Infinite

by Erica Crouch

  In the pit of my stomach, I have a slight kick of paranoia. Lilith, who is spending all of this time with Lucifer, plotting and planning… He could see more potential in her than he could in me. She’s center stage in his presence every day, while I’m toiling away behind the scenes. I do the dirty work; there’s blood caked under my fingernails. When was the last time she got her hands dirty?

  Will he still consider a solider worthy of the title of King by the time this is over?

  I trust Lilith, but I know how persuasive she can be. She’s convincing enough to manipulate Lucifer into thinking she’s deserving of a higher title, but surely he’d see through such a ploy. And Lilith would never betray me like that. Not after all we’ve been through, all the things we’ve seen. I was the one who helped her create her children, spread the Lilim virus. She values me, and if nothing else, she knows what a powerful ally I would be to her. Buying the favor of the King of Hell will get her far.

  Besides, Lucifer sent me to complete this task. To kill his brother. He didn’t trust anyone else to get the job done, nor should he have. I can do it. I will do it. If I weren’t here to see the task through, Michael might never be caught. He’d bide his time and, eventually, when the mood strikes him, make a claim to the throne. He’d wait until Lucifer will be at his weakest—when we’re making the transition complete, he takes up permanent residence in Heaven, and I secure Hell as my own. Divided as we would be, Michael could conquer him. It’s why he needs to be dealt with now, before he is as big of a threat as he has the potential to become.

  The piece of Michael’s soul is volatile inside its vial. It pushes against the cap, writhing around and testing the side of its prison for any sign of weakness. My fist clenches tighter around it. Calling them to us—manipulating Pen into walking right through those front gates of our fortress—didn’t work as I had planned. It was all going so well until Pen screwed it all up. Until she rejected me and everything I was offering her.

  They even took our weapons, killed two of our best soldiers. But now, I know what we’re up against. Who we are up against.

  Her new friends are stronger than I would have guessed. And Jeremy was right: They come from both sides of the war. Enemies are fighting beside enemies, and it makes them smarter, stronger. They know how we fight, and they worked as a team. A team loyal enough to give their lives to protect my sister, to protect Michael. I saw the way Eligor dived in front of that angel. I never would have guessed him to be so noble, so stupid. What happened to the knight I once knew?

  I smile, remembering the mark Aym was still able to leave on Eligor. We may have killed more than five of them if he doesn’t take care of that wound soon.

  In the King’s great hall, I find Jeremy. He’s hiding under one of the benches, whispering into his cupped hands. I kick the bench off him, and he jumps to his feet without me having to drag him up.

  “Surprised you’re still alive,” I say.

  Jeremy twitches, looks behind himself.

  “Then again, you were never anywhere near the fight, were you?”

  He spins around like he thinks he’s surrounded. “Rimmon’s gone?” he asks. “Aym…”

  I grind my teeth together. I don’t want him to deliver messages from the dead. I need him to contact Lilith for me, and this time, I won’t take no for an answer. But I don’t trust him enough to summon her and relay everything she’s saying, so I tell him that he has to project. Project or die. I’m losing patience fast, and I won’t be giving him any more chances.

  “I don’t know how to project,” he says. “I don’t know what that means.”

  “You don’t have to do a thing,” I say through my teeth, annoyed. “Lilith knows. Just contact her.”

  He closes his eyes and silently moves his mouth, rocking back and forth on his feet. When his movement stops, I know that Lilith made contact.

  “Project,” I say to Jeremy, to Lilith.

  When he opens his eyes again, he’s gone. Instead of his watery, violet eyes, I’m looking into the liquid gold of Lilith’s. Projection is a much nicer word than possession. Causes less of a fight from the host.

  “Azael.” Jeremy’s mouth moves, but it’s Lilith’s voice that comes out. It’s disturbing, really, the soft, purring seductiveness coming from his chapped lips, but it’s the only way I can trust the message. “You are an absolute disaster.”

