Archon

by Benulis, Sabrina

  “Angela. And here I was afraid you’d chickened out again.”

  Stephanie stood in the middle of the candles, robed, her porcelain hands on her hips, smiling at Angela and Nina like she’d been waiting for them all her life. The other members of the sorority, at least thirty strong, had adopted regular spots near a porch that opened to the storm. Behind the shallow veranda, the storm bubbled smoky gray and violent.

  “So what do you think?” Stephanie spread her arms, indicating the decorations around them.

  Angela stared at the peeling paintings, the worn frescoes, the marble altarpiece completely split in the middle. Yet the chapel was strangely cavernous, and most of its outer reaches extended into unreadable darkness. Besides the leftover junk, everything was too clean. Too orderly. Like someone had been sacrificing so many animals here, they’d decided to make it home.

  “Luckily, it didn’t take as long as it looks to set up.” Then Stephanie lost some of the soft sweetness in her voice. “I’m glad you came, Angela. Tonight is an important one to the sorority.” She paced inside the pentacle. “Or didn’t you know that? You are somewhat out of the loop, I think. Just like your brother. Who, by the way, will not be here with us.”

  Why the hell is she bringing him into this again?

  “Why not?” Angela said, keeping a firm grip on Nina’s arm. Nina’s teeth were chattering, and she was tensed and ready to bolt. Any kind of proximity to Stephanie seemed to terrify her.

  “Because as you saw this afternoon, he insulted me.” Stephanie made a visible effort to smile. “And because he’s lost it. Don’t you think I’m right? And now that he’s also lost my favor, he’s going to lose a lot more. At least with the sorority, you can always count on your sisters.”

  There was a rustle from a corner of the room.

  Angela caught a glimpse of Sophia, huddled in the darkness near the veranda, far enough away from the candles that her soft curls blended in with the shadows. Her eyes shimmered, like two black pools of oil, and her lips had parted, like she was astonished by something. But soon her mouth sealed into a grim line, and before anyone else noticed, she quickly turned away and stared out into the night.

  That left one more missing person. Kim.

  He’d promised to be here, but Angela couldn’t make out any of the other hooded people in the room.

  “So are you finally interested in joining us?” Stephanie sounded triumphant, like she knew Angela’s decision already.

  “Yes.”

  Nina gasped. “Angela, you don’t know what you’re—”

  Angela tugged on her arm, shutting her up. It was all an act, but Nina didn’t need to know any of that. Only Kim would know, and if he was there at all, she could imagine him grinning at her boldness. “So what do I do? How do I join?”

  Stephanie was smiling genuinely now. “You prove yourself. If you’re a true blood head, you should be able to summon a spirit.”

  “You mean an angel?” Angela said, scanning each robed figure for the foreign blonde with the braids. She was there, somewhere, maybe hoping for Stephanie to accidentally plummet off a cliff. The chapel suddenly felt heavy with evil intentions. “Or do you mean a demon?”

  “Lucky you if that happens.” Stephanie resumed pacing. “But you could give it a try. Realistically, I’m sure you’ll end up with something subpar. Like most blood heads and”—she glanced at Nina—“gifted people. Maybe a dead human who can pinch people who tick you off. That kind of superficial stuff happens more often than you’d think. Nina Willis could tell you all about it, I’m sure. Which reminds me, Nina, I didn’t welcome you back properly.”

  Stephanie’s eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly.

  “Welcome back.”

  Nina breathed hard, her skin beneath Angela’s palm clammy and moist. “I’m not here to summon a spirit, Stephanie,” she said, her words shivering with her. “All I want is to get rid of them.”

  “Get rid of what?”

  “The voices and visions in my head. You know what I mean.”

  “Good luck with that,” Stephanie said. Her voice lowered, suddenly dangerous. “But you’re not here to be cured. You’re here to be a Sacrament, Nina. You don’t think we’d let you back without good reason?”

