Covenant Read online

  Angela closed her eyes, drinking in the strange but heady perfume clinging to Kim’s clothes, the strength in his body.

  She thought of Israfel with a sudden bitterness.

  The music swirled around her, and for a moment she did find a refuge in forgetting everything else. How much more pain could she take?

  Then she returned to her senses, and reality struck her like an arrow to the heart.

  I have to get out of here.

  Angela’s mind flashed to Sophia, and to the lilting music Sophia often played on their recorder back in Luz. It was eerily like the music Angela heard now. Classical and unearthly, filled with sensual beauty with notes that gave you wings to soar to new worlds. She saw Sophia laughing, twirling around to the music. Sophia grabbed Angela’s hand and forced her to dance with her, still laughing.

  But how can I escape? There are demons everywhere. They’ll know if I try to leave . . . Think, Angela. THINK.

  A suave voice interrupted Angela’s dream. A long shadow darkened her world. “May I have this dance?”

  Angela opened her eyes as a tall figure slipped between her and Kim. Kim’s face blanched and the crowd swallowed him, but strong hands gripped Angela and whirled her helplessly away. She looked up at her new partner and found herself face-to-face with a glittering snake’s mask. Exquisite silver thread had been embroidered into her new partner’s collar and coat. “Hey—” She struggled against him. “What are you doing!”

  Fear tightened her throat. Her face flushed.

  “Welcome to the ball, my beauty.” The demon lowered the mask and smiled at Angela. Python’s familiar orange eyes blazed right through her. “It seems you’re not too bad at playing Cinderella. But it’s too early in our little tale for you to rest in your prince’s arms. And it’s unfair of you to deny other suitors a chance to impress you.”

  Python tried to kiss her hand, but Angela twisted it sideways.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” she said again, incredulous. Blistering panic shot through her. The room chilled, and she swore her breath frosted the air. Her heart pounded in her ears like a drum. “Your mother will know you’re here.”

  Python winked. “On the contrary, she’ll never know I’m here unless she sees me. Considering that she has yet to scream and cry, she hasn’t seen me.”

  “Thank you, then, for showing up to make things difficult,” Angela stammered angrily, trying again to pull away from him. “But I’m not going to be your pawn. You’re right. I’ve made a decision after all. That I’m leaving.”

  Python yanked her violently close so that their faces were an inch apart. He scanned her up and down approvingly. How dare he. Angela was about to spit in his eyes but never got the chance.

  “Tell them,” he whispered, “not me.”

  He nodded his head to the left. A throng of demons approached, carrying a throne more impressive than Lilith’s on their shoulders. It was glaringly obvious they meant for Angela to sit on it.

  She searched the crowd, but Kim had vanished in a sea of faces. Oh, God, what if they’d found out Kim was helping her?

  “Forgive the awkward pun, but I suppose the ball is now rolling,” the demon whispered. “So much for sweet dreams, princess. Temptation has arrived. Since I already know your decision, I can pity you in advance. But forgive me if all I can do is watch the drama unfold. Besides—I wouldn’t want to miss the long-awaited revelations. Ah—so there she is . . .”

  His eyes looked up, searching a balcony. Python must have found his mother at last.

  He let go of Angela abruptly and vanished like smoke into the crowd. Angela staggered before the advancing group of demons. They dropped the obsidian chair in front of her with a menacing thump.

  “May I help you, Sovereign?” A female demon with platinum blond hair gestured for Angela to sit. “We’ve brought you a throne.”

  “I don’t want it,” Angela muttered in a panic.

  “Surely, you wish to be our ruler,” the blond demon continued, though her eyes glittered dangerously.

  “No,” Angela said. “I don’t. I don’t want your Throne. All I want is to leave.”

  The female demon reached for Angela’s wrist, and Angela screamed.

  “NO.”

  The dancers stopped. The music faded to an eerie silence. Everyone stared at Angela from behind their masks with open surprise.

  She was the cornered mouse, and they were the cats. Her entire body shivered.

