She wiped the moisture from her cheek and straightened her spine. “Ignore me. Abandonment issues and all that.”

  Tlahaz released her chin before rising slowly to his feet. His gaze seemed to burn right through her. Whatever was on his mind seemed intense. “Before all of this, I had a vision,” he started, and Adrianna’s heart dropped into her toes, but she didn’t dare utter a word.

  “I saw the future—the war. I knew Athena would get shot down, and that’s how I knew it would be my wings that would carry you to fulfill the prophecy.”

  The air in her lungs evaporated and her lips moved, unable to form actual words. Finally, she managed to rasp, “What?”

  Tlahaz shifted his weight—the only indication that his admission bothered him at all. Adrianna leapt to her feet, the words sinking in.

  “You could have saved her. You could have—”

  Tlahaz reached for her, and a blinding flare of light sent him shooting back. Great black wings unfurled, easily keeping him balanced as he descended.

  She unleashed it all in a torrent of screams, lashing whips of fire and crackling electricity at the Shediem. Her throat burned with all the grief she poured out, not caring that black blood stained his dark skin. His lips moved as though he shouted something, but she couldn’t hear anything over her pulse roaring in her ears.

  Each crack of her power against his skin drew her closer to him. He let his human visage vanish, growing and morphing until she beheld the spikes that coated his body. Eyes burning with an orange sort of glow that made him look even more the monster she’d once feared, Tlahaz towered over her, yet didn’t so much as utter a growl.

  Her magic—severely weakened—fizzled out, leaving her panting. They stood only feet apart, breathing the same air, their gazes locked.

  “Adrianna,” he whispered, reaching for her with clawed hands.

  She took a step back, summoning the last dregs of her power. “I banish you from my sight, Tlahaz, General of the Wicked. By my power, you will not come near me, nor try to communicate with me.”

  His eyes widened, and she saw the hurt in his expression. Adrianna steeled her heart and turned away from him, the light of her magic flowing through the room. She saw the door fly open, and Tlahaz’s entire body pushed through it by an invisible force.

  He roared into the barrier separating them.

  Yet all Adrianna heard were Athena’s dying screams. She felt her wyvern’s body falling from the sky, the bond snapping with her last breath.

  An all-consuming ache.

  When the door slammed closed, she cast Tlahaz from her mind.

  He didn’t care for her. She was just an object for him to control. A silly mortal being. She’d been a fool to fall for him so completely.

  Adrianna turned, her entire form shaking with exhaustion, but her rage burned too hot for sleep.

  A flickering image caught her attention from the corner of her eye. She whipped around, and nearly stumbled back in shock when the form of a familiar girl took shape.

  Then flickered.

  “A—Adrianna, are you—”

  It took her brain a moment to catch up to what was happening, and finally the Spellcaster’s name surfaced. “Taryn?”

  “Wards…too strong.”

  She flickered in and out, shaking her palms which glowed with dim blue light—as though she were trying to break through the spell Adrianna had cast. To be fair, she wasn’t even sure what the spell was. All she’d known is that she had to keep Emma in Sheol.

  “Taryn, are you okay? Is Earth safe?” Adrianna called, hoping Taryn could hear her.

  “Can’t—like a brick wall—Help.”

  The final word Taryn spoke before she was gone for good chilled the lingering anger in her veins instantly. Help?

  She couldn’t help them. From the moment she’d forced Emma into the cage, she knew the rest of her days would be spent in Sheol. Alone.

  In a moment, the fury was back, so hot it scalded her insides, and she let it out in a desolate cry. Only a wisp of power remained, and it poured out. Sparks shot from her body, filling the room in a multitude of colorful embers that smoldered the floor, the walls, the ceiling.

  Smoke lazily curled through the long room, and to Adrianna’s delight, the bed Tlahaz had brought to her slowly burned. Tiny tongues of flame unfurled to life, licking over the bed. It curled the sheets until the entire frame raged with the same fire that burned inside of her.

  She wouldn’t waste time crying over Athena’s death.

  She’d make them all pay. Starting with the monster responsible.

  Blaze

  He watched Taryn sit perfectly still, a crystal of some sort in one hand, and what looked like a dragon claw in the other. It was long and curved, bigger than the length of her dainty hand. He puzzled at where she would have gotten it from since dragons were long extinct. Then again, Spellcasters were known for their shady deals and hoarding of anything that could be used in aiding a spell. She knelt in the snow with symbols scrawled around her.

  Her delicate brows furrowed, lips moving soundlessly. For several moments, he waited, trying not to make a sound. With a gasp, her eyes opened. They were filled with violet light that pulsed once before vanishing.

  “Well?” Blaze asked.

  She met his gaze then narrowed her eyes in a blatant show of displeasure at his attitude. Blaze cleared his throat, uncrossing his arms. The wicked bite of cold on the wind nipped at his exposed biceps. Which he noticed the Spellcaster’s attention briefly flicked to.

  “No dice.” She sighed on a puff of white air. Getting to her feet, she looked around the back field, her attention landing on the cellar door that led down to the cells where her brother was kept. The trial was set for tomorrow, and he knew Derrik would face the harshest of sentences. Blaze saw her throat bob before she turned back to face him.

  “So,” she said, letting a small smile curl her pink lips up. “How do you summon an angel?”

  “They can’t be summoned. Only The One calls them,” he answered, feeling a darkness settle over his mood. The situation wasn’t looking good; their options next to nothing.

