A harsh screech echoed through the park.
Fury spiraled down amid the rain, her black wings settling clumsily as she landed on Kim’s shoulder. She croaked in his ear, persistent. Troy must have known where Angela and Israfel had disappeared to—and it certainly wouldn’t be Heaven. Grim and keenly unhappy, he watched silently while the bird glided to the ground and scratched letters in the soil. A flash of lightning highlighted the grotto, and for a brief moment, the Vapor’s true form appeared, overlapping her avian body—a little human girl with blond curls, her face as gray as when she’d died.
S-A-N-C-T-U-S
She used her beak, slicing into the earth.
M-A-R-I-A
E-C-C-L-E-S-I-A
Sanctus Maria Ecclesia.
“Saint Mary’s,” Kim muttered under his breath.
Not good. This morning was the Feast of All Saints, one of the Academy’s most important holy days. Priests, novices, visiting bishops, and every Westwood student from the grades of college freshman upward would be required to attend the ceremony. If Israfel showed his face in front of them all, it could mean absolute chaos. And that wasn’t counting whatever tricks Stephanie might have up her sleeve.
Kim slid a hand into his pocket, touching his knife. Perhaps it would be murdering another angel, another Jinn, or another demon. And no matter how much it hurt to admit it, Kim and Troy had one thing in common.
Mikel knew enough to dash into the bushes, before he could grab her.
He couldn’t wait
.
They look into the soul, they see all sins. Worst of all, they judge accordingly.
—
V
ENERABLE
M
AXIMINA,
Lost Writings and Annotations
A
ngela threw open the doors of the cathedral, rain streaming down her face and squishing in the soles of her boots. Thunder split the air behind her, horrendously loud.
Yet the music inside of the church was even louder. Apparently, the feast had been postponed until shortly before she arrived, probably because of the harsh weather. While the church had been a morass of darkness and unholy light only a day or so ago, now it overflowed with life and expectation, every wick lit, every candle burning, every lamp shining brightly.
Angela stood at the end of the aisle, alone. Ahead, and flanking either side of the building, rows upon rows of students stood in their pews, observing the tail end of the procession heading toward the altar.
She couldn’t even count the novices. There could have been one hundred, two hundred.
No sign of Israfel. If he’d arrived before her, then he was hiding.
She proceeded down the aisle, scanning heads as she went.
Students turned and stared at her, some angry, most simply perplexed by her dirty blouse and tattered skirt. And in the meantime, the bishops and superintendent priests climbed the short set of stairs to their seats, robes drifting across the gray stone. Angela followed them, growing ever more aware of people examining her like the freak show she must have looked like, unable to find a spot to sit or stand among them, or even a friendly face that was inviting her in. Then the priests turned around to face the assembled students, taking their assigned places at the head of the altar.
Angela shoved her way into the nearest pew on her right, still dripping water everywhere.
Lyrica Pengold stood on the opposite side of the aisle, goggling at Angela like she was a corpse come back from the grave. By sheer bad luck, the entire Pentacle Sorority was gathered next to her, Stephanie standing in the very front row closest to the altar.
Sophia and Naamah flanked Stephanie like bodyguards.
Sophia’s all right. But that could change in a minute. I’ve got to get her out of here.
The organ music stopped, its echo resounding against the walls of the church. Slowly, the head priest of the Academy raised his hands, motioning for complete silence. Students who had been chattering while the music continued now stopped to listen, very few paying any more attention to Angela.
Lyrica, though, trembled. She leaned over and muttered to a sorority member on her right. Instantly, the message began to relay farther up the ranks, heading inexorably for Stephanie Walsh and the demon standing with her.
Shit.
“I want to thank everyone,” the priest proclaimed, his voice booming all the way back into the eaves, “who was involved in last night’s relief efforts at the lower levels of the Academy. Those who opened their dormitories to shelter students now without possessions, and those who assisted in the brave task of bringing the deceased out of the waters, and into a place where their bodies could be prepared for burial. Despite the intense wind and waves, by the blessing of God, we suffered very few casualties. Three students, two from overseas, and one whom we will greatly mourn, our resident valedictorian, Maribel Heins—”
Some of the students gasped, shifting uncomfortably in their seats.