  “What?” Nina’s face became paper white. “A Sacrament? But I’ll become possessed—”

  “You knew what the price was, to come back here, to interfere. So make the choice. Take your place as Angela’s Sacrament or prepare for your next year to be hairless, voiceless, miserable, and wretched. Either will do. I’m not in the most compassionate mood tonight.”

  “Enough,” Angela said, forcing them both to pay attention to her again.

  God. She’s crazy. Why would anyone join this sorority at all? Unless they’re masochists—

  Or social pariahs like Nina, aching for a reason to be accepted by anyone. It might have been the first time in her life, but now Angela was on the other side looking in, and something about that seemed wrong. She wasn’t meant to be a witch, or anything like Stephanie at all. Instead, she was meant to crush her. For a brief second, Kim’s hope that Angela was indeed the Archon held so much gratifying weight, her whole self burned with it. If Hell really had any demons, and they needed company, she’d be sure to send Stephanie home to roast with them.

  But I’m not the Archon. I’m just a psycho with a sense of morality.

  “If you want to get started,” she said, horribly aware of the echo to her voice, “I’m ready.”

  “Oh, of course.” Stephanie blinked away her previous comments, as if Nina’s presence had been nothing more than a fly on her shoulder. The storm continued rumbling inland behind her, and without warning, a fierce wind suddenly rushed into the room, blowing out the candles and throwing the chapel into blackness. “Time to see what you’re made of.”

  The pentacle relit itself, beckoning.

  Fifteen

  Every Summoning has the potential for disaster. I myself once summoned a demon who was not what she seemed. Since then, each morning I live has been paid for in blood.

  —MONSIGNOR JOSEPH MAUSS, UNOFFICIAL CORRESPONDENCE

  Two hours and—nothing.

  Angela had taken her place at the northern tip of the star that made up the pentacle, chanting according to Stephanie’s instructions, Nina taking the opposite position near the outside balustrade, both of them flanked on right and left by robed people who could have been absolutely anyone. But in all that time, very little had changed except the weather, and the occasional flash of Lyrica’s stocking-covered feet from under her robe.

  Stephanie refused to revel brazenly, yet the more Angela failed, the more she smiled, and the more the new sorority ring on Angela’s finger began to feel like a manacle, binding her to the earth. It was like she’d made a contract with the Devil, only this devil would torment you for at least four years and finally dangle you over a cliff. The wind and rain had died down, the new silence signifying that this was the eye of the intense storm hammering the coast. Angela continued to chant as a steady drizzle rolled off her hair.

  Stephanie continued to circle her, like a shadow that never completely disappeared.

  “This isn’t going very well.”

  Unlike everyone else, Sophia hadn’t moved since Angela arrived, still staring at some far, dark corner of the room that held only inky blackness. Since the eerie quiet had arrived she looked absolutely riveted.

  Something wasn’t right. In so many ways.

  “Not very well at all.” Stephanie slid by again.

  Angela paused, glaring at her. “Then tell me what I’m doing wrong. What kind of gibberish am I saying, anyway?”

  “You don’t know Latin?” Stephanie shook her head, turning away. “You must have been homeschooled—before your parents died in that suspicious fire, of course.”

  If that was meant to be nasty, it was a sad attempt. Angela’s sense of justice wasn’t about to change. Accident or not, for various reasons, her paren
ts had deserved their untimely end, and she refused to sob over it. Even in her particular version of Hell, Erianna was probably drinking herself stupid, and Marcus was likely having sex with an underage girl. He’d do that often, especially if he knew Angela could hear him in the other room. Often, she’d tune him out by trying to suffocate herself with pillows, never managing to die, but at least waking up to a wonderful silence.

  “A sacrifice,” a cool, male voice murmured in her ear.

  Kim had revealed himself at last, his musky breath reminding her of kisses in the dark. If only they could be together alone again instead of wet and miserable. If only Angela didn’t adore her beautiful angel so much, she was willing to trample on anyone and anything to find him, even crushing what was left of her pride by muttering a dead language in a hurricane.

  “Tell the spirits,” he continued, “that you’ll give them what is most important to you . . .”

