A sudden flurry of black shapes weaved in and out of the gale, finally coming to rest on a peaked roof to the north. Crows—big ones. Angela squinted, certain she could see even more of them circling the far-off grove that was Memorial Cemetery, like specks above a sea of white-capped trees. Shadows on an eternal patrol, they were one of the few creatures that had chosen to remain in Luz throughout the increasingly and unprecedentedly harsh winter. Morning and evening, they swept in enormous flocks from the cemetery to the city and back again.
Why? Angela’s heart skipped a beat as a crow larger than the rest flew to the windowsill and peered inside the classroom. What are you trying to tell everyone?
The crow’s eyes met Angela’s.
For the briefest second, its irises flashed as yellow and scintillating as candle flames.
It can’t be—
Angela sprang to her feet, knocking her chair sideways. It clattered to the tile with deafening force.
She struggled to right the chair and hide her burning face. Irritated voices and eyes followed her. The wood made a horrible scraping noise as she pulled it back into position.
Sophia glanced up from her own exam, frowning. “What is it?” she whispered.
“Nothing—it’s nothing,” Angela said quickly. She slumped back in her chair, almost groaning aloud when the novice’s shadow darkened her exam. Angela did her best to look nonchalant, even as his hand grabbed her test and yanked it out of her reach.
He flipped through a few pages and sighed heavily.
Novices were Vatican officials in training, and Angela had discovered much to her chagrin that most of them just loved diligent students. Something told her she wouldn’t be scoring any points in her favor today. The test dropped back onto Angela’s desk. “Miss Mathers, might I suggest that you spend more time writing your essays and less time staring at the city vermin outside the window. You only have one more hour to impress me with your writing skills. I doubt you’ll do it, but at least show some effort, hmm?” He adjusted his glasses and pushed the frizzy hair from his eyes. “Back to work, everyone. Noses to the grindstones. Your parents aren’t paying this Academy for bird-watching sessions.”
The hurried sound of students returning to their exams echoed throughout the room.
Vermin? “I like crows,” Angela muttered under her breath.
The novice stopped stalking away from her desk.
“Feathered rats,” he said definitively. He strode away from her with heavier footsteps but took a detour to slam a hand against the window. Some startled crows spiraled off into the evening.
Angela sighed.
What is it that makes people define what vermin is and isn’t, anyway? Those birds are just trying to survive like everyone else. They can’t help that they were born crows.
“What was that all about?” Sophia whispered from the desk at Angela’s left. She kept her head down, letting her chestnut curls hide her mouth as she wrote in her distinctive, elegant script. “Did you see something?”
Angela paused. It had probably been her imagination. Ever since that night almost one year ago, she’d been consistently disappointed by what she’d seen and heard. In a few short days, Luz had exploded with supernatural craziness, but besides the odd weather, one more year had settled the city into some kind of disturbing normality. Everyone was somehow forgetting about the tremendous storms, the Devil’s black rain, and the Jinn who’d murdered students to stay alive. The vicious demoness Naamah, the tragic Fae named Tileaf, and the dazzlingly beautiful angel Israfel were being relegated to memory and myth. Stephanie Walsh—Luz’s most feared witch—was alive, but in a mental institution. Angela’s brother Brendan was dead. Her friend Nina Willis was dead. Kim was most likely dead—or worse. But the Vatican had made certain to hush up every other detail, and woe to anyone who dared discuss those strange days. Time healed all wounds, and it was fast healing Luz’s scars as well.
“No, I didn’t see anything,” Angela whispered back. She wasn’t sure whether or not that was a lie. Her eyes could have been playing tricks again.
She winced inwardly as sudden pain streaked through her palm.
Sophia paused, but didn’t say anything. She looked up at Angela, and her gray eyes seemed veiled. “If you say so. I hope you’re not hiding anything from me. Anything important.”
“I’m not,” Angela said.
Angela smiled at her best friend and turned back to her test. She tugged on her arm gloves, focusing more on her left hand, but eventually the odd pain became too much. Angela slipped off the fabric, careful to hide her hand inside the desk slat.
