Lost in Prophecy: An Urban Fantasy Novel (The Ascension Series) (Volume 5)

by S. M. Reine

  They lunged for each other at the same time.

  Nineteen

  ST. PHILOMENE’S CATHEDRAL was quiet. The only sounds that broke the silence were the squeal of Stephanie’s teakettle and the patter of rain on the stained glass windows.

  Stephanie brought a tray of teacups back to the couches, setting them on the coffee table. “I hope ginger tea appeals to all of you. I admit that it doesn’t seem quite dramatic enough for the situation, but we’ll just have to make do with it because I don’t have anything else.”

  Rylie had been drinking way too much ginger tea lately. Just the smell of it made her feel queasy. “Thanks,” she said without reaching for a cup.

  The only person who took one was Summer. She didn’t even like ginger. She was just too polite for her own good. “I guess I have a lot of explaining to do, don’t I?”

  “You could say that,” Stephanie said dryly.

  “I thought you were pre-honeymooning,” Rylie said.

  Summer’s smile was wan. “Not exactly. We’ve definitely been traveling. I’ve seen a lot of amazing places now, all over the Earth, and even in parts of Heaven.” Her fingers were so tight on the teacup that the tips were blanched. “See, people have been going missing. Lots of people. We were trying to figure out the pattern so that we could prevent further disappearances.”

  “And cleaning up evidence when you were too late,” Abel said.

  Summer nodded. “After Shamain fell, Nash learned that a certain faction of angels were…getting into trouble, I guess.” She lifted her cup to her mouth, but didn’t drink. “Okay, not a faction. All of the angels are involved. They didn’t tell Nash because his loyalties were in question. And rightfully so. But he found out.”

  “Getting into trouble?” Rylie asked.

  Summer bit her lip. “It’s a long story.”

  “Does it look like we’re going anywhere?” Abel asked, his voice a low, dangerous growl.

  “Yeah, actually. Because we haven’t finished cleaning up yet, and we need to do it before Elise comes sniffing around. She can’t know what’s happening. The consequences would be disastrous.”

  “You’re too late,” Stephanie said. “The Godslayer has already been through here.”

  Summer paled. “What? Oh no. No, no, no.” She set down the teacup and clutched her necklace. “I need to tell Nash.”

  “Why are you trying to screw up crime scenes so Elise can’t investigate?” Rylie asked. “If people are going missing, she’s the person who should know about it. She can save everyone.”

  “If she finds out what the angels have done, there’s going to be a war. Nash and I were hoping we could fix it on our own before she caught wind of it.”

  “Caught wind of what?” Abel asked. “What the fuck has happened?”

  “The angels have been killing people and feeding off the surviving captives,” Summer said. “That’s what happened.”

  “They wouldn’t do that,” Stephanie said. “They wouldn’t have taken Yasir from me. And the rest of the Apple.” The last part was added as an afterthought.

  Sympathy twisted Summer’s lips. “They can, and they did.”

  The doctor stood up. She looked like she was thinking of saying something then changed her mind.

  She stomped out the door, leaving it open to the rain.

  “The Apple worships angels,” Summer said softly, as if worried that Stephanie would hear. “The First Man, mostly, but angels, too. Nash found that a lot of the people who have gone missing were associated with the Apple. They seem to have been talked into giving themselves over willingly under the belief that they would be taken to some kind of rapturous Heaven.”

  “So people like Levi,” Rylie said. She felt sick. “And he took the entire pack with him. He took Abram with him.”

  “Nash will bring them back. I’m sure of it. That’s why he’s not here right now, he’s—he’s going to bring them back, whatever it takes.”

  “You were just gonna cover this shit up,” Abel said.

  “No. We were working to stop them, too. To keep more people from dying.”

  He got to his feet, looming over both of them. His hands were clenched into fists, biceps straining, the tendons in his neck standing out in hard lines. “And just…what? Let the angels have their city of dead?”

