Oh, God. This is going to be bad. I know it.
The novices lined behind her murmured back and forth.
Some of the priests went white in the face. Rain lashed the windows of the cathedral, beginning a hammering downpour.
“I’m sure everyone knows by now about the serial killer in Luz. I’m sure you’ve been wondering what kind of person could commit such horrible crimes. He’s probably disturbed, emotionless. Someone with a history of violence against himself and others.”
She paused dramatically, everyone else pausing with her.
“I saw Maribel’s death firsthand—”
Liar. What’s she doing . . .
“—and I’m afraid to tell you, there’s a demon loose in the city.”
Angela expected laughter, incredulous snorting. Instead, panic shivered through the entire university population, edging some of the students out of their seats and into the aisle. They stopped abruptly as the doors slammed shut, the locks clicking into place. A few spun around, startled by the noise, by the priest’s aghast expressions.
This was Luz, and Stephanie was a witch. Anything could happen now.
Angela glanced at Naamah, immediately suspicious.
The demon lowered her hand, smiling cruelly.
“Miss Walsh—” the presiding priest snapped at her from across the altar. The church became worryingly dark again, candles sputtering out, leaving only those on the altar table bright and wavering. “Miss Walsh—”
“But every demon summoned to Earth needs a master,” Stephanie said louder. She left the podium, marching across the stone, giving her audience a smile meant for Angela more than anyone else. They stared at each other, and Angela made sure her eyes never left Stephanie’s, no matter how much it hurt her to look her in the face.
Why, though, did it hurt?
She’s different. Something’s changed since last night.
One more mystery among many. Even worse, Israfel still hadn’t shown himself. Maybe he’d seen Naamah standing there. Maybe he’d rethought helping his plaything on such a soggy morning. Either way, for now, it looked like Angela had no one to rely on but herself.
“Angela Mathers,” Stephanie said, pointing at her, making hundreds of heads whip around, horrified. The student next to Angela backed away like she had the plague. “She tried to join my sorority by summoning a fallen angel to this Academy. It killed Maribel—”
Resounding gasps of horror.
Stephanie lost her smile. “—and escaped into the city during the height of the storm.”
“Shut her up,” the priest snapped at those to his left and right, gesturing for them to drag her off the altar. “She’s gone completely mad. The last thing we need—shut her up,” his voice thundered, mixing with the thunder outside.
Stephanie spun around, her hair swinging like a rope. “Not so fast.”
Her voice was so forceful, everyone froze, hypnotized.
The priest gazed at her with real fear.
“We’re just getting started.”
She looked to Naamah.
The demon waved her dark hand, forcing the church into almost utter blackness. Students screamed, some dashing toward the doors, only to find them locked. Others sat in a shocked and dead silent horror, unable to do a thing as the novices backed away from Stephanie, afraid of what else could go wrong if they touched her.
Angela alone remained standing.
Stephanie marched up to her, refined and polite. “That was a pretty good stunt you pulled last night,” she said, whispering. “But I don’t quite feel like playing games anymore. How acquainted are you with Hell, Angela? You’re going to be visiting soon, I think.”
Statues loomed overhead. The stained glass glazed over beneath Naamah’s bloody light.
Angela almost felt like a prophet. “You’ll visit long before I do.”
“You’re not the Archon, Angela Mathers.”
Stephanie’s eyes were strangely piercing, her words so certain, so confident, Angela almost agreed. Which might have explained why her answer surprised them both.
“We’ll see.”
Stephanie turned away, her heeled boots clacking imperiously against the tiles. She walked nearer to the priest in charge of the Mass, his white face matching his hair.
No one moved to obey him, too afraid of what Stephanie could do.
“Archbishop Solomon,” she said, meeting him eye to eye. “Considering the circumstances, I think we should both agree that our deal is officially null and void. I’m going to have to take over from here.”
“You,” the priest hissed, sounding distinctly furious, “have had more than enough freedom to act at this Academy, Miss Walsh. But that freedom ends today. The moment you step out of this church, you are expelled from the school—and”—he glared pointedly at the pentacle on her overcoat—“excommunicated.”