Archon

by Benulis, Sabrina

  Naamah must have already realized the balance of power had shifted.

  She smiled, her golden braids framing her face like a halo.

  Then she touched the tattoo on her neck and tore away the skin. “As Naamah, Fourth Great Demon of Hell, I implore all the power of the Black Prince—”

  Blood streamed out of the new wounds on her neck and collarbone, but swiftly spiraled up along Naamah’s arm, melding with the tattoo clenched between her fingerblades, solidifying into a red sword that was all jagged edges and rigid forks. Naamah wrapped her hands around the bottom of her weapon, whispering so softly that only a Jinn’s ears could hear above the thunder, the rain, and the screaming that continued below and around them.

  “—and with the offering of my blood and my life, I seek to defend the honor of her wishes and ideals. Come on, rat,” she muttered at Troy. “Come and get me.” Her expression turned to ice. “If you dare.”

  Naamah soared for her, the blood sword lifted high.

  Troy jumped onto the chain of a chandelier, its brass links hanging from the middle of a painting. The lamp swung wildly beneath her weight, tipping dangerously to the right and tossing her back into the darkness.

  The demon screamed, slashing at her.

  Her weapon met the chain, scraping into the metal. A second later, the links snapped, and the chandelier fell thundering to the floor.

  Boom. Boom.

  The noise of the demon’s wings was fury itself.

  She swooped in close again, slicing clean through the tips of Troy’s wing feathers, showering a black snow to the ground. But instead of turning to face her, Troy fought her aching muscles and flew ahead, racing for the platform that she sensed was an altar.

  Her toes scraped the long table, and she soared up to perch on the top of two wooden beams, their cross-wise pattern reminding her of Sariel’s necklace. A human figure hung from their center, gazing sadly down at the corpses arrayed across the tiles. Naamah was streaking for both the statue and Troy, her sword held out sideways, ready to chop off Troy’s head, the statue’s hands. Everything. Anything.

  Troy grabbed a cloth hanging to the right of the cross and pitched the heavy fabric at Naamah.

  “Time to learn a little respect.”

  “. . . because you’re nothing more . . . than a thing.”

  Kim pressed the knife to Israfel’s throat.

  The blade cut the angel’s ivory skin slightly, staining his long neck with a tendril of crimson. His enchanting voice had died to gentle breaths that spoke of many future events—events Kim couldn’t handle thinking about—because they had Angela in mind. He didn’t want to blame her for the infatuation she’d fallen into—but it was hard. Angela had been the only woman he’d felt any kind of real connection to besides Stephanie, and the feelings between them had to be based on more than chance, even if they’d blossomed under so much danger. They were just starting to learn about each other, to enjoy the process, and he’d be damned if some angel who danced in her dreams was about to change that.

  “You’re a human priest,” Israfel said.

  “Good guess, but you’re only half correct.”

  Angela gasped from inside the circle of Israfel’s wings.

  They’d been so occupied with each other, Israfel’s senses hadn’t been enough to warn him of the worst. Sophia had been the only person to see Kim encroaching on them, and from the torment burning behind her eyes and all over her face, it had been clear she wasn’t going to ruin the surprise. If someone was needed to step on Israfel’s toes, better a half-Jinn than no one at all. And, oh, how that half of Kim burned him inside. Right now, he fully understood what it felt like to be Troy, to become so angry and overbearingly upset that you were blind to what you did and why you did it.

  Israfel was still, and Kim was still, his hand trembling slightly, the steel of his knife tickling the angel’s throat. God, how he wanted to slice open his neck.

  But Angela wouldn’t ever forgive him.

  She burst out of the angel’s arms and rounded on Kim, her face haunted, her expression regretful. Well, it seemed he still had a chance. She wouldn’t look at him with that kind of emotion if they weren’t a possibility. Every time they locked eyes, electricity seemed to snap between them.

  “Well, what now, Angela?” Kim said, more softly than he wanted.

  The delicate wings along Israfel’s ears flapped, expressing his impatience.

  He glanced at Troy, deep in the middle of her latest skirmish with Naamah.