  “The dead can’t be brought back,” Summer said. “They’re gone. We wanted to save whatever lives we could. If we just cut off the city and let the angels hole up in New Eden, they couldn’t hurt anyone else. This isn’t about vengeance. It’s just—it’s damage control, you know?”

  Rylie stared at Summer. All this time that she thought her daughter had been working on pulling a wedding together, enjoying herself with her fiancé, she had been out there trying to circumvent war.

  And as a result, Abram and the entire pack were gone. Maybe dead. Their bodies ground into mush and pressed into bricks, or whatever the heck angels were doing.

  For nothing.

  “I think Elise has already figured it out,” Rylie said. “She was following a lead that she thought would get her to the missing people when we left.”

  Summer paced with her hands clutched at her breast. “Crap. Major crap. We have to do something about this.” She whirled. “You’re friends with Elise. Right? You can talk her out of a war. Tell her not to go after the angels. If she drags her demon army across dimensions to kill them—man, it could break the whole universe.”

  Rylie’s mouth was dry. She didn’t think that Elise would listen to her if she asked. But it would probably sound better coming from her than a stranger like Summer. She was, at least, relatively confident that Elise wouldn’t stab her for asking nicely.

  But why would she want to do that?

  “Thousands of people,” she whispered. “A city built on the backs of the dead.”

  She exchanged looks with Abel. He looked like he was thinking along the same lines that she was.

  “Will you help us?” Summer asked. “Will you talk to Elise?”

  Rylie was going to talk to Elise all right. But she wasn’t going to ask to give the angels mercy. They didn’t deserve it. She bit her bottom lip, shook her head. Rylie loved her daughter so much that it hurt sometimes, but Summer was wrong about this.

  “These angels fucked with the wrong people. They took your brother, kid. They took our pack. And they’ve killed. A lot.” Abel’s golden eyes glowed with fury. “If this means war, then I’m going to be on the side that’s killing those feathery bastards.”

  For once, Rylie couldn’t disagree with him.

  James jogged through the darkness, following the shape of Abram’s back as he retreated down the tunnel. It felt wet and cold in the halls around the cavern—a shocking change from Malebolge and Dis. He wished he’d known to bring a sweater with him.

  After Elise had ascended the stairs, James had offered to take Abram to the relative safety of Malebolge. But Abram had, unsurprisingly, refused. James hadn’t had the wherewithal to argue. He’d caused the pack enough pain in the last year. If there was a chance to save them for once, he was happy to attempt it.

  It had been a long time since anyone had thought of James as a hero.

  Abram led James through a pathway branching off of the main cavern. Now he weaved around corners in the tunnels, navigating them through the labyrinth as though he knew where he was going.

  Strangely, James felt like he knew where he was going, too. Even without Abram, he would have made all of the exact same turns. He couldn’t even see where he was going, yet he felt confident that their destination was near.

  The thing was, James was fairly certain that he had seen the cavern with all of the sleeping bodies before, and not just in Araboth. He had seen them somewhere else. He could almost remember an open-air nursery tended by a beautiful woman with Metaraon at her side.

  James thought he was beginning to understand why he knew things that he shouldn’t know, why he had memories that didn’t belong to him—and
if his suspicions were true, then Elise would never forgive him.

  He had already done well enough fucking up their relationship without Adam’s help.

  Abram stopped so suddenly that James almost ran into his back.

  “What’s going on?” James asked.

  He stepped aside. “Look.”

  They had found another room, this one much smaller than the first. It was dark, low-roofed, and too misty to see more than a few feet. James stepped up to take a closer look at the wall. Instead of slabs, glass chambers were set into the stone. He wiped condensation off of the first. It was empty.

  “I feel like I’ve been here before,” Abram said. “The stones. The slabs. Even these…things. I feel like I’ve seen them before.”

  It wasn’t possible. And yet Abram was saying exactly what James had been thinking.

  It had to be a product of the strange magic in this dimension. Angels were even worse about invading minds than demons were, in their own ways. James couldn’t trust any of his thoughts here, and neither could Abram, apparently.