  “We’ve lost two of our soldiers. Pen and her group attacked. They brought only a small fraction of the army she’s built, as fate would have it, and we felled nearly half of them. But there are so many more to step in their places. You’ve been kept apprised on their numbers better than I have.” I clench my jaw, annoyed at the truth there. Jeremy talks to her more than he talks to me. And I need the information more than she does; I’m the one in harm’s way down here, while she’s tucked away, safe in Heaven.

  He—she—nods. “And the soul?”

  “They are under the impression that they recovered it.” I hold up the real vial with Michael’s soul in it. “I still have it though.” I think it will be of use to me later. I’m holding on to it until just the right moment, and I think I know when that will be. The time is creeping closer.

  “But they’ll figure that out soon enough. I’m assuming they escaped, then? All of them? Or did you hold one or two alive for questioning?”

  “They won’t talk,” I say, not that we have any to test that theory on. But we have already tried that tactic once, and I doubt anyone else in their ranks would slip up after everything Zophiel endured. If I couldn’t break her with that level of torture, then their allegiance to the cause is greater than their own sense of self-preservation. “Raum is following them.”

  “And Rimmon?”

  “Dead.”

  Jeremy frowns, mimicking Lilith’s countenance. “Shame.”

  “Aym is the other fallen—”

  She speaks over me. “Did you need something? I have things to prepare for up here.” She doesn’t bother to elaborate on what those “things” are, so I get to the point. My patience is running as thin as hers.

  “I wanted to ensure that we had reinforcements on their way. Our plan is to follow them back to wherever they have staked out a bunker and attack. We’ll watch them for a little before we go in, so we know what we’re up against.”

  “The big, bloody battle,” Lilith says. “Gus is getting better at figuring out which fates are still in play, then.”

  “He’s seen it?”

  Jeremy rocks his head back and forth. “Most of it. It’ll happen soon though. You’ll find them.”

  I nod. “And what of the angels?”

  No one has spoken of them for too long. I’m worried about interference from them once we finish the battle with Pen’s rebel army. Will there be two wars in one day? When they fell from Heaven, they were scattered across the entire globe. I’m sure not all of them survived the impact, but they must be regrouping. Recovering.

  “The angels are disorganized,” comes Lilith’s voice, bored. “They don’t know what to do with themselves without one body in charge. They follow the orders they had before the fall. Marching on like mechanical soldiers with blinders on. And spread out on Earth like they are…” Jeremy shrugs for Lilith. “Well, I don’t see them causing much trouble. They still think they’re searching for Pen and Michael, but from what Jeremy’s heard, not many are interested. They know the danger of cashing in on that bounty.”

  “And the other archangels? Where are they?” Are they concerned about what Michael’s up to, or are they just as disinterested in him as they’ve always been?

  “Uriel’s dead,” she says. “Attacked by a band of demons. Raphael was gunned down by one government or another and then experimented on until he died—how beautiful is that? And humans think we are the monsters. They’re more like us than they know. The others are lying low, lest they meet the same slow end as their brothers.”

  “No one is stepping forward to lead?”

  She
laughs. “No one wants to lead. No one knows how. It was always Michael and Lucifer until Michael threw Lucifer out of Heaven. Though I guess they both still led after that for a while… And after Michael died in the war, the angels were still safe in Heaven. They didn’t need a single leader to go on about their daily lives—blessing things, saving people, whatever.”

  But now that they need to fight back—now that they have to do something other than go about their usual business and engage in actual change, in reclaiming Heaven—they don’t know what to do. And no one wants to tell them. Incredible.

  “There was the council…”

  Right. I nod, remembering the news of the council installed after Michael’s death. We heard about it in Hell, and everyone joked at a parliament of angels sitting around and arguing with one another about policies. Wasting time. There were representatives from each of the different services in Heaven: the warriors, the scribes, the guardians, and the angels like me who worked with souls.

