by Ella Summers
“Thoughts can be masked, or even manipulated with sufficient practice. Using Siren’s Song is the fastest, most reliable way to accomplish our mission and save the world.”
“But at what cost?”
“I am quite experienced in the art of interrogation, Cadence. Everyone I question here will recover.”
“I wasn’t just talking about the cost to the people you interrogate, Damiel. I was talking about the cost to you. I meant what it does to you—how it changes you—to break so many people.”
“As I said, I’ll do whatever it takes to keep this world safe.”
A knock on the door interrupted whatever I might have said to him, and Damiel waved in the next person on his very-long, meticulously-sorted interrogation list.
4
Angel on a Pedestal
I sat at a table in the Legion’s dining hall, sipping from a cup of raspberry tea. Unlike the building in which it was situated, the dining hall had a distinctly modern look to it. Six metal barstools were positioned like flower petals around each glass table. At the back of the room, a long glass table stood atop a raised platform. That’s where I sat now. It was where any angel who came here was expected to sit—on display, on a pedestal.
Behind me, the entire wall was one enormous sheet of glass. The window looked out onto a private forest of tall green trees. It was a beautiful place—and a practical one. The Legion soldiers stationed here often trained in that forest.
Before me, past the pedestal, men and women in uniforms sat around the little glass tables, eating their lunch. Between bites, they stole covert looks at me.
“Do see how calmly and properly she is sipping her tea?” one whispered to another.
“How can she be so calm?”
“Especially with what she and Colonel Dragonsire are doing?”
“People emerge shaky and dazed from their interrogations. Hardly able to walk.”
“Or speak.”
“Hours later, they are still twitching.”
“And stuttering.”
I ate the tiny, single-bite cookie on the side of my tea saucer.
The soldiers’ flood of whispers didn’t stop.
“She is so calm. So cold.”
“The daughter of an archangel, now an angel herself, and married to an angel. She was born to this, to the screams of others’ suffering.”
Their words dripped delight, not the horror they should have felt. It was as though our arrival was the best source of gossip that they’d experienced in years. They spoke as though our interrogations—and the sorry state of their colleagues—did not bother them at all.
I refilled my blue-and-white teacup from the tiny metal pot on my serving tray.
The soldiers in the dining hall still weren’t finished with their gossip. The whole hall was buzzing with it.
“I’ve heard a lot about General Silverstar’s daughter, but I had no idea how hot she is,” said a female soldier with dark double pigtails.
“Her skin is so beautiful. So perfect,” lamented her friend with the rosy lips. “It has that heavenly, ethereal glow.”
“And her hair shines like sunshine. Her eyes glow like amethyst gems,” Pigtails added.
“I’d give up common decency for an angel’s body,” said Lips.
“Forget the body. It’s the magic you want. Have you ever seen an angel in battle? It’s glorious. The whole Earth seems to stop and bow every time they cast a spell.”
Lips sighed. “And it sure would be nice to be able to follow the gods’ will without remorse.”
Without remorse? Truth be told, I was not as calm as they thought I was. In fact, I felt pretty twisted up inside about what Damiel and I were doing to the soldiers here. If freedom from remorse was one of the gods’ gifts, I’d missed out on that perk.
The canteen doors swung open by magic, a sharp telekinetic snap, and then Damiel entered the dining hall. He grabbed a plate, filled it up, and went to join me on the angel pedestal.
I glanced at his full plate, packed with perfect efficiency. “Hungry?”
“Yes. I have expended a lot of magic today.”
I suppressed a cringe. I’d just been making casual conversation. I hadn’t actually been thinking about why he was hungry: because he’d interrogated so many soldiers today. The Legion bred willpower. Its soldiers were tougher than anyone on Earth—and Damiel had broken their minds as though they were as frail as eggshells.
Damiel took a bite of his steak. What I do bothers you, he said in my mind.
I’m fine.
You cannot allow anyone to see that our interrogation has upset you.
I know.
I was an angel. I had an image to maintain, for the sake of the Legion, for the Earth. Angels had to be strong, unwavering. If we faltered, so would humanity.
During Damiel’s interrogations, as I stood by and watched him usurp one person’s will after another, that knot in my stomach had tightened and twisted. I’d had to stand by, tying and untying soldiers when ordered, all the while pretending that it didn’t bother me for a second. No, more than that. I’d had to pretend that I was absolutely confident that we were doing the right thing.
You’ve fooled everyone else, but not me, Damiel said.
I know.
He saw right through me. He knew how much I hated this. Back in Colonel Spellstorm’s office, I’d wanted to leave, or a least to look away. But I couldn’t. I had to watch. Always and unfalteringly. That was what was expected of me.
Finally, after a few hours of interrogations, Damiel had ordered me out of Colonel Spellstorm’s office to get something to eat. We would be leaving Florence soon, and he had no intention of fighting alongside an angel with low blood sugar. Or so he’d said. And he’d made himself sound very, very convincing.
That had been my way out. Had Damiel sent me away because my disapproval was aggravating him as he tried to work? Or because he knew I was bothered by these interrogations and he wanted to spare me?
