As I flew over the trees and buildings toward him, I located the other members of my squad. Most were fanned out to the city limits, and the rest were near the train depot, watching for anyone attempting to leave. I was apparently the only one who thought to look so close to the blast.
Perhaps I can redeem myself yet.
I wasn’t convincing myself. I’d made more than my fair share of mistakes as a Nephil. At least I hadn’t immediately been stripped of my position. Maybe I shouldn’t have chosen this rank. It didn’t seem to suit me at all.
I landed outside a bar with a faded sign and gazed through the wall. The pub was a few blocks away from the bombing, far enough that the bartender had decided not to close shop but close enough that it was sparsely populated. The assassin, Gavrilo Princip, lacked a Guardian, as is customary, because it had been my squad’s responsibility to see to his success. He sat on a barstool at 10:30 in the morning, drinking a rakija, and brushing a hand over his coat pocket where his pistol was hidden.
I marched in the door and sat on the stool beside him. Should I use an aura? Probably not. That ability would affect the bartender washing glasses and the man in the back corner nursing his own drink. The two other Guardians looked at the floor, the ceiling, their Wards—anywhere but at me.
“Gavrilo, my dear chap.” I focused my attention on his emotions that I’d detected before. Anger. Guilt. Resignation. “The day is not over. You have a country to avenge. The archduke hasn’t left the city yet, so there’s still a chance.” I pressed hope toward him.
He sighed, drummed his fingers on the pistol, and took a long swig of the fruit brandy.
“You’re sitting in a grimy pub in the middle of the morning, having given up already, but that’s not the Gavrilo I know.” I knew only a little about him from my squad’s earlier debriefing, but the right things to say were easy. Humans always want the same reassurances. I added determination to the feelings I was pressing toward him. “The Gavrilo I know would get up, march out into the sunshine, and finish this.”
His frustration lessened. He swirled the liquid around in the glass. His hand gripped the barrel of the pistol. The bartender held up a glass to the light to inspect his polish job.
“It’s unfair what the Ottoman Empire has done to you. What right does Austria have to rule over Serbia? You were once a great nation. You need to reclaim what was once yours.” I knew something of righteous indignation, so I added that to his cocktail of emotions.
“That’s right,” he whispered.
“What’s that?” The bartender scrubbed a towel over the glass.
“Nothing.”
“Come on, Gavrilo.” I pushed resolve toward him, feeling his sense of defeat slide away. “Go to the route the archduke is taking to the train station. You can do this. You must finish what you started. You’ll be the hero. That’s what you want, isn’t it? Not sitting here, tail tucked between your legs, drinking this swill.”
He wrinkled his nose at the brandy. My speech was working.
“Now stand up,” I said.
He stood up.
“Pay for that drink.”
He rooted around in his other pocket for some change.
“Now get out there and finish it!”
With that, he squared his shoulders, lifted his chin, and smiled at the bartender. “Thanks, friend. Have a great day.”
“You, too, friend.” The bartender lifted the glass into the air again as Gavrilo marched from the pub.
I contacted my squad leader. “I found Gavrilo Princip! He’s going,” I judged his route, “north of the Appel Quay near the Latin Bridge. He’s got his gun and he’s going to finish the assassination.”
“Acknowledged,” said my squad leader.
The surprise in her response was unmistakable. I’m sure no one expected me to be the one to save the mission. But if I did, maybe things would change for the better.
Arriving near the designated location, Gavrilo paced nervously in front of a deli.
“Relax.” I focused my attention on his emotions again. He was too worked up to hit a target in a moving car. He needed to calm himself, steady his hand, or the bullet would go wide and possibly hit a passerby instead of his target. That’s the last thing I—any of us—need.
“They’re coming!” my squad leader squawked. “Get him ready! Move into position! Hurry!”
“Yes, that’s—” helping. I managed to cut off the last word.
“What was that, Pair Three?” replied my squad leader.
“Acknowledged!”
