Secret Worlds (183 page)

I shook my head, holding out my hand for Michael to help me up. “No way it’s that easy.”

He set his jaw, stepping towards the hole. “It’s not. But that’s not what the bolt was for.”

Some of the smoke cleared and the moonlight caught upon a long, silver object stuck in the ground. A sword. Its handle had beautiful patterns beaten into the metal, images depicting angels soaring and demons falling in their wake.

Michael plucked it out of the ground. I had read about it before in
Paradise Lost
. It was the sword that cut the side of Satan and helped them win the war in Heaven.

When his hand closed around the hilt, the metal shone brilliantly. In a flash of movement, a silver liquid flooded up over his arm, his shoulder, his upper torso, down his body to his feet until he was covered from head to toe. Seconds later, it solidified into a sleek armor, with patterns and markings that matched the sword. It was similar to the type of armor that Roman and Spartan warriors once had—separate pieces that were solid yet light enough for quick movements. He turned, looking at the sky.

Another huge gust of wind whipped through my hair. Dozens of angels, all different sizes, male and female, landed behind us: armed to the teeth with swords, spears, lances, and axes, their snow-white wings flaring. Among them, Raphael stepped forward, radiant in a dark bronze helmet and armor, and carrying twin short axes.

“Jordan, you should not be here,” he scolded softly, brown eyes filled with worry as they fell across my injured arm and the blood dripping from my neck. I was panting and shaking so hard that I could barely manage to shrug my uninjured shoulder.

“So I’ve been told.”

Sheathing his axes, he laid his gloved fingertips on my arm and throat. I felt coolness enveloping the damaged areas, soothing the pain until the gash on my neck vanished and I could move my fingers again. I flexed the muscles in my arm and winced.

“That is only a temporary fix. I will need more time to mend the bones completely.”

“Assuming we survive this.”

He flashed me a bitter smile. “Indeed. Get somewhere safe.”

I shook my head. “They’ll only chase me. Give me a weapon.”

“I don’t have time to argue with you.”

“Whether I leave or stay, I’m dead,” I replied, my voice hard with resolve. “I’d personally rather go out fighting,”

Raphael stared down at me for a long moment before handing me one of his axes, which took a moment to balance in my hands. He motioned to two male archangels behind me—a pair of dark-haired, olive-skinned twins.

“Ithuriel, Zephon, stay close to her.” The two angels nodded.

Raphael joined Michael and Gabriel where they stood in front of the crater, weapons poised. Across from us at the edge of the lake, Belial had acquired his own suit of armor: not nearly as intricately decorated as the angels, but the black metal looked as frightening as the demon himself. He raised a hand and scores of demons trudged out of the lake. Their dingy armor, weapons, and burnt grey wings dripped water as they came to a stop behind him.

Mulciber came up beside him with her face bloodied and bruised from Michael’s assault. It made a grim smirk touch my lips. She too had summoned a dark brown armor and a whip made of fire, flickering light across her filthy mahogany-colored wings. They weren’t kidding when they said they wanted a war.

The smoke cleared and the false angel rose to its feet from a crouch. Patches of burnt skin sloughed onto the ground, exposing muscle and cartilage, but the damn thing still stood.

Belial lifted twin katanas above his head, smiling that serpentine smile that did not suit Terrell’s face at all. “Well, Prince of Heaven’s Army, doesn’t this seem familiar?”

Michael’s eyes narrowed from beneath the brim of his silver helmet as he spoke. “For proof, look up and read thy Lot in yon celestial Sign where thou art weigh’d and show how light and weak if thou resist.”

Fury flooded across the demon’s features in a rush. “Don’t you
dare
spit those words back at me, you arrogant fool! You struck down my Master once with that sword and I will make sure you pay back every drop of blood.”

Belial motioned forward with his katanas. “Rain Hell upon them!”

The war began.

The demons released a battle cry that shook the ground beneath my feet and hummed through my bones. They ran at us, weapons raised, armor gleaming in the moonlight, and every inch of my body tensed at once. I gripped the axe in my hands, and it seemed to grow lighter on account of the fresh adrenaline coursing through my veins. God help me.

