For the tremendous panic to begin.
Students burst from their pews, stampeding in thunderous chaos to the doors, the windows. The screams were deafening. Glass smashed. People howled, stepped on by others, by friends. Outside, the storm continued, relentless and terrifying, and as the doors held fast and the windowsills sat too high for anyone to climb through them, the pandemonium increased by the second.
Angela dashed from her own pew and snagged Sophia by the arm, holding on with real pain while the novices swept by, screaming with the others. Those brave enough to challenge Naamah had already died, either bleeding or collapsing from an invisible blow to the head, the chest—it was too hard to tell.
Everything was madness.
There’s no way to stop her. Even I can’t do it. If I try to use Latin, she’ll kill me, or at least shut me up.
Then the singing nearly brought her to her knees.
Every person’s reaction was instantaneous. Those in a blind panic paused to listen, rapt with amazement. Many of the novices’ eyes widened large as saucers, and they picked themselves out of the mayhem, stepping closer to hear. The priests froze like deer sighted by wolves, staring in shocked reverence.
Stephanie looked like her face had been dipped in bleach.
Naamah trembled, her unfurled wings spasming with either rage or wretched fear. More skin than bloody feathers, her wings were riddled with patches of tendon and bone. Metal had been ribbed through them, as if to keep the ragged mess together.
Sophia squeezed Angela’s hand, shivering.
Brendan looked ecstatic as Israfel appeared, gliding from the shadows that veiled the altar’s side entrance, a white, graceful, lovely perfection that broke apart the darkness, the bloody light, the hell that the cathedral had become. His wings were all white feathers and elegance, trailing behind him like a prince’s robe, and his embroidered coat shimmered like a newborn star. Platinum chains, sewn to the fabric, jingled musically whenever he took a step. There was a sudden flowering of scent, like musk and lilies and salt water.
Israfel was so beautiful, he was more an apparition than a reality.
And he’s mine.
The second Israfel stopped singing, Stephanie screeched at Naamah, wild-eyed, red in the face.
“You said HE WAS DEAD.”
The demon wasn’t listening. She stared at Israfel like he’d risen from a grave right in front of her, her fingerblades clenching and unclenching with indecision.
“WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR? JUST KILL HIM.”
The storm raged over Naamah’s first sentence, and barely revealed the next. “. . . a Supernal. If you take one more step closer, I’ll cut his throat.”
She meant Brendan, of course. He was laughing loudly again, but so close to Naamah that she merely grabbed him by the shoulders and put her fingers to his neck, snapping out her demands.
“Stay back, angel.”
Now it all made sense. Israfel’s plaything was Brendan, Angela’s own brother. She’d probably never know how they’d met—whether it had been coincidence, an honest mistake, or deliberate seduction—but Brendan’s nasty comments in the cafeteria suddenly meant so much more. Whatever kind of activities he’d been participating in the last few weeks, they’d either changed his personality, or brought out a darkness inside of it that he’d managed to hide for quite a while.
Stephanie had ironically met her match—she had her demon and Brendan had his angel. Now, they were on frighteningly equal footing.
They never loved each other to begin with. Love can’t turn to a hatred this strong.
Then she recalled Tileaf’s memories of Lucifel, and that certainty took wings and flew from her, never to return.
“He’s mine, crow.” Troy’s voice echoed from far away, its anger burning the soul like living fire.
A piercing howl tortured Kim’s ears.
The Throne’s cruel fingers unclenched from around his neck, Angela’s ghost disappeared, and he crashed onto the drenched cobblestones, sweet oxygen burning into each lung, his body gasping and boneless with pain. The female angel writhed beside him like a worm on a hook, blood streaming from a wounded wing, the other flapping maniacally, scraping his coat. Troy lunged again from the shadows, snapping her teeth, careful to stay out of arm’s reach. Then she connected with the angel—and both of them tumbled to the ground in a flurry of nails and feathers, holding nothing back.
Fury circled overhead, a black silhouette croaking in alarm.
It was another warning, one that Kim would be wise to pay attention to again. He could have been beaten by a club, his muscles felt so sore. But he was also a half-Jinn, and fueled by the blood and the sound of Troy’s wrath, he was back on his feet with surprising speed. The rain continued to fall in buckets, and in an instant, his cousin and the angel disappeared, lost to Luz’s gray waters.