What was this? Was she hedging to protect that irritating human?
More likely her own life.
“You knew the rules,” Troy said, suddenly on guard. There was more to this than compromise. The demon was dangerous, and she was planning. Of course, Troy’s precarious situation was all Angela’s fault. If she hadn’t been locked into that hellish Binding with her, she could have watched the carnage, not participate. “You freely chose to walk into our territory on that day, and since then your life was forfeit. Bribery won’t save it now.”
Naamah opened her hand, gathering another crackling mass of energy. “So I suppose that’s a no?”
Troy flapped her wings, narrowing her eyes beneath the pain of the light.
“That won’t work.”
But that also wasn’t what the demon had in mind. Instantly, the energy arced out from her hands, searing into the bodies crumpled across the tile. Souls materialized above them, vaporous and gray, whispering words of human revenge and anger. They turned to Naamah, following the soft movements of her lips. Then they raced forward and surrounded Troy in a whirling ring. She swatted at one, and it disintegrated to tatters, moaning hideously. But others followed, and no matter what she did, there always seemed to be more of them, coming out of nowhere to confuse her, suck away at her life force. Troy bit through them, catching a quick glimpse of Angela, Israfel, and the one named Sophia. They were still in their own disgusting little world, debating and shouting and crying while everyone else bled around them or dropped dead.
There was something wrong, though.
As much as it satisfied Troy to watch her suffer, Angela’s expression suggested dire things.
“Enough of this.”
Troy beat her wings furiously, scattering vestments and cloths, blowing out the last of the painful candlelight. The ghosts dissipated, like part of the wind.
Naamah fled, her wings creaking in the darkness.
“Get ready,” Troy growled, clicking her teeth together. “This time, I’m going to tear your throat wide open.”
There was a sudden quiet, broken only by Angela’s frantic voice, the incessant rain.
Boom. Boom. Boom.
“LET ME HELP YOU.” Stephanie was screaming all over again for Naamah, oblivious even to the debris that crashed perilously near to her.
Troy let her ears find the demon first, and then her eyes.
There she was. High in the air, first the ether and now her powerful wings propelling her near the murals painted onto the ceiling. Their details had been hazed over by deep shadows, but Troy could discern a woman and child, various humans gathered inside a pit of roaring flames, and an angel, his weapon pointed at the neck of a demon with a serpent’s head—and rotten, bloody wings.
Troy sprinted on all fours and crawled up the nearest stone pillar.
She latched onto the ceiling with her nails, scampering toward the demon with all the speed she had left. Of course, Naamah knew Troy was tired now. She knew that she’d have an advantage. Troy couldn’t fly much longer—not with half of her energy drained away—but she also couldn’t let Naamah have the upper hand in this battle.
Naamah must have already realized the balance of power had shifted.
She smiled, her golden braids framing her face like a halo.
Then she touched the tattoo on her neck and tore away the skin. “As Naamah, Fourth Great Demon of Hell, I implore all the power of the Black Prince—”
Blood streamed out of the new wounds on her neck and collarbone, but swiftly spiraled up along Naamah’s arm, melding with the tattoo clenched between her fingerblades, solidifying into a red sword that was all jagged edges and rigid forks. Naamah wrapped her hands around the bottom of her weapon, whispering so softly that only a Jinn’s ears could hear above the thunder, the rain, and the screaming that continued below and around them.
“—and with the offering of my blood and my life, I seek to defend the honor of her wishes and ideals. Come on, rat,” she muttered at Troy. “Come and get me.” Her expression turned to ice. “If you dare.”
Naamah soared for her, the blood sword lifted high.
Troy jumped onto the chain of a chandelier, its brass links hanging from the middle of a painting. The lamp swung wildly beneath her weight, tipping dangerously to the right and tossing her back into the darkness.
The demon screamed, slashing at her.
Her weapon met the chain, scraping into the metal. A second later, the links snapped, and the chandelier fell thundering to the floor.
Boom. Boom.
The noise of the demon’s wings was fury itself.
She swooped in close again, slicing clean through the tips of Troy’s wing feathers, showering a black snow to the ground. But instead of turning to face her, Troy fought her aching muscles and flew ahead, racing for the platform that she sensed was an altar.