  “Focus,” he said. “Let’s see if we can find them in here.”

  They split up. James searched the right side of the room on his own, peering into each of the glass chambers in turn. He didn’t recognize any of the first few people, though they looked similar enough to be family—brown skin, brown hair, the same nose. It took a moment for him to realize that they were wearing iron jewelry.

  These captives weren’t human. They were basandere.

  James moved a few chambers down, wiping the glass clear. This inhabitant wasn’t human, either. It was a sidhe. They were incredibly rare, beautiful creatures with hair and flesh in jewel tones, more spirit than physical. She looked painfully fragile slumped against the inner wall. Her chest didn’t seem to be moving.

  He sensed a pattern. Sidhe were neither demon nor angel. They were a type of preternatural creature native to Earth, just like basandere.

  And just like werewolves.

  “Over here,” Abram said.

  James rushed to the other row of chambers. Abram had found a pair of wolves.

  “Crystal and Trevin.” Abram moved down to the next one, swiping his hand over it. “Paetrick.” To the next one. “Deepali.” Abram finally stopped in front of another chamber. “Here.”

  It was a young man that James had never seen before, but judging by Abram’s intent look, it must have been Levi Riese. He was asleep. His skin was dewy, his eyes bruised.

  James ran his hands over the wall alongside the glass, searching for some kind of button or lever. The stone had been carved smooth. “Do you see a way to open it?”

  Abram pulled his fist back and punched the glass. His knuckles thudded off of it without leaving so much as a crack. He struck again and again. Nothing.

  “Help me,” he said.

  James reached out with tentative fingers of magic, probing the chamber. It hadn’t been locked with any kind of mage spell. That was almost comforting—he wasn’t sure what he would have done if the angels had rediscovered that particular ability.

  He activated a rune and allowed the power to gather in his fist. “Step back.”

  Abram gave him space. James cast the spell at the chamber—a blast that should have made the glass shatter outward.

  The magic died on contact, fizzling into sparks.

  Abram grunted. “Move it.” He pushed James aside and went back to trying to break it with his hands.

  James opened his mouth to tell him that he was wasting his strength, but then Elise pressed against his mind, sudden and strong. Panic rolled through the bond, powerful enough that it sucked his breath away.

  He reached back to her, looking through her eyes. She was scrambling on all fours to escape a source of burning light: an angel. She glanced over her shoulder long enough for him to see that it was Nash.

  Chills washed over James. “We have to go.”

  “Not until we get them out,” Abram said. What he really meant was, Not until we get Levi out.

  Elise was burning.

  “I’ll give you a choice,” James said. “You can stay here and attempt to free the pack—most likely in vain—and wait for the angels to find you, or you can come with me, and I’ll guarantee that I will return you to your family.”

  Hatred flashed over Abram’s face, hand clenching into a fist against the crystal, just a few inches away from Levi. He thought about the ultimatum for a long minute—long enough that James turned to leave.

  But then he dropped his hand and followed James out of the cavern.

  Nashriel had always been very sweet and doting with Eve. He had been as talented a craftsman as he was a swordsman and showered her with rings, necklaces, and other handmade gifts. When Adam had told her that He was going to take Nash as one of his soldiers, it had broken Eve’s heart to think of one of her kindest sons committing atrocities at the orders of her husband.

  The years had burned the sweetness out of Nash. And he definitely would not dote on Elise the way that he had doted on his mother.

  It was difficult to wrap her mind around that, even when Nash drew his saber from his belt and ignited it. Flames licked along the sharp edge.

  The cavern underneath New Eden’s graveyard was dark enough that Elise could have turned to shadow if she wished. She could wrap herself around Nash, contract on his flesh, consume every last of inch of him.

  But she held back. She hesitated.

  Nash didn’t.

  He swung the saber at her with shocking speed. She had already been running at him to attack, too—only her reflexes made her drop in time to avoid decapitation. Elise hadn’t felt the bite of ethereal steel in this form, and she didn’t want to bet her life that she could heal such a wound.

