by Carol Oates
Candra lifted her arm to knock Philip’s hand away from her neck and dropped to the ground at the same time, twisting her arm over his, locking it at his side to trap him. He appeared so shocked—perhaps by the light or by her apparent audacity…the idea that she could possibly overcome him—that he didn’t react or attempt to use his free hand to restrain her again. Candra pushed the palm of her hand against his Adam’s apple, shoving him back. She released his arm, but clamped her fingers tighter around his neck right under his jaw. As he fell backward, she somersaulted into the air once more over his body, twisting and snapping his neck as if it gave no more resistance than a matchstick. She landed on her knees and immediately fell forward, crashing to the ground before Philip’s body did and unable to draw breath.
Candra rolled onto her side, choking, immediately aware of the darkness around her. The light that had emanated from her body seconds ago had vanished, leaving her barely able to adjust to the sudden dullness of the gallery. Noise came from above, something like hammering and more thunder. Candra focused on the gurgling inside her lungs and the pain cutting swiftly through her every time she attempted and failed to draw breath. Her skull seemed to shrink, cramping unbearably around her brain, and the floor that she could only see through a haze slipped from below her. She imagined sliding into frigid quicksand, and her heartbeat raced faster and faster until it didn’t beat at all.
She knew she should be thinking of whether Brie had lived through the attack, but as her mind drifted into death, she thought of Sebastian. Wherever he was, whatever he was doing, with her gone, he would probably be the last hope for humankind.
Chapter Thirty
SEBASTIAN CLIMBED IN THROUGH THE SASH WINDOW carefully, although Lilith had to be aware of his presence already. He intentionally hadn’t concealed himself as well as he could have on approach. It was necessary to be sure this worked.
He’d never expected to be back here at Philip’s house. The last time, he had stormed out of the kitchen, angry with himself for allowing Ananchel to get the better of him in front of Candra. It was also the first time he’d held her. Pain crashed through him at the memory and laced with humiliation of a more recent interaction. Had he really cried in front of Draven? He tugged on his hair, furious at himself for having let his guard down so completely. What would have happened if Gabe hadn’t stepped in and made him confess what he knew? He couldn’t think about that now, but decided it was fitting he should be here, intent on losing control again.
Sebastian had never cared much about risk. In life, he bet high to win high, never stopping to consider the consequences should he lose. Instead, he simply never lost…he refused to. He rigged every hand in his favor. Nothing was ever really a game of chance because he had always known the outcome of his behavior before he took action. He considered it more like counting cards than playing blind against a dealer.
This payoff, if he succeeded, would change the whole game. Sebastian had everything to gain and nothing more to lose than himself, a forfeit he’d prepared himself for long ago. Win or lose, at least it was something. At least he could say he had played his hand.
He found himself inside a dimly lit library. Not nearly as impressive as Draven’s or his own, but the high corniced ceilings of the elegant home allowed for tall cherrywood shelves filled with leather-bound volumes to stretch high up each wall. A modern glass sheet desk looked out of place in one corner of the room. A small bendy desk lamp provided the only light. Files and papers were scattered over the floor, the drawer to a gleaming wood file cabinet hung off its hinges, and a black and chrome office chair lay on its side. The rug below it was bunched up, as if the chair had been dragged across the floor. It appeared as if a scuffle had taken place in the room.
Sebastian took another careful step, sliding the palm of his hand over the lower leg pocket of his combat pants. Satisfied he’d concealed the weapon as much as necessary, he crept farther across the room. His boot landed in something sticky and crunched a little when he pulled his foot up from the tacky pool on the polished floor. Sebastian bent at the knee and ran his index finger over the surface. The dark mess was blood, a lot of it, and semi-dried. The smell of oxidized paper, leather, and wax in the room did a good job at partially covering the metallic tang. The amount of blood was probably too much for whoever had lost it to survive.
