Covenant

by Sabrina Benulis

  Israfel pulled his hand away.

  “Vatican police!” a harsh human voice shouted in muffled tones. “Open this door now!”

  Tress’s mother gasped. She pulled Tress close to her, hiding the little girl’s face against her thick skirt.

  “Gloriana Cassel,” the voice shouted again. “You are under arrest for the dissemination of occult materials, the corruption of Luz civilians, and for involvement in the murder of Westwood Academy student Nina Annabelle Willis—”

  “Nina?” Gloriana gasped again. “She’s dead? That—that can’t be true.”

  “Mama, what’s happening?” Tress said, crying.

  More harsh knocks met the door. “Open up or we will be forced to break down your door!”

  Gloriana held Tress closer, wiping at the girl’s tearstained face. “Don’t cry, dear. They won’t hurt us. I’m sure we’ll be all right.” She looked at Israfel with hope in her eyes. “Sometimes help arrives in the most unexpected ways.”

  There was a pause while something heavy thrust against the door.

  Gloriana and Tress stared at Israfel, pleading wordlessly.

  Without a word, he glided away from the door and stood in front of them, pushing them even farther back with his hand. Gathering every bit of energy floating in the ether, he revealed the six wings that had been lost to him for so long in a blazing glory of light. Tress cooed in wonder as they unfurled in their expanses of snowy whiteness, but Israfel stayed silent and refused to look at her. He would pay dearly for using this much energy right now. Already, tremors of pain ran up his arms.

  “Thank you,” Tress said in the softest voice.

  Israfel smiled in spite of everything. “You’re welcome,” he replied.

  With a horrendous bang, the door slammed open and smacked into the wall.

  “Everybody freeze!” the harsh voice shouted into the room.

  Five men in long black coats burst into Gloriana’s house, but immediately halted at the sight of Israfel and his six wings shining with majesty. One of the men had paused with a gun pointed in Israfel’s direction. His hands shook like leaves in the wind, his thumb fumbled with the trigger. He seemed unsure whether to shoot or scream. His eyes widened with shock and terror.

  The gun fired. A bullet raced for Israfel’s head.

  Yes, Israfel would pay dearly for all this.

  He lifted his hand and tugged on the ether, willing the bullet to slow down. It came to within a foot of his head and clattered harmlessly to the floor.

  Feeling dizzy already, he took the route typical of his long-ago days as ruler of Heaven and made sure not an ounce of pain, discouragement, or emotion showed on his face. “You would be wise to leave,” he said in his most commanding and persuasive voice. “The battle will only get worse for you from here.”

  In answer, three more gunshots echoed throughout the house.

  Sixteen

  Every world connects to another. Time is perspective. Journeys and stories are exactly the same, and what humans call myth we know as reality. —TROY

  Once, on a cold night that now seemed ages ago, Angela had dared to ask Sophia about the time she’d spent as the Book of Raziel trapped in Hell. They had been talking for hours, mostly about trivial topics that Angela knew disguised a deeper longing to share with each other. But sharing was something they both had little real experience with at the time. Angela had mistrusted relationships of any kind for too long, hardly knowing how to approach painful subjects. The strange distance in Sophia’s eyes often suggested the same.

  Now, descending farther into Hell, Angela flashed back to the coldness in their room as the fire had gone out.

  “Sophia,” Angela had said, grasping the Book’s small hand, “tell me what it was like when you were in Hell for all that time. I want to know.”

  Sophia stared at her, trembling, like she didn’t know whether the question was a joke or not. At that exact moment, the rain had ceased. Only later would Angela look out the window and see Luz’s first steady flakes of snow.

  “It was dark,” Sophia whispered. “Endlessly dark. And stifling. There is an acidic river coursing through the deepest parts of Hell, and I can still taste the vapors stinging and numbing my tongue.” She took a deep breath, like the memories called for a gathering of her strength. “I don’t remember much else. I try not to. But I do know I passed countless years wishing. That’s part of my punishment, you see. Ever since I died . . . I’ve been wishing.”

  “For what?” Angela whispered with her, forgetting to question just how the Book of Raziel could die.