The first wave of demons slammed into the front lines, surrounding me in a cacophony of noise: metal scraping metal, blades slicing flesh, blood splashing through the air. The two angels whom Raphael had assigned as my guardians flanked me, making a triangle facing outward so no one could sneak up behind us.

My eyes locked onto an approaching demon, a hulking man carrying a broad sword. He swung at me in a powerful but slow movement, allowing me the time to dodge and slice into his kneecaps with the axe. He screamed and collapsed to the ground, dropping the weapon. Zephon plunged his lance into the demon’s neck, killing him. One down, hundreds to go.

Bodies wriggled and writhed around me on all sides, making it hard to concentrate, but I forced myself to widen my focus to anything wearing the wrong color armor headed in my direction. I parried a blow from another demon, struggling to hold off the sickle mere inches from my skin, and called out: “Strike!” My energy shard went straight through his forehead, killing him instantly, and I kicked him out of the way.

As I continued fighting, I could just barely hear the sound of the archangels fighting the false angel. Every time it struck and missed, the ground trembled like a miniature earthquake. Out of my peripheral, I spotted Gabriel floating overhead, his golden wings flapping to keep him aloft, his thin sword already black with demon’s blood. He went into a straight dive and slashed at the false angel’s right arm, slicing deep into its skin, but it was still too tough to cut through completely. The false angel batted him away with a vicious swipe, sending him spiraling into the air. It swung its massive fist down at the ground, where I noticed the glinting armor of Michael. I felt a sudden rush of concern, but the angel blocked the blow with his sword, shouting out attack incantations. Large wounds appeared on the creature’s wide chest and blood spurted forth like a fountain, but still it stood.

Not far away, Raphael was locked in battle with Belial, swinging his axe as if it weighed no more than a pencil. Belial fought back just as fiercely, the sickening grin replaced with an utterly cold, murderous expression. But that wasn’t what worried me. Where was Mulciber?

“Jordan!” I whipped my head to the right as Ithuriel called my name, his brown eyes wide as he pointed his rapier at something beside us. I followed his gaze and saw the tip of the flaming whip latching around the neck of one angel, throwing him into a group of others. It made a small clearing among the melee. Mulciber marched towards us with death in her eyes—a look that was meant for me and only me.

Ithuriel and Zephon stepped in front of me, blocking most of my body from view. Ithuriel sheathed his rapier and drew a bow from his back, loading it with three golden arrows. He released and they whistled through the air in a deadly arc. She flicked her arm and the whip slashed two of them in half, but the third hit the weak point in her armor at the shoulder. She flinched, grabbing the offending dart and throwing it to the ground. Blood dripped down her brown armor, but she kept coming.

Ithuriel kept shooting, stepping back to usher us to retreat as she got closer, slapping away the arrows as they came.

“Get ready!” He shouted to his companion, shouldering the bow and retrieving his rapier as she got within range.

She aimed for me, but Zephon blocked the blow with his lance, twisting the end of the whip around the blade and yanking. She flew forward and he punched her in the face, flooring her.

Hissing, she leapt back onto her feet, clutching her end of the now useless whip, and kicked his legs out from under him. He went into a back roll, coming up to grip his lance, but she jerked her wrist and the whip ripped it out of his grasp. It landed in the grass several feet behind her.

Ithuriel came at her next, his rapier raised, leaping in close to keep her from using the whip again. She used the handle to block him, moving almost too fast for the eye to see. Zephon joined his partner, armed with a blade that had been tucked in his belt as a back-up weapon. I continued fending off the demons that managed to break through to us, trying to keep an eye on their battle when I could. It wasn’t until I heard their sharp cries of pain over the roar of war that something went wrong.

I turned. They were both on their knees, clutching identical shoulder wounds. A dagger had sprung from the handle of her whip—an obsidian-tipped blade. Judging by the pain on their faces, it must have been poisoned. She stepped towards me. Ithuriel reached for her, but she kicked him away, knocking him senseless.

Zephon grimaced, trying desperately to get to his feet. “Jordan, get out of here!”

I hacked and slashed at the demons in front of me, making a path for myself, but I didn’t get very far. I didn’t have enough ground to retreat to, and she was almost to me. I squared my shoulders and clutched the axe, raising it.