  Angela backpedaled more and knocked into one of the tables covered in goblets. One of the glasses fell and smashed at her feet, scattering shards everywhere.

  Red liquid pooled on the floor near her boots. Slowly, the other dancers closed in on her from every direction. High above them, Lilith stepped toward the edge of an onyx balcony carved with pentagrams. She watched Angela with terrifying superiority behind her eyes. Her voice carried down from the dark heights, rising above the lonely noise of the great fountain in the room. “What an unwelcome turn of events,” Lilith said condescendingly. “You would refuse your Throne, Archon? You would abandon your loyal subjects? Abandon me? How much smarter it would be of you to stay here. To . . . rethink your decision.”

  Angela pressed against the table.

  That was the temptation and it had failed. So now—

  “Well, Archon? Will you be our new ruler? Because if you will not—I’m afraid to say there’s no real place for you here.”

  Lilith already knew there wasn’t a place for Angela. If Angela wasn’t killed now, it would be later.

  She grasped at one of the glasses behind her and threw it at the nearest demon, splashing his wolf mask with the red liquid. He barely flinched and continued to walk toward her. Angela gripped her left arm glove and started to slide it off, lifting her hand high.

  Some of the demons backed away cautiously.

  Lilith’s laughter rang through the room. “Now this makes for an interesting night.” She looked to the female demons on either side of her. “I suppose the Archon has given us her final answer. But she’d do well not to act too rashly. Behold your prince,” she said, snapping her dark fingers.

  Two of the male demons emerged from the midst of the crowd, Kim held between them. He struggled, and one of them cracked him powerfully across the face.

  Angela hesitated. She glanced wildly at the demons as they neared her.

  Kim breathed hard, glaring at Lilith. A nasty handprint swelled on his cheek. “We had a deal,” he shouted at her.

  “And you broke it,” she snapped back. “So much for your promises of success.” She whirled back around to face Angela, pointing at the fountain. “Make her drink!”

  Kim’s face lost the little color it had left. He struggled harder. “Wait! Wait! I can still help you—”

  “Enough!” Lilith shouted back. She pointed again at the fountain. “Take her!”

  Some of the dancers rushed Angela, grabbing her. She screamed, struggling as hard as she could. A menagerie of masks with teeth and scales surrounded her. Cruel hands grasped her own and yanked them behind her back, tying her wrists together with a cord. The same female demon who’d initiated the curtsy in her honor now laughed in her face. The male demon who’d introduced her to the crowd grabbed Angela by her hair and dragged her toward the fountain.

  The closer she came to its shining black stone, the more life and warmth fled her body. A familiar smell washed over her. Nausea followed it in heavy waves.

  Drinking that red fluid would be the worst thing Angela could possibly do. What was Python’s motivation in letting this happen? What could this have to do with the truth?

  Finally, she reached the fountain.

  Angela turned her head aside.

  Two demons gripped her by the face and forced her to gaze down at her reddish reflection.

  “It looks like Lucifel has won after all, Archon,” Lilith said, her voice echoing with chilling effortlessness throughout the chamber.

  Rough hands shoved Angela
’s face into the liquid. She sputtered, shooting up and out of it for breath. The hands shoved her down again and splashed the liquid into her mouth as she surfaced. Uproarious laughter filled the air.

  Her vision swam. The world darkened. A resounding buzzing noise, like the beating wings of a giant fly, overwhelmed her. Angela swallowed as she gasped for breath, and the liquid poured down her throat. It was salty and oddly sour. She coughed and slammed against the smooth floor, distantly aware of her fingers clawing at the stone.

  Sophia . . .

  Angela had no more ability to think or to pray. There was only that one word, encompassing everything.

  Then the nightmares took her.

  Twenty-one

  Out of the deep and fathomless darkness, a light appeared. With it, Angela’s mind returned little by little. She could barely breathe and her head ached so badly she couldn’t think straight.

  Was this reality? Was it a dream?

  Angela was no longer certain, but oddly her body felt unfamiliar.

  Something was wrong. Angela began to walk and her legs felt longer, her body stronger. Gradually, she passed angels of all kinds, their beautiful faces often looking at her in quiet admiration.