He moved toward the bookshelves, not sure where he should begin the search and knowing he had to work fast. His eyes and fingers skimmed over the spines, searching for the correct volume. Then he spotted it. The worn bronze-colored leather and the gold writing blended perfectly. No one would pick this volume out if they didn’t know what they were looking for. Fortunately, Sebastian did. He climbed the ladder and pulled the book down.
His muscles tightened, and his jaw popped with the strain. For an instant, he deliberated whether or not he should have listened to Draven, if this idea of his had any chance of working, but only for an instant. He owed this to the others. At least this way, if anything went wrong—
He didn’t get to finish the thought. The double doors burst open while his fingers still hovered over the blade hidden inside the cut out pages of the book. A swarm of humans flowed through the entrance, reminding him of insects crawling out of a hole in the earth. Dozens of them. He gagged on his next breath and planted his feet, ready to stand his ground. He didn’t intend to flee—that wasn’t part of his strategy—and he would avoid killing as many as possible. Both Gabe and Draven seemed to believe they could be saved. Looking at them now, he wasn’t so sure.
They didn’t move like humans anymore. They jerked and twitched, tumbling over each other to get to him. Their eyes were nothing but black hollows surrounded by purple smudges. Their gray skin looked paper-thin and threaded with thick blue lines everywhere he could see. Matted hair and blood was smeared over their ghoulish, expressionless, dirty faces, but it was the smell that kicked him right in the gut.
A dank, musty aroma burned inside his nostrils and seized in his brain, making his intestines spasm and his mouth fill with spit. He swallowed, tasting the stench on his tongue. His wings ripped through his back, almost pitching him forward with the sheer ferocity of their appearance. Every instinct in him roared a battle cry, and his synapses fired with strategic moves. He sucked in a breath through clenched teeth, closed his eyes, and rolled back his shoulders, preparing for the slaughter to come. A wisp of movement disturbed the rancid air, raising goose bumps on his arms.
“Wait.” The loud instruction came from behind the swarm.
Sebastian opened his eyes to see the creatures part obediently like flesh slashed open.
“Well, what do we have here?” Lilith chuckled. “I knew Ananchel would eventually double-cross me. I must admit, I never thought you would be dumb enough to help her. I’d like my book back, please.”
Sebastian swallowed the hard lump in his throat and snapped the book shut with one hand defiantly. “I don’t think so.”
Lilith barely batted her eyelashes, and the mob descended on Sebastian. He fought, using both his wings and his limbs, struggling until sweat covered his body and the brawl had decimated the room, all the while hearing Lilith laughing. He quickly established that these creatures were not like humans and could see his wings. They didn’t act as the invisible barrier he’d hoped they would. Eventually, he was subdued and forced to the ground with his arms wrenched backward and up, beaten and bloodied.
One of the minions took the book, as he looked on panting, choking on the stench around him and attempting to shrug off the many hands holding him at bay. Lilith smirked and opened the book, slipping her finger the length of the blade. “Did you honestly think it would be that easy, Sebastian?”
He didn’t answer; he wouldn’t give her the satisfaction. Lilith slinked toward him. Her body had lost its vitality already. Why doesn’t she feed? It came to him in a sickening realization. She was holding off. She was waiting to join with Candra.
The crack across his face
when she backhanded him caught him unaware. Despite her appearance, Lilith’s strength was in no way depleted. His lip burned, and blood trickled down his chin. Sebastian refused to look away, keeping his eyes on her.
“It’s time to go.” The instruction was for those around him. Regardless, it suited his plans perfectly.
Lilith hunched down in front of Sebastian and tilted her head curiously to the side. Her dull hair had thinned and hung limply over her shoulders. Her hand lifted, and Sebastian readied himself for another strike. It didn’t come. Lilith traced a line over his cheek with the back of her fingers almost tenderly.
“Have your fun with this one, my children. Pluck his pretty feathers, tear him apart piece by piece…and take your time about it.”
