by A J Hackwith
Claire was counting on Heaven’s wrath instead. She flicked an irritated glance at Hero. Somehow, he’d found the time to wash up at Beatrice’s, and his nails looked freshly manicured, hands soft. He also had his gun out already, which was an added source of Claire’s annoyance.
“We’ll never escape if we get stopped for brandishing weapons.”
“There’s no one around. Besides, I’m not dying without getting to shoot something with this bloody gun,” Hero said.
“The Hellhounds will have no interest in books,” Claire pointed out. “You should be thrilled. You might get a chance to bob off during the carnage.”
“Until Brevity decides to IWL me, yes. And when that time comes, I’d rather not suffer the tedium of heartbroken recriminations that I abandoned you.”
“As if you know anything about heartbreak,” Claire muttered.
“You have no idea.”
Hero said it lightly, and it almost, but not quite, masked the jagged edge to his voice. She glanced up, and Hero cast her a measured look out of the corner of his eye. They walked down another alley before the silence got too much. “Fine. I’ll bite. For instance?”
Hero seemed to search for words before diverting. “I know that it takes a rare heart to break and leave behind such a sharp, cutting edge.”
Claire found herself with no response to that. She chewed on the inside of her cheek as they followed Andras down another alley. “It doesn’t matter, you know.”
“What?” Hero met her eyes again.
“Being a villain. It doesn’t matter, out here.” In the fading light, Hero’s eyes were dark, the green of old earth. Distant lands she’d never see. Claire turned away to keep from being distracted. “Don’t get me wrong—I should have damn well known. But it doesn’t matter. You saw the damsels. It doesn’t matter what you’re made to be, only what you do.”
Hero’s step faltered to match hers. “For one who calls me ‘book’ when she’s cranky, you’re affording me an uncharacteristic amount of humanity.”
Claire snorted. “Well. Considering my own story may be coming to an end quite soon . . . I can afford to be a little flexible.”
“This is it,” Andras announced as they came to a stop just short of the arch of the outer wall. It was a smaller entrance than the grand bridge they’d crossed entering the city, more just a door in the sandstone wall, with a narrow stone bridge spanning the grassy moat. Andras stepped across the threshold first, craning his neck in both directions before giving a nod.
Claire took a deep breath. “Ready to run?”
Hero grimaced. “This is truly the safest course of action?”
“Fairly sure it’s entirely dangerous and foolhardy, actually.”
“Then yes, I am very ready to run.”
Claire stepped through the door. As soon as they were past the shadow of the arch, there was a palpable snapping sound of the ward coming up. The air at her back hissed, and an unpleasant feeling of static shock sizzled at the hairs on her neck. There was no going back that way.
Howls shattered the quiet. Impact thrummed the stones beneath their feet. Claire had thought it impossible, but it was even louder outside the wards. Her heart vibrated in her chest with the earth-deep, bone-deep noise. Claire gripped Hero’s shoulder, and they burst into a sprint for the bridge.
Shadows lunged together on the other end, and the Hellhounds broke into the twilight. Fast, so fast. Dark and large as lorries, two of the beasts turned, locking on to Claire with their blood-jeweled eyes. They charged.
Claire didn’t have time to react. She didn’t have time to slow down. She didn’t even have time to flinch. The leading Hound leapt. She and Hero hit the ground in a pile. Hero reflexively threw an arm over her head, as if that would stop a creature with teeth like long swords. Fool book.
Something harsh struck stone. Then something large struck something harsh. It sounded like a car crash.
Then a silence that thrummed the stones.
When the ground stopped shaking, Claire opened her eyes to stare into Hero’s bewildered face. They untangled themselves. Adrenaline turned her knees to jelly and she leaned on Hero as she stood.
Hellhounds stalked the bridge, just spare meters from where Claire and Hero stood. Barreling sledges of fur threw themselves in their direction; muscle and teeth hit the air with a jarring impact that was hard enough to make even Claire’s teeth hurt. She shuddered again until she realized what held them.
In the middle of the bridge, imposed between them and the Hellhounds, was an angel clad in fire and fury.
