She let out a sigh of relief when Kim walked by that particular shelf and stopped at the next, his candelabra raised high.
Gold-embossed text glimmered on the spine of a particularly giant book. The Lies of Babylon.
He heaved it off the shelf and dropped it onto the table, gesturing for her to take a seat.
“I told you I’m not that interested in books,” she said, sliding out a chair. “How often do you come here, by the way?”
“What do you mean?” Kim set the candelabra on the table and swiftly opened to a set of pages heavily illustrated in deep shades of red and gray. The first symbol Angela noticed was the pentagram, its design almost identical to the Pentacle Sorority’s.
“You seemed to know exactly where to find this book. That implies some kind of familiarity, right?”
“There’s a copy in every mansion belonging to the Vatican.”
Angela stared at him, watching the candlelight play off the strange hue of his eyes. “Why? It doesn’t look very holy.”
Kim didn’t answer, but he let her flip through the pages as he observed, and the more she flipped, the more uneasy she felt. Whatever chapter she was in, there were no angels to be found, just a lot of strange quotations, formulas that resembled spells, and most disturbingly of all, prayers written in red ink that could just as easily have been blood. When his hand touched hers, suggesting that she stop, the heat from it seemed to jolt her back into reality. “Do you understand anything that you see?” he said, hardly bothering to hide the interest on his face anymore.
He was gazing back at her carefully, and she knew something mysterious depended on her answer.
“Not really,” she said, watching his reaction.
But that was before she turned to the last set of pages, a mess of symbols that she certainly recognized from somewhere. The sharp lines, the forked scripting, tugged at her memories, and then she read the translation on the opposite page.
I was stamped with the seal of perfection, complete wisdom and perfect beauty. In Eden the Garden of God, I was, and every precious stone was my covering . . .
“Hold on,” Angela whispered, almost more to herself than to Kim. “I do know this.”
She continued reading but the light dimmed and the walls could have been closing in on her. Before another minute had passed, she slammed the book shut. The moment the cover glimmered back at her, the candles seemed to gutter back to their former brightness.
“It’s talking about the Devil.”
Kim nodded. “And how do you feel about what you read?”
“Feel? I don’t see how any of this can help me—”
“We’re starting at the beginning, Angela. You know nothing about angels so I’m testing your knowledge with one of the most . . . infamous.” For the first time she noticed he was tugging at an iron cross necklace that hung against his chest. A gem had been set in the cross’s center, its surface smooth and red. “Remember, the Devil was once an angel, and even if no one else remembers that—she does.”
“The Devil is a woman?”
“And perhaps a misunderstood one.”
“You can’t be serious.” Angela left her seat, but only to lean against the table, trying to think.
“I can’t be serious about what?” he said, standing with her. “The idea of her being a woman or—”
“Both.”
“Angela,” he said, gently turning her head by the chin, “look at me.”
The moment she did, it felt like a mistake. He was obviously attracted to her, she was attracted to him, even if for the most selfish and superficial reasons, and now that they were acknowledging that without a sound, she also knew there was no use ignoring it. Usually, this kind of desire came and left her just as fast, dissipating whenever she stole a glance at one of her paintings. But with Kim, there was both excitement and a sense of safety. They barely knew each other, but Angela felt they had more in common than she realized, and she was curious to find out what those mysterious things were.
That, though, implied more time. And they had very little to spare.
He brushed strands of hair from her shoulders, fondling the tendrils left to him. “Have you ever thought about history, about how stories can be skewed one way or the other depending on who wins the war?”
“Maybe,” she said, allowing him to play with her tresses, remembering their moment together in that grimy alleyway. Would it be wrong to wish for more, even if it was just to spite Stephanie?
It’s not like she doesn’t deserve this.
“Then you can imagine how a story like this one has transformed over time. There are many versions of it, and I’ve read them all. But then I found out the truth that every version was based on, and the ideas I once had about angels, demons, and everything in between changed forever. Until that moment, I’d been lost, searching for a reason to go on with life. I was a lot like you, Angela. Reckless. Because there was no reason to be anything else.”
“It sounds like you have me figured out,” she said, only slightly peevish.
“I’m just calling it as I see it.” Kim took a deep breath, looking more melancholy than before. A strange dullness had washed out the light in his eyes again, much as it had while he sang hymns at the introductory ceremony. “So do you want to know why she fell from grace? Why she instigated her rebellion to begin with?”
This was easy. There was no way this element of the Devil’s story could have changed.
“Pride,” Angela said, also proud of herself for knowing the answer.
He turned to her and there was a soft smile spreading across his face. “Disillusionment.”
Angela had nothing to say. That one word implied so many things, the least of them being that Heaven hadn’t been what she’d hoped. Otherwise, what could make an angel disillusioned at all?
It almost changed everything, exactly as he’d said.