Chapter Thirty-One
DRAVEN SAT IN ONE OF THE WINGBACK CHAIRS in the dimly lit library, his head in his hands and his long fingers threaded into his unkempt hair. He took several deep breaths, each one slashing at his insides, as if he were drawing blades into his lungs. With each inhale, an ugly, coiling sensation ravaged his gut and stabbed the same allegation at him—why hadn’t he acted sooner? All this time, he had charged Sebastian with being the weak one of them, yet he had spent what seemed like an eternity ignoring what he had always sensed. He’d made excuses and levied blame everywhere except where it was due, and all because he’d refused to see the truth.
Ananchel didn’t need to be announced; he sensed her enter the building…hell, he sensed her clear across the Earth when he needed to. So why hadn’t he listened to his instincts on the occasions she’d been evasive about her whereabouts, even downright lying to him? He’d excused her behavior because she was his twin. The one being he should have been able to trust always, intertwined because a part of each of them existed in the other. She’d taken that trust and turned it on him.
She’d fooled him unreservedly. He’d believed he was the one guiding them, influencing the changes that occurred over millennia, when, all along, Ananchel had manipulated him and the Watchers at every turn.
He didn’t move when a knock sounded at the door or when it opened and the familiar click, click echoed around the room. A pair of pointed stiletto boots came into his line of sight directly in front of his bare feet.
“You summoned?”
Her smooth, sultry voice grated on his nerves, making the muscles in his thighs contract with the effort to remain calm. He lifted his eyes slowly, imagining his feet as concrete blocks weighing him down. Ananchel stood over him, her arms crossed and hip popped to the side. One of her eyebrows arched, indicating she was waiting for a response. He guessed that meant she still had no idea why he wanted to speak to her.
Draven sucked in a breath through his clenched teeth and stood. They were practically nose to nose, and her flame-colored hair floated around them both, cascading over her shoulders, touching his chest. She looked as she always did—beautiful and deadly, the snake in his Eden. The Watchers were so close to having the compromise they had worked toward for so long. They knew how to rid the world of Lilith and, for those who wanted it, had an opportunity to earn their way back into heaven. It wasn’t everything, but it was enough. The vision turned to dust and faded while Draven continued the impromptu stand-off with Ananchel. Her eyes tightened at the corners, but before she attempted to read his motives, Draven brushed past her to the drinks cabinet.
He poured a tumbler of amber liquid from a crystal decanter and tipped the glass back.
“Drink?” he asked.
“Please,” she answered, her tone laced with an undercurrent of suspicion. “What is this about, Draven?”
He almost laughed…almost. How ridiculously naïve he must be in Ananchel’s eyes for her to still keep up her act. He placed the decanter back down and handed Ananchel her drink, taking extra care not to accidently touch her fingers in the process. He couldn’t handle any kind of physical contact, not until he knew the whole truth. He realized there was a small part of him holding onto a desperate hope this was all some sort of massive misunderstanding.
“There was an attack, at the art gallery owned by Ambriel,” he informed her grievously and took a mouthful of brandy, allowing the heat to spread through him and relax his tight muscles.
“By?” she prompted, swirling her glass.
Draven glanced at her sideways, still seeing nothing in her usual smug expression to give any indication she suspected him. He turned, keeping his stance as casual as possible under the circumstances, and leaned against the cabinet.
“It’s over, Ananchel. Lilith has begun infecting humans, and we are on the brink of war.”
Ananchel froze with her glass halfway to her lips. Her eyes widened so slightly, he may have missed it if he hadn’t been watching for a reaction. “What? No, she can’t.” she exclaimed indignantly. She placed the glass heavily on one of the side tables, causing alcohol to slosh over the side.
It was fascinating, yet frightening to watch Ananchel in action. Her shock seemed genuine enough, but how could he possibly trust instincts that had led him so astray? Draven finished his drink and crossed his arms.
“She can, and she did. It’s seems she was trying to push Candra into making some kind of decision.”
