Perhaps they weren’t mistaken. Stephanie shouted at Angela, breaking her trance.
“—and I think it’s time we finished this. Naamah—”
The demon wasn’t moving. Instead she narrowed her eyes knowingly at Stephanie, dark with concentration as Israfel approached with the same grace he’d used to enter the church. Stephanie backed away from him, screaming, but the angel silenced her with a sharp gesture of his hand.
She clutched at her throat, still spewing words no one could hear.
Turning to Naamah for help, finding none, whatever pride she was holding on to melted with the shattered look on her face. She whimpered, like a child begging for protection.
Sophia grabbed Angela’s wrist, squeezing it again. Her voice was fainter than a breeze. “You must not let him see the Grail.”
How does she know I have it?
Angela’s blouse was loose enough to keep it hidden. But she obeyed without questioning any further, realizing that her instincts had been correct all along.
The Grail would be a reminder of Lucifel.
She clamped her hand over the Eye, almost wishing it could fuse to her body rather than swing from her neck.
“Is it you?” Israfel was saying to Stephanie.
She was calming down, entranced. But her hands remained balled into fists, and she shivered all over, responding to his closeness like the threat that it was. Then Israfel reached down and lifted her chin, leaning in for a familiar kiss. Stephanie struggled with him at first, but soon gave in, and Angela bit her lip, feeling it bleed. In an instant, her grief was forgotten. Instead, it was taking everything in her—and Sophia’s fingers clamped into her skin like cold iron—not to repeat Brendan’s mistake and start screaming like a maniac.
Israfel broke away from her quickly. “What is this?”
Stephanie shook out of her short possession, panting. Naamah’s expression had changed to one of sudden and unexpected anguish. His reaction had told her something important, maybe devastating.
“That taste,” Israfel said, practically spitting her out of his mouth. “Like you’ve crawled out of the Abys—”
Boom.
Thunder resounded through the cathedral.
The rosette window at the front of the church exploded into a million shards of color.
The double doors of the church slammed back open, their locks cracking with a burst of crimson light. Students, teachers, novices, priests, and civilians flooded out of the disaster into the storm, into Luz, as above them, the city’s notorious serial killer winged her way through a new rain of glass. Troy seemed to descend in slow motion, every flap of her feathers sounding more forceful than a million growls and hisses. Lightning raced across the open sky above the cathedral, highlighting the little razors that were her teeth, and she landed on all fours with a grace that matched the sleek beauty of her wings and ears.
Then she ripped into a student who stood in her way. He fell with one swipe of her nails. In seconds, she was racing in Naamah’s direction.
She came. Why? Because she’s Bound to me? Because she heard my thoughts?
Troy passed Angela, giving her a glare that confirmed everything.
There was no time for explanations.
Stephanie screamed for the demon, the other sorority members taking their chance at escape. Only Sophia wasn’t going anywhere.
Israfel seemed to have materialized out of the air, pulling her out of Angela’s reach.
Sophia glared at him with surprising hatred. “Let go of me, Israfel. Or you’ll be sorry for it.”
She knows him too. Oh, God, why can’t I hate him for this? For letting Brendan die? For anything?
Angela grabbed her back, yanking her close.
The church continued falling to pieces around them, glass smashing and plaster cracking. “What are you doing?”
Israfel ran his fingers through Sophia’s curls. “That careless demon saved me a week’s worth of searching. Who’d have thought they’d leave such a precious item lying around?”
“But that doesn’t make sense . . .” Angela’s body trembled, her insides freezing over. This was surreal. It simply didn’t make any sense whatsoever. “Israfel,” she forced herself to sound firm, “you’re making a mistake. Sophia is just a friend of mine, she—”
She’s a person who already died, and you’re going to kill her again? Not today . . .
Unlike Brendan and his repressed lack of morals, Sophia hadn’t done anything to justify another punishment. Angela felt her first spark of anger, staring at Israfel’s kohl-rimmed eyes and stainless perfection. Whatever enchantment he’d used on Brendan, her feelings must have been too genuine for that to matter. She wanted to slap him across the face, like she’d been tossed into the middle of an argument between two lovers and was now forced to pick a side. She actually felt stronger than him, even when he laughed and the noise sounded lighter and farther away than the stars. The wings that were once normal ears flapped and folded again, hiding beneath his hair. “Friend? Excuse me, but someone has put silly ideas into your head.”