40 page)

‘Delicious,’ it said, licking its lips. ‘I shall make you my servant. The last one endured two hundred years of torture before I broke it.’

Riley shuddered at what that might mean when her butt bumped into Ori’s statue. As she moved the knife to jab her palm, the Archfiend leaped forward with astounding speed, snaring her in its wings. The knife tumbled to the ground.

Riley kicked and shouted and fought the abomination until she landed at Sartael’s feet. As she rose, the Fallen’s flaming blade rose with her, level with her face. Even from five feet away she could feel the stinging heat.

Now that she was up close, the angel did look familiar: It was the guy in the hallway at the hospital, the one who’d been visiting Simon. Probably the same one who’d been visiting him at home. She’d seen him around the city as well, near the market and in the crowd outside the Tabernacle the night it had been destroyed. Sartael had been at the heart of this since the beginning.

Desperate to look at anything but that flaming sword, she hunted for Beck. Was he still alive? She sighed her relief when she spied him hemmed in by a ring of demons, along with the rest of the fighters. Stewart, Harper and Jackson were with him as they stood guard over the wounded. Simon was alive, as well. His stricken face stared at her. No, not at her. His eyes were only for Sartael. Now he knew who’d been whispering in his ear, telling him lies about his girlfriend.

Welcome to my hell, Simon Adler.

A demonic snarl drew her attention towards Ozymandias’s circle. The witch and the summoner were in no better position, hemmed in by at least a dozen Hellspawn. Both appeared exhausted, and the magical glow on Mort’s fingertips flickered weakly like an anaemic firefly.

‘Do you hear that?’ Sartael gazed upward, his brilliant blue eyes reflecting a timeless lunacy. ‘The Archangel Michael comes with his cohort. But I ask, where is Lucifer?’ He laughed and cried out, ‘Why is the Great Prince not here?’

Because he’s not suicidal?

It dawned on her that the angel wasn’t hearing her thoughts. Was that something Ori did or was it Ayden’s calming spell?

The blade drew closer now, making Riley’s eyes water and her throat burn. She could hear Beck shouting something, but there was no way he could get to her. Her time was running out.

‘Why did you have my dad killed?’ she demanded.

‘He stood in the way,’ was the simple answer. ‘As do you. That is why I wanted your soul in my hands.’

‘Ori wouldn’t have given it to you.’

‘He would not have had a choice. No one denies me. I should have been chosen as the Prince, not Lucifer. Now I will rectify that error and rid Heaven of my enemies.’

This one was totally insane.
Must come from breathing too much brimstone.

‘I thought you Fallen were all powerful,’ she chided, even as her will felt the strength of the Fallen’s mind against it. ‘Guess that’s not the case if you had to use a summoner to get the job done.’

The angel didn’t flinch at her jibe. ‘The necromancer was hungry for power and I was happy to feed his delusions.’

‘Without the spell, you’d be kissing Lucifer’s boots,’ she said, knowing that would goad him. Maybe he’d make a mistake and she could get free, run to Ori. Or he’d just kill her quicker.

Twin claws clamped into her shoulders, pinning her place. Behind her, the Archfiend laughed in derision. The sword was only a foot away from her throat now, heating her face and her chest. Beck was bellowing curses. She didn’t have to look to know he was trying to reach her, that the others were preventing him from throwing his life away.

Sorry, guy. You don’t get to play hero this time.

‘Give me your soul and I will grant you your life,’ Sartael offered.

Riley felt the letter hidden under her shirt.
Forgive me for what I’m about to do.

‘Your soul, pledge it to me, now!’

Then she raised her eyes to the angel’s, facing the power behind crazed blue orbs.

‘Go back to hell, you Fallen bastard.’

With a vicious snarl, Sartael pulled the sword backwards for the thrust that would kill her, burn her like it had Corsini.

With a resounding pop, a familiar figure appeared out of nowhere.

‘Dad?’ she exclaimed, blinking in astonishment. ‘What are you doing here?’

This Paul Blackthorne wasn’t the broken man she’d last seen in Mort’s house. In fact, he looked like he did before he’d died, with those curious, intelligent eyes and determined expression.

‘Pumpkin,’ he said, placing a hand on her shoulder. Where he touched her the skin tingled. ‘I’m sorry for all this. I shall miss you.’

Before she could reply, he dropped a kiss on her cheek and walked away.

‘Dad?’

Sartael gestured and one of the Fours moved to seize her father. When it touched him, it flamed in a fireball, wailing and shrieking as it died.

What’s up with that?
Her father wasn’t at all magical.

‘Hold, Paul Blackthorne, or I will kill your child,’ the Fallen warned.

‘If you do, Heaven will win,’ was the swift reply.

Her father was playing Russian roulette with her life. He must have something up his sleeve. At least she hoped he did.

Her dad kept walking, pausing only when he reached the edge of the necromancer’s circle. After a polite nod at Ayden and Mort, he stuck his hand through the protective magic that shielded Ozymandias. She’d expected his arm to melt or something gruesome to happen, instead the summoner’s hand grasped her father’s and they traded places: Dad inside the circle, Ozy out.

‘What are you doing?’ Riley muttered.

‘Summoner?’ Sartael barked. ‘Return to your circle and protect the spell. I have not called you forth.’

Ozymandias calmly dusted off his cloak, his strange eyes riveted on the archangel. ‘One tiny mistake and I summoned you instead of a demon. Teaches me there’s a price for arrogance,’ he muttered, shaking his head.

‘Return to your task!’ the archangel bellowed, causing many of the lesser demons to cower in terror.

‘Another has taken my place. He will manage the spell, for a little while at least.’