  “For this.” Sophia had squeezed her hand and smiled.

  Angela could still feel those chilly fingers.

  Sophia—I’m going to get you out of here. You don’t belong in this place at all.

  Besides—there’s still so much I have to ask you.

  Sophia had mentioned once that she had originally died giving birth to children. The subject had never been brought up since, yet it plagued Angela, resurfacing at tense times like these.

  Sophia’s the Book of Raziel. She doesn’t have any children. She must have been lying to me when she said that . . .

  Angela clutched at her necklace, aware that her mouth was tightening into a line. No, Sophia wouldn’t lie to her. Just like with Israfel, there was a part of Sophia that Angela couldn’t yet comprehend. Perhaps that was the key to everything.

  Angela gasped, a rush of adrenaline firing through her.

  She tripped and stumbled off the last stone step, nearly falling onto the ground.

  Troy was beside her already, examining footprints in the dust. Her nose wrinkled in distaste, and an evil look crossed her face. “Sariel was here,” she said with a low hiss.

  Angela steadied herself with Nina at her side. Her heart beat violently, anticipation flooding out her fear.

  Juno hopped down beside Troy. The crow Fury perched precariously on Juno’s shoulder.

  The Jinn chick rustled through the gloom and brought a scrap of black fabric to her aunt. Troy tore the scrap from Juno’s hands and studied it, her eyes narrowing despite the sickly glow of an ember set in the wall.

  “That belongs to Kim?” Angela said, stooping down beside them.

  Troy growled under her breath. She shoved Angela aside, searching for more clues. But there were none, and they found themselves standing in the gloom of a circular chamber covered from floor to ceiling in the alien writing that Angela found so disturbing. She rubbed the sharp peaks and curves of the script, sensing a familiarity.

  Briefly, Angela thought of Stephanie’s demon now long dead and the writing that had been tattooed on the demon’s neck.

  “What does this say? Can anyone read it?” Angela whispered.

  Nina touched the scripting, running her fingers across the cool stone. “We live in deference to the Prince,” Nina said, reading aloud and slowly. “We serve her and no other. She is our god. Let all who now enter this place fear and adore her . . .”

  “Quiet,” Troy snapped, thrusting Nina away from the wall. “Those are prayers, fool.”

  “To who?” Nina said, bewildered. She rubbed her arm. Troy’s nails had left some thin cuts.

  “To Lucifel, I’m sure,” Angela said very softly. “Troy’s right. We probably shouldn’t read them aloud.” She turned around, gazing at Nina. “Nina, how did you even know what those words said? How could you read them in the first place?”

  Everyone looked at Nina, equally curious.

  Nina shrugged. “I was dead once. Maybe that has something to do with it.”

  “You would do well to stay as silent as the dead until you’re told otherwise,” Troy muttered. She edged nearer to a series of lines and markings and set her hand against the stone, following a different set of symbols.

  Angela peered at the markings closely. Nothing made much sense, until she used her imagination and recognized a river, a city of jagged spires in a great cave, and a vast plain. Other markings resembled nothin
g she had ever seen before. She did notice the etched figure of a horse with a large horn—it resembled the horse carved on the door they’d entered and the horses Stephanie had drawn on her walls.

  Ride, she could almost hear Stephanie’s voice saying in her head. Ride away while you still can . . .

  “What is this?” Angela said sharply.

  Troy’s ears flicked. “A crude map of Hell. There is the Styx River,” she said, pointing to the thick line in the map’s middle. “Here is the demon city of Babylon,” she whispered, sliding her nail to the etched city. Troy frowned, and she dug her nail into what remained of the picture.

  Angela sighed. “You’re right. It isn’t much help. It doesn’t even tell us where we are.”

  Troy glared at her as if to say, Who would bother to return and say so?

  Then Troy stood on both feet, suddenly fearsome and tall, and paced forward into the blackness. As everyone followed her, the darkness receded slightly. It wasn’t long until they stopped before three passageways, one to the right, one to the left, and one directly in front of them. A banner displaying some kind of serpent with plumes on its head hung in tatters from the middle tunnel.