  I never heard who they picked besides Ariel and Sablo. Their task of protecting Michael was proof enough of their position—though I was glad to see that their promotion didn’t mean they became the least bit more competent. I was thrilled to discover not too much had changed since Pen and I had fallen.

  “But they seem to be missing. All except one,” Lilith says. “Apparently, one of the leaders of Pen’s little group—New Genesis, is it?—was a council member. You two wore the same colors, I believe. Her name’s Anabiel, according to my sources.”

  Anabiel…Ana. The blond angel Aym nearly killed—the one Eligor protected. She was right here! We could have killed her and sent New Genesis into shambles. What would they do without her? Who would lead them then? I doubt Pen’s gained enough of their trust to take over for the angel. She’s not a born leader; she’s much too selfish.

  I shake my head, run my hand through my hair now damp with snow. Doesn’t matter. They’re gone, and we’ll deal with them later. We’ll kill them later. What Lilith’s told me is good news: The angels are as passive as ever. More so, actually. Lucifer’s claim to Heaven will go over smoother than I expected.

  Good. Something should go right for a change.

  “The reinforcements?” I ask again. “They’re on their way?”

  “The call has been raised. Those willing to join you are simply waiting for a location.”

  “I’ll have Jeremy send word as soon as we have one.” I pause. “We should know within a day or so, sooner if they’re stationed close to here or if they’re fast about getting there. But you could let Lucifer know that I’m on schedule. By the week’s end, Pen and Michael will be dead. Tell Lucifer I’ll serve him his brother’s head on a silver platter.”

  Lilith makes a small noise of acknowledgement. “Once I have a location,” she rushes on, “the reinforcements will arrive within hours. You were right in assuming many would wish to accompany you into battle—a chance to wipe out some angels, expunge some traitors? Who would pass that up?”

  “Will you be there, then?” I ask.

  “No.” She doesn’t go further to clarify, and when Jeremy blinks, his violet eyes overtake the gold for a moment. He smiles his unstable smile, and then she’s back. “Don’t fail, Azael,” she says before she leaves for good.

  Jeremy snaps back to himself and stumbles backward, crashing into a wall. “Projection?” he asks, skeptical.

  “You might know it better as possession,” I say, leaving Jeremy. Before I’m too far, I call back to him, “Be prepared to leave. We’ll be flying shortly.”

  “Where?” he asks.

  In my mind, I consider the information Lilith. The angels aren’t fighting anymore. Their wills were easier broken than I’d expected. Maybe Jeremy belongs with them instead of us—hiding, running, waiting for orders. Useless.

  I wonder if, after Lucifer stabilizes his claim to the throne, he’ll exterminate the angels in mass executions or employ them as slaves. Will he send them to Hell for me to deal with, or is he content to let them wander the Earth for all time? What poetic justice it would be if he banished them to the icy depths he had called prison for so long.

  The fact that the angels are directionless without a leader—helpless, even—makes it easier to understand why so many are turning to Pen’s revolution. It’s something to do. Someone tells them where to go, who to fight, what to fight for. All they have to do is listen. Perhaps they aren’t all as loyal as they seem. How many will turn to our side of the fight once they realize they’ll lose? That fighting back will get them nowhere?

  Whatever happens, I don’t see the angels truly becoming a problem for me any time soon. They’ll obey or they’ll be put down. Pen will be the first example.

  Lilith

  WAITING IS DEADLY BOREDOM.

  GUS remains difficult, but he’s selfish with his immortality and wants to live, so he doesn’t do anything annoying enough to give me reason to execute him. Instead, he pushes forward with his obstinate insistence that he can’t give me a definitive answer on anything. His favorite word must be possibly. Every time he says it, my headache grows more unbearable, my patience wears a little thinner.