‘He is not a sorcerer. He does not have your power,’ Sartael argued.

‘No, he doesn’t,’ Ozymandias admitted, ‘which is the point. The spell is burning through him even as we speak. In a short period of time, Paul Blackthorne will be no more and, when he goes, so goes the enchantment and your accursed demons.’ The necro’s attention shifted to Riley. ‘I’m sorry – there was no other way. It’s what he wanted.’

Then Ozymandias vanished, leaving behind an infuriated archangel and her father slowly withering inside the circle.

‘Dad!’

Riley took only a few steps before the Archfiend blocked her way. ‘Move!’ she shouted, but it refused to allow her to pass.

The snarl that came from Sartael was more bestial than divine. ‘Kill them all! Pile their corpses to the heavens. Michael shall see what has become of his mighty demon hunters.’

‘But, Lord, what of the summoner’s spell?’ one of Fives cried.

‘Once they are dead, we have no need of it.’

‘But, my Lord Sartael –’

It was the distraction she needed. Riley bolted, ducking round the Archfiend’s wing and dashing along the road towards Ori’s statue. Behind her there were shouts as the battle began anew.

If I free him, he’ll kill Sartael.
Maybe that way her dad won’t be destroyed.

It was like an obstacle course in a role-playing game: ravenous demons, headstones looking to trip her, then more demons. Sartael kept shouting orders, and when none of the fiends came close to catching her the ground erupted beneath her feet. Leaping sideways, she avoided being roasted by a tower of blood-red flames that poured out of the earth. Hail began to rain down, slicking the asphalt under her feet as wind hurtled through the trees.

It felt like the end of the world. Probably because it was.

Hurry!
Ori urged.

Riley skidded to a halt in front of his statue, panting. She retrieved the knife and pressed it against her left palm. With no time to spare, she made the slice and felt the warm blood begin to drip. She slammed her hand down on Ori’s cold foot, her palm throbbing as her life’s essence trickled on to the marble.

‘Come on!’ she shouted. ‘Do it now!’

The Archfiend was in front of her again, sniffing the air, leering at her. ‘Your blood is soooo sweet. Soon it will be mine.’

Riley steadied the knife in her right hand. ‘Sorry, but I’m already spoken for.’

The chilly toes under her left hand flexed, followed by a cracking sound, like lake ice breaking up in early spring. Small pieces of marble rained down, making the Archfiend veer backwards in surprise.

With a shout, Ori unfurled his wings and shot into the sky to near treetop level.

‘Freedom!’ he crowed. ‘How I’ve longed for this moment!’ Below him, the battle was momentarily suspended as demons and mortals stared up in wonder.

Sartael’s uneasy laugh echoed across the cemetery. ‘Ori! Welcome! We have missed you.’

‘Have you,
old friend
?’

‘Join us. Take your revenge. Begin with Blackthorne’s child if you wish. She was the cause of your imprisonment after all.’

As he sank closer to the ground, Ori’s dark eyes sought her out. ‘Tempting, but I think there’s another that deserves my sword first.’ His focus moved to a figure sprinting across the graveyard.
Beck.
The trapper vaulted one of the gravestones, closing in at a run.

‘No!’ she cried.
This wasn’t our deal!

Everyone dies
, Ori murmured in her mind.
Some sooner than others.

Beck skidded to a stop and squared off with the Archfiend, though he wasn’t a match for the thing. But there he was with a sword and a totally ferocious glower on his face.

The demon laughed in delight. ‘Denver Beck,’ it cried. ‘Your mother’s soul calls to us. It will be ours soon. Come join her!’

‘Oh, shut the hell up,’ Beck said, aiming a blow at the demon’s chest. He was slung back by a wing, his shoulder bleeding where the slicing edge caught it.

The Archdemon was in the air before Riley could draw a breath and it dived at Beck like an owl does a wounded squirrel. The trapper delivered a deep cut to one its wings, earning him a string of hellish obscenities. Steaming black blood drained from the wound, and when it touched the ground it burned in a bright fire.

‘No wonder Lucifer doesn’t want ya . . .’ Beck taunted.

The demon roared its fury and slashed at its opponent, flattening the trapper to the ground with a clawed foot. It stood over him, sword poised for the kill as Beck struggled to free himself.

Without thinking, Riley threw herself at the monster, aiming the knife at the leg pinning the trapper. The flap of a wing defected the thrust and instead of hitting its thigh, she nailed the fiend in a rock-hard butt cheek. Bellowing, it reared round and batted at her, dislodging the knife. To avoid having her throat slit by its claws, Riley threw herself to the ground and rolled out of reach. When she pulled herself up, spitting dirt, the fiend was motionless, its mouth open as a strange gurgling noise came from its throat. As it slowly turned, a fiery sword came into view, buried to the hilt inside its chest.

Ori deftly extracted the blade and the demon crumpled.

‘That’s twice I’ve saved your life, trapper,’ he observed. ‘I really don’t know why I bother.’

Beck swore, scrambled to his feet, sword ready. A feral light filled his eyes. ‘No way ya touch her again.’

The angel looked Riley over, his face an unreadable mask. ‘So she told me.’

Then Ori abruptly spun on his heels and strode across the battlefield towards the other Fallen. ‘What is all this chaos, Sartael?’ he said, gesturing expansively.

‘I have challenged Heaven. Today the war begins,’ the other Fallen replied. He gazed upward. ‘Can you not hear them scurrying around like rats in an attic? They’re frantic. They did not see this coming.’

‘Of course they did,’ Ori replied, drawing closer. ‘Surely Lucifer has not given you permission for such a campaign.’