  “Oh, perfect,” Angela whispered. “So we have to choose?”

  “We don’t have to,” Nina said. “There are three tunnels and five of us. Counting the bird anyway.”

  Fury croaked from Juno’s shoulder, but clearly wasn’t about to leave it.

  “No,” Angela said firmly. “We’re absolutely not splitting up. If we choose a tunnel, we go down that tunnel together.”

  But if they picked the wrong one . . .

  This was awful. There were no better choices in a game like this.

  But at least there were clues. The tunnel with the snake banner caught Angela’s eye again.

  That tunnel looked like an entrance to something. And the snake marking could mean that it would take Angela right to the demon who had helped Camdon. Or straight to Lucifel. Either way, Angela couldn’t get Sophia back without reaching one of them.

  “Okay,” Angela said. “This one.”

  She walked closer to the entrance of the tunnel, searching the shadows for monsters. The air wafting toward her smelled stale and the air tasted almost vinegary. That at least matched with what Sophia had described to Angela about her time in Hell.

  Angela stepped forward. The Grail in her left hand throbbed, and beneath the bandage, moistness—probably blood—wept into her palm.

  That should have meant trouble. But there was nothing except silence and darkness.

  “Wait. Hold on a second,” Angela said, stopping everyone behind her. She tore off her left arm glove.

  Juno scampered closer, but when the Grail appeared, Troy dragged her back. “You do not look at it, chick,” she hissed.

  Angela stared at the Eye, or the stone that resembled one, nestled in her palm.

  Its onyx pupil glistened wetly and all too lifelike. Angela couldn’t explain it then, she couldn’t explain it now, but when she was sucked away into the Eye’s depths she always felt a panic that swiftly evolved into familiarity, like she’d been in such a fathomless place many times before, grasping an infinity that was hers alone.

  Troy had once thought the Grail’s omniscient gaze would drive Angela mad, yet Angela had surprised everyone that day by claiming the cursed rock fearlessly.

  Lucifel had been the first of the Grail’s owners, and also the first to use it to conjure the Glaive, a pole arm of crystalline blue blood that practically fed on the lives it stole. Now this dreaded weapon was the Archon’s property, the symbol of Ruin so many believed She stood for. The lives it had taken were now Angela’s responsibility. But she had no desire for her friends to join the ranks of the dead. What are you trying to tell me?

  The Grail wept a little more blood, and then the Eye blinked closed. Angela slipped on her glove. Like a gunshot in the silence, Fury croaked in alarm. Everyone tensed, gazing down the tunnel.

  A tall figure strode toward them from within a heavy fog. Gradually, the mist receded and a young man with thick black hair touched by purple streaks emerged from the darkness.

  Troy inched forward, flexing her nails.

  “No, don’t,” Angela whispered.

  “It is a demon,” Troy snapped. “And this is my chance to kill it.”

  “They would have killed us by now too,” Angela retorted. “Don’t do anything until I say so. That’s an order.”

  Troy stepped back, muttering viciously under her breath. She grabbed Juno by the back of her rags and dragged her to a safe corner.

  As the demon approached, Angela discerned the phosphorescent violet paint on his eyelids. He was barefoot, though his feet and eyelids were both lightly scaled. Otherwise, he was much like a human being with handsome, arrogant features, a mischievous smile, and horridly pale skin. Angela drew back only at the sight of his orange eyes and their snakelike pupils. A tattoo with the same demonic writing as the walls peeked above the low neck of his clothing.

  He stopped in front of them all, examining each with burning eyes, lingering with interest on Troy and Juno.

  Finally, his thin lips spread into a smile. “It looks like I’m just in time. You aren’t dead yet.”

  Seventeen

  I had never been particularly afraid of snakes. Soon, I realized that was an ill-fated flaw. —ANGELA MATHERS

  “Who are you?” Angela said. She hid her shaking hands behind her back.

  This demon acted much like Stephanie’s, with the same arrogance and the same assured way of walking. Only, there was a stronger aura of power and danger. Worse, his eyes matched the eyes of the iron snake Angela had shattered with the Glaive.

