As we walk through the Pearly Gates, I catch the eye of Thaddeus at the gate. It appears things are back to normal.
“So where to?” Alexander asks.
I glance at Alexander, grateful he’s by my side. “We’re going to look for Damien.”
“How? We don’t have access to demon files.”
“True.” I stop in the middle of a street filled with angels going about their business. I gaze up the steps to the building that rises above all others. The Basilica Trascendentium. “But they do.”
His eyes widen with shock. Are you nuts? he shouts in my mind.
I’m instantly relieved he didn’t say it out loud. It keeps nearby angels from overhearing our conversation. Plus, speaking through Cerebrallink is the only way to avoid being detected by the Council, especially this close to their home.
You want to ask the Council to help protect Maddy? he continues. They’d send the Perfugae after her before we’d even finished our first sentence!
Calm down, I say, looking around at the angels passing by. And remember, angels don’t feel, so you better mask your expressions before you make a scene.
He composes himself, but it takes several moments. I know it’s hard to act impassive now that our emotions have been restored. In the past, we faked emotions to blend in, but up here, now we have to fake not having them. And just as in art, it’s easy to spot a forgery.
Alexander, relax. We’re going to ask the Council for help, but it won’t be about Maddy. I can hide my thoughts from them, and you need to as well.
What? How? he asks.
Come on. It’s a long walk to the top. I’ll explain on the way.
We both unglamour our wings as we begin up the steps. Alexander’s have grown since the last time I saw them. They now stop below his knees when in a state of rest.
He looks behind me, to my wingtips dragging along the ground. He whistles in amazement. Your wings are as big as the Council’s now.
I huff. No, they’re not. Remember, the Archangels are a foot and a half taller than me.
Oh yeah, he says. It’s been a while since I’ve seen them.
Knowing—or at least assuming—we’re a safe enough distance away to speak freely, I look Alexander carefully in the eyes.
So, hiding your thoughts from them . . . I begin. It’s like how we compel mortals. You just have to push your memories aside and put false ones in front of them. I’ve been doing it since . . . I started as a Protector. I leave it at that, hoping he doesn’t press for more.
He snorts, though he gives me a sideways glance. Easy for you to say. You’ve had eight hundred years to perfect this technique. I need to nail it on my first try.
He’s right. And with the Council looking for any excuse to go to war, this could be the biggest mistake of my life. But I can’t do this without him.
I slow my climb. I know I’m asking a lot of you lately, but may I ask you one more thing? Pay attention to Council’s reactions.
Alexander slows even more. What do you mean? They don’t have “reactions.” They have no emotions.
But what if they’re lying?
I bring us both to a full halt.
I think they do have emotions—always have. After all, if they never had any emotions, then what started the first Holy War?
He raises a brow before glancing over his shoulder at their home. If you’re right, MJ . . . everything is going to get ugly.
We resume walking in silence, preparing our minds for the challenge ahead.
With less than fifteen steps to go, I ask, Ready?
He loudly releases his breath. If we get through this, he says, nodding toward the entryway, you also better explain why you’ve hidden your thoughts from them this long.
I grimace. The last thing I want to be thinking about before meeting the Council is the years I spent fighting the Acquisitioner in secret. But after how badly I handled things with Maddy, I realize I need to start coming clean with the people who matter to me.
Deal, I say.
. . .
The Council steps outside to greet us. Raphael looks the youngest with curly blond hair and hazel eyes. But the harsh edges of his nose, brows, and jawline ensure he’s taken seriously.
Gabriel’s thick black hair contrasts against the pristine white building behind them. His face is stoic, taking in all with his sharp brown eyes—and giving nothing away in return.
Michael’s bright blue eyes gaze between us. That same thirst for war from this morning clings to him.
Alexander falters, slowing his stride. He and most other Protectors meet with the Archangels only on rare occasions. As the leader of the Protectors, I meet with them regularly. I’m used to the brilliance that surrounds them.
They welcome me with the same handshake from my previous life.
“Welcome back, Protector MJ,” Michael says. “Welcome, Protector Alexander. I presume you both have come to discuss today’s developments.”
I try to shut out any panic as I try to decipher what “developments” he knows about from today.
“It is curious,” Raphael says, arching a brow while staring at me, “that Eight joined us so soon.”
Relief swells inside me, though I keep my emotions masked. They’re talking about my assignment. Lauren, victim eight, must have arrived, having her file read and judgment passed.
“Yes,” I say, “the assignment is why we are here. I have a potential suspect for the killer, but I need your help before I search for him.”
Alexander shuffles from foot to foot behind me. I make a small motion for him to steady, hoping they didn’t catch it.
Gabriel’s dark eyes narrow speculatively on us.
“You are aware we cannot step on Mortal Ground,” Michael says. “Not unless the Holy War is confirmed.” The undercurrent of his voice makes it clear the law is still a sore subject for him.
Before I became a Protector, the Archangels from both sides walked among mortals. They were treated as gods and enjoyed the spoils given to them. Sometimes the spoils included women. The children created—the Nephilim—were all evil and ultimately destroyed. The Archangels were forbidden to visit Mortal Ground, except in the case of the Holy War.