“—we will be having a funeral Mass for them tomorrow at eight in the morning. All students are asked to attend and pray for the souls of their departed brothers and sisters.”
Stephanie turned her head, glancing at Angela.
Then she turned around, an upsetting smile on her lips.
Angela patted the Grail beneath her blouse, wishing Troy still carried it after all. That way, it would be eternally impossible for Stephanie to see or get her hands on it, and that was assuming she could without breaking under its gaze. But she could look into the eyes of a demon without being intimidated—that had to count for something. If she and Naamah had been making plans over the long night, then it was lost on everyone around her, a testament to how well Stephanie could squash her emotions when she felt like it.
When her name was announced by the priest, she barely reacted.
“—and so, as head of the sorority that claimed Maribel as a member, Stephanie Walsh will now address the student body in her stead before we formally begin the Mass—”
Stephanie slipped out of her pew and walked up to the podium where the priest had been standing, her skirt swishing around her hips. She was probably the only person at the Academy who could get away with attending Mass in a soft-porn school-girl uniform. Then, in a gesture of astounding disrespect, she took her maroon hair out of its ponytail, regathered it, and slouched against the podium, staring out at the students arranged in front of her. “Students of Westwood Academy, of the University,” she said slowly. “I’m sorry to say that one of the dearest sisters in our sorority died last night—though not in the way you’ve been led to believe.”
Oh, God. This is going to be bad. I know it.
The novices lined behind her murmured back and forth.
Some of the priests went white in the face. Rain lashed the windows of the cathedral, beginning a hammering downpour.
“I’m sure everyone knows by now about the serial killer in Luz. I’m sure you’ve been wondering what kind of person could commit such horrible crimes. He’s probably disturbed, emotionless. Someone with a history of violence against himself and others.”
She paused dramatically, everyone else pausing with her.
“I saw Maribel’s death firsthand—”
Liar. What’s she doing . . .
“—and I’m afraid to tell you, there’s a demon loose in the city.”
Angela expected laughter, incredulous snorting. Instead, panic shivered through the entire university population, edging some of the students out of their seats and into the aisle. They stopped abruptly as the doors slammed shut, the locks clicking into place. A few spun around, startled by the noise, by the priest’s aghast expressions.
This was Luz, and Stephanie was a witch. Anything could happen now.
Angela glanced at Naamah, immediately suspicious.
The demon lowered her hand, smiling cruelly.
“Miss Walsh—” the presiding priest snapped at her from across the altar. The church became worryingly dark again, candles sputtering out, leaving only those on the altar table bright and wavering. “
Miss Walsh
—”
“But every demon summoned to Earth needs a master,” Stephanie said louder. She left the podium, marching across the stone, giving her audience a smile meant for Angela more than anyone else. They stared at each other, and Angela made sure her eyes never left Stephanie’s, no matter how much it hurt her to look her in the face.
Why, though, did it hurt?
She’s different. Something’s changed since last night.
One more mystery among many. Even worse, Israfel still hadn’t shown himself. Maybe he’d seen Naamah standing there. Maybe he’d rethought helping his plaything on such a soggy morning. Either way, for now, it looked like Angela had no one to rely on but herself.
“Angela Mathers,” Stephanie said, pointing at her, making hundreds of heads whip around, horrified. The student next to Angela backed away like she had the plague. “She tried to join my sorority by summoning a fallen angel to this Academy. It killed Maribel—”
Resounding gasps of horror.
Stephanie lost her smile. “—and escaped into the city during the height of the storm.”
“Shut her up,” the priest snapped at those to his left and right, gesturing for them to drag her off the altar. “She’s gone completely mad. The last thing we need—
shut her up,
” his voice thundered, mixing with the thunder outside.
Stephanie spun around, her hair swinging like a rope. “
Not so fast
.”
Her voice was so forceful, everyone froze, hypnotized.