The optimist in me hoped it was the latter.
But the optimist was having trouble reconciling with the scene I had witnessed, the sight of the Master Interrogator at work, in his element. Seeing that had brought me face-to-face with the darkness inside of him, a darkness that grew stronger with every person he interrogated, and with every mind that he crushed.
Damiel continued to eat his lunch. Though he was obviously very hungry, his bites were orderly and controlled, one after the other, never rushed or wild. He was emptying his plate in a very meticulous manner.
Every pair of eyes in the dining hall was staring at us.
“The first and only marriage of two angels,” one soldier whispered to the others at his table.
“The offspring of an angel has really high magical potential. That child is more likely to survive the Nectar of the gods to join the Legion. More likely to make their way up the ranks to become an angel too.”
“And the child of two angels would surely be even more powerful.”
“And gorgeous,” added another soldier, one with a saucy smile. He was looking at Damiel and me like he wanted to drag both of us into his bed.
I masked my blush with my shifting magic. I didn’t like people gossiping about my love life—including what Damiel and I had or had not done together.
How can these soldiers be so callous? I said to Damiel. Their angel is gone. They are being interrogated under suspicion of treason. And yet they are gossiping like a bunch of teenagers.
Life goes on. And Damiel went on eating. The Legion goes on. These soldiers can’t just stop and gasp in horror every time something bad happens, every time they’re in peril. They’d never get anything done.
He was eating with a ravenous appetite, whereas I could hardly swallow my tea.
I am surprised General Silverstar didn’t teach you all of this, said Damiel. Surely, he conditioned you to keep going, no matter what.
He did, and I do go on. But that doesn’t mean I like it. I guess he did
n’t do a very good job conditioning me to be hard and desensitized. He’s always said that I have too much of my mother in me.
Who was your mother? Damiel asked me.
Isn’t it in my file?
No.
The admission looked like it bothered him. He definitely did not like to be uninformed, to not be in on every secret.
Your file states your mother was a witch who died shortly after you were born. Your parents were never married. Your father took you in as a matter of honor, because you were his blood.
That was my father in a nutshell: honor and duty.
Your file does not list your mother by name, Damiel continued. It says only ‘name unknown’.
Well, then, my file knows no more than I do.
I couldn’t help but feel disappointed that my file didn’t contain the answers that I lacked. I didn’t have access to my own file. Very few Legion soldiers had access to it, in fact, and none of them were talking. Except Damiel. I’d hoped the Master Interrogator could shed some light on my past.
My father rarely speaks of my mother, I told him. I know nothing more than you do.
I can investigate.
What’s the point? She’s dead.
But you are not. And this is important to you, he said.
It was so sweet. So touching. And so unlike the Damiel I’d seen interrogating soldiers just a few minutes ago.
I can find anyone, dead or alive, he told me. I will find you answers, no matter what it takes.
The gleam in his eyes was unsettling, like he would cut down anyone and anything in his path.
See, that was the problem with Damiel. He was both sweet and cruel, often at the same time. But was he a sword buried in fluffy layers of cotton candy? Or was he a warm pastry hidden away inside a spiked mace? A kitten inside a dragon, or a dragon inside a kitten? Or a fierce, loyal, sweet, deadly, flying, fire-breathing kitten?
I just didn’t know.
Did you learn anything more about Colonel Spellstorm’s recent behavior? I asked Damiel.
No one knows where he is. He just disappeared this morning, without telling anyone where he was going.
He knew we were coming, I guessed.
Probably. He must have gotten wind that I was after him. And he knew I would naturally continue the hunt immediately following the wedding.
Naturally. Your reputation is well-known.
And well-earned. His brows drew together. Are you teasing me?
No, I said.
Then immediately realized I wasn’t being entirely honest—with him or with myself. I was teasing him. No, not just teasing. I was flirting with the Master Interrogator, the so-called Angel of Death. There was something really wrong with me.
A smile curled his lips, dark and tempting. His tongue flicked out and slowly traced the inside of his lower lip.
Was he flirting back? No, this wasn’t flirting. It was full-on seduction. He’d seen my bet of ten chips and raised me one thousand. He stared into my eyes, daring me to look away.
I didn’t look away. I didn’t dare. Looking away would have meant admitting defeat. It would be holding up my hands in unconditional surrender, putting myself at his mercy. Angels didn’t surrender. We didn’t give up or give in. And we never placed ourselves at another angel’s mercy.
But looking into his eyes was getting harder with every passing moment. Not because of the way he was looking at me. No, it was because of what I saw lurking past the seduction that burned in his eyes. I saw him—his soul, the man within. The soul and mind and heart I’d touched when the immortal daggers’ magic had linked us. That man had been willing to sacrifice everything for me.
Seeing that person in his eyes, that made it harder to resist him than all the smoldering looks he could summon. Yes, he was attractive, but I could forget about his sizzling-good looks and dynamic magic. I could even ignore the silky way his words slid off his tongue or the feel of his magic as it brushed against me. But the person he was, what he had done for me, melted my resolve like a hot sun over a frost-kissed field.
