We make a quiet, pensive party on our walk through the halls of the Gray Keep. Mother insists there’s something I should see outside before we go.
Even with me awake, Porsoth isn’t his usual self. He’s not talking in circles over us leaving or making a fidgeting to-do over me. Not the way I expect after he collapsed when Callie revealed our destination.
Not that my own knees don’t feel weak about that.
I suppose it’s good that Father wasn’t there to hear where we’re going.
If what might happen to a demon who saunters into the wrong church, which is, yes, any church, is a cautionary tale drilled into young denizens of Hell, well, then Guardian City is …
I suppose it’s like how everyone not from here thinks about traveling to Hell. We grow up on stories about the home of the good and pure, where there’s singing in melodious chorus all day, and the plants are delicious, deadly, or medicinal, and the weapons practice is constant from childhood on, and the residents live in eternal readiness to slay our kind with speed and joy. Not that it’s a place any of our kind would go. Willingly.
Until now. Until me. And Sean, I suppose. He’s beat me to it.
“Prince,” Porsoth says, speaking at last, “I … be careful with your wound.”
“I’ll make sure he is.” Callie nods to Porsoth and I can’t help wondering what they discussed privately.
My mother is gnawing her lip. Unlike Father, her concern seems real and I’m touched. She stops us and rests her hand on my cheek, light and affectionate. “My son,” she says, “try to survive. I will be forced to curse at least part of the world if you don’t return. I am not sure what your father is up to, but I don’t like it.” She hesitates. I told her about Sean—I was afraid not to. “I do not know the woman Lucifer consorted with to create this brother. I don’t blame her and I presume we would be allies. But you should know that if Sean Tattersall harms you again, I will destroy him.”
“Technically he just gave me a little push.” Into a guardian’s arrow or away from it, I’m not sure. “How about we not escalate things?”
“You are going to Guardian City.” My mother’s lips purse. She looks at Callie. “You are likely safe there. You better keep Luke safe as well. Your track record concerns me. I never let a man get hurt on my watch, not unless I wanted him to.”
“Mother,” I say with an affectionate eye roll, “you and Callie are nothing alike.”
Neither responds, which I count as a victory.
An antlered demon missing his fingers is posted with another guard at the outer door. They bow low. “Prince, Lilith,” he says.
“Better,” my mother says.
The other demon opens the door for us. We step out onto the wide stone walkway of one of the branches of the castle. “What am I looking for…”
That’s when I see it. A black-and-gray moon, low and huge in the sky. A moon that isn’t usually there. “Oh.”
“It’s changing color,” Callie says.
“What?” I ask.
“It was black and white earlier.”
Mother frowns. “An omen,” she says. “This is why you must be careful.”
“I’m sure it has nothing to do with me. Father probably stuck it up there for drama.”
Neither Mother nor Porsoth agrees.
“If you must go”—Porsoth wrings his wings—“it should be now.”
“We must,” Callie says.
I hold my hand out to her. “Ready?”
“You know where it is?” She slips her hand into mine. “They didn’t tell me.”
I close my eyes and reach out. Even with the low throb of my thigh wound, I am much more comfortable with full access to my powers back. And my wings … I think of Callie’s gift in the shower, of how magnificent she is.
“Luke, can we get there?” she asks.
Oh, right. I’m supposed to be looking for Guardian City. I sense its direction and enough of its shape as a place to head toward it. The feeling belongs to nowhere I’ve ever traveled to. “Not exactly, and I suspect it won’t let me remember. But I can feel that it will let us find it.”
I take Callie’s other hand. She squeezes mine back.
“We still have a day,” she says. “We got this. For Agnes.”
“For Agnes.”
Callie’s still focused on our original plan. I can’t throw an entirely new goal on top of it—I need to prove I can do it myself. To me and to her. I intend to join Sean on making his plan a reality, doing away with Father’s kingdom. Surely that favor is the least a newly revealed brother could do.
I lean forward and press my lips to hers.
We’re from two different worlds, and it’s up to me to make them the same. That way, I’ll know this can last.
I’m flying blind, but at least it doesn’t make my soul scream with pain. We transition from Hell to Earth, but where we end up on the globe I couldn’t say. Guardian City is hidden. It could be right beside anyplace, a secret beauty that’s invisible to all but those allowed to see it.
We land on a dirt road surrounded by well-used fields laden with crops. Ahead are green walls of trees and vines knotted together, stretching high up to a cloudless sunset sky in nature’s answer to psychedelic hues. We’ve lost an entire day to my sickbed—not that I regret the bed part.
The only place I can think this reminds me of is my mother’s garden. On a much, much grander scale. Admittedly, part of me expected the initial view of Guardian City to have demon heads on spikes. For it to radiate a nauseating aura of light. This is more like a verdant oasis and living fortress in one. Is it the mythical Eden? Possibly.
Callie has her hands on her knees, recovering from the travel, and eventually straightens. She blinks at what lies ahead of us.
The dirt road we’re on leads to an open gate. A cluster of white-garbed warriors appears in it and waits there. We’re too far away to make out their mood.