She didn’t want Sophia—or anyone else—to see and worry.
From the dimness, an Eye glistened back at her from where it rested in her palm. Lucifel’s Grail often resembled an emerald with a fathomless onyx pupil, but now it seemed horribly alive, staring at Angela as if it wanted to speak and warn her of something. A thick and sour sensation swelled inside of her.
Something was about to happen. She knew it.
Angela looked around the classroom again, seeing nothing out of the ordinary. But the sensation grew, and grew, and by the time the exam papers were collected, and she and Sophia began to gather their books, she wanted to throw up. She clutched the back of her chair, swaying as students trickled out of the classroom. Soon, only one remained—Janna Hearst, a gangly girl with red hair like Angela’s and downturned gray eyes.
Sophia wrapped her cold hand around Angela’s wrist. “There is something wrong. You look awful.”
“No . . .” Angela whispered. She gripped the back of the chair harder. Her hand holding the Grail ached and burned. She bit her lip, speaking through gritted teeth. “I’m fine . . .”
“No, you’re not—”
Janna sighed and gathered one more book, turning to leave the classroom.
In the second that she turned and faced Angela, there it was. The look.
Oh, God, no.
Janna dashed out of the room, obviously headed for the stairs that led higher into the building. Surprised shouting, and even some laughter, followed her escape from the halls.
This can’t happen.
Angela ripped out of Sophia’s grip and stared into the abyss of her friend’s dark eyes. “Death,” she whispered. And then she ran, whipping out of the room toward the immense stairwell.
An intimidating crowd of people blocked Angela’s path through the corridor. The Westwood Academy Exhibit Hall had changed for the worst since the terrible storm last year, and what room there had been was somehow halved by masonry equipment and plywood. With Luz’s shipyards cut off from further imports, the Vatican had hastily constructed makeshift walls over the most damaged sections of the hallway. Angela sidestepped piles of junk, weaving a path through a seething mass of humanity.
Some of the students realized who she was and began to whisper. More began to part in waves, staring as she dashed up the western stairwell.
Angela dropped the only schoolbook in her hand near a bewildered sophomore. No need for dead weight.
She raced up the stairs, taking two at a time with her long strides. Through the gabled windows, she could see that a thick wet snow continued to fall. Layers of ice shellacked the elegant angel statues placed on the turrets. The golden light of their upheld lanterns glistened on the stone steps.
“Angela!” Sophia’s usually sweet voice thundered up the stairwell.
Angela continued running. Her heart raced, and her hand burned like an inferno. She had to make it to Janna before the worst happened.
She reached the top of the stairs, throwing open the heavy door to a vision of white-flecked night.
Snow tumbled into her face. A murderously cold wind blistered her cheeks.
Janna stood at the roof’s edge, her back to Angela, staring out at the golden glory of Luz. Despite the storm, the island was aglow in Christmas beauty, every window kissed by a speck of flickering light. Turrets rose to the east like mountains set with stars. Janna stared at them
and then glanced at what was directly below her: a cobblestoned street nestled near a sea channel. Her short hair whipped around her chin and neck.
“Janna!” Angela screamed over the wind.
Janna turned, and wide-eyed fear blossomed on her face. But Angela knew it was the fear of being stopped, the torment of failing even in death.
“Go away!” Janna screamed back. Tears rolled down her cheeks. She turned back to the city and lifted her foot, but then stepped back and hugged herself as she sobbed. “I mean it—go away. I want to be alone!”
“Janna, just wait!” Angela said, racing for her.
I might not know why you are doing this, but I understand the feeling. You can’t be like me.
“Don’t come any closer!” Janna said, strangely horrified. “What are you doing!” She took a step backward, teetering on the building’s edge.
Angela’s hand cramped and burned fearfully. Crows erupted from the darkness and began to circle above, their bodies breaking icicles from the turrets. The birds swirled down around Janna in a sudden maelstrom, and she shrieked with terror. A madness of screeching crows resounded above the wind. Janna swatted one of the birds aside and wobbled on the ice.