Uriel’s sword had sunk deep into the stone of the bridge, and Uriel stood anchored over it. A shimmering, barely visible wall sprang from the blade. She verified the wall was holding before turning her full attention to Hero and Claire.
Uriel advanced on them. Claire stumbled back. She spun toward the gates, then stopped.
Andras stood, waiting for them with his hands clasped calmly in front of him. Ramiel stood at his side, making a strange pair. Ramiel was much as he’d been in Valhalla, brooding and worn at the edges. A workman’s build in a shabby gray coat that trailed dark feathers at his back. The angel regarded her with pitying eyes, but Claire saved her gaze for Andras.
“This was all your plan?” Her voice was dull.
“I did say to stay in the city. I begged you to avoid this.” Andras’s words might have been sad, but he stood straight, easy with the angel at his side. “It was the only way, pup.”
“The only way to achieve what, exactly?” Hero stiffened next to her, and Claire could feel Uriel advancing on their backs. An approaching storm.
“To return things to how they ought to be.”
Claire’s thoughts rabbited in circles. Andras had been a duke, royalty in Hell’s court once. But he’d been thrown out, long ago. He’d . . . been tired, he’d said. Claire wasn’t stupid; she’d always known Andras, like all demons, was dangerous. But he’d also been kind. Kind enough to pick her up off the floor after Beatrice left, after Gregor . . . after Claire had been left alone. She hadn’t been alone, because Andras had been there. She’d clung to that. She knew he was cruel, but to other people. He was kind to her and that was supposed to mark the difference.
It appeared to be the day for being proved foolish.
“You need the codex,” she finally said.
“I need the Library,” Andras corrected. “Each one of those books is a little battery, a bite of souls locked up in a book. Even an archdemon would do much to taste that. Alone they’re nothing, minor bribes, but together . . .they’re leverage on the court, and leverage is just what I need. There are demons that could be made to see things my way for a nice, steady supply of dreams. The remaining pages of the codex are powerful, an excellent weapon to wield. But the Library, that’s where the opportunity lies. The Library is valuable. It was never going to stay isolated. You have to see that.”
The realization came upon Claire like a punch to the gut. “You would . . . use the books as a bartering device? The Library isn’t currency!”
“And the codex pages were not a matter for the Library,” Andras said. “But here we are.”
“The codex belongs to Heaven,” Rami interjected, brow furrowed as he looked with obvious suspicion at the demon. “You agreed to deliver it. In exchange for . . .”
“In exchange for me,” Claire surmised. A deadweight had developed in her chest. It wasn’t surprise, or even betrayal. It felt too inevitable for that. “Are you so certain you can walk in and take it? I am not the only protector the Library has.”
“That matters little with the power of the codex. I won’t kill you, pup. It’s why I’d hoped you’d stay—I may be a demon, but I’ve lost the stomach for it. Your charms have grown on me.” Andras’s wistful smile made Claire’s hand bunch into a fist at her side. “Your assistant’s haven’t. She will
be little challenge for those that follow me.”
“You have it?” Uriel’s question was more like a demand, coming from close behind them. As one, Claire and Hero judged Uriel as the bigger threat and turned.
For the first time, Claire got a close look at the Face of God. She was tall and pale, like a deity carved from stone. Broad shoulders, pale cropped hair, and a narrow nose just below eyes that would simmer judgment for eternity. Her ivory suit flowed, revealing no distinguishing features but perfection. Claire knew the look of a zealot when she saw one, unearthly or not. Uriel’s wings were not a shabby feathered cloak, as was Ramiel’s, but a shattered, fragmented ray of light that splintered from her back and seared eyes if considered too long. Claire briefly wondered how on Earth that translated to a mundane appearance in the eyes of the mortals milling on the bridge.
Beyond Uriel, Hellhounds roiled like a black tide. They were close enough to see now, masses of muscle and matted shadows, eyes a dark red that reminded Claire of Walter’s teeth. They continued shuddering in and out of visible light, jarring like a glitching video, throwing themselves at the shimmering wall that flickered from Uriel’s blade. It seemed to extend far in either direction, for anywhere the beasts tried, a snap of light threw them back. Unlike the wards of Mdina, it showed no signs of failing.