Two pairs of Nephilim landed on the sidewalk behind Gavrilo. Although I wanted this victory for my own redemption, I was grateful for their assistance. We stood in a ring around him, our wings splayed, and together, we focused to settle him.
He took a deep breath. He fingered his gun. He looked down the street onto Appel Quay.
The motorcade’s engine revved, and goosebumps prickled along his arm.
If Pairs Eight and Nine had done their jobs, the open-air car carrying the archduke would turn up this way. If not, they would continue on Appel Quay, and Gavrilo would have no chance to complete our mission.
I shifted.
“Steady,” said the Nephil on my left. “He needs to concentrate.”
I willed calm to course through myself and into Gavrilo.
The first car of the motorcade continued on Appel Quay, about to pass us by.
“No…” I whispered. We’ve missed our chance.
But then the car carrying the archduke turned.
A mustachioed man sitting in the car—Governor Oskar Potiorek—shouted, “No! What are you doing?”
The driver’s eyebrows knitted. He started to press the brake. I moved my attention to him, stirring confusion. He pressed the accelerator.
“What are you doing, man? Stop the car and turn around!” the governor yelled.
Finally, the driver pressed the brakes and the car screeched to a halt—directly in front of Gavrilo.
Our assassin stepped forward.
The driver fumbled with the drive shaft.
“Go, go, go!” screamed the governor.
Shots rang out.
Blood spurted from the archduke’s neck.
Beside him, his wife gasped and clutched her abdomen.
Gavrilo threw his weapon aside and raised his arms in the air.
He—and I—had accomplished what he’d set out to do. Archduke Franz Ferdinand—and his wife, Sophie—had been shot. Several people ran toward the car. A woman in the deli screamed. A man leapt onto the runner of the car with a handkerchief to press against the archduke’s gunshot wound.
“Sophie, dear,” gasped the archduke, “don’t die. Stay alive for our children.”
The driver reversed and accelerated down the street. Sophie’s grasp weakened on her husband’s body before she slumped forward.
I leapt into the air and flew after them.
“It’s nothing.” Franz’s voice slurred. “I’m all right.” He gripped the blood-soaked handkerchief, and his head lolled.
As the vehicle pulled in front of the town hall, I landed on the back of it and reached down into the archduke’s body. In one long death rattle, Franz’s body relinquished his soul.
We’d done it. Archduke Franz Ferdinand of Austria was dead.
We’d started the Great War.
CHAPTER 3
Several hours later, a host of Nephilim—several thousand total—gathered in the eastern three-quarters of the circular Nexus, the innermost circle of Heaven and the place of undiluted access to the Source. Our squad was a tiny part, and we hovered near a group of lyre-playing, crimson-winged Cherubim in the Orchestra, the second circle of Heaven.
Usually, clusters of humans and angels reclined on plum cushions atop wicker chairs and couches around the perimeter of the Nexus, but today, the symbol-covered, marble floor was empty as we awaited further instruction. My eyes were, as always, drawn to the circle with the triangle inside; its power
had belonged to the now-deceased demon Yasva, whose defeat I’d participated in—albeit as a somewhat unwilling pawn, guided by the unseen hand of Council of Seraphim.
Subdued whispers and quiet congratulations echoed softly among the gathered angels. Four silver-winged Archangels stood near the beam of light that marked the center of the Nexus.
My squad leader gave me a stiff pat on the shoulder. “After this is over, you’ll receive further instruction,” she said before flying off to the other side of the circle.
What have I done now?
No one knew why we were here, only that upon hearing of the victory in Sarajevo, the Council of Seraphim had called these unprecedented gatherings, one for each host of Nephilim, held in succession.
Serinh, the Praetor and the voice of the Council of Seraphim for the next several decades, was the first to appear in the empty quarter of the Nexus. The beam of light sparkled off the gold strands in her hair, her gold eyeshadow, and her gold lipstick. Her typically pleasant demeanor was drawn into a look of worry.
