“I’m shivering?” Stephanie whispered. She looked down at her body, all her limbs vibrating, her knees knocking together. “It’s so cold in here,” she said, her voice echoing from a distance.
Naamah spoke to Sophia, more alien words.
The girl stared at Stephanie, a morbid look on her face, but obeyed with a silent huff and stepped out of the room. When she reappeared, she held two more candles, their flames like tiny spots of light in the deep and miserable gloom. But the room didn’t brighten for Stephanie, not even a shade. Instead, her vision swirled, and she cradled her head in her hands, hoping she wouldn’t end up like Lyrica, vomiting on her knees.
The world felt like it was collapsing, unhinging beneath her feet. Sensation ceased.
A greater darkness loomed before her, and she glanced up, astonished to see that Sophia gazed back, the same punishing expression on her face.
Naamah was gone, the bathroom silent.
Near her bed, the clock chimed out the hour. Eight in the morning. Strangely, an hour had passed without her even noticing.
“Did I fall asleep?” Stephanie said, glancing furtively around the bedroom.
Sophia continued to stand in front of her, still and silent.
“Where is Naamah?”
No response.
“The demon. My mother—”
“Is waiting to meet you at St. Mary’s,” Sophia said, her voice little more than a breath of air. Another clock chimed in a lower room, the sound somehow jarring. As illogical as the sudden leap in time. “Today is the All Saints’ Day feast, Stephanie. You wouldn’t want to miss it. I’m sure you have all kinds of . . . plans.”
Stephanie stood up, her knees still weak, and shambled over to the mirror to rearrange her hair, closing her eyes and opening them to a brighter room. Of course. She must have imagined all the darkness. All of those gray and black shadows. Now, her room appeared more normal, and a million times less ominous, even cheerful with its white crown molding and royal purple curtains. Sophia was just a harmless doll standing in a much more harmless doll house. Her fingers, though, were bloody. Probably from the pentagrams in the chapel.
There had been so many.
“Not that I blame you. I’d be nervous too.”
The tone in her voice was alarming.
Stephanie turned around, finding her old sense of confidence the more Sophia revealed herself; mousy, waiflike, and ignorant. How could she be so afraid of her? What she mistook for an unworldly horror was really just Sophia’s empty mind shining through. Surely there had to be consequences when you brought the dead back to life, especially more than once. Every time it happened, more and more of Sophia’s brain probably disintegrated.
“It seems like everyone has friendly advice for me lately.” Stephanie picked up her overcoat from the bed, slipping it over her shoulders. “If you want to help, you can start by telling me what happened to Angela Mathers after the ceremony.” Stephanie spun on her heel. “She was with Kim, right?”
Sophia turned aside, visibly holding something back.
“I guess that’s one thing you and I have in common. We both don’t want them together. Though—not for the same reasons, of course. Did you think I wouldn’t notice how you stare at her when she isn’t looking?”
“Stephanie, this is the only instance you and I will speak as equals. Now listen to me for once. You need to stop this, while there’s still a chance for you to turn back. Has Naamah told you about the Supernals?”
“Of course she has.” Stephanie regarded her carefully.
“Then you know the danger that you’re in.”
“Raziel’s dead,” Stephanie said, welcoming the certainty of it. “And he’s inside of me. That’s one bird down. Lucifel’s not a threat either.”
“Do you realize how ridiculous that sounds?” Sophia was back to her gentle, measured tone of voice. For a moment, she could barely look Stephanie in the eye. “And what about Israfel?”
“Naamah said he’s dead too. They’re all either dead or on their way out. Where are you going with this?”
Sophia leaned in close, all whispers and mystery, like her words erupted from some deep and invisible well. “Israfel has many names, Stephanie. ‘Israfel’ itself is just one translation among many, the most accurate in human terms. But he has others that are better known.” Her face looked gaunt in the gray light. Tired. “You don’t know him like I do. He’s older than Naamah. Smarter. Infinitely more beautiful and cruel, and if you can’t understand that paradox, you will not be able to withstand him if the moment arrives.”