“You’re good with surprises, Buns.” His smile is placid.
She sniffs the air in derision and waddles forward like a golden-haired sumo wrestler. “I do like a good surprise,” she reluctantly agrees.
“The portal is not activated to pull you through. You will need to shapeshift,” Zephyr says, suppressin’ a smile.
“That’s something you could’ve pointed out to me an hour ago!” Buns sweeps her hands in front of her, indicatin’ the pile of clothes layered on her. “Maybe I don’t feel like becoming butterflies right now! Did you ever think of that?” Her hands find their way to where her hips might lie beneath the fabric.
Brownie gathers her hair away from her neck and fans her sweaty face with her other hand. “I can maybe manage moths—butterflies are a stretch.”
“I’m okay with that if you can manage to change into them in the next few seconds because we’ve stayed here too long as it is.” Zephyr holds out a delicate earthen vase. Crack lines in the gold and black enamel run through the angels depicted on its sides. He lifts the lid from it. The immensity of time and space swirls in a spiral within it; ready to devour us like a black hole does a star going supernova.
“None of us is going to look very good when we get wherever we’re going in that portal,” Buns pouts.
“I don’t even care anymore,” Brownie says irritably. “I just wanna go. There’s something oppressive in the air we’re breathing. It’s starting to feel like two and two makes five around here.” At that, Brownie bursts into a shimmerin’ copper cloud of moths, shapeshiftin’ to fit inside the portal. The clothes that she was wearin’ fall to the floor, a discarded chrysalis of cotton, linen, and denim. One moth at a time, Brownie rains down into the vase that Zephyr holds open.
As Brownie slips away, Buns shivers despite her overheated skin. “Okay, sweetie,” she gives Zephyr a half-smile. “I like you best when you’re wearing nothing at all anyway.” Zephyr’s eyes get bluer just as Buns’ iridescent skin glows golden and she closes her eyes. In a poof, like a smoky distraction in a magician’s trick, Buns transforms herself into a kaleidoscope of golden-winged butterflies. The flock floats and ungulates, swimmin’ in the air of the library. A landfill of coats, sweaters and pants collapse in the middle of the room at the loss of Buns’ former shape.
“You’re next,” Zephyr says to Anya with a smile as he waits, holdin’ the vase as the first few of Buns’ velvety-winged thoraxes crawl into it.
The pit of my soul shakes in the next moment. The windows linin’ the library shatter inward. Jagged shards of glass scatter golden butterflies, preventin’ pieces of our Reaper angel from enterin’ the portal. Hoards of fallen angels crawl into our sanctuary. Cold air infiltrates, too, turnin’ my breath to wisps of white vapor. Powerful brown, white, and gray-colored wings unfurl from the backs of the evil angels. Their strong hands draw steely blades from jewel-encrusted sheaths.
Raisin’ both my hands, I hit the enemies’ first wave with magical white-hot beams of light. The flesh of evil Power angels burns from their bones, renderin’ them to dust. Clouds of ash rise in the air. It doesn’t stop the next wave. Hundreds of monstrous vulture-winged angels with brown and white feathers emerge from it.
From somewhere behind me, black-feathered arrows rip through the air. The arrowheads pass by my eyes, striking the foreheads of the fallen Power angels ahead of me. Anya ratchets four more arrows to the bow, firin’ them off in one bow stroke. She sets four more with lightnin’-fast speed and strikes the eyes of her targets, fellin’ them in less than an instant.
“Russell!” Zephyr calls to me. “Catch!” He throws the fragile portal vase with the force of a comet. The vase becomes a net, catchin’ several golden butterflies within it as it tumbles through the air.
My reaction is ingrained. I shift into reverse. My feet move as my eyes follow the trajectory of the vase spiralin’ through the air like a football. I stumble, runnin’ into furniture in my path, but I never take my gaze from it. Spreading my wings, I leap into the air as the urn soars by my head. Its smooth surface slides over my fingertips. I fumble with the amphora shape, it tumbles from my left hand to my right and back again. I secure it in my grasp. Catching as many golden-winged creatures out of the air as I can, I stuff ‘em in the portal. They disappear in a swirl that mimics the Milky Way.