  Instantly, Nash redirected the blow, pivoting on one foot to aim for the back of Elise’s knees. He was trying to hamstring her.

  She threw herself to the ground and rolled.

  Elise came up with Seth’s Beretta in both hands, getting onto one knee to stabilize herself. Neuma’s brief shooting lessons flashed through her mind. She let a breath out and squeezed the trigger.

  The shot punched into Nash’s left pectoral. His shoulder jerked backward. He didn’t stop running.

  His flaming saber swung toward her head.

  Elise fired again, aiming for his hands. It was mostly luck that let her hit his wrist. Silvery blood sprayed, accompanied by the smell of charred meat and green apples.

  His swing whistled harmlessly through the air an inch from her bicep. The momentum stirred her hair. A few locks fell to the ground, severed by the burning blade.

  She shoved off the ground, launching herself at him. Her shoulder impacted with his gut.

  They both fell, and Elise felt the heat of his sword behind her. She didn’t give him room to maneuver it. An angel’s saber was a frightening weapon even when it wasn’t lit, huge and vicious and sharp, but the size of it also limited his movement. It wasn’t a stabbing blade.

  Nash threw his weight, rolling them. Hard stone pressed against Elise’s back. He reared up and punched her across the face with the hilt of his saber.

  Her mouth flooded with a woody taste that wasn’t quite blood. More like tree sap. She spat it out. “You’re going to try to kill me instead of letting me stop this abomination of a city?”

  “This kind of war would be devastating.” He struck her again, this time with an empty fist. She felt her canine loosen in her gums. “Millions could die. Billions.”

  “You people started it,” she said, lisping around the damaged tooth.

  She wrenched her arm out from underneath Nash’s leg and fired the Beretta at point-blank range, unloading the clip right into his heart.

  He slammed into the ground. Clutched at his heart. Blood bubbled from his mouth and spattered down his chin.

  Elise stuffed the Beretta back into its holster and drew her falchion—but again, she hesitated. The sight of Nashriel wounded and bleeding made her heart
feel like it was breaking all over again.

  She brought the falchion down on his neck.

  Her instant of hesitation had been too much. Nash rolled out of the way, and her blade connected with one of the spears jutting out of the ground instead. The female body to which it had been attached jerked, chest hitching. Ichor crept up her arm through the spike in her wrist.

  Shit. Elise couldn’t let the blade cut anything. Not unless she wanted to be responsible for the deaths of these mortals.

  She needed a better plan.

  Nash came to his feet with his wings blazing fire-bright. The light seared Elise’s skin. She felt like she was blistering, melting, flaking away—because she was.

  Her hands flickered. The falchion fell through her bones and clattered to the ground.

  She threw herself behind one of the slabs, reaching around long enough to seize her sword. It took two tries for her to force her hand to be corporeal and close on the hilt. Elise pulled it to her, sheathed it.

  Then she ran.

  Nash’s brilliance had the side effect of casting darkness behind the obstacles in the room, allowing her to phase from one to the other where the shadows touched. Within a minute, she was all the way across the cavern.

  His voice echoed through the air. “Don’t make me hunt you.”

  He didn’t know where she was, but that wouldn’t last long.

  Elise pulled her body into itself. She became corporeal crouched behind an egg.

  If Nash blasted her again with his wings, she wasn’t going to be able to hold it together. She could already feel herself being sucked back to Hell. Not to Dis, but to some darker place—the same dizzying sensation of falling that she had experienced when Sallosa plunged the flamberge into her heart.

  She was getting real fucking sick of people almost killing her. She was better than this. She was the Father. The Godslayer.

  Elise sank her teeth into the meaty flesh of her hand, breaking the skin. The taste of amber blood flooded her mouth.

  The churn of Nash’s wings echoed around the cavern. He was still searching for her, and she couldn’t tell where he was positioned because the entire room felt like it was filled with ethereal life. She had to act fast, before he found her.