Archon

by Benulis, Sabrina

  And the senselessness of it made the question that much more terrible.

  “Go ahead,” Stephanie said, “but I don’t think they’ll care. Much worse goes on here day to day. Besides, I have connections. Connections you could share, if you’d only listen to common sense. If you knew the rules, you’d also understand there are certain novices you can talk to, and others that are off-limits. Are we clear on that?”

  Angela couldn’t even answer her.

  She was biting her lip so hard it might have been bleeding.

  Sophia pushed off her at last, standing to rearrange her uniform. What could she have possibly done to merit punishments like these? Her curls were soaked through with rain, and her eyes were bloodshot from crying and terror. She stared at her slippers, her face taking on the vacant emptiness that could be terrible in the right kind of light and atmosphere. When Stephanie spoke again, Sophia looked at her with a revolted expression.

  “Try to do what’s smart from now on,” Stephanie was saying to Angela, “so that you won’t run into problems like these. Like I said to you before, sorority members are exempt from the sufferings ordinary students have to endure—”

  Sophia was a sorority member, and she was suffering.

  But this wasn’t the moment for sarcasm anymore.

  “—and make sure that next time, you tell me the truth. That way, we won’t have to go through this again.”

  “It will NOT happen again,” Sophia said. In front of her fellow sorority members, she marched up to Stephanie, her eyes like vacant holes.

  Stephanie stepped away from her, an uneasy frown washing out her face.

  The blonde grabbed Sophia instantly, slapping her across the mouth with a sound that resembled a gunshot. Sophia took the blow, her face twisted by the pain, yet she was gritting her teeth, holding back more of God only knew what kind of curses, revenge, and pure hatred. She clenched her fists so hard, blood that looked black in the poor light spattered from her palms onto the glass.

  “Remember why you’re here, Sophia,” the blonde with the braids said. Her voice was absolute poison. “Don’t make this more difficult than it has to be.”

  “She’s not the One,” Sophia said, pointing at Stephanie. “She will NEVER be the One.”

  “Well, don’t worry . . .” The blonde looked at Angela as she responded, and her gaze almost hurt in its utter lack of sympathy. Her face seemed to meld with the gray angel’s, yet with the poorest imitation of her pride, and elegance, and dark, deadly beauty. This woman was like a scorpion, merely waiting for the moment to strike. “. . . we’ll find out soon enough.”

  Eight

  Is such a being capable of love? Because I firmly believe She will find it impossible to love anyone but Herself.

  —ST. IMWALD, LETTERS TO THE HOLY FATHER

  Angela had asked Sophia why she allowed that kind of abuse.

  She’d begged her to leave the sorority and tell Stephanie to get a life.

  But according to Sophia, no one really understood her situation. She’d earned her punishment and there were no other options left. Angela would do best to forget everything she’d seen.

  That, though, was the problem. She couldn’t forget a single detail.

  “You seem distracted.”

  Angela blinked, returning to the gray darkness of the dormitory room. She and Kim were alone, sitting side by side on her bed, his musty-smelling book spread across her lap while he flipped occasionally through the pages. The book’s leather cover had a significant heaviness to it, and her legs were close to falling asleep. She glanced at the image of what appeared to be an angel—very tall, very fine featured, with the characteristic large eyes. Though it had two wings, not four, and lacked another pair near its ears. This was a generic picture, probably the equivalent of a child’s scribbles meant to emulate the real thing.

  “I’m sorry,” Angela said, handing the book back to him. “There’s just a lot on my mind. That’s been my excuse every day lately.”

  She groaned, stretching her legs.

  Out of the corner of her eye, her beautiful angel stared back at her, his own features painted to a soft perfection. Kim was a novice. He was as close as she could get to any kind of real heaven. But he didn’t have gorgeous mats of feathers, or four pairs of beautiful wings that trailed behind him like a prince’s robe. If his waist were more slender, his skin more like fine pearl, his eyes a fascinating, teasing blue—

  But that wasn’t exactly fair. Kim was attractive in his own way, and though that way might have been the opposite of her angel’s, he was no less fascinating. Maybe she’d been cut off from affection for too long. A priest in training flirted with her once, and she instantly lost her head.