The priest gazed at her with real fear.
“We’re just getting started.”
She looked to Naamah.
The demon waved her dark hand, forcing the church into almost utter blackness. Students screamed, some dashing toward the doors, only to find them locked. Others sat in a shocked and dead silent horror, unable to do a thing as the novices backed away from Stephanie, afraid of what else could go wrong if they touched her.
Angela alone remained standing.
Stephanie marched up to her, refined and polite. “That was a pretty good stunt you pulled last night,” she said, whispering. “But I don’t quite feel like playing games anymore. How acquainted are you with Hell, Angela? You’re going to be visiting soon, I think.”
Statues loomed overhead. The stained glass glazed over beneath Naamah’s bloody light.
Angela almost felt like a prophet. “You’ll visit long before I do.”
“You’re not the Archon, Angela Mathers.”
Stephanie’s eyes were strangely piercing, her words so certain, so confident, Angela almost agreed. Which might have explained why her answer surprised them both.
“
We’ll see.
”
Stephanie turned away, her heeled boots clacking imperiously against the tiles. She walked nearer to the priest in charge of the Mass, his white face matching his hair.
No one moved to obey him, too afraid of what Stephanie could do.
“Archbishop Solomon,” she said, meeting him eye to eye. “Considering the circumstances, I think we should both agree that our deal is officially null and void. I’m going to have to take over from here.”
“You,” the priest hissed, sounding distinctly furious, “have had more than enough freedom to act at this Academy, Miss Walsh. But that freedom ends today. The moment you step out of this church, you are expelled from the school—and”—he glared pointedly at the pentacle on her overcoat—“excommunicated.”
She’s bolder than before. It must have to do with Naamah. She’s growing too certain of that demon’s power backing her up.
“Excommunicated.” Stephanie laughed softly. “Good one. But that won’t be going on here at the new and improved Westwood Academy.
My
new and improved Westwood Academy.”
“You’re insane,” the priest said, his mouth twisting in outrage.
“More than that,” she muttered back at him, “I’m aching to tear things down. Don’t think I never knew why you allowed me to run around this Academy and do what I wanted. Don’t think I wasn’t aware of why you sent that novice into my bed. But you made yours, didn’t you? Because by turning a blind eye to me, it was so much easier. Because who best to help you with your own sins than a witch?”
The archbishop’s eyes widened, and he glanced at his colleagues, denying everything already. “What the hell are you—”
“One year ago today, you made your bed with a girl from the freshman class, Claire Benevento. Then Augustina Hamelin, Nicolette Grimwallis, Marietta Sills . . .”
The names continued until Angela felt dizzy, the whole world twisted and sick.
She finally forced herself to listen again, overcoming her nausea beneath the weight of the archbishop’s personal transgressions. He was immobile before Stephanie, already before the Judgment Seat because somehow she knew everything there was to know about his taste in schoolgirls. When she came to the end, no one dared to breathe.
“You wanted to sniff the Archon out and stamp Her flat. Before She could make the first move. Well, you waited too long. Today, one more demon is going to drive out the rest. The ones that aren’t useful.”
“How will you do it?” the archbishop whispered, trembling like Lyrica.
“First? We’ll burn our most troublesome witch at the stake.” Stephanie pointed at Angela again, perfectly calm. Her smile made Naamah’s look like child’s play. “Ready to go up in flames?”
A
mass of black cloud had settled over St. Mary’s, and its torrents of rain continued to spatter onto Kim and his already soaked clothing. If last night’s storm had been terrible, then Luz was approaching the verge of catastrophe on this High Holy Day. Circumstances, it was obvious, were worsening by the hour, as if everyone now had to function on borrowed time.
Everything was fast becoming clear to him.
Slowly but surely, the Ruin was revealing herself, and the universe, the creatures in it, both dead and alive, were weeping under the pressure.
Kim splashed through the moats of water near the entrance of the church. The rain had increased to a steady slant, nearly burning into his eyes. Soon, visibility would drop to zero, forcing him to fumble his way into the cathedral.
At least no one was around to watch.