  She walked down a hallway with a glass floor and pearlescent walls. The entire world glittered iridescent as a prism, and the angels matched the radiance surrounding them, glistening with their jewels, their flawless dress, their intricate hair.

  She should have been afraid.

  Who was she? Why was she seeing this? What had changed?

  A strange and overwhelming sense of calm filled her, like her soul had been drugged and dragged to observe this show it might not understand.

  Finally, it dawned on her. Angela was in someone else’s body, and he was in absolute control of it, steering her through dark but glittering corridors, past a row of paintings in colors more vivid than any she’d experienced on Earth, and finally into a private chamber with a great window that took up an entire wall. Shimmering curtains were all that separated her from a city glowing like a galaxy. Outside, a sea of crystal spires and incredible light stretched before her, their immensity revolving in the midst of space, stars, and nebulas. They glared down from the sky so intensely, Angela felt like she could reach out and touch them.

  The chamber itself was sparsely decorated. A round bed suspended from chains hung near the window, its insides spilling over with cushions and satiny sheets.

  There was a dresser, and a vanity with a mirror. But there were few chairs, and only one or two other cushions for sitting. The entire room rested in shadows, while outside, the unnamed, glorious city spun like a gigantic wheel of fire. Angela—or rather, the angel she was trapped inside—walked slowly to the window and stared out of it. She shared his sense of awe, and a feeling that could only be described as longing.

  Like she could spread these wings of hers and test their worth.

  “Raziel,” a gentle voice whispered musically behind her.

  So—she was Raziel. No, she was in his memories. A silent, helpless witness.

  Raziel turned his body and Angela turned with him. Israfel stood in the middle of the room, more casual and genuine than she’d ever seen him before, his hair loose and tousled, back to that gorgeous bronze color Angela remembered so well from her childhood dreams. But his eyes were brighter, and he carried his fully unfurled wings high, like they emphasized his happiness. He was breathtaking even without the heavy makeup and jewels, his languid eyes rich with emotion.

  How young he seemed.

  “Raziel,” he said again, smiling. “You always come at the worst times. I was about to settle for the evening.” Israfel looked at the floor with shyness in his expression. “You probably shouldn’t stay long. I will have many matters to attend to in the morning.”

  Raziel strode for him, and Angela felt her hand reach out and touch Israfel’s face.

  He gasped, looking at her with a real fear.

  Inside, her own heart seemed to race, and her entire self yearned for something inexpressible. Israfel pulled in close, so close, and Angela flashed back even within the dream to his mouth on hers that faraway night, the tenderness of his lips like the whisper of silk against her own. But Raziel turned aside at the last moment, and Angela was certain she could hear the tiniest sigh of pain leave Israfel.

  He loved Raziel.

  It was almost painfully obvious, even in the way Israfel breathed.

  “Israfel,” she heard herself say, but in a masculine voice that sent a whole other range of emotions shooting through her: mostly bitterness at the curse Raziel had placed on her life. “I have something very important I must discuss with you. You might want to sit down. This could take awhile.”

  Israfel pursed his lips together. But he obeyed and sat on a round cushion. “You have been gone for so long, returning nearly on the eve of my coronation anniversary,” Israfel whispered. “Tell me that this surprise will be a pleasant one.”

  It sounded almost like a command.

  “Israfel.” Raziel knelt down across from him, taking his slender hands into his own. “My Archangel.”

  Crimson stripes blushed to life on Israfel’s cheekbones.

  Raziel sighed. “I have learned something of grave importance to you, and me, and Lucifel.”

  Israfel’s expression changed, transforming into something Angela recognized immediately. These were the first traces of the chilly superiority he’d exhibited when she’d met him on Earth. “Yes,” the angel said slowly. “What is it?”

  Raziel hesitated, but only for a moment. “Listen to me carefully. I have learned from an undeniable source that . . .”

  There was a silence.

  Raziel was having trouble finding the right words.