  They had trashed what was left of the church, avoiding the interior of the altar more because of Troy’s fear than out of respect. Jinn had no dread of holy objects or symbols, but they steered clear of them whenever they could, unwilling to bring down what they considered to be the wrath of the Highest. How ironic that Troy was the professional murderer, yet out of the two of them, Kim was the one who feared absolutely nothing, God included.

  Only Troy. Only death.

  “Are you happy,” he said with a smirk, glancing now at Brendan Mathers, dead and messy near the altar, “with how things have turned out?”

  Though he was certain the answer eluded her at the moment, Angela must not have liked his tone of voice. She blushed, and then the anger began to show itself in the set of her mouth, the firm stance of her tights-covered legs. Should she be mad at Kim for putting a blade to Israfel’s neck? But like he’d promised Troy, it would have haunted him forever if the Supernal escaped without a flesh wound.

  Lucifel, he was sure, would never stand for it.

  “Even if you aren’t the Archon, I don’t like sharing, Angela.” Whether he should have said so or not didn’t matter anymore. He at least deserved her honesty in return, and he’d make sure to have it. “I hate it when I think I’ve found a partner and that person turns out to be—faithless. Stephanie did that to me, not to mention waste a lot of my time. Whether she’s the Archon or isn’t, the day I see her on the Throne of Hell is the day it freezes over.”

  “What do you mean?” Angela said, whispering. “You’re not saying that—”

  “I’m working for Lucifel?” Kim sighed, tipping his head and shifting his bangs aside. “I’m sure your new friend would tell you so. But can you really believe anything an angel says? In my experience, the word angel denotes place over personality. And angels and demons tend to think alike.”

  Israfel laughed gently, like he’d heard a secret joke.

  Kim turned the blade slightly against Israfel’s neck, spiderwebbing more blood across his beautiful skin. “Remember, there is only one Archon, Angela. But there are two who can be the Ruin. I’ve known this, and Lucifel has known for a long time. Troy might have been right: the Archon doesn’t necessarily have to be Raziel himself. Perhaps She is only protected by Raziel. But either way, I want to find out. For your sake.”

  For both their sakes.

  “I want you to make the smart choice, the best choice, and to have me by your side when you make it.”

  “So . . . you want me to take Lucifel’s place. You want me on the Throne of Hell.” Her voice was a murmur, barely audible above the storm.

  “Not so much to take it, as to consider it. The option is better than what he”—Kim’s hand shivered, the knife scratching more blood out of Israfel—“has to offer you. Either way, life will be a living hell from this point on. The time to be an ordinary girl is over.”

  At the word ordinary, Angela’s eyes widened.

  “Angela,” he pressed further, aware of how vulnerable he sounded. “You have to trust me.”

  She gazed at him, obviously confused. “Troy will kill you. What reason would she have to keep you alive?”

  “She won’t know. We’ll leave before she knows.”

  “For where?”

  He sighed again, trying to control himself. Was she being deliberately obtuse, or was she just trying to gauge how committed he was? “For Hell.”

  Her breast heaved gently, and Kim overflowed with the madness o
f wanting to murder Israfel and kiss it, just as he had the other night. He beckoned her closer, yearning inside. “Come with me, Angela. That pleasure we shared was a real thing. I know you want more of it. I know how much you want to step all over this world, to crush it beneath your heel, like it has crushed you time and again. I see it in your eyes. We’ll work this out, together, because you and I are the same.”

  She closed them, sighing along with the temptation of his voice. “I don’t know . . .”

  “Angela . . .”

  When she opened them again, they were wide, blindingly blue, and utterly fearless.

  But it was Israfel who answered for her. “I think I’ve heard enough.”

  He snapped his fingers.

  Kim’s lips sealed shut against his will.

  Another snap of his fingers.

  The knife whipped out of Kim’s hand, clattering pathetically onto the tiles. Then Israfel lifted his hand and curled his palm, freezing Kim into place.

