Infinite

by Erica Crouch

  “Oh, Gus has been extremely helpful,” Lilith mocks. “He’s already shown me how this whole war of yours will turn out. Though the future may be unwriting itself, thanks to your sister, there are still some fates that are quite clear. Unchanged.” She casually lifts a shoulder. “Hell doesn’t win if we stay in Heaven. It will be overrun with angels. And you”—she tilts her head, and something like pity fills her eyes, but her smile undermines the sentiment—“you won’t survive, I’m afraid.”

  Gus shifts the books in his arms and ignores me, turning to answer Lilith. “We’re ready to return. Just say the word.”

  “Return to where?” I ask. “Hell?”

  “I’m not partial to Heaven,” she says, bending down and grabbing Lucifer’s head by his pale hair. “I just want my children, and I can find them very easily in the demonic soldiers ready to wait hand and foot on their leader. It was a fool’s game to think taking Heaven would help Hell in any way. But you know Lucifer. All ego and flash. I think he was waiting for a big showdown. You and him, Michael and Pen.” She shrugs. “I like this twist much better, don’t you?”

  Gus keeps stealing glances at me, but he’s hunched over, cowed by the might of Lilith. What has she done to him?

  “His fatal flaw,” Lilith says, her lips pressed together with delight, “was his desperate need for vengeance, his obsession with revenge. It blinded him. Such a shame.” Her grip tightens on Lucifer’s hair. His mouth lolls open.

  I can’t contain it anymore. I can’t bury the waves of absolute rage that wash over me, and I take my sword and hurl it across the room. It tears through Jeremy in an instant, and he falls to the ground, dead.

  Lilith pouts. “Hm. I quite enjoyed him. He did just about everything I ever asked of him.”

  “Oh, I’m so sorry,” I deadpan. “Didn’t mean to upset you by killing your pet. Such a shame,” I say, mimicking her earlier tone.

  She shrugs, not the least bit bothered. “No matter. He’s outlived his usefulness. Spares me the job of doing it myself.” With her free hand, she pulls her hair over her bare shoulder, her pale skin stained in her own blood. Her twisted crown sits crooked on her head. “It’s not as if he would be much use to me anymore. The voices were becoming a problem.”

  The door to the throne room opens and closes again, and in steps Michael and Pen, their weapons out and ready.

  Noticing the way I pale at their arrival, Lilith grins. So this was her plan all along, then? To leave me? To abandon me with my sister and the weight of all of my shame?

  Lilith nods to Gus as Michael and Pen come farther into the room, and then she adjusts her grip on Lucifer’s severed head. As fast as he can, Gus leaves, scurrying out a window like the rat he is.

  “Good luck, Azael,” Lilith breathes, her eyes on fire.

  Pen

  WE FLASH THROUGH THE PORTAL and land in Heaven, right at the gates. More fighting, more demons and angels armed and bleeding. It’s not as chaotic here—most of the battle is still contained to Earth. That could change the moment the others realize there’s a portal. We may only have seconds before the two armies spill through from the other side.

  I’d almost forgotten what Heaven was like. It’s so…warm. The frigid, angry wind of winter died the moment we stepped through the portal, replaced by an eternal summer. The air is musky and thick with humidity, like it’s about to storm, but the sky is a clear, endless blue. Being back in Heaven is like being dipped in warm honey, wrapped in golden comfort.

  Michael’s hold on my hand tightens. We take in Heaven again—him for the first time since he was almost killed by the angels meant to protect him, and me for the first time since I fell. It’s been so long. I want to take it all in, all the changes, but there’s no time. I search across the blur of battle and catch Azael’s eye as he slips into the palace and shuts the giant doors behind him.

  “Palace!” I shout to Michael.

  Michael holds his sword in front of him. I still have a handful of daggers. There’s no easy way for us to cross to the palace from the gates—it’s too far, and there are too many fighting between us and the doors Azael disappeared behind. We have to fight our way over.

  It’s easier to tell enemy from ally here. Azael’s army has their backs to the palace, holding off the angel and demon rebels. They advance on the group a few feet, pushing some of the rebels back through the portal. Others they drive toward what was the White Garden, and I see an angel sprint into the center of the green maze, a whip trailing behind them.