“So you have sympathy for the Devil.” Though she didn’t feel half as afraid of him for it as she should have, probably because she understood exactly how he felt. Angela’s life had been one grand series of tragedies from the very beginning. That would be enough for anyone to question the meaning behind life in the first place, or even the point of forging ahead. But that was where she also differed from everyone else, apparently, the Devil included. She attempted suicide because she had a hope.
But what did that mean for Kim? He’d said that had changed the course of his life. The next question was, of course, How?
“Sympathy isn’t something they understand very well,” he was saying. “That also includes the ability to cry.”
He was touching the cross necklace, absentminded.
“It’s pretty,” Angela said, pointing at it. “I hope it wasn’t a gift from Stephanie.”
Kim stared at her, his smile erasing the strange haunted look on his face. “It was from my father, actually.”
“That’s nice. You must have a good relationship with him.”
“And you?” His voice softened. “Stephanie told me about your past.”
She let the silence grow between them, unaware of how much it would hurt to speak again until she decided to make herself heard. And that wasn’t until they were far from the library, returned to the relative coziness of her bedroom and the dolls, paintings, clothes, and bedsheets that defined her. At least, she thought they did.
“Do you think I’m the Archon?” she whispered, almost afraid of what the answer might be.
“I think that there are better reasons Stephanie should be nervous right now.”
Kim took her by the hand.
Then, with a cautious slowness, he covered her mouth with his own, gently relinquishing his kiss only so that the next one met her even more softly.
Angela’s breath sucked away, her head swam. Soon she’d allowed him to hold her by the chin and take her lips with tender persistence, melting beneath the thin, pleasing lines of his mouth, the sculpted strength of his face. When she broke away from him, hoping to
stop the problem they were creating, her body instantly grew hot along with the warmth in his hands, and she found herself sinking beneath Kim’s skillful touches, unable to quell the eagerness to keep enjoying him. His skin tasted like salt and sour wine, and it wasn’t until he pressed her hand against his face that she felt it, disrupting the smoothness of his cheek. There was a cut on his cheekbone, below his eye. In the poor light, she must not have noticed. Kim pulled away, and she blinked back at the room, strangely bewildered by what had passed between them.
“Did you cut yourself?” she finally said.
Kim made a wry face, annoyed, but apparently not by her.
Creak. Snap.
The roof groaned again, and—silence. Angela glanced out the window, shivering. The blackness was dimly lit by two spots of yellow, and then they blinked back at her, shutting off into pure darkness. Kim watched with her, cursing under his breath. She barely restrained him as he slipped off the bed, hastily rebuttoning his collar.
He leaned in for the good-bye kiss, and she jumped a little, startled, smelling his sweat and her own peculiar scent in his hair. Whatever they’d both seen, he’d taken it as a bad sign. “If you go to the gathering tomorrow night, I’ll be there,” he said.
“Wait—your book—”
“I don’t mind lending it out for a day or so.”
He escaped the room, shutting the door with a soft click, and his footsteps clattered down the hallway, the stairs.
Angela glanced around, unsettled for the first time by the idea of being alone.
At least Sophia would be home soon.
It was probably a good thing she wouldn’t see Angela like this, staring wide-eyed around the room, acting like a scared mouse. Worse yet, Sophia’s parting words for the night almost wouldn’t allow it. You’re brave, she’d said. Brave enough to stand up to Stephanie Walsh. But if you knew what she knows, you’d think twice about trying to protect me.
Angela had asked why, too defiant to be frightened at the time.
Now, she stared at the book, her breath catching. It had flopped open to a page Kim must have deliberately skipped over, the illustration depicting some kind of angel with sharp black wings and long ears. It was familiar somehow, and the strange writing on the page had a harsh, upsetting look to it. Angela looked out the window again, feeling so small, dwarfed once more by everything that surrounded her. The dolls. The walls. The world.
Sophia’s warning sounded ominously all over again.
Some people have the courage to be cruel.
Angela kept her finger beneath the small print of the page, careful not to lose her spot in the paragraph. The illustrations had become stranger and stranger the more she perused them. Long gone were the chapters on angels and demons. What information there was seemed half guesswork and half anecdotal experience, not to mention the repetitive scripture passages and commentary from people with names she could barely pronounce. But this chapter, “Of the Jinn,” had struck her immediately. Kim had never mentioned anything called a Jinn since they’d started talking about angels. In fact, she was certain he’d purposely avoided the entire chapter.
Angela stopped at a picture of the same angel with black wings and long ears. Unlike the real angels, its eyes were larger and its feet and hands had horrible-looking nails.
It was eating a human.
She skimmed the sentences below the gruesome image.
It has been learned through consistent and most excellent sources that these creatures are perhaps the most dangerous of the angelic races. Violent and prone to bloodlust, they have been cited in many cultures as the devourers of human souls, though how this is possible is not entirely known.
Angela turned the page, fearful of what might show up next.
This time the Jinn in the illustration hovered possessively over a human woman. Below, a black cat inked with yellow eyes stared back at her above a new caption.