  The angel spun around, smiling and lovely, the most beautiful creature that could be imagined. His eyes were so proud, his lips so sensual, his face so perfect that it nearly took Kim’s breath away. He was like a delicate swan—but one that hid all the inner stealth of a tiger. It was only through harsh experience that Kim knew the truth, even if Angela couldn’t see through Israfel’s veneer. The angel didn’t have Troy’s sharp teeth, but they were far more alike than they first seemed.

  Now, he was in real danger.

  “For a priest, you seem to be somewhat agitated. I also think you’re mistaken. You see, this young woman is no longer your property, Kim.” He said his name with subtle and deep dislike. “You’ve also injured me, claimed some kind of backward loyalty to my sister, and made a mess of my coat.”

  Israfel looked to Angela, his voice honey sweet. “Shall I kill him?”

  She stared at Kim, silent. She didn’t seem as upset as he’d expected, but it was obvious she was trying to peer through him, as if she could peel back more layers and see how honest he was being.

  This was a problem for them both.

  Kim couldn’t say that he loved Angela. It was too soon for love. But he could say with all sincerity that the thought of her sharing anything with Israfel nearly made him crazy, and that for her to be out of his sight was painful. If he could, he would have forced out the memories of how easily they’d seduced each other, how perfect she felt against his legs, and how powerful their connection had been.

  Maybe she was remembering. For a moment, she hesitated, creeping closer to him.

  “No,” she said, and her face reddened. “Don’t kill him.”

  Angela slipped around Israfel, and except for Sophia’s dark presence, she seemed on the same level as the angel, powerful and suddenly intimidating, and not even knowing it. Maybe that was the real reason behind Kim’s desire, his infatuation. He was enthralled, absolutely, by the sinister mystery of her soul. Mikel’s words continued to echo, reminding him of how ignorant humanity could be: If she is not the Archon . . . then we are all very mistaken about who the Archon is . . .

  She reached out, touching the side of Kim’s face.

  He shivered, wishing for more, pathetically unable to say so.

  “You’re right, Kim—I enjoyed being with you. But you’ve got it all wrong if you think I’m ready to sit on a throne, in Heaven or Hell.” She tossed her blood-red hair over her shoulders. It was as long as a curtain, tangled by the rain. “Don’t you get it? I don’t know anything but my dreams. I don’t know how to trust anything besides them. I never said anything about changing that. I don’t think I can.”

  She didn’t even know what she was saying.

  The cathedral seemed to be falling apart around them, mirroring Kim’s sudden need to break apart everything that stood between them. He could tear that angel limb from limb. Watch the universe collapse for the simple satisfaction of crushing his wings.

  “If it’s a choice I have to make,” Angela whispered, “then I also need to make it on my own.”

  She leaned forward to kiss him.

  Kim turned his head, not wanting her to notice the anger in him, but against his will, her lips caressed his softly and he groaned inside.

  Ever since she’d taken the Grail, Angela had changed.

  Like she’d found a piece of herself and was fast becoming whole again. Right now, it appeared Kim wasn’t one of those pieces, and he was being discarded, set aside.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered to him. “Thank you. For everything.”

  As if it could erase all that had taken place between them.

  “I’m sorry,” she said one last time.

  Oh, yes. So was he.

  “Time to learn a little respect.”

  The demon’s wings buckled, snapping and creaking under the force of Troy’s ambush, the weight of the cloth. In an instant they plummeted, Naamah’s sword cutting through the white satin—just far enough for Troy to wrench it out of her knife-riddled hands.

  It smashed against a wall.

  The shards of the demon’s blood liquefied, raining down to the floor.

  “Why do you bother?” Troy hissed over the storm, more angry and irritated than afraid. She knew better than to intentionally damage sacred objects, but like all demons, Naamah lived with a curse and enjoyed it. Her race respected nothing and feared nothing, partly because she had nowhere left to go but up. “Why did you let the witch summon you?”

