Thirteen
Page 98
“Do you have any idea how pissed off he’s going to be?” Severin said.
“Yeah, we do,” Adam said. “But my father’s just as pissed off with him, so we’ll let the two of them duke it out.”
They turned to Adam. His glamour was gone, too, and he lifted his glowing hands.
As Sierra rushed me, I rushed her right back. That caught her off guard, and she checked herself, giving me time to plow into her and knock her flying. As she came back swinging, I remembered her fight with Clay, her pattern, the simplistic moves.
Well, at least you were doing something useful, I imagined Clay drawling.
I ducked her first blow. Dodged her second. Caught her third. Two out of three ain’t bad. Of course, it would have been even better if, by that third, she wasn’t so furious that it felt like being hit with an ice-blast ray. My shirt absorbed some of the cold. It flash froze, actually, a big chunk at the shoulder shattering. One glance at that hole—and imagining my skin there instead—made me a whole lot more careful. And a whole lot more angry.
I got in a kick followed by an uppercut. That knocked her down. As she scrambled up again, I hit her with a solid kick. She flew back. I jumped on her, grabbing her forearms before she could touch me. Severin saw his sister down and stopped fighting Adam, coming for me instead. A punch stopped him. Adam made sure he stayed stopped. He didn’t even bother disarming his ice-powers, just grabbed both his hands. There was a sizzle, like water on a griddle. When he let go, we had one melted ice-demon. His powers would take a while to recharge. A long while, I hoped.
Severin may have been a decent fighter. Maybe even as good as Adam. But he relied too much on his powers and when they were gone, he reacted a lot as I had. He was thrown off his game—distracted and unable to gather himself for a real fight. Adam bound him. Then he melted Sierra’s ice and we tied her up with her brother.
“You know Balaam’s going to set us free,” Sierra said.
“Funny. He hasn’t yet,” I said. “I think he’s given you two enough chances.”
“Never,” she said. “He’ll come for us.”
“And your point?” I said as I eased back. “That we should kill you?”
“No, her point is that’s it’s not too late to fix this, Savannah,” Severin said. “Balaam is going to win. Whether you win, too, depends on whether you’re on his side. You still have a chance. Join him and—”
I silenced him with a gag.
EVE
Eve strode up the steps to the afterlife courthouse, with Trsiel right behind her. The guards moved in to tell her it was closed. Then they saw the sword—and Trsiel—and knew she wasn’t coming to look for her lawyer lover this time. They parted to let them through.
“Ukobach?” she said as they passed.
“Cell 24-D,” one of the guards replied. “Is there anything we can—?”
“We’ve got it.”
Trsiel slowed to murmur his thanks. Eve shook her head. Precious time wasted, not just on the civilities, but on what always followed—the guards practically prostrating themselves because a full-blooded angel deigned to speak to them. At least they realized he was a full-blood. Some didn’t. It was his own fault really. He wore his sword on his back and dressed in casual, modern clothing. If you missed the faint glow of his skin, there was no sign he was an angel until he spoke and that melodious, compelling voice gave him away.
As Trsiel extricated himself, Eve continued down the hall. Past the courtrooms. Take a left. Down the stairs. A right. Another left. Trsiel caught up. By now they were past all the guards, so Eve snapped the blur spell and Kristof appeared beside them. While they could have insisted he be allowed in, bringing a lawyer would have signaled that they were up to something.
“There’s 24-D,” she said, gesturing at a cell. “But we really want …”
“Thirty-two-B,” Kristof said. “They’re holding Raim in 32-B.”
The guards would never have let them in if they admitted they were here to see Raim. He was an earl in Lucifer’s court. Several angels had “rescued” him as he was being interrogated by Balaam’s demons, who were certain he knew where his liege was hiding. He was now being held as a prisoner of war, mostly so neither side could use him to find Lucifer. The Fates would prefer that particular lord demon stayed out of this fight.
Kristof leaned over, his hand brushing hers, voice dropping.
“We’ll get back to Indiana as soon as we can.”
She nodded and gave his hand a quick squeeze. They’d been helping Lucas and the others at the compound when the message came. One of Kristof’s informants told him that Raim was being held in the afterlife cells. Trsiel had offered to handle it alone, but interrogation really wasn’t his thing. Years spent working with Eve meant he was fine with sneaking Kristof into the cells or lying about their destination, but getting information from Raim could require a little more deception than his nature allowed. So they’d zipped off, alerting Jaime to call them back if there was a crisis.
Eve opened the door to 32-B. Inside, it looked like little more than a closet. An empty closet.
“Ready?” she said.
Kristof nodded. “Right behind you.”
“I’ll wait here,” Trsiel said, taking up a position outside the door. “But you call me in if you need help.”
“I will.”
Eve took a deep breath, then stepped into the cell. Light flashed, stuttering like a broken bulb. Her stomach lurched as the ground disappeared beneath her feet. Then came a jolt as she touched down so fast her knees buckled. Damn dimensional jumps. They were jarring at the best of times, but the ones into the dimensional holding cells were the worst, as if the Fates didn’t want to spare decent magic on mere prisoners.
Someone shrieked. Eve gripped her sword and looked around. Everything was still bright white. Another shriek—one of laughter, not terror.
Eve blinked hard as she took a few cautious steps forward. The light dimmed and she could make out what looked like a dining room. Folding tables had been added to extend the seating to twenty. Unmatched tablecloths, but it didn’t matter because every inch of them seemed covered with plates or food. Enough food for an army of imps. Turkey, stuffing, sweet potatoes, cranberry sauce …
“Yeah, we do,” Adam said. “But my father’s just as pissed off with him, so we’ll let the two of them duke it out.”