“You can’t do it,” Angela screamed. “Janna, don’t—”
She slid forward and grabbed Janna by the arm.
Angela shuddered as the ice betrayed them, wheeling both her and Janna in a desperate struggle, arm in arm—right over the roof. Angela’s hand exploded with pain, smacking into the stone wall. Her breath was knocked out of her lungs, her last words fading by a whirlwind of ice and terror.
High above, Sophia’s anguished voice followed their descent like an arrow.
It was too late.
The wind roared, biting with icy teeth. Angela screamed even louder, her voice cracking with agony. Janna wept. Luz bled out its color in streaks of yellow and white. Birds screeched and shrieked as if bemoaning each girl’s fate.
It felt like seconds. It felt like eternity. But eventually, something hit Angela hard and she knew the same happened to Janna. And then they both forgot everything besides an unwanted, unexpected darkness.
Two
Angela knew she was dead.
She vaguely remembered falling, and perhaps the pain of actually dying, and now she was in this vaporous place of dreams that was nothing like what she’d hoped or expected. When Angela had helped empty the Netherworld of every last human soul, she’d never taken the time to think about what would happen when more humans died once that world had been sealed shut.
Now she knew.
Until someone or something ordered her otherwise, she was stuck in a universe of shadows. It wasn’t exactly fair. Although—and Angela somehow sensed her grim smile—she could no longer remember why that was the case.
She stood in the vaporous half-light of death, dreaming. And then, eventually, a nagging worry tugged at her.
This wasn’t right. She HAD to live for . . . someone.
Angela gasped as a dark doorway appeared in front of her, its immensity seeming to congeal from the shadows of her mind. The black wood disguised strange words and carvings of even stranger creatures, and instead of a knob, she found herself reaching for a metal snake. Shocked, she pulled her hand back and felt her entire being recede from the danger in front of her.
Angela couldn’t explain why or how, but she was absolutely certain. It was madness to open the door.
She glanced around, suddenly aware of the snow falling around her. From a distance, voices could be heard.
“Janna?” Angela whispered.
Instead, two shadowy figures walked around either side of Angela and steadily toward the door. One was a male, tall but with a slender build and raven hair plastered down with snow. The red streak in his bangs had grown out almost to nothing. He was a wreck, his long coat torn, his pale skin streaked with bruises and cuts. But Angela would recognize those unearthly amber eyes anywhere. It was Kim. He was alive.
A cold hand seemed to clench her heart and squeeze. Angela reached out to at least grab the edge of Kim’s sleeve, but she was a ghost grabbing for another ghost.
She stumbled forward through snow—and through his ghostly body—and watched helplessly as the door opened to a staggering blackness.
Kim glanced over his shoulder; he met Angela’s gaze and silently mouthed her name.
With a heavy sigh like a man defeated, he started his descent.
Desperation cut like a hot blade through Angela. The other shadow belonged to Sophia.
Sophia wore the beautiful silver dress from the day she and Angela had first met, but her gray eyes were downcast, and her chestnut curls had also flattened beneath the snow.
She turned at the threshold of the great door and looked pointedly at Angela. There was decisiveness to the moment. Angela knew without a doubt that this was the last time they would ever be together.
Angela ran, aware that she was screaming again, and that it hurt.
She didn’t want to go through the door, but she also didn’t want to be alone in this terrible place. Being without Kim? Or even Israfel? Her heart had gotten used to that by now. But being without Sophia was out of the question—and Angela ran harder.
Sophia stood her ground before the door. The alien words of Raziel’s Book appeared, moving and twisting across her skin. Her eyes blazed, and her hair whipped from an unseen wind. There was a deadly earnestness fixing her pretty face. She was saying something, but Angela could barely hear. A great roar had started to overtake her from behind.
A rushing storm and a light raced with her.
Angela was steps away from Sophia and the door.