  Naamah dropped from underneath her shroud, blasting Troy backward with a burst of crimson light. “Summon? You think and talk like the ignorant rat you are.” She hit the floor, steadying herself with a hand, and gazed up at Troy, smiling triumphantly. “As for my reasons—I think you can sympathize. The moment the Archon opens the Book will be the moment of Hell’s renaissance, Jinn. Not every demon worships Lucifel with their hearts as well as their words.”

  Traitorous scum.

  “Or do you have a soft spot for our soon-to-be-dethroned Prince?”

  Now her presence made much more sense. Naamah, and the demons who mouthed loyalty to Lucifel yet kept her caged, wanted another god. One much more easily manipulated. Troy folded in her wings, preparing to descend and finish what she’d begun, grinding her teeth together in frustration. Naamah’s tattoo was reappearing, its swirls of black ink pooling near her shoulder and neck.

  A jolt of silvery lightning swept in their direction.

  The smell of flowers and flesh pounded Troy in waves, overwhelming her other senses.

  Israfel had finally joined the battle.

  Twenty-eight

  The Eye with which I see myself is the Eye through which the All sees me.

  —MEISTER ELMHART, A Delineation of Transcendence

  Stephanie stumbled to her feet, tears washing out her vision.

  In so many ways, the hurt couldn’t go any deeper. She had proven what a worthy daughter she was, tried to help her mother, and in return had been forced to huddle like a wounded, useless puppy. Naamah no longer understood her little protégé, at least not in the way Stephanie had intended. Maybe the demon couldn’t fathom that Stephanie had reached a point where Troy was less of a danger to her than to Naamah. Or perhaps it was Naamah’s version of pity, though right now their intimate conversation during Halloween night rang strangely false. Naamah had acted cold, and yet, here she was, screaming for Stephanie to stand back and save herself.

  If Stephanie was the Archon, that was only logical.

  But it was hard to get past the way Naamah had looked at her ever since the angel’s kiss.

  She wiped her mouth, spitting some blood into her palm. Glass had cut her lip and her throat burned from the sizzle of energy toying with the air. She’d tried going over in her mind what had taken place between her and Israfel after their embrace, only to realize that another unsettling lapse of time had passed. Stephanie had remembered nothing until the world was collapsing around her, and it was too late to stop it. She was responsible for part of that col
lapse—wanted it even—but she’d never meant for it to go this far.

  She might lose a mother. Maybe her life.

  Or Kim.

  Stephanie whipped around, listening to the familiar tone of his voice, so smooth and charismatic. Just as it had in her bedroom, the world darkened around her, the single light left to her centering on Angela. The scar-covered freak was touching Kim’s face, leaning in to kiss him.

  “You . . .”

  It was all she could say. It summarized everything.

  In the end, this was all Angela’s fault. Until she’d arrived at the Academy, everything had been so clear, so right. Then that irritating bitch had to taint Luz with her own cursed existence. Her dreams and failed suicides had somehow ruined all of Stephanie’s happiness in one merciless stroke, but even so, Stephanie was far from ready to make it easy for her.

  Kim was expendable in the long run, but there was no way she would let go of a toy without a fight.

  “You . . .”

  The first to catch sight of her, Kim struggled to tell Angela only to meet with more silence for his efforts. The angel must have stopped him from speaking.

  Stephanie dodged falling bits of plaster, barely aware of more rock crashing to the ground behind her. The world was like a blur, faded, buzzing with the strangest sounds. Her legs didn’t even feel like her own anymore, and by the time Sophia stepped out of the shadows to stop her, it was too late. Stephanie bit her lip, but screamed from the pain anyway, tearing the tattoo off herself as Naamah had done. She could feel the blood like a raw, red river along her arm. It was agony, enough to nearly faint.

  “You greedy bitch,” she heard herself saying. “I can’t stand you.”

  Everything after that was fast, and completely beyond her.

  Israfel. The angel was preparing to swoop down and kill her. He swept around Angela, a perfect terror that no longer looked so dazzling to Stephanie’s eyes. What a relic he was. Like an ancient statue that had lost all its luster, more paint than substance. She noted the way his large eyes narrowed at her knowingly, angry at himself for not cutting her down sooner.