“Should we go closer?” Callie asks.
My thigh continues to throb. “You’re positive they’re here?”
“Yes,” she says. “Saraya—the Rude—was different. It really is a pain to have to say the full thing every time. Anyway, she promised she’d look after him. She told me to come here.”
“And you trust her?” That surprises me.
Callie raises her shoulders. “No? Yes? I think so, for now. On this. Michael told her to help us.”
“They’re not coming to us, so I guess here we go.” I produce my wings without a thought. No reason to assume a meek posture, and every second will count if this is a trick and we need to depart with haste.
Callie sighs. “I miss being able to fly.”
“You can fly with me anytime, baby,” I say and wink at her.
She rolls her eyes at me. “In bed?”
“Don’t fortune-cookie sweet-talk me,” I return.
She loves me. Knowing someone does is a strange sensation—one I’ve never had before. And knowing it’s Callie is even better.
We walk, not slow or fast. Steady.
“I don’t really miss other things about your powers though. I’m not used to hearing heartbeats.”
I listen to hers, a steady, comforting thump.
“And even though knowing stuff instantly was cool at first, it felt like cheating.”
Ah, sweet, honest Callie. “That’s because it is cheating. We’re big on cheating Below.”
A flock of pale birds soars out of the high green walls en masse, heading for us. I’m ready to fold my wings over Callie, but instead of attacking the milky doves swoop and swing through the air around us. An escort.
“I should tell you that The Birds is my least favorite Hitchcock movie,” she says. “My mom loves it, but it scares me to death.”
“You think we’re about to be doved to death?” I say it as a joke to reassure her.
“What a way to go.”
“At least we’d be together,” I say.
Callie catches my eye, and I can’t imagine the effort it takes for her not to watch the birds. I enjoy looking at her—truly looking with my full senses—the dying sun shining on her face, her pupils dilated small, ringed in stormy green.
“I love you,” she says. Then, “Okay, that made it awkward.”
“Never,” I say. “I love you too.”
Callie closes her eyes and scrunches up her face and I regret the loss of that green until she opens them. “Oh no, we’re turning into that couple.”
“What couple is that?”
“The schmoopy kind.”
I put a hand to my chest. “Excuse me. It’s not possible for me to be schmoopy.”
Callie laughs. “Are you sure, Prince Softie?”
“Quite,” I say, channeling my best Porsoth. “And no more Prince Softie. I have a reputation to maintain. It makes me sound like a creepy ice cream truck.”
“We should come up with something else we say for every day,” Callie says. “A coded message that only we know means I love you.”
That’s such a piece of Callie logic I can’t say no. “You’ve already thought of something, haven’t you? What is it?”
“Maybe.” She wrinkles her nose at me. “It might be silly.”
How we can be having this conversation amid the crying and careening doves is a wonderful mystery. “Let me have it.”
“I don’t know why, but this is the first thing that popped into my head.”
“Now I’m dead curious.”
“Don’t even joke about being dead,” she says. Then, “You’ve got something on your face.”
I reach up to my cheek before I realize that’s the code she’s suggesting. I respond in kind, making the words gentle as a caress. “No, you’ve got something on your face.”
She claps her hands together, pleased. My heart swells.
The birds increase their activity in a clear message of Keep it moving, and we start toward the gate again. Soon enough, we’re close enough that the shadows of the high, leafy walls fall over us, the shadows of twilight joining them. The birds’ flight paths seem choreographed, and we both gape as they set down on either side of the dirt road in front of us. We can make out the faces of the guardians, tense and waiting.
“Where is she?” Callie asks.
That’s when Saraya finally appears. She strides through the cluster of guardians, but stops a dozen feet away and waves for us to approach her.
When we’re standing right across from her, she says, “Protocol.”
“Always protocol,” I say. Hell is the same way, with its endless rules and ruthless politesse.
“What do we do?” Callie asks.
“Answer truthfully,” Saraya says.
Callie nods.
Saraya unsheathes her sword, the blade gleaming though it shouldn’t in the present light conditions, and holds it level in front of her. Her hand doesn’t bleed where it grips the metal.
“Please place your hands upon the sword,” she says.
I do not want to. I’ve felt what a guardian’s weapon can do. But Callie does it instantly, and so I can’t protest. With a measure of fear I’d never admit to, I follow suit.
The wound in my leg stabs with a sharp pain as if the sword is a tuning fork. The feeling fades to a dull awareness.
“Do you promise no harm to those inside these walls?” Saraya asks.
“Yes,” Callie says.
“Sure.” I wait for another stab of pain, but none comes.
“Do you promise to hold the secrets you may learn inside these walls quiet, so long as you draw breath?”
“Yes.”
“Sure.”
“Do you recognize the authority of the archangel Michael within the walls of Guardian City?”
This one’s tougher. But the way it’s worded gives me enough leeway to say, “Sure.”
Callie lets out a breath, because she must not have been positive I could do that one either. “Yes.”