They turned to Adam. His glamour was gone, too, and he lifted his glowing hands.
As Sierra rushed me, I rushed her right back. That caught her off guard, and she checked herself, giving me time to plow into her and knock her flying. As she came back swinging, I remembered her fight with Clay, her pattern, the simplistic moves.
Well, at least you were doing something useful, I imagined Clay drawling.
I ducked her first blow. Dodged her second. Caught her third. Two out of three ain’t bad. Of course, it would have been even better if, by that third, she wasn’t so furious that it felt like being hit with an ice-blast ray. My shirt absorbed some of the cold. It flash froze, actually, a big chunk at the shoulder shattering. One glance at that hole—and imagining my skin there instead—made me a whole lot more careful. And a whole lot more angry.
I got in a kick followed by an uppercut. That knocked her down. As she scrambled up again, I hit her with a solid kick. She flew back. I jumped on her, grabbing her forearms before she could touch me. Severin saw his sister down and stopped fighting Adam, coming for me instead. A punch stopped him. Adam made sure he stayed stopped. He didn’t even bother disarming his ice-powers, just grabbed both his hands. There was a sizzle, like water on a griddle. When he let go, we had one melted ice-demon. His powers would take a while to recharge. A long while, I hoped.
Severin may have been a decent fighter. Maybe even as good as Adam. But he relied too much on his powers and when they were gone, he reacted a lot as I had. He was thrown off his game—distracted and unable to gather himself for a real fight. Adam bound him. Then he melted Sierra’s ice and we tied her up with her brother.
“You know Balaam’s going to set us free,” Sierra said.
“Funny. He hasn’t yet,” I said. “I think he’s given you two enough chances.”
“Never,” she said. “He’ll come for us.”
“And your point?” I said as I eased back. “That we should kill you?”
“No, her point is that’s it’s not too late to fix this, Savannah,” Severin said. “Balaam is going to win. Whether you win, too, depends on whether you’re on his side. You still have a chance. Join him and—”
I silenced him with a gag.
EVE
Eve strode up the steps to the afterlife courthouse, with Trsiel right behind her. The guards moved in to tell her it was closed. Then they saw the sword—and Trsiel—and knew she wasn’t coming to look for her lawyer lover this time. They parted to let them through.
“Ukobach?” she said as they passed.
“Cell 24-D,” one of the guards replied. “Is there anything we can—?”
“We’ve got it.”
Trsiel slowed to murmur his thanks. Eve shook her head. Precious time wasted, not just on the civilities, but on what always followed—the guards practically prostrating themselves because a full-blooded angel deigned to speak to them. At least they realized he was a full-blood. Some didn’t. It was his own fault really. He wore his sword on his back and dressed in casual, modern clothing. If you missed the faint glow of his skin, there was no sign he was an angel until he spoke and that melodious, compelling voice gave him away.
As Trsiel extricated himself, Eve continued down the hall. Past the courtrooms. Take a left. Down the stairs. A right. Another left. Trsiel caught up. By now they were past all the guards, so Eve snapped the blur spell and Kristof appeared beside them. While they could have insisted he be allowed in, bringing a lawyer would have signaled that they were up to something.
“There’s 24-D,” she said, gesturing at a cell. “But we really want …”
“Thirty-two-B,” Kristof said. “They’re holding Raim in 32-B.”
The guards would never have let them in if they admitted they were here to see Raim. He was an earl in Lucifer’s court. Several angels had “rescued” him as he was being interrogated by Balaam’s demons, who were certain he knew where his liege was hiding. He was now being held as a prisoner of war, mostly so neither side could use him to find Lucifer. The Fates would prefer that particular lord demon stayed out of this fight.
Kristof leaned over, his hand brushing hers, voice dropping.
“We’ll get back to Indiana as soon as we can.”
She nodded and gave his hand a quick squeeze. They’d been helping Lucas and the others at the compound when the message came. One of Kristof’s informants told him that Raim was being held in the afterlife cells. Trsiel had offered to handle it alone, but interrogation really wasn’t his thing. Years spent working with Eve meant he was fine with sneaking Kristof into the cells or lying about their destination, but getting information from Raim could require a little more deception than his nature allowed. So they’d zipped off, alerting Jaime to call them back if there was a crisis.
Eve opened the door to 32-B. Inside, it looked like little more than a closet. An empty closet.
“Ready?” she said.
Kristof nodded. “Right behind you.”
“I’ll wait here,” Trsiel said, taking up a position outside the door. “But you call me in if you need help.”
“I will.”
Eve took a deep breath, then stepped into the cell. Light flashed, stuttering like a broken bulb. Her stomach lurched as the ground disappeared beneath her feet. Then came a jolt as she touched down so fast her knees buckled. Damn dimensional jumps. They were jarring at the best of times, but the ones into the dimensional holding cells were the worst, as if the Fates didn’t want to spare decent magic on mere prisoners.
Someone shrieked. Eve gripped her sword and looked around. Everything was still bright white. Another shriek—one of laughter, not terror.
Eve blinked hard as she took a few cautious steps forward. The light dimmed and she could make out what looked like a dining room. Folding tables had been added to extend the seating to twenty. Unmatched tablecloths, but it didn’t matter because every inch of them seemed covered with plates or food. Enough food for an army of imps. Turkey, stuffing, sweet potatoes, cranberry sauce …