  I keep next to Michael as we make slow progress driving a path through the fighting. My arms and legs scream in protest as I push them harder and harder, my muscles burning with complaint, but I don’t slow down. I don’t hesitate. I hardly have to think as I slice my arms through the air, dragging my daggers over throats and stomachs and other important arteries.

  Over the heads of those in front of us, I see the tops of the tall, golden front doors of the palace open and close again. Michael kills two demons at once when they charge him together, a single shift of his blade skewering them as one before flames consume them. A few demons nearby notice their deaths and give Michael an extra inch of room, not wanting to face the same death.

  We’re able to move faster once the others start to really recognize Michael and his sword. It’s been a while since anyone’s seen the archangel and his deadly weapon, and many couldn’t recall his new face. But now, they know. Now, they wonder how they mistook him as anyone else—or his weapon as anything less than pure, fiery death. In a matter of minutes, we’re at the doors of the palace.

  Michael pulls one open just a crack and we duck inside. Our weapons enter first—just in case Azael’s waiting for us immediately inside the hall, but he’s nowhere to be seen. When we don’t hear anything after a few seconds, we debate which way to go.

  I take a blade and shove it between the handles, locking the doors behind us. We don’t want to make it too easy for anyone else to follow us into the palace. Azael doesn’t need to call for more backup.

  “Right is the dining hall, some bedrooms, and the weapons room,” Michael says. “Left is the throne room and more bedrooms.”

  “I remember,” I whisper, my voice sliding across the white-and-gold marble.

  “Which way?”

  “Left,” I say. “He’s leading us to the throne room. He thinks…” I twist my mouth closed. I hate knowing exactly what Azael’s thinking, knowing how he operates and what his plans are before we walk straight into them. It serves us well now, but our connection makes me sick. It makes me feel responsible for not stopping him earlier. “He wants Lucifer to have us, to see that he did what he was ordered to do.”

  Michael nods stiffly. If Lucifer’s waiting for us, we both might have a sibling to fend off. To kill. A part of us always knew it all could lead to this.

  We walk as quietly as we can, but our boots are loud on the marble, echoing down the cold, empty hall. We keep close to the wall and move slowly, pressing into doorways every few feet. Azael could be waiting around any corner, in any room. He could decide to ambush us before we even get to the throne room, and walking straight down the center of the hallway would make it so simple for him to spot us. Not that the doorways provide much cover, but it’s better than nothing.

  At the end of the hallway is the blazing-gold filigree doors of the throne room. Michael and I press up against the wall on either side of the set of doors and wait, listening. I can hear Azael’s voice inside, but I can’t fully make out what he’s saying, even with pressing my ear to the crack. With my toe, I inch the door open. If they’re watching the door, they’ll see it move and know we’re here. But I’d rather risk being noticed than walk in there both blind and deaf.

  I bite my lip until it bleeds as I slide the door open a little more. Michael closes his eyes, listening. We both wait for signs that anyone inside the throne room saw, but there’s no reaction. The angry, arguing voices inside continue uninterrupted.

  The fi
rst voice I hear is smooth as silk. Seductively evil. Immediately, I identify it as belonging to Lilith.

  “How do you kill the devil?” she murmurs.

  I meet Michael’s eyes, and we lean closer.

  “You get him to trust you.”

  She goes on about how easy it was to kill Lucifer, how he was too busy looking in our direction to notice what a threat Lilith was. Michael’s jaw is clenched, confusion playing across his features in waves. The sun’s dropped out of our galaxy and we have to reorient ourselves to this new information: a Hell without Lucifer. A universe without God’s Morning Star.

  Apparently, it wasn’t Michael Lucifer should have been worried about—not right away, at least. The one who killed him had been sitting right next to him the whole time. The first human he’d stolen, the one he’d corrupted and taken as his temporary wife. The first demon he’d created and shared all of his secrets with. The only other being who has seen every room of his antechambers in Hell. He might as well have armed her himself, held a blade to his head for her to take and finish the job.

  “You didn’t really think you were still serving him, did you?” Lilith is mocking Azael.

