“I knew it,” Tileaf whispered. “It didn’t seem possible . . . but you—you—”
You’ve been suffering for so long.
Angela stood over her, clenching her fingers into the stone. Its surface ruptured under her nails, and she sensed, rather than saw, the blood warming her fingers.
But now I know exactly how to help you.
She felt the blood harden into a knife.
Then, for Tileaf, it was the end.
Before my eyes, the Abyss.
In my ears, the howl of despair.
My kingdom is now my prison.
—
T
HE
S
UPERNAL
L
UCIFEL,
A Collection of Angelic Lore
W
eight.
Kim couldn’t breathe, and it felt like his chest was being crushed.
He opened his eyes to the morning grayness, only half surprised to see Stephanie straddling him, one of her thin hands pressed up against his throat. But the moment his eyelids had spread apart, her fingers relaxed, and she pushed back the hairs near his cheeks as if that had been her aim all along.
How in God’s name had she come back after what she’d done and where she’d gone?
And the look in her eyes—Stephanie’s face was indefinably disturbing, like a mask. She stared back at him in an odd, expressionless way—even for a person who killed like it was routine. Now it seemed entirely plausible for her to attack Israfel and escape unscathed.
Otherwise, she was gorgeous as always, her crimson eye shadow finely powdered beneath her brows, her legs still long and soft. Instead of her own overcoat, she wore one of his long novice coats that fell to the ankles, and its black buttons gleamed beneath the candelabra’s flames.
The sight was unusual enough to make him pause.
He spoke slowly, hoping his voice wouldn’t reveal anything. She’d seen him with Angela again, and in the world of their sham relationship, that was certainly a good reason for murder. “Shouldn’t you be dead?”
Fury chattered at the sound of his voice. The crow bounced below the window frame, peering inside. Quickly, she soared back out into the gathering darkness.
“Good morning to you too.” Stephanie leaned down to kiss him.
Oh no. That wasn’t right at all.
He pushed her away, sitting up in bed so that she slid closer to his knees.
Stephanie pressed against his bare chest, stroking the skin with her cold fingertips. “Kim, I want to give you another chance. I want you and me to be together in this.”
“You mean in this relationship?”
That wasn’t right either.
He grabbed her by the thighs, careful not to act too unnerved. She was lethal now, and if Israfel had received a flesh wound, Kim would probably suffer worse. “Get off me.”
Stephanie fought to stay put, but then he succeeded in tossing her to the other side of the bed, and her ponytail swung behind her like a rope, smacking into the wall. She breathed hard, but continued analyzing him with her eyes, as if gauging how best to tempt him again. Even the blush on her face could have been a well-thought-out lie.
“How did you even get in here?” Kim could have sworn he’d locked the door before going to sleep.
“Well, let’s just say not all the novices think the archbishop’s death was a bad idea.” Stephanie crawled back to him, her arms wrapping possessively around his neck. “I could have killed you too, you know. But I didn’t.”
Her fingers trailed down to his stomach, full of suggestion.
Footsteps traveled up and down the hallway outside of his room. Soft whispers followed them, murmurs, the creak of his door as someone listened outside. The seminarian dormitory was far more alive than Kim had thought it would be. Stephanie must have been right—not everyone was against the idea of her lording over a good portion of Luz, especially the novices, priests, and various people who would benefit from her witchcraft. But that still didn’t completely explain how she’d found another key to his room.
“So where did murdering me factor into your sudden feelings?”
He left the bed, picking up the clothes he’d folded near the base of his closet. He needed to behave like this, as if nothing could possibly be different about her. Because if Kim betrayed a hint of suspicion or fear, he was certain he’d pay for it. It was a subtle and deadly game to play. Luckily for Kim, Troy had given him plenty of opportunity for practice over the years.
Sensing Stephanie’s unnerving stare, he focused on his clothes, buttoning his shirt.
Their black hue matched the clouds bubbling across the skyline. Since yesterday the weather had evolved into something straight from Hell, and the silence that had lingered into the morning meant what had to be the worst—the Academy was cut off from the rest of the mainland. Now, they were all destined to either sink or drown in the attempt to leave Luz alive.
“We’re through. But if you’re lonely, you always have Naamah for company—”
“
Shut up,
” Stephanie said. She jumped from the bed and grabbed Kim by the shoulders, her nails digging into his skin. He winced slightly, aware of the blood trickling to his navel.
“Tell me where Angela is.”
“You talk like I keep tabs on her.”
She looked at him coolly, her hands shaking, like she couldn’t make up her mind about something, or decide on what she felt. “
Where,
Kim?”
“Why does it matter, Stephanie? Your mind is made up, after all. You’re the Archon. You’re the Ruin Naamah has been waiting for. So does it really matter where Angela is and why? Unless,” he said slowly, “you’re second-guessing yourself . . .”
Stephanie stared at him, her eyes narrowing slightly. “You’re right,” she said, though her voice was hushed. The tactic of someone who didn’t want to be heard. “
I am the Archon
.”
“But I also warned you about what that means—”
“I’m not afraid of Lucifel.” Her face took on a strange, shrewd expression, her green eyes wide and haunted. “Or that angel who just stood there while Brendan bled to death. That relic—
Israfel
.”
She said the name with such hatred, it was startling.
That’s right. Brendan was dead. In the sallow normality of morning, Kim had almost forgotten the blander details of the previous night. But if Angela needed any consoling—and Kim doubted she did—he wasn’t in the best position to offer it to her anymore. Besides, right now he had an insane ex-girlfriend to deal with. “Oh, you sound afraid, Stephanie.”
“I just don’t like what he did to me. His kiss—”
“The way he tasted you,” he corrected her.
She shivered more visibly. “Naamah told me Israfel was dead. Now I’m sure that everyone just assumed he was.”