Damiel winked at me, then handed me a tablet. He was throwing me a lifesaver, giving me an out, a way to look away from him without losing face.
I grabbed it with glee and glanced down at the map on the screen. “The Adriatic Sea?”
“Three Legion soldiers stationed in Florence went on a mission to chase down a rogue werewolf at the Adriatic Sea. They returned this afternoon. They all believe they saw an angel out there, flying over the sea.”
“Did they see his face?”
“No, they were too far away, but the angel they saw had the same wing color as Colonel Spellstorm: bright red.”
An angel with bright red wings was certainly hard to miss.
“That’s not a lot to go on,” I said.
“No other angel at the Legion has that wing color,” said Damiel. “But just to be sure, I’ve accounted for all other angels’ whereabouts at that time. Except for Colonel Spellstorm’s.”
“And what about dark angels? The red-winged angel could be one of them.”
“It’s Colonel Spellstorm,” Damiel insisted. “I know it is.”
I looked up from the map and met his eyes. “A gut feeling?”
“Yes.”
“Well, we’ll soon find out if you’re right,” I said, rising from my chair.
Damiel rose too. “Come now, Princess,” he said, his brows arching. As he took the tablet from me, his hand brushed against mine. “When have I ever been wrong?”
5
The Sea of Monsters
Damiel and I looked down on the Adriatic Sea from our rocky precipice. The water was so turquoise and beautiful. There wasn’t even a whispered hint of the monsters that lurked deep beneath the surface. The lands here were beautiful, warm, and sunny—just like a postcard picture. But the truth behind the pretty postcard was more akin to a horror movie.
“The Sea of Monsters,” said Damiel.
The areas where monsters still roamed freely and unchecked on Earth were called the lands of monsters. But this ‘land’ was actually a sea.
“Have you ever been to the Sea of Monsters?” I asked him.
“No. But you have.”
“That is in my file too?”
He nodded once.
“I really need to get a look at my file.” I flashed him my most charming smile. “Any chance the Master Interrogator might help me out with that?”
“Perhaps, but the Master Interrogator will want something in return.”
“Such as?”
“A favor.”
“What kind of favor?”
“I’ll have to think about it.”
“You want an unspecified favor from me?” I laughed. “That’s a dangerous proposition.”
“So is asking me to pull your file, so you can read it. That is a serious breach of protocol. What if the First Angel found out?” He pretended to look frightened. “She might scold me.”
I snorted. “You don’t need to pull my file, Damiel. You already have it memorized,” I pointed out. “You can just recite its contents to me.”
“I suppose I could. But I really am going to need something in return.”
I threw my hands up in the air. “You’re impossible.”
“I think the word you’re looking for is ‘sensible’, Princess. Every good angel is sensible, yourself included. You wouldn’t make a deal without securing something in return.”
“You are securing something in return: my gratitude.” I fluttered my eyelashes. “Isn’t that valuable enough?”
He was obviously thinking it over. “Very well,” he finally said. “I accept.” He extended his hand.
I shook it.
He held to my hand. “An angel’s gratitude is, in fact, very valuable.” His smile was as sweet as a mouth full of candy. “I’m surprised you gave it up so freely. I will enjoy your continued, eternal gratitude. After all, why win a single unspecified favor, when you can have them all?”
“No need to thank me, Princess. Your undying gratitude is all the thanks that I need.”
“I never agreed to this, Damiel.”
“Sure you did.” He winked at me. “We even shook on it.”
I scowled back at him. “You tricked me.”
“You wanted to be tricked.”
“Excuse me?”
“You are highly intelligent and perfectly trained. You knew exactly what you were walking into. So that can only mean that you wanted to walk into it.”
I folded my arms across my chest. “Stop psychoanalyzing everything that I do.”
He shrugged. “It’s not something that I can just turn off, Princess.”
“Try harder.”
“Very well. If it will make you feel less excitable in my presence.”
“I am not excitable.”
He opened his mouth, presumably to analyze my behavior again, but then he seemed to think better of it. “Of course not. No, you’re not excitable. Not at all.”
“You don’t believe that.”
“Oh?”
“For someone who always puts on such a big show of scaring the hell out of everyone, making yourself out to be a frightening fiend, you sure are a lousy actor.”
“It’s not an act. I am a frightening fiend.”
“You don’t believe that either.”
“No, Cadence, you don’t believe that. I, on the other hand, know I am every bit the monster that everyone claims me to be—and then some.”
He really thought he was a bad person. He even thought he had chosen to be a bad person because someone had to fill that Master Interrogator role in order to keep the world safe. What had happened in his life to make him this way, to feel like he had to carry the whole world on his shoulders, to sacrifice everything? It had to be more than just Leon Hellfire’s betrayal. This went deeper.
I doubted I’d get the answer to that out of him. He was pretty tight-lipped about his past. It had been hard enough to convince him to tell me the story of Leon’s betrayal.