  I cringe at the violence I know is coming. Azael doesn’t take well to being teased, especially when he’s done something wrong—when he knows he’s fouled up.

  He’s failed again. First, it was Eden; now, it’s Earth. He’s wasted his time following orders that came from the mouth of a dead angel.

  How didn’t he figure it out sooner?

  Azael’s voice rings out, furious. Hurt. “He’s dead. Lucifer is dead!”

  There’s a loud bang, like a pile of books falling… Gus? I slide closer to the crack in the door and count the bodies in the room. One, Azael. Two, Lilith. Three, Jeremy. Four, Gus.

  How the Hell is Gus working with Lilith? He hated her more than anyone. But then again, he knew nothing but serving Lucifer. Did he have a case of transference? One leader dies, another fills his place, and Gus continues to do his job. His head down, his nose tucked in his books of fate. Maybe he was so absorbed in his reading that he didn’t even notice the change.

  Azael and Lilith continue arguing. She keeps goading him forward into the fight, pulling at the last thread of his sanity and watching him unravel. The feline look in her eye… She’s a seemingly innocent kitten fully aware of the damage she’s causing. She’s enjoying it.

  I step back and raise my fingers to Michael. Four inside.

  Five, he corrects. You’re forgetting Lucifer’s body.

  I don’t count dead bodies as people I may have to fight—which is what I was accounting for—but I don’t comment. Instead, I shift the daggers in my hand, readying myself.

  Barman was right. Lilith killed Lucifer. She’s in charge now.

  But Azael was King of Hell? Michael sounds just as confused as I feel.

  Why wouldn’t Azael be the next in command if he was King of Hell and Lilith was… What was she, exactly? Azael’s companion for a while. His partner.

  I shake my head, not wanting to consider the nuances of their obviously twisted relationship. The thin slit in the door allows me to see Lilith pacing back and forth in front of Azael as he stands perfectly still.

  He didn’t dethrone Lucifer, I say. Lilith did. Meaning she is the one who rises to power. Kill the king, get his crown.

  And what a crown she wears. One woven of thorns and roses. Her forehead is a scarred and bloody mess. Her white dress is dribbled with her blood, thick, red tracks running down her temples.

  Michael thinks for a minute, peeking around the door. So she is the one who ordered the army behind Azael.

  Azael’s voice rises. “Return to where? Hell?”

  She’s leaving Heaven, Michael says, confused.

  I lean closer to the door and risk inching it open a little more. Lilith, her voice poorly contained bitterness, speaks about her children—the Lilim.

  “I just want my children,” she says, and her voice fades away, thick and muffled by emotion. She talks about Lucifer as if he were some insipid idiot who could barely manage himself, let alone lead an entire dimension of demons. Did she always see him as someone so helpless, even as he oversaw Hell and tore the world apart? “I think,” she says, “he was waiting for a big showdown. You and him, Michael and Pen.” There’s a pause. “I like this twist much better, don’t you?”

  Lilith never wanted to return to Heaven, and after what Gus was able to divine…

  Hell will not win this war. Not today. Not here. Lilith is smart enough to know when a battle is not worth fighting. She knows when to retreat, when to bide her time. And I’ve no doubt she’ll be patient as she waits for her time to strike. She’s already done it once with Lucifer.

  There’s a loud snapping sound, the ring of a sword, and then a thump. I peer through the door and see Jeremy on the ground, dead. Halved.

  Down one more, I tell Michael and raise three fingers. Three left alive. Lilith, Gus, Azael.

  Do we have a plan? Michael asks, closing his eyes. Or are we just…winging it?

  I rest my forehead on the cold gold of the doors. We could walk away now. Things could go back to almost normal. Lucifer’s dead; Lilith will take the throne in Hell. Heaven will have a lot of cleaning up to do, but it would recover. The angels have recovered before, and they can do it again. Time heals most wounds.

  But there’s still Azael. He won’t stop—in fact, this betrayal from Lilith just took away the last thing he had. Now, he’s nothing, no one. With nothing to lose. There’s a mountain of anger and bitterness built within him, and he won’t be able to hold it in for long. No, not a mountain—a volcano. He’s close to erupting.