“Angels have a way of dropping in on you unexpectedly,” Kim said, half glancing at the window. “And always at the worst times.”
He knew it. Fury had left to tell Troy what was going on. His cousin would probably try to slash open his wrists, blaming him—not her Vapor—for forcing her into a daytime journey to rip out Stephanie’s voice box. The storm continued to darken the sky one black inch at a time, but for Troy, this was hardly dark enough.
She’d find happiness when the rain began and Luz shuddered down into the sea.
“What about my questions for a change?” he said, picking his words carefully. “Fair is only fair. That doll named Sophia.” Kim wrestled with the irritated bitterness in his tone. They’d always been like this—perfect in bed, at each other’s throats out of it. “Who is she? Israfel showed more than passing interest in her. The fact that he abducted her is even worse.”
Stephanie went rigid. “He abducted her—”
“That’s what I said.”
A delicate lick of lightning brightened the room.
Soon,
it seemed to say.
Soon, Kim’s mahogany frame bed, his religious paintings, his prayer books, his collection of occult paraphernalia—they would all be destroyed.
The storm was whipping deeper into Luz, and he could only imagine the ocean waves, the swells, the forced evacuations to higher levels of the city. And with the Academy in such turmoil, and the sirens unable to sound unless the deceased archbishop said the word . . .
Thunder broke above them, and Stephanie shook her head. Then her eyes glazed over, and she found a grim expression worse than all the others, so strange it didn’t even fit her face. “Fine. Let’s play your game.” Her lips seemed to move in slow motion. “Kim, Sophia is the Book of Raziel.”
He could only stare.
This was unbelievable, a complete and absolute disaster. If Israfel opened the Book—which was apparently Sophia of all people or things—then he would have the power to crush Lucifel, to crush Hell, to remake the world however he wished. And in that world, there would be no place for Kim, possibly Angela, and certainly not for the both of them together.
“You—” He heard the murder in his voice. Every last bit of self-control was slipping from him fast. “Why did you take the Book to the cathedral?”
“I wouldn’t worry too much. Not yet.” Stephanie’s expression was even harder than before. “Israfel would have opened her by now, if he could.”
Oh, how tempting it was to stab her through the heart and be done with it. The only thing stopping him was the deadly expression on Stephanie’s face, one that prickled his instinct to tread as carefully as he still could.
But, oh, it was hard.
“You needed to know,” Stephanie said, pouncing on his hesitation. “By the way, Kim, I told the students inside St. Mary’s that Angela was the one responsible for Maribel’s death. Even if she tries to enjoy a normal life in Luz, they’ll arrest her for witchcraft and homicide. That is, if I or Naamah don’t reach her first.”
He had nothing to say.
Maybe he had lost this round. Unable to kill Stephanie, especially with her new and lethal abilities. Unable to keep Angela from Naamah’s grasp, even if he won the battle.
“I’m not stupid, Kim. Even if you can’t protect Angela from me,” Stephanie whispered, “I know you’re trying in your own pathetic little way. Right now, we both know I could kill you on the spot. Well, since you’ve rejected your second chance, maybe it’s time to put you to sleep at last—like the unfaithful puppy you are.”
A faint red glow outlined her hand.
“You see”—and the green of her eyes flickered to a terrible and familiar shade—“I started playing these petty games long before you even had the chance.”
More shadows darkened the insides of the room.
Boom. Boom. Boom.
Stephanie turned to the right, frighteningly fast. She stared beyond Kim, out the small space of window left open by his thick drapes. It was the first and possibly only time that sound would equal his salvation.
“Like I said,” he said, his heart still racing, “angels tend to drop in unexpectedly.”
The bow window smashed, glass spraying into the room. Kim ducked, covering his head while the embroidered draperies crumpled to the floor, the bar that held them in place swinging violently against the wall. The candelabra flames whisked into smoke.
Troy landed right by his side, facing Stephanie.
Her wings, their great sickles tucked tightly to enter through the narrow space, flared out again like a living darkness. Kim rose steadily back to his feet, actually delighted that his cousin had arrived at the right moment. But she hadn’t arrived alone. Fury soared in behind her, landing on her shoulder to caw and cackle with greed.
Lyrica Pengold lay dead and bloody in Troy’s arms.
It was almost impossible to tell where her red tights ended and the carnage began.
Her chest was torn open, her heart removed. The lower half of Troy’s face was sticky with blood, and her teeth dripped with crimson saliva. She tossed the body at Stephanie, laughing in the raspy way that could stick in Kim’s nightmares for days. Lyrica rolled to Stephanie’s feet, face frozen in openmouthed terror.
“She was looking for you,” Troy said. “But I thought she’d get here faster by air.”
Stephanie screamed, but quickly choked off into a deadly silence, like another person had snapped her mouth shut.
Troy vanished into the darkness of the room.
The tide had now turned considerably.
There was a sudden noise above them, and Stephanie lifted her faintly glowing hand, ready to blast Kim’s cousin like she’d blasted Israfel, but it was impossible to keep track of how Troy scampered between the shadows. She turned to Kim, wordlessly demanding an explanation.
“A Jinn,” he said to her, aware that his triumph was impossible to hide. “My other half.”
“It will die with you,” Stephanie murmured, hardly sounding sure of herself.
She seemed to consider killing him one last time, but after another glance at Lyrica, a trickle of tears appeared.
Surprisingly, Troy allowed her to escape the room screaming as she slammed the door.
Then the shouts began and the hurried voices, and the harsh knocks, demanding that he open up. Stephanie knew what she was doing by escaping instead of fighting. She could have told the novices anything, and none of it would be in Kim’s favor. Lyrica’s corpse would be hard to explain away, especially with her heart removed. He was now as much an outlaw and fugitive as Angela.