  Angela shut her eyes, alarmed at the warmth in her face.

  I guess I’m never satisfied. This might not have been a good idea after all.

  “Is this frightening you?” Kim touched her leg, right where a band of scars hid beneath her tights. His hand felt strong, reassuring.

  “You’d be surprised to find out what actually scares me.”

  She was seeing Stephanie again and the coldness in her eyes. Sophia, weeping and reaching out to strike her.

  And that blonde . . .

  Did Kim know about the kind of people Stephanie called friends?

  “Honestly, I’m more worried about you.” Angela settled back on her elbows. “Stephanie warned me in her not so subtle way to keep out of your business.”

  Kim lost his smile, his eyes hardening slightly.

  “But it’s my own fault. I know what I’m doing. I just never meant for Sophia to take my punishment for me.”

  “Sophia,” Kim said. He closed the book and stood over her, taking a moment to gather in some more of her paintings, her dolls. His gaze lingered on the gray angel, but soon turned back to Angela, golden and searching. His stare felt more penetrating and grim than before. “She was the one glaring at me yesterday in the church. Is she your roommate?”

  “She’s a member of the Pentacle Sorority. That’s what’s important.”

  “I see.” Kim sighed, rubbing back the red in his bangs. “And she’s not in Stephanie’s good graces?”

  “Don’t you know about any of this? I can’t believe Stephanie wouldn’t tell you.”

  He sat back on the bed, not leaning into the pillows with her, but staring at the scars on her exposed arms, his attention then flitting like hers to more dolls, and the paintings, and the barely perceptible tremors of candlelight. He was analyzing her, of course, probably quietly judging her qualifications to be the Ruin according to her personality, past, interests, and desires. Unfortunately, his fingers strayed back to her face, and she almost forgot to keep her guard up as he cupped her cheek, bringing her in close.

  “If Stephanie made you so angry, if your friend will pay for it, why are we doing this right now? I can leave if this makes you too uncomfortable.”

  “No,” Angela said shortly. “Otherwise, you won’t tell me anything about finding angels. You said so yourself.”

  “That’s right.” Kim leaned forward on an elbow, bending over her with his shadow. “I did say that. Well, what do you want to know, Miss Mathers? I brought one of my best books and you’re too flighty to read it. That’s not really my fault.”

  “I don’t need a book. I need someone who has experience. How do I find an angel? Where are they?”

  “First things first. What kind of angel are we talking about?” He pointed at the paintings on her wall, his voice cooling to a murmur. “Are they dead or alive?”

  Angela sucked in a breath, overwhelmed by the sudden sense of her own ignorance. The question had taken her completely off guard, and without a second thought, she knew he was referring to how much she believed in what she painted and obviously saw. Were the angels alive? Were they real? Angela had always firmly felt that to be the case, yet she didn’t truly know a single fact about angels at all—besides that they existed—even after years of watching th
em interact in her dreams. Her own name was like some kind of joke. Dead?

  Death? It was everywhere she turned anymore, but never helping anyone out.

  Last night, as Angela and Sophia stood before each other, still reeling over everything that had taken place, Sophia had mentioned what it would mean for Angela to join the Pentacle Sorority.

  If you do join, you’ll have to treat me like I’m no better than dead. You’ll have to watch me suffer, just like the others do.

  Angela said she wouldn’t.

  That she’d make sure Stephanie—and her friends—never touched Sophia again.

  The ridiculousness of her reply hit them both at once. Sophia’s gray eyes had widened. She’d turned from the window, clearly astonished that anyone in their right mind would risk everything to protect her, especially when that anyone was a girl she barely knew. And Angela couldn’t justify it either, even if she was crazy, until that sudden ache seized hold of her and she realized why.

  If Sophia was destined to be a doll, then she was at least going to be Angela’s.

