Mr. Wrinkles’s surprised “Mrrow” had him springing to attention, and he sat up at last, looking from me, to Asmodeus, and back. Pierce looked at me intently, but said nothing. He understood, perhaps more than anyone, why we couldn’t go back.
Asmodeus scoffed again. “And I haven’t welcomed you home, boy. You failed, again. Those two angels are dead, but not by your hand. New assignment. I wish for you to capture the third one.”
The roof of the farmhouse exploded, showering the ground in a rain of shingles and splinters. Adriel soared into the clouds, emanating a noise somewhere between agonized howling and maniacal laughter.
“Ah, so he has regained his power, then? Excellent. Quilliam. Pursue him.”
I flung my hand at the sky. “That angel? The one you worked with? The one that you manipulated? You knew all along, didn’t you? About the Thirteenth Choir, about Nuriel, Baradiel, Adriel – all of it.”
Mother folded her arms, her eyes filling with an odd blend of malice and amusement. “Do you know the problem with being the Prince of Lust? Everyone assumes that I’m just some overworked sexpot. Promiscuous. Hedonistic. And you know what? They aren’t wrong. But Asmodeus is so much more than that. With copulation, depending on the persons involved, comes procreation. And you know what’s more interesting to me than the bedroom, Quilliam? Genetics. Specifically, of the arcane sort.”
I raised my head to the sky. Adriel was already gone, but I knew we hadn’t seen the last of him, especially now that I knew how much interest Mother had taken in him.
“This was meant to be a test of your will, Quilliam, to see how you would stack up against the unprecedented genesis of this celestial abomination. Call it a case of intellectual curiosity. There’s something so interesting about the creation of new species, new races. But an angel that kills its own brothers, then siphons their power? Utterly fascinating.”
I shook my head. “I can’t stand this any longer. I’ve had enough of your machinations, Mother. I’m not your plaything. I’m not coming home.”
Asmodeus’s lips split into a strange, confident smile. “Excellent. Message received. But perhaps this will change your mind.”
She stretched out her finger, the tip of one bronzed nail glowing orange. A bolt of fiery lightning leapt from her finger, slamming into Pierce’s body and wreathing his skin with arcs of horrible electricity. Pierce screamed, then fell to the ground, twitching, convulsing.
“No,” I said. “Stop. You’re hurting him.”
“You can make it stop,” Asmodeus said, nonchalant. “All you have to do is obey.” Her lips didn’t move, but I could hear the rest of her words in my mind. “One by one, Quilliam. Piece by piece. I will take away everything you love.”
Crystal shouted something indistinct. The purple crystal ball launched from her hands, shooting like a cannonball towards Mother’s torso. Asmodeus sneered and flicked her wrist. The crystal ball ricocheted, deflected by her power, then slammed into the farmhouse, bringing down one of its walls. And all the time, Pierce screamed and screamed.
“Enough of this,” I muttered, breathing deeply as I stepped forward, anticipation and fear coating my skin in sweat as I placed my body between Asmodeus and Pierce. But I fell to the ground, pushed away as Hornbellow took my place instead.
He towered over Pierce, Mother’s spell lancing off his armor ineffectually, electricity and flame cascading from the plating.
“Insolence,” Mother hissed.
“Not insolence,” I snarled. “Justice. No more of your lies, Mother. This ends, here and now.”
Asmodeus lowered her hand, then laughed, her voice tinkling as sweetly as her jewels. “And are you going to stop me, little princeling? Do you think you could even begin to tickle me with your feeble magics? Come.” She spread her arms, thrusting out her chest. “Come and try.”
“Together,” I murmured to the others. “I need you now.”
Finally I had to confess to myself that support was acceptable when needed. I was an ant against the might of a demon prince, but perhaps, with the aid of my odd, ragtag assemblage of friends, we could do something. Anything. Whether allies or objects, brothers or books, I had to accept, once and for all, that I wasn’t yet enough.
Crystal’s hand wrapped around my wrist. Mr. Wrinkles sidled up to me, then leapt up on my shoulders, pressing one paw against my neck. Dantaleon, surprising me once more, drifted down into my open hand, resting there. For the first time in my life, I realized that I must have truly looked like a proper wizard, my familiar on my shoulder, my arcane focus in my hand. Then, last of all, came Pierce’s touch, clammy with sweat on my arm.
“You don’t have to,” I murmured.
“I want to,” he croaked. “You almost took a bullet there for me. Well, you know.”
“Shush,” I said, smiling. Too many action films, this one. We just had to sort this last thing out, and then I’d be free. Pierce could watch action movies all day long, for all I cared. We could be free.
I knelt on the ground, pressing one palm flat against the earth, whispering my wishes into the grass. “Ignis grandia.”
The rush was magnetic, electric, the magical energies of my allies pouring into my skin, funneled into a single channel down into the earth. Asmodeus chuckled and shook her head.
“What foolishness is this, Quilliam? Do you intend to reach the center of the earth, to detonate the planet and end it all? How dramatic. Truly my son. Come home. Come, let’s end this.”
The sweat dripped down my forehead, down the end of my nose as more and more of my magical fire reached into the earth, as the ground pulled at my skin, at my very soul with the hunger of my spell. I’d never done this before, but I hoped that it would work. It had to. I grunted, gritting my teeth against the pull, against the pain, then lifted my face towards Asmodeus.
“With all due