From the corner of my eye, I see Anya being forced backward toward one of the walls lined with bookcases. “Zee!” I roar. He glances at me. His back is covered with golden butterflies as he wields his broad sword with vicious intent. It flows through the onslaught of angels before him, stemmin’ their tide and keepin’ them in front of him so they can’t crush any of the butterfly pieces of our Reaper. “Catch!” I yell.
I toss the portal into the air toward Zee. As it rockets to him, it swallows up several flutterin’ butterflies in it’s path. I only wait long enough for him to catch it in his raised fingers before my hands swing to the books on the shelf behind Anya’s head. I cast a spell that has tomes flyin’ off them, strikin’ the snarlin’ angels bearin’ down on my girl. It only stops a few. A large Power with silver-gray wings manages to slip through them. Anya drops her bow at his approach because she’s out of arrows. Drawin’ out her bone-handled knife from her thigh holster, she grips it firmly in her fist. The towerin’ angel swings his silvery sword, intent on cuttin’ her in half. She ducks and it misses her by less than a millimeter. My fear for her safety is a steely blade cutting my belly in two.
Pure emotion ignites from me in the form of fire, causin’ several whirlin’ flames to dance forth in spinnin’ orange tornadoes from my chest. Hot and angry, the first whirlin’ fireball finds the silver-winged Power as he makes another pass at Anya. When the fire crashes into him, his body ignites, flames eatin’ him until he’s nothin’ more than rollin’, churnin’ ashes.
While the other fallen angels surroundin’ Anya meet a similar fate, I use my rage to push the more fallen angels back with an invisible protective field that I wind around Anya, Zee, and me. The Fallen are thrust from the room back outside. I seal the broken window frames with a spell. Zephyr drops his sword. He pulls the remainin’ golden butterflies off his back and deposit them in the portal he still holds. “Thank you, Russell,” he says as the last butterfly disappears inside the portal. “Anya, you’re next.” He tilts the portal in Anya’s direction as an invitation to depart.
The air becomes thinner; it seems to wither. Energy shifts and flows away from me so fast it leaves me with tunnel vision. Closin’ my eyes, I grit my teeth, tryin’ to unrattle my brain. When I open them again, I stare into the eyes of the menace I had hoped to never see again in this or any other lifetime. I remember his eyes; they used to be the blackest of black, but now they’re the bluest of blues. His hair is no longer the dark of midnight either, but a light blond with rust-colored highlights that makes him seem young and vibrant. But I know him; I’ve seen him in far too many lifetimes not to recognize him now.
My stomach tightens as I cringe. “Djet!” My eyes narrow to slits. “You. Royal. Psycho! What the fuuuaaaa—” My entire body is compelled forward, my feet draggin’ across the floor until I slam up against the barrier I created to keep all the evil freaks back. “Bastard!” I groan as my hand goes to my bloody nose.
Djet smiles. “You remember me. Tell me, where is Zahra?”
I rub my nose. “You look a little different, but I remember you—you still have those lazy eyes, ‘cept now they’re blue,” I say sullenly. I take in his new form. He has an angel shine to him, somethin’ he never had before.
“You remember my eyes?”
“How could I forget ‘em? They never looked away from mine when you had me burned alive. I’m still pissed about that!”
“You stole Zahra from me, Iah,” Djet retorts as he moves closer to the barrier between us, comin’ within inches of it. “She was everything to me then.”
“She was your sister, ya sick psycho!”
“She was my half
-sister in that lifetime, and she was perfection.” He eyes the broken window in front of him, placin’ his hand on the energy to test it. Energy bows out from it, I feel it crackle in the air between us, but it holds him back.
“Who is this?” Zephyr demands. He sets the fragile portal down on the small table next to the sofa.
Over my shoulder, I explain to Zee, “Remember when Evie cut you with her knife when you were trainin’ us and I told you that she was once a mistress to an Egyptian Pharaoh who taught her to spar with daggers?” I ask him.
“Yes,” Zephyr growls.
“Meet Djet the incest-lovin’-royal-pain-in-my-ass who hunted us down and killed Evie and me for tryin’ to be together.”
Djet’s ivory skin shines bright, far from a rottin’ king wrapped in decayin’ linens and sealed away in a stone coffin. I’d much prefer him buried in a tomb. “I have had many names,” Djet says casually.
“So ya have. I probably know most of them, don’t I?”
“As I know yours, Nicolas. Where have the Seraphim hidden Simone?”
