Archon

by Benulis, Sabrina

  She dared to crack open an eyelid, her joints aching horribly. Her insides were almost overturned by the exorcism.

  Sariel stood in front of the flames, a black silhouette framed by the most painful orange. She could sense the smile on his face rather than see it.

  “You bastard,” she said, overcome by rage. “You traitorous bastard. You’re done . . .”

  Troy would kill him. She’d kill him. Oh, yes, their contract was definitely over.

  Naamah stepped in front of her, blocking her view. The demon gasped for breath, her teeth displayed along with her triumph. “All that fighting for nothing. You would have been better off dying two days ago.”

  She lifted her fingerblades, aiming for Troy’s head.

  “Time to take that wing bone back.”

  The black rain hissed to the earth without warning, big, oily drops plummeting from the center of the vortex in the sky. They smelled hollow and rank—sick with negativity, poison, and the most unwholesome matter—and then they fell in a sheet thick enough to be layers of ink. Naamah glanced back at Sariel, shouting something over the roar of the water. But they were definitively separated, and his answer was lost in the screech of the wind.

  Blades whistled over Troy’s head.

  She crawled to the left, hardly making a sound. Naamah was searching for her, frantic. Already, the demon had lost all sense of direction.

  Master! Fury’s voice seemed to come out of nowhere.

  It had been the demon’s critical error. Fury had the true form of a child, but her avian body hadn’t been destroyed, and she’d joyously crawled back inside of it.

  Go ahead, Troy said to her, curling near a tree. The fire smoldered beneath the rain, but its heat continued to soak into her, making all her inner wounds a thousand times more terrible. Naamah’s blades swept above again, and the demon stumbled to the right, cracking off a tree root. Troy fought the instinctive desire to snap furiously for the demon’s ankles, to break them down to the marrow. Go ahead. Make her suffer.

  The curses were the first sign that Fury had found her mark.

  Then there was the incredible light.

  Troy caught a brief glimpse of her Vapor’s claws raking Naamah’s eyes, but shut her own just in time to stay alive. The wind was incredible, ripping feathers from her wings, forcing her to dig her nails into the bark of her tree. Naamah howled, sobbing in a nearly pathetic agony while Fury dug into her flesh. Then the crow must have torn away. Her wing beats grew fainter, disappearing to a safer spot deep inside the park. Neither of them had time to bother with Sariel, if he was even alive anymore. Hopefully, if the fire hadn’t finally charred him to death, the black rain would melt the skin from his bones. Troy gritted her teeth, hissing and unable to stop while the water stung at her legs, her hands, her face.

  She wrapped her wings around her body, flattening them against the wind—

  Everything stopped.

  A voice rose cleanly throughout the park, its melody rich and forceful. Notes that reminded Troy of icy waterfalls and cool darkness rang from end to end of the grotto, seeming to freeze out the fire. The heat dissipated, and in its place a deep vacuum spread into the ether. Troy opened her eyes to slits, watching the black rain fall in slow motion. Half the drops had crystallized into something else altogether, fluffing to the ground in chill, ebony layers. Troy focused on one of the black crystals, hissing softly at the glitter of its facets. The thickness of their layers half hid the horrendous light nearby, dulling it enough to keep her brain from searing.

  Soft footsteps treaded through the snow, and the song gently died away.

  Israfel emerged from the trees, grasping Sophia by the wrist. His Thrones were right behind him, their wingtips scraping through the chill black crystals. Troy wrapped her own wings tightly around her body, peering through a feathered gap, careful to keep her pained breathing to a minimum. If any of them had seen her or sensed her, they weren’t showing signs of it. The Supernal continued to step lightly across the grotto, stopping in front of Tileaf’s tree. The mysterious light gleamed off his hair, forcing Troy to shake away her pain.

  “So you do have it,” Sariel said.

  He was still alive, then. Troy snarled between her teeth, aching to sprint past Israfel’s Thrones and latch right onto her cousin’s throat. But his execution would have to wait for now.

  “But I’d like to know why you’re waiting to open the Book, to take what you want.”