  Just because Lilith usurped him, because Lucifer is dead, doesn’t mean Azael will ever stop. He’ll see this thing through to the end. He will still want Michael dead. My stomach sinks to my toes, and dread takes its place.

  No. I don’t have a plan, I admit. I secure the mini daggers in my fist back into my gear and pull out my dagger. Its bone-white handle is cold in my grip, and I consider the engraving—Not with words alone—one last time.

  Without a plan, and with nothing but our hopeful optimism, Michael and I open the door anyway and slide inside the throne room, stepping around Jeremy’s halved body.

  Immediately, Michael and I are hit hard by the stench of death. The smell from the other side of the door was harder to place, but in here, it’s unmistakable. Putrid and inescapable. How did Azael miss it?

  I have the urge to pull my shirt over my mouth and nose—just breathing it, I swear I can taste the decay on my tongue. It makes me gag, but I don’t take my hand off my dagger. Michael’s eyes water, and I’m swallowing bile before I throw up, but we stand strong together. How long has Lucifer been rotting away in here?

  Azael looks back at us, eyes our weapons. His expression is hollow—a void so dark that the longer I look at him, the more I can imagine him dead. He’s just a living corpse, exhausted and beaten.

  Stare into the darkness, I think, and the darkness stares back.

  My pendant hangs clumsily around his neck, tangled next to his own.

  I sweep the tip of my dagger across the room, and Lilith smiles at me. My eyes lock with Gus’s, and he quickly looks away to Lilith, ashamed. She nods and he opens up a window and climbs out.

  “Good luck, Azael,” Lilith says. She adjusts her grip on Lucifer’s severed head—his eyes open and crusted over, his mouth slack and forever silent—and crosses to the window, swinging one of her legs out. Her long, pale dress rips, a tear pulling all the way up her bare leg.

  “You’re just going to leave me?” Azael asks, shattered.

  Lilith pauses briefly. She looks at Michael and me, considers us like a fat, bored house cat considers a mouse, and turns back to Azael again. Her eyes are bright and excited. “Not my battle to fight,” she says nonchalantly. With a small wink, she blows him a kiss and then drops from the window, gone for good.

  Azael star
es after her for a moment, lost. He wavers, swaying a little on his feet.

  “Az?” I step forward, my daggers still gripped in my hands. “Azael?”

  He turns to me, his eyes distant. It takes him a moment to snap back to himself, and when he does, he blazes with fury. With betrayal. It’s worse than he looked in London because behind all the rage is a deep, endless hurt.

  I don’t want to fight him like this. When he’s just been destroyed, all of his dreams—no matter how dark—stolen out from under him. This can end now. He can decide it’s enough, finally.

  “It’s over,” I say.

  He clenches his jaw, his fists. “Not between you and me, it’s not.”

  “Lucifer is dead,” I tell him, my voice hushed. Everything sounds too loud in this room of echoes and reverberations. “It’s over. Lilith is returning to Hell, and she’ll call off her army.”

  “My army!”

  I shake my head. “No, Azael. Her army.”

  He lifts his sword, gestures wildly with it. “I hate you,” he hisses.

  I lower my dagger, slip it back into my belt. Michael tenses but doesn’t stop me. He still holds his sword ready, if necessary.

  “You don’t hate me,” I say. I can see that now.

  His hatred isn’t for me. It’s turned inward, toward himself. Azael is desperate, lonely, and so incredibly sad. He doesn’t hate me—he hates that he needs me. He hates himself for that weakness. I remember him begging for death, asking me to kill him in the chapel in London.

  He’s never been more lost. I don’t know if I’ll be able to find him this time.

  “I want you dead.” He levels his dark sword at my heart, but he’s so far away that it’s hardly threatening. He makes no move to come any closer.

  “You’re just saying that to hurt me,” I say, hands raised.

  “The fact that I’m saying something to hurt you doesn’t make it any less true,” he says.

  Michael steps closer to me. “You need to lower your sword, Azael.”

  “Don’t you speak to me!” he yells at Michael, and he turns away from us, pacing back and forth, the hand not white-knuckling his sword tearing through his hair with shaking fingers. He nears the throne but stops before he gets there.