I stiffen. “How do you know her as Simone?” I growl. “I don’t remember you in our last lifetime.”
“Who do you think murdered her? You want to know how I did it?” he baits me. I want to grab his knotted scarf from around his neck and choke him with it.
“I’m gonna rip your ugly head off!” I lose my mind and claw at my own magic to get to him, but Zephyr has his arms ‘round me from behind, pullin’ me back from the barrier. I point at him, “You touch her again and you’re dead!”
“There is no saving her, Iah. You couldn’t do it when she was Zahra or Simone, shall I go on?” he asks with a smug smile.
“My name is Russell now, not Iah, and I whooped your ass in most of our lifetimes—even when I was the girl! You think I don’t know you? You think I don’t remember them all?” I smile back. He looks like what I just said threw him off his game. Was he expectin’ me not to remember everythin’?
“You get lucky,” he says, but his smile is gone. “Your luck is played out. She made a deal. There is nothing left to chance. She’s at my mercy...and she’ll suffer.” A vein pulses in his neck and the house creaks like he’s squeezin’ it in his fist.
I ignore the oppressive shift in the air. “You know what I remember the most about ya, Djet? You’re a confident liar.”
“Why would I lie when the truth is so much more devastating? And why are you here? You weren’t supposed to be. It wasn’t what was agreed upon.”
“I wasn’t ready to leave,” I shrug like his words don’t affect me even though I feel a chill creepin’ down my spine.
“I’m glad you decided to stay. She wouldn’t agree to you as part of our deal—so nice of you to insert yourself into our game on your own. Your soul won’t survive it,” he promises.
“You’re graceless, Djet. I get it now. It finally all makes sense to me. She came back for you, didn’t she? She came to make you cease to be. I’d bet everythin’ on it. She wants us to be free of you once and for all.”
“She’s here because I demanded that she be here and for no other reason!” he spits out with venom, losin’ his cool. “She never gets to walk away from me.”
“Yeah? Well ya gotta go through me first to get to her.”
“How about if I go through her first?” he asks as his attention shifts to Anya. The barrier I erected bows inward toward us, visibly shimmerin’ with a surge of power. Djet taps on it with his index finger: WHAM, WHAM, WHAM—the deafenin’ sounds it makes shakes books from the shelves as figurines crash and shatter on the floor. I cover my ears to block it out.
With my heart beatin’ in my throat, Djet walks right through my magic. An army of beefy-lookin’ Power angels follow him in. They all look as if they could snatch the pitchfork from the devil. Zephyr advances toward Djet, but pauses when Anya gasps and starts to slide across the floor like she’s bein’ reeled in on an invisible hook. The Fallen advance on Zee and me at the same time. Anya skids over the dark threads in the Persian rug. Her black wings beat the air in hard thrusts in an attempt to stop her progression. By the look on her face, it’s at the expense of pain.
Rage builds inside me. A howl sticks in my throat. I conjure barbed razor wire and use it like whips, lashing out at Djet. His evil bodyguards save him by steppin’ in front of him. Hard metal wires twist like serpents around them, tearin’ their skin to shreds as the fallin’ angels try to dislodge from it.
I lurch toward Anya, tryin’ to grab her and stop her from being pulled into Djet’s arms. My fingertips reach for her. Djet raises his hand in my direction, sending out a burst of magic. As I step onto the Persian rug, I sink down into it as if it’s water. The carpet swallows me whole until I swim upward through the tangle of fabric. My arms flail as my head surfaces from the wool. The threads unravel, wrappin’ ‘round my arms and body in a spool of crimson and black.
With a roar, I flex hard, exudin’ energy. I tear through the magic entwinin’ me. Gettin’ to my feet and breathin’ hard, I’m ready to pull the arms off Djet and feed ‘em to him. My stomach churns as I try to advance upon him, only to find that my feet have grown into the floor.
“Such a beautiful face,” Djet murmurs, while rubbin’ his fingers over Anya’s cheek. She struggles to pull away from him, her face a mask of loathin’.
