Diabolical (28 page)

He stands, suddenly losing his composure. “There’s to be no fraternizing with the eternal queen! No rehabilitating neophytes!” Lucifer stomps his foot. “Who ever heard of vampires spurning blood? The whole point of the damned things is to drink, kill, contaminate!”

“They’re not
all
damned things,” I reply. “Most became undead against their will, through no fault of their own. The young ones can still achieve salvation. So, that’s it, Lucifer! No more freebies.”

“Every one of the formerly undead essences in my kingdom has killed —”

“Without the guidance or support of a guardian,” I remind him. “We will surrender no more souls without a fight.”

“‘We’ nothing! It all started when
you
broke heaven’s rules. Why has that turned into
my
problem? You’re a rebel. Heaven’s bad boy. You should be on my team.”

“I may be heaven’s bad boy. But I’m still heaven’s.”

“Ha! If you think you’re such a divine angel, prove it! Sacrifice yourself so this mortal girl may return to her life with all the blessings and perils that implies.”

It’s the noble thing to agree, the hero’s thing to do — save the dearest friend of my true love. It’s also everything I’ve been warned against.

Miranda may hate me forever. I may be abandoning Lucy to an eternity of torment and humiliation. But the number-one rule of heaven is, no matter what the adversary asks, the answer is always: “No.”

“No?
No!
” Lucifer waves my sword. “I’m the victim here. I’m the one who’s lost what was owed to him.”

“You?”
Nigel lights a fresh cigarette. “What about me? I’ve been reading up on your limited dictatorship for my Underworld Governments paper. I’m sitting right here. And, oh, right! I’m your son. Aren’t you going to ask me if
I’ll
trade
my
soul to free Lucy?”

HARRISON STORMS IN FIRST
. He throws open the double doors of the reception area outside the Office of the Archangel Michael. “I demand to speak to someone in management! My afterlife thus far has been wholly unsatisfying. I have combed, literally
combed,
the streets of the entertainment district, and I’m yet to find one showing of Andrew Lloyd Webber’s
Cats
!”

Marching to Yasmeen’s desk, he adds, “If this, madam, is a taste of Kingdom Come, then I, for one, am sorely disappointed!”

Taking a brisk turn toward the hall leading to Michael’s office, I’m positive that Yasmeen has never encountered such an unreasonable, ungrateful, or loud ascended soul.

Meanwhile, Idelle tosses aside her copy of
Interfaith Archaeology Bulletin.
Rushing to Harrison, she heightens the scene. “What an insensitive question!” she scolds, as I start running. “The famed werecat peace advocate, Palpate Kith, has petitioned for
Cats
’s banishment from heaven and the Penultimate as an insensitive mockery of —”

“Censorship!” I hear Harrison yell. “Who is she to suppress . . .”

At the heavy mahogany door, labeled
MICHAEL
in engraved gold, I reach for the handle and swing it open. “I hereby demand an immediate audience with the archangel Michael, the Sword of Heaven, the Bringer of Souls.”

As Michael himself rises from behind the desk, I feel my knees quiver.

Though occasionally mistaken for a werelion because of his golden mane, Zachary can pass for human. I’d say the same for Joshua and Idelle. They’re all angelically gorgeous, but the archangel is, for lack of a better word, more.

There’s no wall behind him. The backdrop is a symphony of moons and stars. He’s dressed for battle, and his full attention is trained on me.

“Miranda Shen McAllister,” he says by way of greeting.

I resist the urge to clear my throat. “The guardian Zachary is in peril, along with six young mortals and the only wholly souled eternal. They’ve been lured into a satanic academy called Scholomance. It’s located in Vermont and affiliated with —”

“I’ve heard of it,” Michael replies, crossing his arms over his chest shield.

“I’ve been watching them,” I continue, “with my monitor-com, yet they’ve disappeared from view.
All
of them. You know what that means.”

He settles for raising an eyebrow. “Guardians are assigned to the mortals. Zachary, on the other hand —”

“How far can those other guardians follow?” I want to know. “How far down?” When Michael doesn’t answer, I exclaim, “Are you the Sword of Heaven or not?”

He does not look pleased with my tone.

This is it. My redemption will be revoked. If the others are in hell, I’ll soon be joining them.

The archangel takes one step onto his desk and one step down from it. “Since his creation in 1945, the guardian angel Zachary has had a spotty work record and is currently earthbound because of it. He broke the rules, which is why you became undead in the first place. His first assignment, Daniel Giacobbe Bianchi, turned out to be a crooked, petty politician, dead at the hand of a call girl with a toxic cocktail.

“He counseled his current charge, the vampire Quincie P. Morris, toward self-destruction when it turned out that she’d been wholly souled all along.”

I clasp my hands behind my back. “Did you honestly see that coming?”

“I wasn’t her angel!” he exclaims. “There is a reason that I delegate. And now Zachary has abandoned his post, abandoned young Quincie, on this disastrous errand —”

“The original mission — to help neophytes — was my idea in the first place,” I remind him. “He’s been trying. You, on the other hand, oversee all of the world’s souls and their guardians or lack thereof. With the End Days nigh, do you think it’s fair to assign only one angel to every demonically infected —”

“Fair?” He marches toward me. “Do you think Lucifer plays fair?”