Ananchel spun away from him sharply, catching him off guard. It was the very first chink in her armor. Always the confident one, always so in control of herself inside and out, Ananchel had never purposefully hidden herself from him.
“What kind of decision?”
“Candra was a vessel, and Lilith wanted her,” he explained coolly, knowing Ananchel was aware already. “She is intent on taking this world for her own, and Candra would have tethered her to it.”
Ananchel’s fingers tightened on the edge of the desk where she stood. Draven observed the wood strain under her unforgiving strength. She turned her head in profile, and he saw her lips curve into a smile. “I imagine Sebastian is ready to rip her throat out. Where is Candra now?”
“No one knows where Sebastian is,” Draven replied, not missing a beat. He cast his eyes downward and curled his toes into the wooden floor. It took all his willpower to keep the avenging angel inside from unleashing his wrath on the beast before him. His wings burned under his skin like acid bubbling just below his flesh, singeing nerves and soaking through muscle and sinew. Never before had he felt such rage or betrayal, not even in the moment heaven had abandoned him. “And Candra is gone.”
“Gone?” she parroted, pivoting gracefully to look at him. “Gone where?”
He scrubbed his hand over his face roughly and ignored the prickle of his wings testing his restraint. “Candra is dead.”
“She can’t be.”
Again, Ananchel’s surprise momentarily distracted Draven. His fingers itched to reach out, clasp her slender neck, and crush it with his bare hands. He refused to look at her, pressing his thumbs into his eyes. The clicking of her heels grew nearer until he felt Ananchel so close, the heat of her body invaded his and the smoked spicy scent that always accompanied her filled his nostrils.
“I’m sorry, Draven,” she whispered earnestly. The words were salt poured onto his bleeding heart. If he could pluck out the part of him that still cared for her from his body, he would do it gladly. “I know you cherished her deeply.”
Ananchel’s warm fingers wound around his wrists and gently tugged his fists away from his eyes. He imagined she thought he was crying for the love he would never get the chance to explore. That wasn’t it at all. Draven mourned for himself, but his ravaged being ached for all the others, the ones that had left heaven in shame. Also for the humans, who hadn’t brought the impending war on themselves but would nevertheless become casualties. Lastly, for the Arch, whose beloved angels had given in so easily to temptation.
“I don’t have a back-up plan,” he admitted. “I’ve been so damn focused on peace between the Watchers in preparation for this that I didn’t think ahead to what would happen.”
“I have a plan,” Ananchel sneered angr
ily, gold dancing in her eyes. “I’m going to start with Lilith. She will rue this day. I swear it.”
Draven kept his expression guarded but shook off her grip on him and moved away. “This is about more than a broken heart, Ananchel. Our entire existence is at risk.”
“I know that,” she shot back, a blush spreading over her cheeks. Draven appreciated that she must be furious at Lilith right now. He watched her walk toward his desk, her head held high. She swished her hair over her shoulder with an elegance reserved for those of angelic nature. Draven reminded himself of what she’d done. What goodness could exist in one who placed their own desires before everything and everyone else?
“Death is coming,” Draven breathed solemnly. “Can’t you smell it? It pollutes the winds that blow through the city. It’s in every face I see. With heaven corrupted, what is left to hope for?” He approached the stained glass window and ran his index finger over the cold lead glass. The street was too far down and blurred by colored glass to make anything out clearly, but he knew what was going on down there. Destruction. Human beings, poisoned by Lilith, rampaging through the shadowy edges of the city. Soon, they would make themselves known, and then it all would end. The ultimate good versus evil showdown, and it could have been prevented.
“All this time, we’ve been looking to the Arch for answers to what we are, what our existence means. All this time, we should have been looking closer to home. We should have been looking at ourselves. We should have been asking why we did what we did. Such a wasted opportunity. This planet is done for. Its inhabitants are nothing but rotting pieces of flesh now, just like us. We were never meant to come here. Look what we’ve done.”