Once silence had reached all the way to the outer edges of the group, Serinh flew high into the beam of light so everyone could see her. She was followed by only five of what should have been eight other Seraphim.
Something’s wrong. Where’s the rest of the Council?
Serinh looked out at the crowd, her gaze flickering over our faces. “Good day and welcome. Thank you for joining us here today. We have some things to discuss, but first, the Council of Seraphim wants to congratulate the angels who participated in the mission to bring home the archduke of Austria.”
Congratulations swept across the gathering.
“We’ve embarked upon our goal of bringing long-lasting spiritual growth to the humans, as they requested when we began planning for the Great War centuries ago.” Serinh touched the jewel hanging on her forehead. “But that is not why we called you here. We are gathering the Nephil hosts one by one to tell them this news, and then we will distribute the news to the other ranks. Please wait to discuss this amongst yourselves until tomorrow.
“There is no easy way to say this. You will notice that the Council of Seraphim is missing three members. That is because today, Tsusud, Jinotab, and Beshla renounced their wings and left to join the demon Asorat in Hell as demons themselves. They seek to join him in his quest to overtake Heaven and instill himself in a position of power.”
Cries of surprise rippled through the gathering. How is this possible? I’d never suspected their loyalties lay outside Heaven.
“Our plans for the Great War are, as you know, going well. However, Asorat, who was once a Seraph himself”—more gasps, though Serinh had already told me when I first became a Reaper—”disagreed with our plans for the future when he was an angel. He has been preparing his attack for years, and we believe it will come in the form of disrupting human history.”
“I knew it,” whispered a Nephil above my left shoulder.
“We all knew it,” shot back a Nephil hovering below me.
“What that will entail we do not know, although this will likely begin with small interruptions here and there and build into something larger as he gathers his power. We must be vigilant at all times. While Asorat’s interference was assumed, we cannot see the outcome of this conflict. A cloud hangs over the Orb of Seeing for all of history, obscuring everything four years past this point, including the end of the Great War.”
The Orb of Seeing, housed on the top floor of the Praetorium inside the Council chambers, contains a map of possible futures, which the Seraphim use to chart human history. Although it cannot be used to foresee demons’ futures, being unable to see any history at all was unprecedented.
“We couldn’t foresee the Fall of these three leaders of the Council because they worked stealthily to hide their plans, although for decades, a rift was apparent to all those with internal knowledge. We regret that it has come to this.”
Asorat had Fallen—when? Centuries ago, and only now these three were following him. What did that mean for history?
“However, four powerful demons are not the only threat of which you must all be aware.” She halted, touched the jewel. “Some of you know this story, but most of you don’t. When Heaven was first forged, a being known as the Aleph was the first creature the Source created. This being was a member of the earliest Council of Seraphim, and we know now it has been working for millennia to consolidate its power over the Heavenly realm.”
I mirrored the surprise evident on the faces of the angels around me. Though I’d known about the Aleph, it was clear that I was among the few who did. I didn’t need yet another reason for my fellow Nephilim to dislike me.
“While the records are unclear about this being’s identity, after decades-long searches in the Archives, we have concluded that Asorat is the Aleph. What’s more, he’s planning to use the power he’s gathered to bring war to Heaven.”
I’d had my suspicions about the Aleph’s identity, but it being Asorat felt too simple, too obvious.
Chatter erupted, and Serinh waited, hovering in the beam of light. She kept her hands still, her wing beats steady. The other Seraphim flapped behind her.
Well, if it’s that simple, we should have no problem stopping him. I seemed to be the only one not overwhelmed by the revelation.
Finally, silence fell once again.
“We know that the Aleph has gathered the true names of thousands upon thousands of beings, including those who are still angels, but only the Source knows the Aleph’s own.” Her eyes were desperate. “He has likely bound them tightly, which is why it is so difficult to gather any information about him.” The Aleph’s power was clearly growing significantly. By collecting the true names of his followers, he could bend their will to his own desires.