“No, but I expected more from you.”

It silences him for only a moment. “Zachary is a slipped angel. He doesn’t even have full status under —”

“Again, it comes back to you, Michael. You’re the one he calls his supervisor.” I recall what Idelle said about Michael when we first met. That he’s been given a lot of leeway. Yet he isn’t infallible. He isn’t God.

“You’re the one who grounded him to the mortal plane,” I continue. “Yet is it your place to dismiss him as fallen? Or does that decision have to come from the Highest?”

Michael closes the distance and grasps my shoulders. “What did you say?”

I will my hands to stop shaking. “Isn’t it your responsibility to watch over the guardians, to
guard
the guardian angels, like Zachary used to watch over me?”

The scowling archangel closes his eyes, for a moment, two. Then he does something extraordinary. He kisses me quickly but firmly on the top of my head.

“Lucky for both of you,” Michael says, “I could use a good battle today. Now, what’s this nonsense about the apocalypse?”

I find myself at a loss. “Well, you know. Everyone’s talking about it. There’s that Nostradamus and a supervolcano under Yellowstone and turmoil in the Middle East. One natural disaster after another. Not to mention all the movies and books and —”

“Only the Executive knows when the end will come,” Michael replies. “Lucifer, I suspect, is the one stirring it up. He works through fear like we do through faith.”

The archangel motions for me to follow him to his desk and hands over a piece of paper labeled
PETITION FOR FULL-STATUS ANGEL REINSTATEMENT: ORDER GUARDIAN
.

It’s one of hundreds of different color-coded forms, citing official tasks performed by angels in heaven and on earth.

“Fill this out and give it to Yasmeen. I’ve got somewhere else to be.”

WE DESCEND. WE RISE AGAIN.
Our path narrows. The rock wall is uneven. Occasionally pitted. Steep, jagged to either side.

Nowhere to climb to safety. Nowhere to wait in attack.

“I hear water,” I announce, glancing at the Otter. “Not the stream.”

Evie can’t swim out of here without revealing to everyone that she’s a shifter. But she’s taking time to psyche herself up.

“Could it be the lake?” Quince asks.

“The lake where the fire-breathing dragon lives?” Bridget puts in.

Shining the beam ahead of us, Willa whispers, “I can’t swim.”

“I’m a great swimmer,” Evie assures her. “I’ll . . . Kieren?”

“I smell it, too.” Brimstone, from behind us. “Light the mops.”

Evie does it with shifter speed.

I take the sheet from Willa. “Get behind me — back,
farther
back.”

The approaching claws click against the rock. I unfurl the material. Quince hands Evie the matches and hair spray.

“Bridget, Willa, run! Quince —”

“Come on!” she urges the other two.

Hopefully, they won’t have to battle the dragon without me and Evie.

Once they’re off, I explain my plan to the Otter. “Then, with or without me, find the others. Find a way out. Let your inner animal take over. Trust your instincts.”

As she finishes dousing the sheet in hair spray, Evie’s eyes widen. “Kieren . . .”

I turn to confront the approaching hounds. “You know the ironic thing about our relationship?” I ask them. “I’ve always considered myself a dog person.”

The first bounds at me.

I slam the flat of my axe blade into its skull. I try to take the head.

The hound’s neck is thick, all muscle and magic.

The second one creeps closer. My blade is still stuck in the first.

Number two is about to spring but loses its footing on the slippery material.

I let go of my weapon. “Evie, now!”

She lowers the mop head. Flame flies across the material. The first hound catches fire. Its companion retreats, howling.

I catch Evie’s hand, pull her forward.

“Slow down!” she shouts. “You’re going to yank my arm out!”

Moments later, I see light ahead.

“Kieren, look out!” Evie pants. “We’ll crash!”

We skid to a stop inches before the passageway narrows. It’s nothing for Evie to squeeze through. I rip open my shoulder again.

“Quince!” I call. The cavern is big enough to house the dragon. By the firelight, I can make out Quince’s silhouette. She’s with Willa and Bridget. They’ve found the lake.

We’re not a PDA kind of couple. But I lean in to give Quince a quick kiss. And linger despite the audience.

“Uh, Bridget,” Evie begins. “Willa. If I sprout whiskers, don’t panic.”

It’s not the most elegant way to declare your species. But it gets the job done.

“Hell’s bells!” Bridget exclaims. “Am I the only human person here?”

“Nope,” Willa replies. “What about the dragon?”

Suddenly, the cavern fills with an enormous splashing noise.

“That’s it!” she adds.

“I don’t think so,” Quince yells. “I think . . .”

Then the Light is everywhere.

“YOU?” LUCIFER SNEERS AT NIGEL.
“I don’t want you. I arranged for you to be raised by perhaps the two most twisted parents in all of the American suburbs, and you still turned out a disappointment. You’re pure of heart, Nigel. Pure. Of. Heart. The only thing worse than you is your pseudo-incestuous crush, that vapid weakling you call Willa. She doesn’t love you back, you know. Nobody has ever loved you. Nobody ever will.”