Saraya whips the sword down with her right hand and touches the ground in front of our feet. “Welcome to Guardian City, travelers.” She sheathes the sword once more.
The guardians at the gate all but growl at our approach. “Warm welcome,” I say.
“They weren’t exactly thrilled about Michael’s edict either,” Saraya says.
Callie asks the question of the hour. “Where’s Sean?”
“Oh.” Saraya smiles and it’s terrifying. “He’s helping the children train.”
“Really?” I try to picture Sean surrounded by small guardians, allowing them to crawl all over him. I can’t manage it.
“I never lie.” Saraya’s tone is a dare to challenge the claim. “You’ll see for yourself. They should just be finishing up.”
Callie raises her eyebrows and, by mutual silent agreement, we let it pass. For all I know, it’s true.
The living walls of the city were impressive, but what waits within them is like nothing I’ve ever seen before. The structures in the city are shaped from trees and plants, living spires and domes, broad-trunked trees hollowed out into domiciles and shops that seem to mostly sell weapons. The long knobby shadows the trees cast on stone walkways reach everywhere in front of us. Bowls of flame light the paths and streets.
There’s foot traffic, stony-faced guardians in white robes or combat leathers. Everyone seems to wear weapons, even though they’re undoubtedly safe here. We pass a combat ring made of smooth wood where two muscle-bound guardians fight while receiving instruction from a man with a long white beard.
“Isn’t it getting late for all this practice?” Callie asks.
“The evening feast will begin soon,” Saraya says. “We fight until it is time for peace, every day.”
Every resident of Guardian City examines us as if we’re curious pariahs. I suppose we are. The looks aren’t that different than what the demons used to give me when I was a boy and Father took me to tour the kingdom. You’re not so much, they seem to say. You don’t belong here.
And now Father wants me to prepare to rule them? For once, I’m glad he doesn’t understand me, doesn’t know me at all. He truly believed that making me spend a day as a human would have me viewing Callie as lesser. If anything, it made me appreciate her more.
Saraya guides us up a set of stairs carved into the trunk of a tree. We pause at a bridge made of knotted ropes. There’s a sound of delighted screeches coming from across it, and the periodic enthusiastic cheers of schoolchildren.
“The training academy,” Saraya says, and launches onto the rope bridge. It’s not so tall, only twenty feet or so high. But there are no hand guides.
Callie gives me a panicked look. “Might be my turn to fall,” she says.
“You’ll be fine,” Saraya says. “The children make it.”
Callie’s eyes are wide. I say, “Hold on,” and pick her up. Wings do come in handy. She clings to me and says, “For the record, I’ve proven I’m fine with heights, but I’d rather not break a leg today.”
I fly us above Saraya, who snorts her disapproval and puts on speed so she beats us to the landing on the other side.
“You have a real competitive streak, don’t you?” I ask.
“How else would I become leader of the fiercest warriors on Earth?” Saraya shrugs.
“And so modest too,” Callie says dryly.
“You could have made it,” Saraya says.
I expect Callie to argue or be embarrassed, but she doesn’t say anything. She casts a look back at the bridge, maybe considering it. “Where’s Sean, again?” she asks.
“Right this way,” Saraya says, and I swear another smile appears that makes me worry for my brother’s health. I wonder if I’ll ever get used to the words my brother.
She leads us toward the shrieks and claps and we round a bend and see exactly what sort of training is happening.
Sean is tied to the broad trunk of a tree. He’s surrounded by knives and throwing stars and anything else pointy enough to stick in the wood. The children are taking turns using him for target practice. Or not-target practice. They’re apparently trying not to hit him.
A stone-faced matron is observing the exercise, a sturdy table dotted with a surplus of weapons for the children to choose from beside her. Sean himself is pale, but stoic. He manages not to wince as a boy who can’t be more than seven gives a feral cry and launches a dagger that pierces the wood between his thighs.
I glance over and catch genuine glee on Saraya’s face. Callie is doing her best to hide a grin of her own.
“Hey there,” I say and stride into the fray. “I hate to interrupt your fun, but we need to borrow your practice dummy.”
“Oh, he’s not a dummy,” a little girl says. “That’s what makes it fun.”
“You’re alive,” Sean says to me. I detect not a little relief. Interesting.
“I am. And I’d like a word.”
He closes his eyes briefly, then nods. “I imagine so.”
“Aren’t you a little young to be playing with knives?” Callie asks the children.
They shriek offense. The matron gives one stern shake of her head.
Saraya explains. “Our parents place our first blades in our hands fresh from the womb.”
“Interesting parenting strategy,” Callie manages. “Could you untie him?”
“Children, can you cut his bindings?” Saraya asks and the children—twelve of them—rush toward him with sharp tools in hand.
“Luke,” Callie says.
“Fine.” I lift a finger and free him before we get to watch the children do it with their assorted blades.
Sean shakes loose with extreme care not to nick himself on any of the pointy items around him. Once free, he circles wide around the disappointed herd of kids.
“Thank you,” he says.
“No problem,” I say, “brother.”