My mouth started running before I could stop it, and I cocked an eyebrow at Dantaleon as I spoke. “Whatever happened to subtlety?”
He growled at me. “Subtlety is overrated. Sometimes, Quilliam, a scalpel is the best tool for the job. And sometimes, the largest hammer within reach will suffice.”
His pages flew open as an enormous fireball rocketed out from between his covers. The air burned hot as it spiraled towards the farmhouse, exploding the kitchen door right off its hinges. I quite liked this version of Dantaleon. I liked hammers a lot.
A stream of men emerged from the back door, even as a sudden gust of icy cold wind blew at the flames, putting them out within seconds. Yeah, that didn’t just happen in nature. Baradiel and Nuriel were near. I looked around cautiously, preemptively rolling a wad of magical energy in my hand, saving what little power I had for when it would really count.
“Slice and dice,” Pierce said, twirling his daggers as he prepared to strike.
“Wait,” I said, holding my arm out against his chest. “We don’t have to kill them. It’s not their fault they were tricked by the angels.”
Pierce frowned at me. “Who said anything about killing them?”
“Whatever,” Crystal said, stepping forward and thrusting her hands out towards the crowd of men. “You just let me handle this, then.”
Nothing happened.
“Shit.” Crystal blinked, looking down at her hands, then back up into the mob of farmers descending on her. She shook her hands at the wrist, like someone shaking a remote control to get it to work again. “What the hell is happening?”
“Mrrow.”
Twin beams of ruby-red light shot out from near my feet at ground level, sweeping across the farmers. The assault came so abruptly that I had no time to even think to stop Mr. Wrinkles. He turned his head at an angle as the beams receded, a curved, scorched path of blackened wood and flames burned into the just-renovated back wall of the farmhouse, the twitching remains of the farmers laying in the grass.
Wood smoke tickled at my nostrils as I gawked. I wasn’t the only one stunned speechless. Crystal and Pierce stared open-mouthed at the devastation. Pierce had seen this before, back when we first rescued Mr. Wrinkles, but the destruction hadn’t been nearly on this scale.
Dantaleon’s laughter broke the silence. “Very impressive. Perhaps I underestimated you, little cat. You and I should sit down together some time and discuss the fine art of annihilation.”
Mr. Wrinkles said nothing, licking the back of his paw. I clutched at my hair, part of me relieved that Crystal had escape being torn apart by the farmers, the other part horrified that my own pet cat had just murdered a dozen or so innocent men.
But I looked closer at the wetness seeping into the grass, and it wasn’t blood at all. The insides of the farmers were clear to see because Mr. Wrinkles had bisected each and every one of them through the torso.
Their insides were also clear to see because they were all made of ice.
28
I scowled in confusion, looking around for the angels. “What the hell is going on? Show yourselves.”
Two shafts of light sparked by the ruined kitchen door as the angels manifested themselves, accompanied by the beat of huge, invisible wings. They seemed extremely pleased with themselves, the blond one grinning happily, the black-haired one’s smile more sardonic, and cruel.
All of the icy corpses were rapidly melting, and as their bodies evaporated, tiny globes of light rose up above their remains. Nuriel clasped his hands together, the blond of his hair glowing gold as the orbs of light lifted into the air, then shot up into the sky.
“Celestial wisps,” Nuriel said, smiling sweetly, like a professor eager to teach his class something exciting and new. “Quite similar to the husks of hell, really. They’re just mindless motes of divine energy, given just enough flesh and life to work as minions. Very handy.”
“And very sensible,” Baradiel said, the dour, dangerous twin. “Why should we risk the lives of our followers when we worked so very hard to get them?”
“That’s why I couldn’t affect them with my fear hex,” Crystal murmured. “No minds.”
“You didn’t earn your followers.” My fist clenched. “You mean that you lied so very hard to get them. It shocks me, how the two of you can stand there and believe your own drivel. You’re no better than demons, tempting the very humans you’re meant to help and protect.”
“Preposterous,” Baradiel growled. “We are categorically better than infernal filth, in every way conceivable. And I fail to understand why you’re so concerned with the well being of humans, princeling scum. Is it because of your parentage, how one half of you came from a perverted hell, and the other half from terrestrial dirt?”
“Oh shit, dude,” Crystal murmured. “My real parents are dead and even I’m offended for you.”
“Not the time nor the place,” I hissed back.
A scrabbling came from inside the kitchen, and out stepped the third angel, the broken one who had lost his wings. His hair was wild, his eyes manic with fear as he searched our faces, then the ground.
“What happened?” he stammered. “Where are the others?”
Baradiel tutted and turned to Nuriel, ignoring their brother. “Did you not tell him about the celestial wisps?”
Nuriel’s eyes widened with genuine surprise. “I knew I forgot something.” He gave the third angel a saccharine, patronizing smile, speaking slowly, as if to a simpleton. “Those were only simulacra, Adriel. Not our real worshippers. The Thirteenth Choir is quite safe. There is nothing to fear.”
“You could have told me,” Adriel said, clutching his arms, as if hugging himself, shuddering in the doorframe.
Baradiel rolled his eyes. “It wouldn’t have mattered either way. Get back inside. Let us handle