Fallen angels swarm us. Zephyr immediately cuts down the first wave of them with his drawn sword. Blood spatters the walls and ceilin’ in deep rollin’ patterns. I dislodge my feet from the floor and join him in dispatchin’ the mob with my knives that I pull from the holsters on my thighs, but there are more angels than we can possibly handle. As I glace toward Zephyr, his skin is sliced open with a thousand different cuts. He resembles someone who has been thrown through the windshield of a car. I probably look the same, my forearms, face, and sides receivin’ cut after cut from daggers and swords meant to torment, not kill. They’re murderin’ us slowly, deliberately, and for effect. I try to pull energy to me, but it has disappeared, leavin’ me fightin’ for air. A vicious stab to my abdomen drops me to my knees as my sword slips from my fingers.
One of the evil angels grabs me from behind by my blood-soaked hair while pressin’ his dagger to my throat. Zephyr is next to me in a similar position, completely at the mercy of the Fallen and a gloatin’ Djet. My eyes are forced to look into Djet’s as he holds Anya in his arms with a dagger to her throat.
“We’ve been here before, have we not, Iah? And it’s always about her—the one you call your soul mate. Aren’t you tired of her, the little bitch? Where is she? Why are you here without her, protecting her like always? Help me find her—get rid of her. Tell me where she is—who is the Seraph with her?”
“Don’t tell him anything, Russell,” Anya growls.
“If he tells me, I’ll kill you quickly. Otherwise, I’ll give you to the angels here and you will die...slowly—all but you, Iah. I want to kill you in front of her. I want her to watch.”
Hopelessness tightens my throat, as it had when he’d killed Evie when she was Zahra all those years ago. This time it will be Anya, my angel, who dies and it’ll be forever—and she won’t be comin’ back.
“I don’t—” I begin, but stop when I catch the sweet, cloyin’ scent of—
The doors of the library swing open behind me. “Aww, whah’s dis?” Brennus’ smooth voice asks. “’Tis aingeals, Finn.”
“’Tis.” Finn agrees.
Brennus makes a rude sound, “and da other.”
“Brennus,” I hiss.
“Why are ye lettin’ dem have da pretty dark-winged aingeal, da other?” he asks me conversationally, as he walks into my line of sight. He looks at the Power angel holdin’ me hostage by my throat. His eyes shift to Djet and Anya. “Hallo, pretty aingeal,” he says to Anya, “I’ve missed ye.” Her eyes widen as her hands grip Djet’s hand that holds the sharp dagger just below her chin. Brennus’ eyes shift again to Zephyr. “And Genevieve’s aingeal mentor! Z
ephyr, is it?” he asks. Zephyr doesn’t answer him; he just stares back at Brennus with a blank expression.
“What are you doin’ here?” I growl at Brennus.
He moves in front of me and bends down to my eye level, studyin’ me. It’s shockin’ to see his black wings beyond the unbuttoned collar of his stark-white dress shirt. They’re almost like an elegant accessory to complete his ensemble of tailored black trousers and expensive shoes. His meticulous well-kept black hair doesn’t even move as he leans near me. Faerie writin’ scrawls in intricate tattoos over Brennus’ neck. Behind his ear, there’s somethin’ I’d never noticed there before; it’s a glowin’ tattoo on his not so pale flesh—one that looks like the battle axe I’d seen back at his castle.
“I came ta retrieve da portrait of me queen dat da Reapers stole from me castle,” he nods toward his brother Finn on the other side of me. Finn demonstratively holds up a rolled up canvas; his iridescent green eyes twinkle like this is all very amusin’. “Nasty wee craiturs, dose Reaper aingeals—tink dey can reap everyting, but dat’s moin—given ta me in trade by a Fallen one.”
“Ahh, who are ya tryin’ to kid? You killed Freddie and kept it.”
“I did na say ’twas a good trade for him.”
“You must be Brennus,” Djet says behind him. Brennus’ eyes narrow as he straightens to face Djet.
“If I must,” Brennus says pleasantly enough, but his anger is recognizable to me. “And ye must be Emil.” Fallen angels move in closer, surroundin’ Djet, while their eyes focus on the back of the room by the doors. Behind me I hear click, click, click, click, click, click...hundreds of fangs engagin’ at once.
“How do you know that name?” he asks Brennus.
“Ye’re Emil. Yer last lifetime was in Lille, France was it na? About a century ago,” he states, exudin’ confidence. “And like a coward, ye enjoyed frightenin’ wee lasses den.” Judgin’ by the look on Djet’s face, I should start referrin’ to him as Emil.
Iniquity (The Premonition Series Book 5) Page 11
