Wings of the Wicked (38 page)

I lifted my chin and swallowed. “So you’re going to release Sammael now?”

She raised a finger. “Not yet. First you will make me whole.”

“And how is that?” I watched her carefully.

“Patience, archangel,” she cooed. She closed her eyes and her brow furrowed as if in concentration. A moment later, Bastian returned to the cellar, flanked by Kelaeno and Merodach, leading me to deduce that Lilith had somehow called them with her mind. Perhaps she was linked telepathically with her demonic, monstrous offspring. She lifted a phantom hand and pointed at the items near the sarcophagus. “Prepare the ritual.”

Kelaeno skimmed over the open pages in the book as Bastian collected the clay bowl and silver dagger. Merodach, dark and silent, stood by the wall as he observed the activity. Bastian stepped up to me and raised the dagger. With him standing close to me, I could feel the power in the dagger humming. It was a relic bound to one of the Fallen, a demonic relic.

I stared into his toxic blue eyes. “How did you get that?”

“The Blade of Belial,” he said evenly. “You don’t want to know what I had to do to get this.”

“You need my blood now, don’t you?”

“Yes,” he said. “I’m sorry that this will hurt. Your death tonight will not be quick or painless.” He pressed the dagger to my arm.

“Don’t even pretend like you’re sorry,” I snarled. “You’ve been working toward this for centuries.”

“Over a thousand years,” he corrected. “And don’t make the mistake of believing that you are the only one who has made sacrifices. I’ve given up everything for this.”

I laughed bitterly. “
You
are whining about what
you’ve
had to give up while you’re trying to destroy the world? How’s that working out for you?”

He glared at me and sliced the dagger deeply into my skin, cutting ligaments with the flesh. I gasped and buckled at the pain, but the look in his eyes told me my words had stung him just as much as his blade had stung me. He pressed the bowl against my skin and let my blood fill it. I tried not to watch, since seeing my own blood flow made me dizzy and sick to my stomach. My wound healed and ceased to bleed in only a few seconds. Bastian withdrew without a word and moved away from me. Kelaeno lifted the box off the table and opened the lid. Bastian reached in and removed a necklace—a heavy, clear gemstone set into a gold pendant hanging from a metal wire strung with smaller jewels and precious stones. I recognized it instantly. The Constantina necklace, the relic Zane had died for and failed to protect.

Bastian set the necklace carefully into the bowl of my blood, completely submerging it. Kelaeno began to chant something in an ancient language, reading from the book. I listened carefully, digging deep into my memory for the translation, but I couldn’t remember the language. I looked to Lilith, who stood still and entranced, her chin tilted up and her eyes closed, as if the words had power over her. Once Kelaeno’s chant ended, Lilith opened her eyes and removed the necklace tentatively from the bowl. My blood dripped off the pendant and drenched the front of her white dress as she fastened the necklace around her neck. Then my blood seemed to move in ways gravity shouldn’t have allowed: It spread in every direction, red tracing the veins and arteries beneath Lilith’s skin and sinking through until it vanished and no blood remained anywhere to be seen.

And then light. I cried out and squeezed my eyes shut, turning my face away from the blinding flash. I could hear screams, hollow and distant as if the sounds played through an old television, screams that echoed untold millennia of torment and despair wrought by the Demon Queen. Unable to cover my ears with my hands, I pressed my cheek into my chained arm, desperate to drown out the horrible cries of terror and agony.

When the light and screams dissipated, I slit my eyes open to see what had happened. I took in a sharp, deep breath at the sight before me.

Lilith was whole. Her body was no longer a phantom’s. She was as solid and real as I was. The Constantina necklace had become a glossy black. She stepped close to me, peering into my face. The scent of dirt and buried bones that came from her made me want to gag. She lifted a hand and traced a crescent with the back of her index finger down my cheek and jaw, the smoothness of her nail sending shivers through my spine. Then her nail traced the same line back up my cheek with the sharp tip and cut through my skin. I gritted my teeth at the sting and felt the warmth of a crescent-shaped line of blood welling on my face.