  The hours of the day lazily drag on, and I find myself becoming restless. Nervous. It’s not a feeling I enjoy, not knowing my next move. Usually, I am so sure of every step that I don’t have to question myself, consult anyone. Relying on another, even if it is only Gus—and even if it is only because he can divine the fates like I cannot—is uncomfortable. I don’t like sharing this much information, giving anyone such a close look at the way I think, the way I plan and move and react. Gus knows too much now. I might have to keep him by me longer than I wish.

  By midmorning, Gus slips away from the throne room. He leaves me an opportunity to riffle through his notes and see if there’s anything he’s keeping from me. But, unsurprisingly, most of his scribbling makes no sense. The pages I am able to actually decipher are nonsense words strung together in nonsense sentences. I throw his notebook across the room.

  He taught me—a while back, in Hell, when we were somewhat civil toward one another—how to translate simple fates. Text didn’t form on pages in the order they are written in human text. There’s no point in reading right to left—or even left to right—because each fate takes on a shape of its own. It’s important to view the picture as a whole in order to find the pattern.

  Pen and Azael’s fate almost resembles a tree. It reminds me of the one in Eden. I wonder if that’s on purpose.

  Others—like mine, for example—spiral outward from a dark knot of ink at the center. The text curls out, circling wider and wider, like the swirling tendrils of a great storm. A hurricane taking shape.

  I kick through the books until I find the small, black notebook I asked him to divine my fates in. It’s time I check up on it again, make sure the text is still being written and nothing’s being erased. I may not be able to clearly see what others are doing, but I’ll be able to see if I’m making the right choices. If the book tells me I’ll still be alive by the end of the day, I’ll be satisfied.

  The pages are thick and heavy with newly written fates. I’m careful not to smear the ink with my fingertips as I search the pages. I have to turn through the stories of my past. Gus’s divination that I would betray man—that must have been one of his first visions for Hell; finding me for Lucifer got him a seat on the devil’s council. There are the stories of Azael and me traveling the globe and spreading the virus that created my children. Pages and pages of our destruction, our havoc wreaked on mankind as the demonic disease ate through their humanity.

  And then there’s the page I read in the White Garden, after Azael had delivered the bad news about the Lilim being wiped off the face of the Earth. A single bolt of text: slaughtered for convenience. I rip that page out, crumple it, and toss it behind me.

  Finally, I catch up to today—more or less. The text leading up to it is made up of dull, static sentences that speak of biding time and waiting for an e
vent. Something that will open up more paths for me to choose between, something that will tell me which way to go when the road forks. I trace the fates with my fingernail and stop at an unsettling passage. If I’m reading this right…

  “Judas,” I hiss under my breath, slamming the book closed.

  I march out of the throne room, my feet bare and my dress rippling around my knees. Though the anger in me asks for noise—barge through the throne room doors, start screaming now—I side with silence. Catch it in the act and there’s no way he can deny anything. So, as I glide through the halls of the palace, searching out the traitor, I make no sound.

  With my hair flying behind me like military standards, I mount my rage. I will ride it, my Hellish steed, into battle, armed with accusations and threats. I must be getting close, because I can hear the whispering. The muttering.

  He’s in Azael’s room, which is still a mess of broken furniture and glass. No one bothered to clean it up after his temper tantrum over his sister. I suppose Gus didn’t think I’d be back here with him gone now.

  The door is left ajar, and I peek through, waiting. Watching. He snaps his fingers and calls up a flash of blue flames. And then he gets to writing. He pulls a page out of his pocket and starts writing on it, his hands shaking. After folding it into a small square and creasing the page flat, he holds it out in front of him and raises his fingers.

  “Pen pal?” I ask, easing the door open with a creak and sashaying in.

  Gus freezes. His shoulders pull back, and slowly, he turns to me. He still hasn’t lowered his hands, the note held high, his fingers ready to snap the flames back to life again.

  “I can’t imagine,” I say, “who you would be sending a fire message to.”

  He shakes his head and finally lowers his hands. “I—”

  “You,” I cut in, “were betraying me.”