  “Let me guess,” Troy said nastily. “You’re a snake.”

  “How perceptive,” the demon replied. He smiled. “Though only half the truth.”

  Troy growled softly. She seemed on the verge of remembering something.

  “You were the one speaking through that metal snake on the door?” Angela shouted, unable to hide her anger like she hid her fear. “Then why not kill us and get everything over with?”

  “Wrong on both counts.” He arched an eyebrow at Angela. “I’m on your side, Archon. That should be clear considering I haven’t tried to murder any of you. Yet . . .”

  “Liar,” Troy hissed. “Then tell us your name, snake.”

  He regarded her with amusement. “You haven’t told me yours.”

  Troy curled her lethal fingers into fists. “It isn’t our truthfulness that is being questioned.”

  The demon looked at each of them in turn, thinking. At last, a smaller smile tugged at his mouth and he said, eyes burning, “My name is Python.”

  Troy’s rage was frightful. She arched her wings high and beat them with thundering emphasis. Dirt and pebbles scattered away from her in all directions. “You. I should have known. Murderer and snake. Half-bred spawn of snakes.”

  “All true,” Python said to her menacingly. “The Third Great Demon of Hell apparently had a snake for a father and has a whore for a mother. So sorry.”

  “A snake for a father?” Nina whispered.

  “Yes,” Troy said, never taking her eyes off Python. “His father was the feathered serpent Leviathan. His mother is Lilith. The Jinn know him only too well. This is the demon responsible for the fall of the Jinn city that is my namesake. Murderer and liar,” she said, a deadly hiss escaping her again. “I should kill you right now, where you stand.”

  Juno dared a little hiss from behind Troy.

  “That would be fitting for the High Assassin of the Jinn,” Python remarked coolly. “Unfortunately, without me none of you will ever escape this maze.”

  “This is really a labyrinth?” Angela echoed back in anger.

  “Oh, yes,” he said. “The demon who owns it would very much like to see you dead. Or worse, to suffer. He is so very bored lately. More dangerous than usual. So he has decided to work with Lucifel toward her insane dreams. Mind
you”—Python’s voice became softer—“I don’t exactly share them. If anything, I would like to see her caged for an eternity longer. But only you, Archon, will make certain of that. Also, I wish to thank you.”

  Angela flexed her left hand. Cold shivers ran up her arms.

  She couldn’t just trust a demon. But did she even have a choice? If this really was a labyrinth . . . they might never get out otherwise. No wonder the iron snake said Angela wouldn’t win this game if she didn’t give in to his demands.

  Python nodded at Troy. “Because of you and this ratty Jinn, my mother’s little protégée Naamah is dead. She was such a bitch, that one. I was glad to see her go.”

  Naamah had been the name of Stephanie’s demon. Just the memory of that name sent ripples of dread through Angela’s soul. But the idea that even Naamah had enemies here almost bothered her more.

  “Mother loved her more than you?” Troy said sarcastically.

  Python’s face was colder than ever. “Exactly,” he said. “And there’s nothing I love more than hearing my mother scream. Whether in grief or rage or fear. It doesn’t matter to me as long as I hear that lovely sound.”

  “You talk like she deserves it.” Troy snapped. “I would have to agree considering an abomination like you lives.”

  “Enough chitchat,” Python said with a tangible hiss at the end of his words. His eyes burned brighter and he stared keenly at Troy before walking closer to Angela. He folded his arms, feigning disinterest while the silence grew and swallowed them all. “Archon, unlike your Jinn pet, I don’t have the time for theatrics. I would like an answer from you as to whether or not you will accept my help.”

  “If I don’t?” Angela said. Unable to look at him, she stared at the ground, trying to think and make a decision.

  She sensed Python’s gaze linger on the Grail hidden beneath her glove.

  “If you don’t,” he said softly, “as I said before—expect difficulties.”

  “Can I have at least a minute to think?” she snapped at him.

  “By all means.” He bowed at her and strolled to the other side of the chamber, crossing his arms and leaning against the stone while his attention focused on first one person, then the other.