“That is so much better,” Lilith sighed, her voice now full. “I’d love to chat more with you, Gabriel, maybe even rip a few of your fingers off, but I am too full of anticipation. Now it is time to wake my beloved, and then we will have fun with you. Don’t worry. Your time will come.”

The corners of her lips curved into a dark, slight smile before she turned away and moved toward Bastian. She took the dagger from his hand and cut it deep into her own arm, into precisely the same spot as Bastian had cut me. He held the bowl of my blood up and let Lilith’s own blood pour into it. Power leaked from the mixture of our blood, creeping across the floor like rolling fog, sending every hair on my body standing on end.

“Blood of angel,” Lilith murmured as she exchanged the dagger for the bowl with Bastian. “Blood of demon. Continue the ritual.”

Without questioning, Kelaeno began chanting again, a new spell, different from the one that had given Lilith solid form. The Demon Queen stood in front of the sarcophagus and tipped the bowl over a small notch in the center of the lid, letting the blood pour. It followed grooves in the stone—up, down, left, and right, swirling, filling in the Enochian spell imprisoning Sammael.

Dread filled me. Not just simple fear, but the sensation of unreasonable horror overcame me, sucking away any desire to even feign bravery, sapping my energy like a black hole.

The blood filled the Enochian carvings entirely, and something heaved and hissed within the sarcophagus, as if a safe had been unlocked. I couldn’t look away.

Lilith’s high, smooth voice shot through my skull like a bullet. “Remove the lid.”

26

BASTIAN’S EXPRESSION WAS A MIXTURE OF EXCITEMENT and trepidation as he stood beside Lilith. Kelaeno and Merodach pulled the heavy stone lid away from the sarcophagus and set it aside. I wondered whether Bastian was, for an instant, regretting all that he’d done, if he was second-guessing his decision to release Sammael. But he did nothing, frozen, as I was, waiting for the beast to emerge. He swallowed, his throat moving up and down, his chest heaving, his gaze locked on the sight before him. I realized then that he was terrified.

“Bastian,” I called to him, trying to muffle my voice. He looked at me curiously and without any amusement on his face. “You can’t do this, Bastian. Please stop them.”

He measured me with his gaze, as if considering whether or not to take me seriously. “This is the only way.”

“Why do you want to destroy the world?” I asked, my voice shaking.

He shook his head. “We aren’t destroying the world to just destroy it. We’re going to rebuild.”

“Who says you will be able to control Sammael?” I shot back. “He’s too powerful. You don’t know what he’s really going to do! He’s too dangerous to be released, and you know that. You have to stop them!”

“I will not.”

“When I get out of here,” I snarled, “I’m going to kill you. You’re the reason my parents are dead, the reason the world’s gone to hell. I will kill you, that I promise.”

Through his fear, a smile broke, something dark and cruel, before he looked back to the sarcophagus. Blackness filled the open tomb like a void, like a doorway into nothingness instead of a mere coffin. The air throbbed as if it had a pulse, and then it was sucked into that void and rushed back out again as if a long, relieved breath was taken by some unseen giant within. Something stepped through the blackness and into the torchlight of the cellar with a flash of inky smoke that reminded me of the Grim. The beast was somehow feline in shape, with a long, sleek body, muscles rippling beneath a coat of dark slate fur. Its face was longer than a lion’s, more serpentlike, the golden eyes more slit, and it shook a heavy mane of bone spikes much thicker than the quills of a porcupine. It took one look at me and hissed, flashing strong but delicate-looking fangs. Its spiked mane flared, and its long, scaled tail lashed the air like a whip. It stepped stealthily to the side, and a second beast emerged behind it. The creatures were only slightly smaller than lupine reapers, but far more graceful. They were reapers of a rare breed, the leonine, which I hadn’t seen in thousands of years. They hissed and snarled and snapped at one another, their bodies fluid and moving like ripples on a black lake.