  “And what do you think I want?” Israfel’s voice was dangerously gentle. If Sariel was smart, he’d soon realize his life hung by a slender thread. Instead he kept talking.

  “Revenge. Against your sister.” An awkward pause. “I can help you with that.”

  Where was the demon?

  Fury couldn’t have killed her . . .

  “Help me?” Israfel laughed, and the atmosphere chilled with more ice and waterfalls. Then he coughed alarmingly, and without any warning, thick waves of scent rolled from his body. Heady perfume and the rancid smell of his blood.

  Troy recognized this odor. In the cathedral she had dismissed the memory too quickly, because the match made little sense.

  “Revenge? No, priest, you’re mistaken. I’m just waiting for her to see my hour of triumph. My sister will be walking to destruction whether I help her or not. I’d rather cause her pain along the journey than shorten it. You can’t help me, just like you can’t help her.” His wings whipped a swift breeze through the snow. “A half-breed. How interesting. I was under the impression that most of you were killed in the womb.”

  Israfel was pregnant. How or why was beyond comprehension.

  But he’d pulled a trick common to most female angels and blocked his scent for the shortest time, effectively hiding himself from Troy’s nose. Sophia and the Thrones had simply been near enough to benefit from the disguise.

  “Then,” Sariel’s voice had real pain in it, “I guess you were mistaken.”

  “This is insulting, even for a demon. To align herself with a half-breed priest who’s obsessed with murdering my sister. And why, so you can take Lucifel’s place?”

  Silence.

  “Soon there will be a new order to things. My order. I doubt you’ll have a position of power in it.” Israfel’s tone sharpened cruelly. “You did cut my neck, after all. You’d think I’d return the favor.”

  “You’re not going to kill me?” Sariel gasped. He wasn’t even bothering with the Latin. The moment he tried, Israfel would sever his windpipe.

  “Why soil my hands when your betrayed god will do it for me?”

  Naamah moaned nearby, the smell of her blood now tainting the air with its acidic sourness. Fury must have blinded her and escaped before the demon could slice through her wings. Too bad the rain continued to fall as snow. Only the Creator Supernal could mutate one state of matter into another with the mere power of his voice. But the poisonous effects of the water hadn’t stopped, and Troy’s wings began to shiver from the pain. If Israfel wasn’t the cause of the black rain, it was a foreshadowing of another presence soon to arrive.

  The angel’s voice was like a smile.

  “She’s coming.”

  Thirty-nine

  And if your will is gone, what do you have left?

  —THE DEMON PYTHON, TRANSCRIBED FROM The Lies of Babylon

  Angela hid her hand behind her back, nauseated.

  She took a step backward, hardly realizing her fear until her vision swam and Stephanie continued to advance like a watery blur, all smiles lost. Her expression had changed along with the color of her eyes. A pure and terrible kind of coldness darkened her pupils, contrasting sharply with those crimson irises suggesting fire and blood.

  Deep silence spread throughout the Netherworld.

  Angela wanted to believe this was Mikel again, returned to help her in Stephanie’s body, even despite what that implied for Nina. But Stephanie emitted a strange aura, and invisible though it might have been, it clashed against Angela’s as if they
were already fighting each other. Reality warped around them, trying desperately to respond to their mental demands for space.

  “Mikel?” Angela’s voice became a whisper.

  Stephanie paused, analyzing her silently with those same cold eyes.

  Angela swallowed the spit thickening in her mouth. None of this seemed possible. Stephanie must have entered the Netherworld on her own somehow, but when had she become possessed? If Nina was dead—

  She stammered like an idiot. “How did—”

  “Surely you remember Halloween night, Angela.” Stephanie only half smiled, managing to make that twist of her mouth one of the worst things in the universe.

  Angela shivered back to her feet, unable to find any more joy in the stairway of light. In her mind, she was seeing the pentagrams that had torn open the walls of the Bell Chapel shortly before she’d summoned Mikel. She’d been too entranced at the time to think about why they’d appeared and what it might have meant. Now, the memory returned like a crushing wave. Maybe Kim was right. Maybe Mikel was the Devil’s daughter in every sense of the word. She could have been manipulating Angela all along, hoping to trap her in the Netherworld and finish her off when the Ladder appeared.