“Fine. You want me dead, bitch? Bring it.”

Mulciber smiled sweetly back at me, her voice like poisoned honey. “Gladly.”

She slashed at me with the whip. I shouted, “I reject!”

The weighted tip of the weapon ripped through my shield as if it were paper, but it gave me enough space to roll to the side, aiming for her already injured shoulder. She turned away at the last minute, making my axe miss and sink into the ground. I yanked it out of the dirt, wincing as my injured arm burned with pain, and faced her again.

“How adorable,” she purred as she circled me, her hand twirling the handle of the whip. “I see the angel has taught you how to attack and defend. It won’t work on me, my dear. I’m a new animal.”

“On that we agree.” I lunged forward and aimed for her head. Mulciber blocked me with her forearm and the blade sunk into the metal, crumpling it. Well, at least I’d hit her. She shot me an insolent glare, surprised that I’d at least managed to get through to flesh.

“Well done, Seer. I will play with you no more. It’s time to die.”

She aimed for my neck. I brought the axe up, but the tip of the whip wrapped around the handle. She pulled with inhuman strength, yanking it out of my grip. Shit!

I scrambled backwards, checking the ground for any loose weapons. Just as she raised the whip again, I found a discarded sword and blocked her next blow, wincing as sparks flew into my face, nearly blinding me. She laughed and kept coming, shouting above the sounds of dying all around us.

“What a piece of work is man!” Mulciber exclaimed, punctuating the quote with another powerful blow. My arm had begun to throb with pain from absorbing the strikes into the sword. It seemed to be getting weaker by the minute.

“How noble in reason!”
CLANG!

“How infinite in faculty!”
CLANG!

“In form and moving how express and admirable!”
CLANG!

At last, she managed to hit my left arm with the whip. I cried out, dropping the sword. Wearing a nightmarish grin, she kicked me in the chest, sprawling me on the grass. I clutched the wounded spot, struggling to rise to my feet, but she tossed her whip aside and grabbed me around the neck. She slammed my head against the ground. Pain crackled through my skull.

I weakly tried to say, “Strike,” but she wrapped those cold fingers around my throat and squeezed.

“In action how like an angel,” Mulciber purred as she choked the life out of me bit by bit. “In apprehension how like a god; the beauty of the world, the paragon of animals.”

I clawed at her arms, her face, getting blood and skin beneath my fingernails. My legs thrashed beneath me, trying to shove me upward, but I couldn’t get out of her grip.

“Goodbye, sweet Jordan.”

Darkness ate my vision and the last thing I heard was the sound of Michael calling my name.

I stood in a field of pure white that seemed to have no end, with nothing inhabiting it except for me and the two people standing in front of me. To the right, there was a tall man with black hair and azure eyes that met my gaze with a strange sort of serenity. My eyes followed the pattern of several faded scars that marred the right side of his neck and one that bisected his right eyebrow.

The woman beside him was much more familiar—about 5’8’’, skin the color of coffee with cream, shoulder-length black hair that fell in curly waves about her oval face and chocolate eyes.

My mouth went dry. “It’s you.”

Catalina Amador and Andrew Bethsaida smiled at me then, speaking at the same time.

“Hello,
mi hija
.”

“Hey, kid.”

I felt as if someone had punched me in the gut—I couldn’t seem to breathe or form words. Every part of me had wanted to see them again. There were so many nights when I thought of what I would say if I ever saw my mother or Andrew again. The only problem was that the words piled up in my tightened throat, jumbling like cars in a wreck on the highway. I swallowed hard and pushed past the lump in my throat.

“There are…so many things I’ve wanted to tell you…” I began, but my mother shook her head, a soft smile gracing her lips.

“We know what you’re thinking,
mi hija
. We know you’ve missed us.”

“More than you can imagine,” I mumbled.

She reached out and wrapped her arms around me, solid, warm, comforting. Tears burned in my eyes and spilled down my cheeks in rivulets as I hugged her back, breathing in her scent, afraid that she’d disappear again. After a moment, she drew away. I turned my attention to the Seer by her side.

“Andrew, I—”

He shook his head when he saw the wounded expression on my face, removing his hands from the pockets of his black slacks.