Something else stirred within the dark void of the sarcophagus, and an armored hand slid through, long, bony fingers curling around the stone edge. The black metal gauntlet attached to the hand gleamed like obsidian glass formed in the fires of Hell. More of the arm appeared, encased in a couter and rerebrace of the same strange metal. And then he emerged, his chest and shoulders covered in more of the gnarled, sharp armor, points and spikes cutting through the air. His eyes were gold—pure and gleaming metallic, the color deeper than pyrite. His hair was long, straight, and silver-white, and around his high, spiraling horns was a crown of bones. I knew through instinct that the small skulls and other bones were human and realized with horror that they were the bones of children.

As Sammael stepped completely free from the sarcophagus, he looked around with a bored expression on his sharp features. His skin was corpse gray, not white or blue, but the gray of decay. Spread from his back were the charred skeletal remains of what were once magnificent wings—the unmistakable wings of the wicked Fallen, fleshless bones burned and blackened from when he fell. They spread wide, the dry joints clicking and grinding.

I felt Gabriel seeping through the cracks in my amnesia, causing my human soul to stir, and then I was myself again—more Gabriel than Ellie. When I had seen Sammael last, he had been beautiful, radiant, his grace bright and true. This monster resembled nothing of my glorious brother.

Lilith stepped toward Sammael, lips parted and eyes widened. “Is it you, my love?” she asked, her voice weak and trembling. “It is truly you?”

He reached a hand to her, his armored fingers touching her cheek with limited affection, but for her it was enough. She closed her eyes to his touch and shivered. Even from here, his skin and armor looked ice cold.

“I’ve missed you,” she breathed.

His expression hardened. “I know.”

My human fear was slowly overcome by sadness and pity for the once-beautiful creature before me. Gabriel shuddered at the overwhelming emotion. “Brother,” I said faintly. “Was it worth it? To fall for the power you have now?”

His golden eyes rested on my face, studying me curiously for several long seconds. Surprise lifted his brow for an instant, as if he didn’t recognize me at first. “Tell
me
, Gabriel, was it worth it to
you
? To abandon your grace for a mortal body?”

“I have not abandoned my grace,” I said, lifting my chin and pulling against my chains. “It’s with me now, even with my mortality.”

“I sense no grace. You have fallen.”

I shook my head. “Not as you have, Sammael.”

His lips curved into a quiet smile. “You will be nothing when I’m finished with you. The Morningstar and I will tear Heaven and Earth apart. After I have destroyed the human soul infesting you, Gabriel, this world will burn until blood and ash rain from the sky.”

We stared at each other as memories from the First War flooded through us. The fire and blood. Winged, torn bodies falling with the ash, hitting the scorched earth. Metal stained red as brothers and sisters ripped at one another. No words in any mortal language could describe the violence between angels, creatures who felt no emotion, and the fluid ease of killing without remorse, sorrow, or fear. I was there. I remembered. The orders were to destroy the rebels. Nothing I ever did on Earth fighting the demonic reapers could be compared to the horrors I had seen and done defending Heaven against Lucifer, the Morningstar, so very long ago.

“You can’t kill them all,” I told him. “There are too many angels.”

“We have grown strong and our army is vast, but that is only the beginning,” he replied, holding his palms out at his sides, black sparks flickering and snapping at his fingertips. “Soon I will have the power to tear every single human soul on Earth from its vessel and send them all to Hell to join the countless souls the reapers have already collected. In my head I see them now. You can’t even imagine how many there are. Souls screaming in agony, tormented until all they understand is violence and rage. When we unleash them upon Earth …” He drew in a long, satisfied breath. “It will be magnificent. I will turn our Father’s creations against Him, and all that He loves will be destroyed. It is the ultimate revenge.”

I trembled, considering the weight of his threat. The End of Days everyone had spoken of, this was it. Opening up the gates of Hell and releasing every last tortured soul into the human world. They would tear it apart. And then the Fallen would tear a hole into Heaven.