I followed the man’s eyes as he gazed up at the night sky. He wasn’t just looking at the stars, though, at least not the ones that hung there like distant motes of light. He was following two of them that were streaking for earth – directly for the farmhouse.
Pierce was staring, too, his mouth partly open as he frowned. “What the hell is that?”
“My brothers,” the man said. “They come.”
“Who are your brothers?” I demanded, dreading how I had already guessed at an answer. “Who?”
He didn’t respond, only crawling on all fours towards the approaching lights. As the falling stars approached, their searing brightness illuminated the grass, the cult leader’s hair. Most importantly, they lit up the two scars his back, too equidistant and precise to be slashed there by chance in melee combat.
My blood ran cold. This man was an angel. Someone had torn off his wings.
The man reached fingers like gnarled talons to the sky, the tears streaming down the hard edges of his too-perfect face glimmering like diamonds.
“My brothers,” he cried. “They’re here.”
11
They say that cats and dogs can’t be friends. Untrue. There’s evidence everywhere that they can get along – though Mr. Wrinkles would probably be hard-pressed to demonstrate that. Demons and angels, though? Everything you’ve heard is true. We can’t stand those sanctimonious fuckers, and they can’t stand us, either. In most cases, as in now, with Pierce sneering at the sky, the light of falling stars reflecting on his wet teeth and the blades of his daggers, the natural instinct would be to stand and fight until one side is well and truly dead.
But we were outnumbered. The kneeling man with the auburn hair was being worshipped by the Thirteenth Choir for a reason, and even without wings an angel could still be a threat. Actually, that made matters worse. Who removed his wings? Why was he still on earth, and what could a grounded angel do? Plenty of damage, I imagined, watching with trepidation as he turned to me with wild eyes and an emboldened expression. Few things are deadlier than a cornered, injured animal.
“Pierce,” I said, tugging on his wrist. “Let’s get out of here.”
He shrugged me off, glowering. “We stand and fight. If you think I’m scared of two measly featherheads and one wingless reject, then you’ve lost your damn mind.” He nodded at the auburn man. “You take him if you’re so worried. I’ll kill the other two.”
“We need to head back to the node, get back on the Hexus. Now.”
Fucking Pierce could be so stubborn. All the time we wasted arguing could have been used to run back to our entry point. It was too late. The falling stars touched the earth, striking with the impact of small comets, like two cannonballs shot from out of heaven.
The lights dissipated, leaving two humanoid forms standing in the grass. Both shared the kneeling man’s indescribable beauty, their mortal vessels crafted by some celestial artisan who was far, far too good at their job.
“Brothers,” the broken man said, his face stained with tears, his voice thick with relief and quiet laughter. “You’ve come for me.”
“We’ve come for other reasons, too,” said the first angel, the ringlets of his hair dark, the circles under his eyes even darker. There was a somber ferocity to him, a quiet cruelty in the cupid’s bow of his lips.
The second angel was gentler in face and in voice. “We’ve come to check on you, dear brother.” This one had blond hair, a sweet smile, one that I nonetheless wanted to punch off his serenely smug mouth. He knelt in the grass, laying a hand on the auburn-haired angel’s shoulder. “We sensed that something was wrong.” The angel turned to the burning farmhouse, then to me, his features instantly hardening into a stern, angry mask. “It seems that we were right to come here, Adriel.”
Adriel. The auburn angel flinched at the sound of it, as if remembering had hurt. His name was familiar, like something I’d seen in a book. But the names of angels were far less important to know just then, certainly less important than surviving one of their visitations.
“A pair of demons,” said the golden-haired angel, his voice musical and lilting, his features twisted with revulsion.
“A duo of abominations,” spat the darker angel. “No better than filth and feces.”
The two approached, extending their arms and closing their fingers around swords that materialized within their grasps, one gold, one black, each matching its wielder. Seeing then side by side made them look like two copies of the same man, two brothers born in light and in darkness. They practically wore the same face. They certainly wore the same murderous expression.
A glint of silver sped through the dark, followed by the unmistakeable sound of sharp steel sinking into flesh. I held my breath, looking from Pierce’s outstretched hand to where he had thrown the dagger: straight into the dark angel’s chest.
The angel looked down at his torso, grimacing at Pierce’s dagger like it was just some inconvenience, like a mosquito. He tutted.
“It will take more than your blasphemous metal to bring down Baradiel,” the angel growled. Without missing a beat, without flinching, he wrapped his fingers around the pommel of the dagger and plucked it out. Blood gushed out of the wound, dark red against the weapon’s blade. I only caught a glimpse of it before Baradiel hurled it directly back at Pierce’s face.
Pierce gasped. I threw myself in the dagger’s path, blinking in sudden fright when its point connected with my forehead. My shielding spell shattered, dispelled in an instant by a simple throwing knife when it had previously withstood a bullet.
The other angel clapped, his laughter musical and sweet. “Wonderfully thrown, Baradiel.”
For the first time, the dark angel named Baradiel allowed himself a smile. “You flatter me, Nuriel. Now, to the task at hand. We kill the demons.”
“And what of Adriel?”
The ruined angel named
