Archon(107)

An ant, maybe? Or a spider?

No. It was an image.

Instantly, her ears buzzed, her insides swam, and she was sucked inside the Grail itself. Angela was too surprised to scream or even to be frightened. Then the rectory vanished in the blink of an eye, and she stood in what must have been the darkness at the stone’s middle, watching Nina walk by her in a dank, cobblestoned alleyway. The buildings on either side were dilapidated—probably close to where she was now—and ahead a tunnel passed beneath a stone bridge.

Just as quickly, the visions vanished, and Angela was back in the rectory with the Eye still swinging in front of her.

She tapped the pupil carefully.

It had gone cold, and its onyx surface was hard as a rock.

There was no doubt, though, that she had seen what the Eye had seen, or perhaps what it merely wanted to show her. Maybe it sensed the terrible predicament she currently faced and had attempted to help in some frightening way of its own.

She was honestly in trouble, and more than ever before. Despite whatever feelings Angela had for him, Kim was a wild card now—impossible to trust one hundred percent after his strange attempt at compromise. Troy was still Bound to her, but by force rather than by choice. Sophia and Israfel had left her for God only knew where—they could return in an hour or a century. And Stephanie and Naamah would be looking for her, either to kill her and be done with it—Stephanie’s preferred course of action—or to declare her the Archon, and—

What would Naamah do if Angela was the Archon?

Probably force her to open the Book, then either kill her in Lucifel’s name or tackle Kim’s proposal head-on and put her on the Throne of Hell.

That left Angela with one person she could count on absolutely.

Nina. She was possessed, and yet she was all that Angela had.

I have to find her.

Angela yanked on her arm gloves and tights, but quickly rethought things and discarded them before tightening the laces on her boots. The air was too humid, she was uncomfortably warm, and while the scars made her a freak, they didn’t make her a witch like Stephanie and her alabaster legs.

Her hangover was dying off, replaced by a growing anger.

In her shock and grief, Angela had dared to blame Israfel, but Stephanie more than anyone else had killed her brother. Sure, she hadn’t cut his throat herself, but she’d asked Naamah to do it for her. But the most horrible detail of all was also the most haunting. Brendan had been out of his mind, and whether he deserved it or not, murdering him so violently had been no more valiant than putting a rabid dog to sleep. Israfel wasn’t human, and he saw the world through those superior angelic eyes. But Stephanie at least used to have a human heart, and she should have known better.

Angela cinched her laces, her fingers shaking.

Outside, the storm rolled into Luz silently.

Too silently. Like it mirrored the dreadful pissed-off state of her mind.

Stephanie expects me to run and hide. She expects me to stay out of her games and let her get away with all this bullshit.

The Grail swung beneath her ruined blouse, suddenly heavy and radiating a new heat that felt oddly comforting the more she got used to it. Not that she could hide it properly anymore. Angela’s clothes were so torn and tattered, she must have looked like a zombie. Her skirt had at least two holes in it half the size of her hands, and her blouse was smeared with dirt and blood and was ripped halfway across the chest.

I don’t care if I’m the Archon or not. I don’t have to open that damned Book to put Stephanie where she belongs.

In Hell.

She left the room, clattering down the steep staircase and along a hallway that emptied into the broken church. Angela splashed through the puddles, hardly even giving a damn about her surroundings. Her brain burned like the stone around her neck, and it seemed to her that through that Eye, she could see the whole universe and everything in it, and how much it deserved to be in her hands rather than in those of a greedy, ignorant person like Stephanie.

This is my world.

Where was that thought coming from? It was the voice that had reminded her how to subdue Troy, and its pitch and tone was still like her own, but much more forceful. Briefly, Angela flashed back to that long-ago dream, when she’d stood before the angel who’d spoken to her so mysteriously.

Now she remembered at least a fraction of what he’d said, though she wasn’t sure how much sense it made.

For now, though, it seemed right to agree.

This is my world. Time to enforce the rules.





Thirty-two



She is my Prince, but only because I choose it to be so. And I dare say there will come a time to change my mind.



—THE DEMON PYTHON, TRANSCRIBED FROM The Lies of Babylon