  “I—” He took a deep breath. “We are siblings, Israfel. You, and me, and Lucifel. The Father—he has known all along, choosing to tell us that this was not the case. But we have all been split from the same—”

  Israfel shot up from his seat.

  He stared at Raziel, his already large eyes enormous with anger and fear. His entire frame shivered, and he opened his mouth, and at first no sound came out. He was absolutely imperious, the same Israfel who’d let Angela’s brother die, the same Israfel who’d made Stephanie’s demon quiver with fright. She felt her soul quaver with terror. “What is this nonsense?” Israfel said dangerously.

  “Israfel, listen to me—”

  “Siblings.” Israfel shook his head, biting his lip. “No,” he whispered, “you lie. Lucifel has put you up to this.”

  “She has done nothing of the sort,” Angela heard herself say too quickly.

  Israfel took the retort as defensiveness. His eyebrows arched angrily. “You always take her side,” he hissed, his voice dripping with anguish. “Is that why you have come tonight? To gloat with her over my divided kingdom?”

  “The Father’s kingdom,” Raziel said.

  “But under my heel,” Israfel snapped, “and everyone would do well to remember it.” His expression changed, and he breathed hard and fast. “You love her, don’t you? Why not just tell me and be done with it.”

  Angela reached out again.

  Israfel flung her backward, a real electric shock jumping from him to her.

  “Get back,” he moaned. “Leave me alone. I wish to be alone.”

  Israfel sank to his knees, no longer questioning the truth of her statement. Was it because he had always sensed it to be the truth? Angela felt sick with him, horrified at seeing the proud angel sliding into visible despair, shocked as he was shocked, because if Raziel told the truth, then Israfel was guilty of a crime he’d never intended to commit. He was in love—but with his own brother? It was sinful, unforgivable—and it was clear he couldn’t help himself. Heaven’s Archangel was a mess, a wreck, and in this single moment, on his way to becoming a living ghost.

  “Leave me,” he whispered. He rounded on Raziel. “NOW.”

  Angela caught him by the shoulders, ki
ssing him on the forehead as he gritted his teeth, nearly resembling Troy in her worst moments. Angela was sure he’d zap her again, but Israfel slumped, allowing Raziel’s kisses.

  The last one met his lips.

  He moaned softly, and Angela felt herself standing. Raziel was going to leave him here, in a puddle of misery. Angela wanted to shriek for Raziel to stop, to let her soul stay and comfort Israfel, because she could see it all too clearly. He had been on the precipice, hiding his suffering behind a carefully practiced smile. Now he was plummeting inside, falling off the invisible edge.

  Raziel aimed for the door.

  No. No. This was too painful.

  But she and Raziel were gone, back into the same corridor, the deep silence washing over them with a peace that suggested nothing had taken place.

  How could Raziel do this? How could he leave Israfel there, when Israfel’s pain was so obvious and crushing?

  There was a soft sound of rustling and breath.

  Raziel turned and Lucifel stood beside him, like an ashen shadow among more shadows, her thin body leaning casually against the wall, her face lacking any kind of smile. Her crimson eyes bored into Angela so keenly, Angela feared Lucifel could see another soul behind her brother Raziel’s shell. Lucifel lifted her hand, showing Raziel two fingers.

  “Two days,” she said, her voice as ashen as her looks.

  Lucifel resembled the embodiment of sickness, like she could die at any minute despite the hatred compelling her to live. Her skin was like Troy’s, yet had an unhealthier cast to it, as if she’d been buried in a deeper darkness for years.

  “And after that,” Lucifel continued, “things are going to change.”

  She smiled in her terrible way.

  “What are you talking about?” Raziel said worriedly.

  Lucifel marched past him with her fearful stride, on into the darkness.

  After that, Angela’s mind shifted; she felt like a part of her heart had crumbled to pieces, and she screamed in hideous pain, watching from a dreadful place as Lucifel shrieked and moaned in agony, as an infant was torn from her by one set of hands while she lay on a white table in a beautiful room, blood streaming from her in torrents. Her rage was like a storm, and yet she could do nothing, so few were the sympathetic faces surrounding her.