But I didn’t believe that Asorat was the Aleph. If it was Serinh, as I’d wondered on more than one occasion, this was the perfect opportunity for her to divert suspicion from herself. Still, if she were the Aleph, she was doing an incredible job of hiding it. But then, a being thousands of years old planning to overthrow the Heavenly ranks would be an excellent liar, wouldn’t it?
“That is all we have to say. Please take a day of solitude and rest. Tomorrow we will return to the battlefield. And this will not be against the unorganized forces we’ve seen so far. Because of the newest Falls, humans and angels are flocking to Asorat.”
I glanced at my closest Nephil teammate. Were some of my comrades considering defecting?
“We are determined not to let this affect our plans, and we will be naming their successors soon,” Serinh finished. “Thank you for joining us. May the Source that made you comfort and aid you.”
The entirety of the gathering completed the greeting. Voices raised in solidarity echoed off the polished marble and resounded into the outer circles of Heaven. “Peace and love to you.”
CHAPTER 4
Two by two, Nephilim disappeared from the Nexus, and I peered around anxiously for my squad leader. Instead of an angel with cobalt wings flapping toward me, an angel with silver swooped in.
My platoon leader, Heppeliam, responsible for hundreds of us.
This can’t be good.
“Good day, Enael,” he said. “Come along with me to the Praetorium. We have some things to discuss.”
He flew off over the Orchestra, and I had no choice but to follow.
The news of the Seraphim’s Fall and the announcement that Asorat was the Aleph stuck inside me. I didn’t believe it—not really. But if the entire Council was asserting its truth through the Praetor, I was wondering if I should reconsider my suspicions as to the Aleph’s identity.
I barely noticed when we arrived at the front door of the Praetorium. Its black walls glittered in the evening light as Heppeliam held open the door for me. “Twentieth floor.”
I stepped into the vertical corridor and allowed the wind to lift me upward. When I landed, we marched down the hallway, passing doors with names on them. Behind them were the o
ffices of the Archangels in charge of the Nephilim. I’d never been to this floor of the Praetorium.
He ushered me into his office and shut the door. Carved wooden chairs and a heavy desk sat in the middle of the room, and I took a seat across from the window that looked out over Heaven. Beyond, the orbs were lighting up the night sky. Off in the distance, a multitude of cobalt-winged angels were gathering at the Nexus near the beam of light. Serinh was preparing to repeat the speech over and over until everyone was told. Would she stumble again while making the announcement? Was that an act she was putting on for our benefit?
“You know why you’re here.” Heppeliam was a commanding figure, with a white-flecked beard and a hard face that belonged on a military general. Likely he’d chosen this aspect for that very reason.
The tiniest, most absurd spark of hope flared that perhaps I was going to be commended for rallying Gavrilo to complete our mission. Maybe I was to ascend and replace one of the Fallen Seraph, a Cornerstone with an unprecedented rise to the top Heavenly rank.
But Heppeliam’s grim look told me that I was about to be sorely disappointed.
“I, er…”
“You left your post, Enael.”
I bowed my head and looked down at my fingers. “There was a demon. I— When I was— You know that one of my previous Archangels—”
“Stop. This is not your first lapse in judgment. I’ve given you chance after chance, but this is it. No more. I can’t have you out in the field.”
I pressed my lips together.
“Beyond your mistakes, none of the other Nephil want to work with you.”
“They still haven’t forgiven me for Nicolas!” I couldn’t help myself from glaring defiantly at him. When I was a Reaper, I’d disrupted an Incarnation Plan by goading my Ward into killing her father. She had trouble connecting to reality, and I was strongly entwined with her mental state. Everyone—everyone—knew about it. “It’s not fair!”
I hated that I’d just said that. Of course it wasn’t fair. Life, as I had so frequently and abundantly discovered, both through my own experiences and the ones of my Wards, was decidedly unfair.
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