  How stupid she felt. Fatally stupid.

  “Is everything coming back to you now? Making sense?”

  “Where’s Nina?” Angela spilled out the words, tormented suddenly by her ignorance. The Grail was worthless at the moment. If anything, Mikel would kill her before she could use it, if it had any effect at all. The angel hadn’t seemed severely injured by the Grail’s contact before this. Merely irritated.

  Stephanie pushed a lock of hair from her eyes, amused. “Oh, she’ll be just fine, Angela.”

  The way she said her name—the effect was worse every time. Angela’s insides knotted and her breath seized up. The blackness around them seemed to throb, like they stood in the center of the Devil’s heart. But Stephanie took as much notice of it as she did the Ladder. Either summoning it had been less momentous than Angela had thought, or it wouldn’t make a difference in the end.

  “Mikel.” Stephanie’s eyes flickered back to their usual green. “You call her so, but in reality she has no name you can understand. Because in her state of being, she doesn’t need one.”

  Angela stared at her wordlessly.

  “She’s her mother’s daughter.” Tears appeared in the corners of Stephanie’s eyes, as if every word were painful to say. They contrasted so sharply with her dead expression that Angela could barely think. “And did you know she is also a copy of one of Lucifel’s attributes? And much like that part of her mother, she can move from body to body, sucking away at the life of her host?”

  Stephanie’s lower lip trembled.

  For a brief moment, her own personality emerged, and then just as quickly it disappeared, her expression cold again.

  “But,” she continued, as softly as before, “at least Mikel can wander. Unlike her caged mother she had the ability to explore the Realms and taste every one of them. Did she bother telling you how she would often come here, feeding off the souls of the dead?”

  Angela clutched at her stomach, struggling with another wave of nausea.

  Kim had warned that Mikel was dangerous. Angela had done her best to be more cautious. And yet, in a stroke of bad judgment, she’d practically invited her into the Netherworld—barely questioning the disappearance of her parents and her torturous memories. They’d vanished under Mikel’s power, leaving absolutely nothing behind. Now it made sense—the eager, almost hungry, shine to Mikel’s eyes, her small hand lifting the glowing sphere to her mouth, and why she wouldn’t explain where it had gone afterward.

  She’d devoured it.

  Justice had been served in its own incomprehensible way, yet Angela couldn’t find her former satisfaction. Instead her breath hissed out between her teeth, and her lungs shuddered in the new, dense air, echoing her frustration, denying her the release of screaming out her anger. The atmosphere thickened, whirling and choking her with a swirling mass of black dots, their silhouettes glowing strangely against the void. They were like flies, buzzing for her eyes and ears, hazing over Stephanie’s figure as she began to advance again.

  “It certainly changes things, doesn’t it?” Stephanie said. “When you realize that some people are born to be killers, no matter how much they try to fight it. I fought with that destiny myself. And finally, it became clear to me—”

  She took a step closer, her hand outstretched for the Grail.

  “—that there’s no point to it at all. Why be born, why die, when there’s no meaning to the process? Isn’t silence the true ideal? No memories, thoughts, or pain can be found in a void. Because the pain, you see, is a detail that’s always bothered me. I can’t fathom the reason behind its existence—and I’ve pondered that existence for a long, long time.”

  “You’re wrong,” Angela snapped. “You’ve forgotten why people want to be alive. Or maybe you never even knew to begin with. It’s so they can be with other people and feel complete.” Her thirst for Israfel. Nina’s hope to have friends. Kim’s need for pleasure and affection. Sophia’s longing for the Archon. Yes, they were the desires that kept them alive and moving in a common direction. “Do you really need to do this, Stephanie? I can end your life, if that’s what you want. All I need is a chance.”

  “Oh, the Archon is surprisingly generous.”

  Adrenaline shot through Angela, burning into her heart.

  Yes, that’s what she was. At last, the definitive moment had come. But Stephanie, of all people, was not the first person she’d expected to agree. Why wasn’t she upset? Or maniacal like last time?