  All this time, he’d been standing right behind her, hiding beneath his robe. Now he took the two short steps back to his spot, seconds before Stephanie turned back around. The moment she did, it became clear to her that something had changed. Stephanie bit her lip, glancing around at the other sorority members suspiciously, marching with that light step of hers along a path of candles. “You’ve given up already?”

  “No.” Angela’s heartbeat quickened. “I’m going to offer them something.”

  Stephanie peered at her, too interested, her green eyes too cold in the flickering light. “It can’t just be something—”

  “It’s going to be what I hold the most dear. That’s the way this works, isn’t it?”

  “Who told you?”

  Angela didn’t answer. Instead, her heart raced, faster and faster. If she wanted to see her angels at all, the sacrifice would literally be gut-wrenching. The only important thing left to her was her dreams, and no more dreams also meant no more inspiration for her paintings. It meant no more reasons to fall asleep, or even wake up in the morning so that she could simply fall asleep again, which was the nearest thing to death she’d ever experienced. But if she didn’t follow Kim’s suggestions, the night might end on worse than a sour note. This was a different kind of suicide, one even more painful because it would kill her spirit.

  But this was her last gasp, after all.

  Kim can’t lead me in the invocation. And just saying what I’m offering won’t be enough.

  Her heart continued to hammer, like an insistent drum. Angela looked to Nina—wet and miserable too, but pale, shivery, ready to faint—and then to Sophia. For the first instance since Angela entered the chapel, their glances connected and held. Sophia’s soulless expression had returned. Angela began fading away with her, entering a silent, mindless void. Oddly enough there were words in that void, or inside of Sophia, somehow passing between them, because Angela heard herself speaking.

  “By Blood, by Fire, by Air, by Earth—”

  Stephanie’s face blanked over. “I said, ‘Who told you’?”

  The candles began to dance on the floor. Lightning flashed nearby, followed by terrible thunder. Kim’s breaths nearby sounded ragged. Afraid.

  Eager.

  “—by Water, by Life, by Death, by Birth—”

  A disgusting sound filled the chapel. Flesh, or reality, tearing. Blood began dripping from the broken altarpiece, the walls. It surrounded Sophia, splotching the wall behind her in pentagrams that began to ooze in every other direction. Stephanie’s beautiful face cracked. She took a step backward, as if Sophia were ready to throttle her again. “Stop. Now. You don’t know what you’re doing—”

  But there was no way Angela could stop. The power was a part of her, coming from her. In a single, blinding moment, she felt like the universe had connected to her fingers by a trillion strings, and she could now break them all whenever she chose.

  “—by Sun, by Moon, by Sky, by Sea—”

  All the candlewicks snuffed into smoke.

  Nina’s eyes were wide and wild, unfocused.

  “Stop it, you stupid bitc—”

  Angela screamed. “I offer what is precious to me, my Dreams, that portion of Death I see, and now—your Spirit—bound by the leash of my Will, shall be—”

  An unbelievable flash of light, a thunderous crack so loud it could break the eardrums, struck the chapel. Lightning. A direct bolt that in a cruel instant silvered the world. And when Angela’s mind returned, it was in time to see Nina holding her ears and screaming, her wide eyes the most horrible crimson color imaginable.

  What happened next made no sense. At first.

  The blonde with the braids threw off her robe, advancing on Nina while almost everyone but Angela lay on the floor, stunned or unconscious. She was wearing that strange coat underneath, and her black eyes had all the sympathy of a wasp’s. Then she flicked her wrist and nightmarish, needle-thin blades slid out of her fingers. She lifted her hand, ready to strike.

  God. She’s really going to kill someone this time. It’s not just a threat anymore.

  It wasn’t just a dream anymore.

  “Nina,” Angela screamed. “Nina—”

  She said someone might die. And it’s going to be her.

  “Nina!”

  There was no time to care about whether the invocation had sent Angela her angels or not. There was no time to look for them. There was only time to keep Nina’s throat from tearing open and mixing its blood with the chapel’s, splattered across the walls.

  Angela ran to tear the blonde down—

  The blonde spun around and smiled directly at her. Then she picked up Nina by the robe and tossed her over the balustrade.