Regrettably, it has been proven through various instances in history that the children of such unions exist, despite the majority being killed in their infancy. To prevent such a misdeed, often the witch will use a Binding contract to control her lover’s actions, ignoring the fact that this usually leads to tragic circumstances. It has been well said that Jinn, in all their promises, are never to be completely trusted.
She proceeded to read the formula for the Binding, thinking of the gargoyles she’d seen on the mansion rooftops, and how similar they looked to these mysterious Jinn. It made sense. If angels and demons could be depicted with a fair measure of accuracy, then it was entirely possible an artist could chisel out these horrors with a nasty—if much cruder—kind of detail.
No wonder Kim had skipped over this section.
The more Angela browsed, the more the silence seemed to weigh on her, darkness wrapping around her like a thick quilt.
Without warning, there was a loud knock on the door.
Angela’s heart could have shot out of her chest. She gasped, slapping the book closed on her lap. “Who—who is it?”
“It’s me. Sophia. Is it all right if I come in?”
Thank God.
“Yeah. Go ahead.”
The door popped open and Sophia stepped inside, gently shutting it behind her again. She was carrying a small plate of crackers and cheese.
“You scared me,” Angela said, sinking into the bed, her face burning. She pointed at the dresser. “Set it over there. I’m not really that hungry right now.”
“If only I’d known.” Before setting the plate down, Sophia took a cracker for herself and nibbled on its corners. She then made her way to the window seat, passing a picture of the beautiful angel Angela had put on display for Kim. It was an oil portrait with darker colors than she commonly used, most of the image focusing on the angel’s heavy-lidded eyes and enticing smile.
Sophia paused in front of it, suddenly somber.
“I really didn’t think your visitor would be gone so soon,” she said, still examining the picture.
Angela slid the book off her lap, setting it on the floor. That last sensation of Kim’s lips on hers tingled inside of her, forbidden and unmentionable. Somehow, it felt like he’d left only a second ago. “I was tired. Really, I just had a few questions about things, and after that—”
“Questions,” Sophia said, adjusting the ribbon at the end of her braid. “About what?”
“Well . . .” Angela flipped back the covers from her legs. “What did you mean when you said that Stephanie couldn’t be ‘the One’?”
Sophia froze, her fingers still on her hair. “It was nothing.”
“Don’t lie to me,” Angela whispered back. “You were talking about Her, weren’t you? The Ruin. The Archon.”
Sophia whirled on her. “Who mentioned that name?”
But she was too delicate to be intimidating, and Angela continued, vaguely aware that she was treading in even more forbidden territory. “Why do you know it? I’ve just learned that the Archon is supposedly the reincarnation of a pissed-off, dead angel. And no matter how ridiculous that might sound, I can’t help but wonder what Stephanie’s power trip and my dreams have to do with all that.”
The quiet lingered, and for once, Sophia seemed genuinely upset with her. She was trembling. “I told you earlier that it’s not a good idea to toy around with Stephanie. Whoever’s toying with you”—and her face suggested she already knew Kim had his hands all over Angela’s face—“I hope they’ll show how much they really care and let the matter rest.”
“Why don’t you want me to help you?”
“That has nothing to do with it,” Sophia said gently.
She wavered, reluctant to leave the room. But when it became clear Angela would ask more questions, she took the plate away and whisked out into the hallway, leaving for her own room. Angela listened to her soft footsteps and the creak of the mattress, the click of the lamp. Then it fell silent, and Angela cursed under her breath, angry for them both. This was all Stephanie’s fault.
&
nbsp; The doll that resembled Sophia seemed disjointed in the shadows. Shy and pained.
I’m actually afraid of losing her. I actually want another human being around, and I’ve already made her mad.
She should have known Kim’s visit would have more than one downside.
Angela cursed again, finding his book on the hardwood. She flipped pages aside randomly, still angry, searching for answers that always eluded her. When she stopped to glance at the pictures of her angels, her temper softened a little, but it couldn’t stop that gnawing sense of failure from laughing at her inside her head. Then she paused at a paragraph, appalled at the idea that, according to this old monk, humans were nothing to angels, little more than toys that could become possessed and infatuated by them in the blink of a proverbial eye.
No wonder she felt guilty about Kim’s kiss.
In a sense, her angel had been watching her the entire time. Once she entered her dreams, she’d find nothing but regrets.
But at least that was better than nothing at all.
Nine
Surprisingly, he was happier than she’d ever seen him before.
But it wasn’t the kind of happiness born from love or joy. Instead, his face shone with triumph. Angela had suspected for a long time her angels didn’t like each other. If they were in a portion of her dreams together, they either argued or ignored each other.
This time, the beautiful angel could have been emitting his own light.
His victorious smile was that brilliant.
His slender body and high, arching wing bones had been covered in an armor more like fabric than silver, terrible splotches of crimson staining his beautiful hands. Feathers framed him in a bronze aurora, and his pink lips curled around teeth whiter than pearls. His hair had been gathered into a tight topknot, and glass formed into the shape of snakes wrapped around his winged ears.
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