  “But stop and think, Angela. Lucifel’s own worshippers fear her. They keep her caged, strung up in adamant chains. And with good reason, because she could suck their life away”—Stephanie’s eyes glowed gently—“with a single touch. Consider, then, what it would mean for you to take her place. You—a weak human mistake who happens to shelter Raziel’s soul.”

  “So—I’m not Raziel,” Angela whispered, hating him for a second.

  “That would be an insult to his memory.” Stephanie stopped right in front of her, her closeness somehow making every thought and sensation more painful. “Now give me the Grail, and be done with all of this. If you back down, I’ll let you live. You’re lucky. It’s one of my better compromises.”

  Angela rubbed the surface of the stone, aware of its gentle pulse.

  The buzz was growing louder, the black dots cloying, her strength fading the more they swarmed. “Why do you need it?” she murmured. “Lucifel gave it to your father. Maybe he should keep the Grail.”

  Stephanie’s, or Mikel’s, smile was brief. “Wrong again. He stole it from her.”

  Then—it hadn’t been a lover’s gift. Angela narrowed her eyes, illogically angry again. “Whose was it? Who did she take it from originally?”

  Stephanie’s hand waved slightly.

  Angela’s mouth sealed shut, just like Kim’s when Israfel had worked his magic. It was one of the worst feelings she’d ever experienced—trying to open her mouth, finding it clamped tight beyond all of her strength. And Mikel loomed over her, gazing down at her through Stephanie’s dead eyes. Angela could run away, but what good would that do now? Mikel could snap her neck with a twist of her fingers. She was keeping her alive for a reason.

  Just like before.

  “Now,” Stephanie said without emotion, “how do I open the Book? You never told me before you died.”

  She’s talking to Raziel. Little does she know he never feels like responding.

  Angela shook her head.

  Mikel struck her violently across the face. “He can answer without you.”

  Angela collapsed, blood oozing from the space between her lips and filming the inside of her mouth. Indignant anger was swelling inside of her. The Netherworld began to quiver, both below and above, responding to her feelings with a miniature earthquake that somehow
gathered the void above them into an invisible swirl of vengeful darkness. Her strength, though, continued to leech away as if all her energy were being sucked out through a straw.

  “Not in a talkative mood? What a difference from that last night we were together. Then you had enough words for us both.”

  Angela’s mouth opened, her new masculine voice sounding so sad, so soft, so painfully tired. You know that the Key is inconsequential to you. She touched her lips in fascination, unable to stop them from moving more. Because what good is a Key when you can’t find the Lock?

  This was the voice that had spoken within her for the past few days, questioning as much as it had answered. Raziel’s voice. Its pitch and tone was now different from hers, but only, she sensed, because it needed to be.

  He’d been with her all along. She’d simply misunderstood how.

  “Then just tell me where it is,” Mikel said calmly, narrowing her eyes for the first time.

  She sounded just as tired.

  Even if I did, you wouldn’t understand how to open her. There is more to Sophia than physical locks and keys. The Book is not a jewelry box or a treasure chest.

  The glow behind Mikel’s eyes faded slightly. “Tell me where it is.”

  How I pity you . . .

  His departure brought Angela’s own voice back, and it left her with a tremor. “There. Happy now? But I suppose you didn’t have time to tell your father you loved him. Ever talk about that before he died?”

  Mikel stared at her, her face a blank, impassive canvas.

  Then she stooped down, cradling Angela’s face in her hands. Angela groaned for air, barely seeing Stephanie’s features through the black cloud vibrating around them. Her limbs felt weaker than string, and her heartbeat slowed, rumbling with the insistent pulse of the earthquake beneath them. The ground split somewhere off to their right, and screams filled the Netherworld, signifying the descent of so many souls to a deeper and more permanent hell. “You look just like him,” Mikel whispered, almost tenderly. “Your hair, your eyes, your features.” She rubbed Angela’s lips with her thumb. “When I took his Eye—he banished me for all eternity. But for all his genius, Raziel was a sentimental fool. An imitation like you isn’t enough to erase that kind of pain.”