  Sixteen

  They hide in darkness, as their eyes cannot bear even the light of a few candles. But I speak from grim experience—there is never enough light to keep them out.

  —BROTHER FRANCIS, Encyclopedia of the Realms

  Troy had the foresight to close her eyes moments before the lightning strike that could have shocked her into a coma. When she opened them again, it was to see Angela Mathers running for the demon, plunging in an act of suicide over the balcony to drop after her friend.

  One thing stood in Troy’s way.

  A female with her hood thrown back by the wind had wobbled shakily to her feet. She stared out into the storm, her short red hair blustering around her ears.

  Troy shot from the ceiling, cutting her down with her nails.

  The human shrieked, collapsing beneath the gash across her back. Blood spattered across the floor, wetting the slippers of the one huddled next to the porch, her vacant eyes wide with horror. Troy raced past her, her hands slipping across fallen candlesticks.

  The demon had spread her wings, intending to follow Angela.

  Naamah. It was Naamah, the Fourth Great Demon of Hell. Though it had been ages, Troy would know her scent anywhere. Sariel’s witch had allied with one of the worst crows Hell had to offer, and now Troy had a full view of her undignified wings, smelling of acid and rot, their feathers sparse, blond, and bloody, their skin stretched into tight webs between exposed bone and artificial supports. The metal in them creaked angrily as Naamah spread her pinions wide, preparing to dive into the maelstrom.

  The demon turned at the last second, her black eyes cold with surprise.

  “You didn’t forget me, did you?” Troy said, pouncing for her, nails ready to snag into Naamah’s neck. Her sickle-shaped wings snapped open, rolling thunder. “Looks like I’m back for more.”

  The demon cursed, her voice more poisonous than her fingerblades. She swiped at Troy.

  Too little, too late. Troy landed near to her feet, snapping her jaws. A second later she followed Naamah into the storm, both of them vaulting over the edge of the stone. Large droplets needled Troy’s back and arms, stinging like miniature teeth. Both Angela and the newly possessed human were still falling.

  She could hear the screams.

  Naamah was gaining on them fast. She wouldn’t let Angela’s friend survive if she c
ould help it.

  But she couldn’t.

  Troy caught an updraft and ascended, enough to let her take aim.

  Then she smacked into Naamah, flipping them both into an opposing tower.

  Metal screeched across brick. Stone cracked, ripping from the building in chunks. Blades whistled past her ears. Naamah’s shriek was as desperate as the human’s Troy had cut down. “Having fun, rat?”

  She thrust out her hand, probably to knock Troy down with an ether current.

  “Forgetting again.” Troy shook her head, rattling the bones tied to her hair. “You’re a part of me now, bitch.”

  She bit into Naamah’s flesh, and they fell again.

  The wind screamed around them, the world passing by in a blur of fog and weak light. A set of windows seemed to shoot upward as they plummeted, lost to the sky. Another. Another. Below, the turbid sea took shape, half of its waves bleached by lightning. Troy’s eyes smarted from the glare, and she closed them momentarily, using her nose and ears to assess the danger. The demon was anything but quiet.

  Naamah screamed out curses, and water cascaded down the curves of Troy’s wings, soaking into their feathers and slicking them to an oily sheen. The air buffeted them violently.

  Finally, Troy shoved Naamah away.

  In moments, the rain fell too thick to see.

  Angela’s scent reemerged, emanating from a flooded channel near the base of the Bell Tower. The demon would never catch it in time.

  Troy arched her wings into sharp crescents and dived, eventually hovering above a choppy mess of icy black water, peering through the night. Angela was treading the channel, somehow still alive with her arms wrapped around the human she’d nearly killed herself to save. Her friend looked like she had a broken leg, maybe an arm, but she smelled like her brain was reasonably intact. Not that it would matter otherwise, but even Troy couldn’t let a human who might be the Archon perish. She flapped above Angela, snatching for her, and Angela glanced up at her through the rain, sputtering seawater and hair from her mouth.