  Sophia wasn’t dead. Angela’s angels couldn’t be dead. But she knew one thing absolutely.

  “They’re mine,” Angela said, reaching out as if she could caress the beautiful angel. Kim’s eyes never left her for a moment, but a muscle in his jaw tightened slightly. Was he nervous? Jealous? But it passed, and he took her hand, settling it back on her lap. “That’s . . . all I know. Not if they’re dead or alive. Only that they’re mine, in the sense that they’ve been with me for a while. Like they’ve been existing for me all along.”

  Kim unbuttoned his collar, taking a deep breath. “Then that leaves you with a quandary.” Black hair tickled the side of her cheek, and he whispered into her ear, like it was important to keep even a ghost from hearing them. “A deceased angel can be summoned, but not controlled,” he said, staring back at her in the reflection of her bedroom mirror.

  His white face seemed so strangely perfect and balanced, it could have been chiseled from ceramic. Completely unlike hers, especially when all she could see was her scars and how worthless that fire had been. She’d been failing in her search for too long.

  “A live angel,” he said as his hand turned her back to him, “can be controlled depending on its age and authority. But to do so requires a sacrifice most humans aren’t willing to give.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Their lives.”

  “As in death?”

  “More than that.” Kim’s voice was almost nonexistent. “Their souls. Although there are ways you can protect yourself from making too harsh of a bargain. Your only trouble would be finding the right angel, and hoping that they happen to like you. In other words, the odds of finding the angels you’re looking for would be slim indeed.”

  “But there’s a chance,” Angela said, as hushed as he was.

  Kim held her closer, forcing her to stare right back at him. “Hold on, I’m not quite finished.” Then he paused, waiting for the wind to stop whistling through the eaves before he began again. “You’re forgetting that angels have minds of their own. They can choose to protect, even love, a human. And in extremely rare cases, there are angels that have died only to reincarnate themselves in a mortal state. It would be safe to assume that their past memories stay with them for some time. Or so we think.”

  She’d never considered that. Reincarnation.

  Could that actually happen with angels? And how could an angel die if it was already in Heaven or Hell? Then again, their world might be too alien to understand. Rather than spirits, the angels in her dreams did seem made of a flesh and blood that was different from hers but also very solid, even though she still couldn’t imagine them becoming ill or growing old. Often, the beautiful angel brushed his hair, or sang, or drank from a delicate crystal glass—very physical things. The gray angel was more vaporous, but she too had her moments of cold reality. Yet, even though Angela sensed that she knew them or was linked to them, she had never felt like one of them.

  “Your paintings, Angela”—Kim’s words fell hard and certain—“seem like memories to me.”

  But that didn’t explain Sophia recently entering her dreams where the others danced, moved, flew, and ate. Sophia wasn’t an angel. She was—

  Hurting.

  It amazed her to think anyone could keep so much pain locked up inside for so long. Angela knew what it was like to suffer, but she’d learned over time to dissociate from her torture in one way or another. When they had finished talking last night, Sophia had dropped the velvet headband she’d been wearing, and as Angela handed it back to her, the act of accepting it had felt like a silent agreement between them that Angela would keep her promise.

  But tonight, when Sophia had left the mansion to give Angela her alone time, that silent peace between them had cracked. Sophia had been clasping her umbrella in hand, ready to leave the dormitory, but she was moving too slow, hedging, as if she didn’t trust Angela’s plans for the night and would have liked to supervise. But they weren’t that close. Not by far.

  I don’t keep anything locked up, she’d said unexpectedly. I simply find a better way to express what I feel. Don’t get the wrong idea. My outburst last night was an accident . . . it was pathetic.

  And the vacant, resigned look in her eyes had returned.

  When Sophia shut the door behind her, the sound seemed to continue forever.

  Angela should have known better than to encourage someone who didn’t know what hope was anymore. That, though, was one of her flaws. She never could just give up on things.

  “If I wanted to summon an angel,” Angela said, “how would I go about it?” This wasn’t good. She was starting to care about too many people in this place, and the more she cared, the harder it would be to die when she had the chance. Why couldn’t this all be over with already?