Now, Sophia’s words made themselves heard. “DON’T FOLLOW.” Tears dripped down her delicate cheeks. She appeared inconsolable. But Sophia did the unthinkable anyway, and as the light overtook Angela, as Angela’s soul tore away from her, Sophia entered the blackness and shut the door.
Three
And my first and last thought was: how could she leave me alone? —ANGELA MATHERS
The pain forced Angela to finally open her eyes and come to terms with it.
Her bones ached. Her muscles felt like they’d been yanked out of her and then stuffed back beneath her skin. But the dim light of her room in the recently minted Emerald House had a soporific effect, and she lay there gazing out the window that first met her reopened eyes, watching in silent bewilderment while the snow fell and the reality that she was still alive sank in.
Slowly, she inspected the rest of her room, gradually turning her head to the left.
Her recent paintings of Israfel—all half-finished failures—peppered the area at the foot of her bed. Across the room on a small table, a pendulum clock marked the hour as half past five in the afternoon. Near the ceiling, her doll collection peered down from carefully placed shelves, row after row of them, perfect with their glass eyes, porcelain bodies, and fine lacy dresses. Sophia, looking like a life-size doll, sat by Angela’s bedside and regarded her with a grim expression, her breaths slow, even, and somehow admonishing.
She wasn’t at all the terrible vision from Angela’s nightmare. In fact, she seemed even more delicate and frail.
Sophia sighed and offered Angela a glass of water from a tray at her bedside.
“Thanks,” Angela said, wincing at the pain in her voice box. She relished the water as it trickled down her raw throat. Then she gave the glass back to Sophia and stared at the girl’s velvet slippers, still thinking of the terrible dream.
I was dead. That’s the only explanation. After all, I can’t dream anymore—I gave my dreams away in order to be with Israfel.
“Look where it’s gotten you,” Sophia said softly.
“What?”
She can’t read my thoughts—
“Your recklessness,” Sophia said shortly. “Whether it was you trying to kill yourself all those years ago, or whether it’s you on a new, self-professed mission to stop someone else from doing the same, yo
u never think things through, do you?” She rubbed her eyes in a gesture that was still elegant. “Do you remember what I said to you when you woke up after your first brush with death? After you used the Glaive to its utmost power to destroy Lucifel’s shadow, despite Tileaf’s warning? ‘And now you know the consequences.’ I could say the same here. Now you know the consequences for trying to be a savior.”
The mention of Tileaf’s name ricocheted through Angela like a bullet. She chose to ignore the guilt for now. “I would do it again.”
“Really?” Sophia whispered.
“Yes. I would try to save Janna again, even if I didn’t have a chance. I don’t regret a single thing about it.” Angela shifted up and let out a little yelp of pain. “Okay, maybe some things. How old is this mattress? It feels like a board.”
Sophia stared like a scolding mother at Angela for a while. But the usual soft smile cracked her porcelain features soon, and she helped Angela sit up in the bed, rearranging some pillows against her back. When Angela was comfortable again, Sophia clasped her hand gently. “You are the Archon, Angela. But overcompensating for that destiny won’t help you. I know it bothers you that people say the Archon is evil, but—”
“I don’t regret trying to save Janna, and I would do it again. End of discussion.”
Sophia sat back, biting her lip. “You’re misunderstanding me.”
“I couldn’t just let her die, Sophia.”
“I know.”
Sophia let the silence grow, staring out at the snow.
“Because I understand,” Angela said, “what it feels like to chase after dreams. To forget this world for something else. And I know what it is to regret that decision.” Angela glanced at her failed paintings of Israfel, suddenly aching to throw them into the fireplace like she had all the others that preceded them. She had been chasing after the angel of her dreams since childhood, had almost thrown away her life for him, had actually found him, and had been bitterly disappointed. Maybe that—as well as the cold fact that she could no longer dream about him—explained why every painting since the day he’d saved her from the edge of death had been a mess. “You’re right—look at where it’s gotten me. My arms and legs are a canvas of scars and burns. And he’s out there in the glory of the universe, flying and singing without a care.”
Covenant Page 2