But at least once a century, Michael and his brothers leave to experience the changes taking place on Mortal Ground. It’s supposed to be a secret mission. But like petulant children still upset over Father showing favoritism to the mortals, the Archangels leave their marks on the mortal world. Each of them has posed for famous works of art. The most recognizable and intact pieces are the Creation of Adam on the ceiling in the Sistine Chapel; Michael is Adam. The statue entitled The Thinker is Gabriel. Raphael is the statue David.
“I admit,” Michael suddenly says, “we did not expect those pieces to be preserved for so long.”
I cringe, knowing he just heard everything I thought. I called my leaders petulant children. “Sir, I—”
“Do not apologize, Protector MJ,” he states. Then he chuckles. “Unlike your mortal companions, I am unaffected when a friend speaks the truth.”
“Still, it was impolite.”
“Ah yes, polite,” Raphael says. “One of the many gifts Father gave to mortals.”
Gabriel scoffs.
Their tone surprises me, but I don’t comment. It’s not my place to speak of the discontent between Father and the Archangels.
Alexander glances at me, arching a brow. I know he’s surprised by it too.
Michael casts sharp looks at his brothers. Their tempers neutralize, becoming impassive once more.
If I don’t change the subject now, our thoughts will get us in trouble.
“Please allow me to clarify,” I say, trying to resume our original discussion. “We did not come for your help on Mortal Ground, but rather here.”
Raphael leans his head to the side, staring at me with interest.
I take a deep breath, stealing myself to ask an unthinkable question. Please let them agree. They’re my only hope.
“May we have permission to use Od Libro Aeterna Damnatione?”
Four beings around me gasp—Alexander included. Incredibly, I don’t react. I’m sure no one has ever asked to look at the Book of Eternal Damnation. It lists every demon found in the twelve Castes. Because demons can’t be reborn, the book spans all the way back to the beginning of man.
The Archangels compose themselves, but they don’t respond. Experience says they’re communicating amongst each other. If I say anything now, it won’t go in my favor.
After what feels like ages, Gabriel and Michael step off to the side as Raphael steps toward us.
“Do you swear your interest in the book lies solely with your assignment?” Raphael asks.
“I do so swear.”
Raphael continues to stare at me while the other two fix on Alexander. I can feel Raphael’s intrusion, poking and prodding deeper into my mind.
This time, I feed him my suspicions of a demon named Damien, suggesting he may be the killer. Alexander often says there’s no such thing as coincidence. If it’s true, then Damien is connected to my assignment.
“Did you come by this name from your psychic?” Raphael asks, arching a brow.
Panic flares inside me, but I snuff it out as quickly as I can.
“I admit,” Michael says, “the news was rather interesting when Protector Gary mentioned your psychic, considering you had not spoken of working with one when we met.”
“Yes, the name Damien did come from the psychic, but her abilities are new and unpredictable,” I reply, trying to remain calm. “The visions are not clear, which is why I am here, asking to look at the book. I hope this lead will enable us to prevent the death of girl nine.”
Silence follows, then I feel them poking into my mind, deeper than they have ever before.
I project as much safe information as I can. No matter what, I cannot buckle under the strain. My mission is too important.
After what feels like ages, they release me.
“I grant you permission,” Raphael says. “Prepare yourself, though. The book is not for the faint of heart.”
He turns and motions for us to enter. As I walk by them, I feel the weight of their suspicions like chains around my neck.
The interior of the Basilica Trascendentium is split into three parts. To the right and left, archways lead into other rooms. I count eight on each side. The main area, though, is wide open, stretching the length of the building. Toward the back, sitting on a round stone table, is book larger than any I have ever seen.
Alexander and I walk toward it. Somehow, even though sunlight flows in from every angle, the book and table are shaded. It’s as if an unseen force is blocking the light.
Alexander’s stride slows, and he glances around.
Are you sure about this, MJ? he asks.
I don’t answer. Instead I keep moving forward, hoping it will bring me a step closer to finding answers.
I stop in front of the table. A ring of soot circles the book. A sour smell of rot and decay clings to the air. In such a place, the effect is staggering.
The cover is thick and black. After a deep breath, I unlock two leather straps and open it. I expected the pages to be frail, but they’re as stiff as the day the book was made.
Ancient Latin is scrawled across golden pages. Name after name after name.
Immediately, I feel crushed, as if this massive book were being dropped right upon me. There will be millions of Damiens. I won’t find him. It’s hopeless.
I’m going to fail. I’m going to fail this mission. I’m going to fail her, just as I have failed everyone. She will die, and I will lose her forever. That will be my curse, to spend eternity alone with the knowledge that I couldn’t protect her.
Suddenly I realize what I’ve done. I’ve let my thoughts free.
I whip around, preparing for the Archangels’ wrath. But they are gone.
“Are you okay?” Alexander whispers, placing a hand on my shoulder. His brown eyes search mine.
I swallow and nod. “I’m fine.”
Without another word, we dive in. We sit and begin searching for the name Damien—or any variation of it, just to be safe—among the seven highest classifications of demon Castes. We rule out the lower five Castes, seeing as they aren’t powerful enough to kill someone—whether with their own abilities or by third party.
The passing of time is irrelevant. I have no idea of how long it is before Alexander shuts the book, slouches back in his chair, and exhales.
“That’s quite a list.”
I lean back and sigh. Even ruling out the lower Castes, we still found over three hundred thousand Damiens or variants.
I am going to fail her.