  Kim’s answer sounded too easy. “I’d say you should attend the Pentacle Sorority gathering tomorrow night. In fact, Stephanie is banking on it. She wants to humiliate you and prove that you’re not the One.”

  Sophia’s term. “The One?”

  “The Ruin. Although, that’s not so much who she is, as it is one of her possible futures. In higher circles, she goes by another name.”

  Then Angela was right about why Kim was probably sleeping with Stephanie, or with any blood head female that showed supernatural promise. “And what’s that name?”

  “The Archon.”

  The rafters creaked overhead, harming the silence of the night. It was too quiet outside now that the rain had ended.

  Kim listened for the creaking to stop, that strange nervousness tensing his grip on her arm. He was behaving like they were being watched, though by what was anybody’s guess. Angela’s pulse quickened, her temples throbbing in the dull quiet. “The term refers to an angel reincarnated as a human. In this case, a vengeful angel. Let’s just say that from what we’ve learned, he died tragically and wants to right some wrongs in the universe. Unfortunately, there are a lot of people, angels and demons alike, standing in the way of that.”

  Demons. Angela had forgotten all about them. She’d never even stopped to consider what the real differences between angels and demons were, whether she was infatuated with someone who wasn’t exactly good for her, or whether a truly evil angel could even exist. The gray angel was frightening, but Angela felt too familiar with her to call her evil. “So why does Stephanie suspect that I’m this Archon?” Angela said. “Because I paint pictures of angels and dream about them?”

  “Of course. You’re a threat. Until now, she’s been grooming herself for the position.”

  Stephanie was a real fool then. Just like Angela and Nina, she could just be suffering from the birth pangs of the true Archon making herself known in the world.

  “But why? Why would anyone want to be such a horrible person? Doesn’t she realize the Vatican will exterminate her the second they determine she’s the one they’re looking for?”

  Kim smiled
at her, amused at her cleverness. “The answer is power. Don’t make the mistake of so many others and let her soft appearance fool you. Stephanie is ambitious, relentless, unsympathetic, and power hungry. What I’m telling you is arcane knowledge, but—the angel left behind an artifact when he died, one that—once opened—has the power to fulfill the prophecy of Ruin. But only the Archon can actually open it without suffering terribly.” Kim’s grimmer expression returned. “Stephanie’s playing a dangerous game. Actually, more than one. If she’s wrong, and she tries to open this artifact without truly being the Archon, she’ll go absolutely insane.”

  The roof creaked again, and footsteps pattered across the shingles.

  Angela glanced at the chandelier, quaking a little. There was still some light. Enough to last them another hour or so. The previous evening with Sophia and Nina was coming back to her in all its disturbing detail. “This artifact is—”

  “No one knows its true form—they say that those who’ve seen it by accident have gone mad. But it does have a name.” Kim spoke the words half under his breath. “The Book of Raziel.”

  The first angel name that could hold any meaning for her.

  But not for the reasons she’d been hoping.

  Kim registered the blank look on her face and grasped her by the hand, pulling her to her feet.

  “What is it?” she said.

  He opened the door to the hallway. “Come with me.”

  Angela had been in the library once since moving into the dormitory mansion.

  She hadn’t found a reason to return yet.

  Every other room in the building had a distinct sense of old elegance to it. Lamps were tarnished, wood needed polishing, and upholstered furniture sat overloaded with dust, but otherwise her new living quarters had retained at least a speck of understated dignity. The library, though, was almost as dreary as that private apartment Sophia had been calling home, only much more forbidding. The ceiling, high as it was, escaped into the darkness like there was no ceiling to be found. Paintings of landscapes from the days when the Academy was in its planning stages graced the walls, though years of dirt had grimed their sunny imagery into shadows. But besides a heavy table with six even heavier chairs surrounding it, the room was wall-to-wall books. Angela had stopped at one shelf, rifled through volumes of theological discourse texts, and finally left when it became clear she wouldn’t find anything of interest.