“You only brought it upon yourself with your disobedience, Quilliam.” She waved a hand around us, her jewels tinkling like little bells. “Is this the freedom you wanted? Commiserating with entities. With gods and goddesses.” She sneered as she spoke, as if the words tasted bitter on her tongue. “You’re given your first taste of liberty, and how does it all end? In failure. In misery.”
My hands balled into fists. “What did you expect? You kicked me out, Mother, left me with nothing to my name. You burned the home I bought here, with my own money.”
She reared up, seeming to grow taller, her teeth almost sharper when she bared them at me. “It was my wealth, Quilliam. It was mine to give, and so was mine to destroy. Everything you have, you only have because of me. And if you insist on resisting me, on defying your loving mother, then I will insist on breaking you. One by one, Quilliam. Piece by piece. I will take away everything you love.”
My heart thumped against my chest, my blood fizzing with an awful combination of anger and fear. Mother could never truly destroy me, because she needed me, because she’d groomed me to become her champion. And yet, there was the persistent knowing that she could very, very easily annihilate me with a thought.
I had to make a decision. This was it. I would never be getting my apartments back, the luxurious suites Pierce and I once occupied in Mother’s prime hell. I had to accept that. I had to fend for myself. But for all the foolish bravado, the delusion of thinking I could ever manage on my own, the attachment still lingered.
What of the Repository? What of my books?
Fuck it.
“I’m no longer your plaything, Mother. Not some tool to be bandied with whenever you wish, not some – ”
The sound of her hand striking my face reminded me of the crack of a whip. The breath rushed out of me. She hadn’t used her full strength, and the slap couldn’t possibly approach the brain-searing punishment of her special embrace. And yet, somehow, I felt more shamed, and hurt, and smaller than ever.
“Whatever this is that has come over you, Quilliam? You will need to get over it.” Her jewels clinked like tiny bells again when she took a single step towards me, placing a hand on each of my cheeks. I winced, flinching, recognizing the terrible gesture. This was how she administered her embrace, how she delivered tendrils of fire straight into the recesses of my brain.
I shuddered, waiting for the pain, my skin sleek with sweat, my breath coming in quick, short spurts. Mother only smiled.
“So you are afraid of me still, then?” I flinched again when she moved her hands, still distrusting her when her fingers ran through my hair, when she tucked a lock behind my ear. “My sweet Quilliam, my beautiful Quilliam, the best of my brood. You were chosen for your potential, for your power.” Her smile dropped. “And yet you choose to squander it by defying me.”
Asmodeus’s hands dropped to her waist, and she turned away from me, striding to the opposite end of the balcony, her face twisted with disgust. I’d gotten away with a slap. This was unprecedented. I would have considered it progress if I wasn’t so intent on severing ties altogether. But then she said it.
“You can have everything back, Quilliam. All of it. Your home, your books, my favor. Simply complete the task I gave you. Those fool angels have brought their worshippers back to their despicable farmhouse, evidently in hopes of rebuilding that hovel.” She lifted her nose, her eyes narrowing. “You should have burned it to the ground while you had the chance. Slay the angels. Leave none alive. Do this for me, and all will be forgiven. It will be as if none of this happened between us.”
I looked down at my hands, then back up at her, speechless, at once thrilled and terrified by the prospect of getting my old life back. Yet it also meant falling into Asmodeus’s clutches once more. I hated this dependence on her, on my books – on everything. The lack of autonomy. And had Mother been wrong? This was my first taste of freedom, and how had it all ended?
“This is your final chance, Quilliam. Finish off the Thirteenth Choir. Annihilate them. Do this for me, or lose everything.”
And then she vanished, the space where she stood filling with the sweet smell of ancient incense, of dead herbs and flowers. Slowly, for what felt like an hour, but was only minutes, I steadied my breathing, regaining my wits and my bravery. I gave everything some thought. Despite my shame in confessing it to myself, at the very least, I could have my books back. I could retrieve some portion of my power.
That night, I willed myself to sleep, despite being brutally, painfully aware of a burning in my cheek in the shape of a hand. The mark had faded by morning, but the memory remained.
I waited from dawn for the others to awaken. They could join me, or they could stay behind, for all I cared. This last thing, I would do for Mother. Baradiel and Nuriel were as good as dead.
And then I would run, as far away from Asmodeus as I could go. Pierce would be at my side. I knew that in my heart to be true. All we needed was time, for me to rebuild my power, but to do it right. If nothing else, I had motivation, a new objective. Find a way to keep us hidden and safe from the eyes of the Prince of Lust. And failing that?
Find a way to kill her.
27
As I expected, Pierce agreed