Claire was uncomfortably aware that all that stood between them and her was the fleeting goodwill of Heaven.
Andras made a vague bow to the angel. “The pages and the librarian, as we discussed. Show the angels your little prize, Claire?”
Claire didn’t move. “Introductions first. We’ve not had the pleasure. You must be Uriel. I’m Claire, librarian of the Unwritten Wing.” She jerked a chin toward Hero. “This is Hero, unwritten book of no importance. Bit of an annoying barnacle, really. You might want to send him on his way before he latches on.”
“So immune to my many charms,” Hero said, but Uriel was not amused.
“You are all prisoners of Heaven. Surrender the codex.”
Claire glanced toward the angelic barrier again. “Exactly how long will your party trick hold against Hellhounds?”
For the first time, Uriel smiled. It was a smile that made the human parts of Claire’s brain recoil and shudder. “Nothing from Hell will overcome a blade of Heaven.”
Hero leaned over with a mock whisper. “I’m rusty. Was that a threat or a guarantee of safety?”
“Hard to tell with angels,” Claire said.
“I can confine the human and her companions while you do what must be done, Uriel,” Rami rumbled. He spared a glance for Claire. “Though I will only confine. No harm will come to them.”
“Unless she blasphemes the will of Heaven,” Uriel added.
“Well. I feel reassured,” Hero said.
“Would you just stop?” Claire hissed.
“What? Betrayal, enemies, certain death . . . I’m not a hero, remember? The bravery was just for show. All I have left is weaponized wit and my good looks.”
Uriel made a disgusted noise. “I’m eager to be done with this distasteful business. Produce the pages of the codex.”
Andras took a step toward Claire and she flinched. Repulsion coiled in her throat and felt very much like panic. “Don’t touch me.”
“Pup, don’t make this harder—” Andras started, but Hero had his gun out. Claire was pleased to note that he did not step in front of her in some idiot heroic gesture but kept angled to her side so she could move. Perhaps there were perks to maintaining a villain in her service.
“Call me pup again and Hero can shoot you.” Claire’s lip curled, but a hand came down lightly on her elbow. She twitched and turned to see Ramiel. She reached to throw him off, but a wave of chill passed through her. All the strength left her grip. Not just her grip, though—left her. Her shoulders dropped. Her mind momentarily blanked, and it took a hard scrabble to remember her present concern. It surely had been trivial, not worth her time. It’d been so long since she could rest. Her chin fell.
Andras moved forward and began gently digging through her pockets. She could not have fought him, even if she’d been able to form the compulsion to. Some part of the back of her mind began to snarl against it. Claire turned a horrified stare at the angel.
“I apologize for taking liberties, but it’s better this way.” Rami’s voice was reserved. “Mortal souls. It’s part of my gift.”
Hero made to move, but Claire shook her head dully. A gun would do no good against angels. She tried to maintain a steady thought, but it was difficult with the cloud of calm that Ramiel had wrapped around her brain.
Andras finished turning out her pockets. “It’s not here.” He met her eyes with a sudden anger Claire hadn’t seen before. “Where is it?”
“The other?” Ramiel nodded to Hero.
“She wouldn’t trust it with the pages.” Andras’s eyes narrowed. “What have you done, pup?”
“Between the Hounds and the angels and this peculiar feeling I got whenever you talked about the pages . . .” Her voice was airier than she liked. Claire shrugged with as much will as she could wrest from beneath Rami’s suppressing touch. “I’d hoped I was paranoid. You’re the one who taught me to be cautious.”
“You . . .” Andras’s eyes turned sharp, and he scrutinized her face. He jerked with a sudden certainty. “The stray.”
A grin twitched on her lips, a little wild and unhinged as she felt Ramiel’s grip ease. She glanced to Hero. “I’d say we distracted the Hounds long enough for him to get to the gate by now, haven’t we?”
Suspicion distorted Uriel’s marble features. Her hand shifted, straying back to the pommel of the sword buried in cobblestone behind her. “Is there a problem, demon?”
“Not for me.” Andras studied Claire’s face with something like admiration, which made her stomach churn. He patted her cheek, once. His fingertips were leaching heat. “But I’m afraid I have a stray to catch. Our business is at an end.”
“Andras . . .” Claire found her voice just as the demon stepped away. The sad smile on his face was the last thing to disappear as a ground spout of shadows swallowed him into the earth.
“Shit,” Hero said.
The Hellhounds bayed, distant in the silence that followed. Then Uriel’s face transformed. “Betrayal.”
“First rule of demons,” Ramiel said, unimpressed. “We might have anticipated this.” He released his grip on Claire, and she realized he was watching his partner with rising caution. “Uriel, what do we do now?”
“Now?” Uriel’s furious voice nearly cracked with a hysterical note. No—that wasn’t the only thing cracking. A flare shimmered over her face, like lightning under clouds. Claire blinked, sure she’d imagined it, but the angel’s blue eyes looked ignited. The shards of light on her back appeared to split and scissor into blades. Claire flinched despite herself. The angels presented themselves as mortals on Earth, but she remembered the stories of an angel’s true form, vast and wild enough to break human comprehension. That form played close to the surface now, and Claire’s heart stuttered. There was a reason the first words out of an angel’s mouth in the stories were Be not afraid.
“Now I will shred Hell itself, let every demon know that I will not—that the Creator will not—tolerate such insult. That worm dares—”
“But our . . . prisoners?” Rami pressed, having backed up a step himself.
Uriel frowned, turning to Hero and Claire as if she’d just noticed a buzzing gnat. She calmed. Her voice was distant and preoccupied. “They are of no import.”
And with that, Uriel reached for her sword.
“Uriel!” Rami suddenly had his blade out and was charging forward. Whether toward Uriel or the Hounds themselves, it was uncertain. Claire and Hero began backing up instinctively.
Uriel withdrew her sword. And the barrier fell.
The Hellhounds
had faded to prowling ghosts when they could not cross Uriel’s ward. But with the barrier gone, shadows lurched from beneath the bridge, gobbling up the air. Hero raised his faltering gun at the nearest wraith. A gun, even a gun that started its life as an unwritten sword, would do nothing. They both knew that.
“Back!” Claire grabbed Hero by the shoulder and tried to yank him toward the gates.
“You can’t pass the walls.”
“The point is, you can!” Books were made by humans. The Mdina wards had to recognize them as such after all. “Get going.”
“Still not taking your orders, warden,” Hero said.
Claire snarled the filthiest oath she knew. Now, of all times, was not the moment for a villain to get ideas about heroism.
Rami jabbed at the Hellhounds with his blade while exchanging heated, indistinct words with Uriel. Rami’s sword produced enough lightning to dissuade the beasts, but did not have the same stopping power as Uriel’s wall. One Hound kept him busy while the others shuddered, blinking through existence to burst onto the bridge. An approaching Hellhound lurched, paws landing on the cobblestones with an oily, lethal grace. Claire jerked back but was forced to stop when a crackle of pain danced against the back of her skull. The ward sparked at her back. An echo sang in her mind. A song.
Claire prayed that Leto had carried out the rest of the plan. That Leto had made it. Would make it. That what she felt at the edge of her senses, a glimmer of a sound, was true and not wild delusion.
She licked her lips. They had seconds, not minutes. “You have to trust me, Hero.”
Hero moved to position his tall frame a breath ahead of her, pressing her back hard enough to bury her face in his soft velour jacket. She felt, more than saw, his brittle amusement. “Why start now?”
A chill ran up her spine, and she curled a hand into Hero’s jacket. “It’s what humans do.”
The nearest Hound, teeth dripping oblivion, leapt. Hero’s shoulders dipped and braced. Claire swung her arms around his waist and held tight just as the ward behind her crackled. Another set of hands latched onto her shoulders and yanked.