  “There has to be a way,” Taryn protested. She placed her hands on her narrow hips and squinted up at the sky like she might be able to spot the winged warriors that summoned light. Before Blaze could respond, her gaze snapped back to him. “What if we could catch one?”

  He scoffed. “There aren’t exactly wards to contain an angel like there are for a demon.”

  A slender brow lifted in challenge. “Aren’t there?”

  Blaze considered for a moment. Spellcasters were meant to be a balance between light and dark. If they could contain a demon, surely they could wrangle an angel long enough to demand they fix whatever was wreaking havoc on the earth. A slow smile tugged at his lips.

  Taryn gasped dramatically. “The behemoth can smile!” she exclaimed with faux surprise.

  His lips flattened at once, though the Spellcaster’s burst of laughter lifted something in his chest that turned his expression into a scowl. The small, slight female smirked with satisfaction as they started back toward the Spellcasters’ camp.

  “I’ll have a look through some old grimoires and see what I can find,” she said at the entrance to her grand tent.

  Strangely, his lips parted, the request for her to dine with him stuck to his tongue when a lanky male strode out from Taryn’s quarters, stopping next to her to peck her cheek. He was young—possibly eighteen or nineteen—with enough facial piercings to resemble a pin cushion, rather than a human. His hair was a messy, ruddy brown that needed a wash, but Taryn shot him a grin.

  “There you are,” the boy said. “The Anakim are really something else, you should come see!”

  Taryn nodded, looking back to Blaze. “Blaze, this is Oliver. Oliver; Blaze.” She gestured between them, making introductions. When Oliver stuck his hand out for Blaze to shake, Blaze found himself puffing out his chest. He abolished the absurdly possessive gesture in favor of taking the boy’s hand. The lick of magic over Blaze’s skin had him withdrawing instantly.

  Taryn seemed to sense the tension and pulled Oliver back to her side, like that might keep him safe. “Want to come meet some of the Anakim?”

  Blaze shook his head, feeling a tightness in his chest that made him take an involuntary step backwards. He ran a hand through his hair; the other gesturing to the manor behind him. “No, I’ll…I have some preparations to make before tomorrow.”

  Taryn’s brows lifted, surprise showing through her mocha-colored eyes. Then it was gone, and her expression closed off. Blaze didn’t have time to regret his decision to decline her offer before she threaded her arm around Oliver’s scrawny bicep and steered him away.

  “We’ll talk tomorrow then, Warrior,” she called over her shoulder.

  A grunt of acknowledgment was all that came from him. He stared after her, wondering when she’d had time to foster a relationship with a fellow Spellcaster between the war taking place and the aftermath that was left in its wake. She was always helping with rebuilds or tending to the injured. He’d never even noticed the boy near her. Not that it mattered.

  He had no interest in the Spellcaster, beyond their alliance of course. She would soon return to New Orleans where she belonged—the woefully unimpressive male Spellcaster at her side.

  People had begun to stare at him while he watched their coven leader. Blaze blew out a sharp breath then headed inside. Haddie met him at the door, a sleeping Nadia cocooned in a fabric wrap at her mother’s chest.

  “Can’t talk right now,” he said, breezing past her toward the staircase.

  Haddie rushed after him, surprisingly quick for a woman carrying an infant. “I am not letting you leave me alone with Silas for another minute,” she quipped. “So, wherever you’re headed, I’m coming with.”

  Blaze couldn’t blame her on that front. He cast her a sidelong glance, then nodded. “I need to do some research on angels.”

  “Angels?” Haddie asked incredulously.

  He waited until they slipped into his study, the door shut firmly behind him before he said, “I need to know if there is any way to catch one.”

  His sister snorted. “If there was a way to capture an angel, humans would have figured it out by now. Besides, when was the last time an angel walked on Earth?”

  Blaze strode for the bookshelf that lined the entire wall beside his bed. His gaze roamed over the familiar titles, but there was one in particular he sought. Haddie took the hint and went to the other side of the bookcase.

  “What are you looking for?” she asked.

  “Hierarchy of the Angelic Realm,” he answered, recalling its faded green spine and the worn stamped letters that had once looked silvery. “It’s really old, and a light green color—almost grey.”

  She made a triumphant sound only a moment after he’d spoken the words, before pulling a tattered book from its place on the shelf, holding it up for him to see.

  He reached her in only a few strides and took the proffered text. The fabric cover was disintegrating with age, the pages yellowed and dusty. Blaze gave his sister a smile of thanks before bringing the book to his desk.

  At his seat, he gingerly lifted the cover, paging through the contents. Haddie bounced gently on her feet as she peered over his shoulder. He scanned the opening paragraphs on the first page, reading to himself the familiar words of the angel’s hierarchy.

  The highest-ranking angels known are the seven Archangels. They are known for their six luminescent wings which cover their forms entirely from anyone not born of the supernatural world.

  From Jophiel—one of only two feminine Archangels under the Holy One’s army—the Cherubim were made; angels of beauty and creation. Jophiel herself has been rumored to be of such exquisite beauty, that one look upon her face would force tears of blood from your eyes.

  Rafael, leader of the Malakim (angelic healers) is most known for miracles and wonders beyond human comprehension. Of all the angels, Rafael is most sought after. His work, as well as the healings performed by the Malakim have grown less frequent with the invention of medicine and modern science. Many have come to wonder if humans will do away with the need for such gifts in the future.

  Shiiak are the choir of messengers, headed by Gabriel. Most commonly seen with trumpets of sorts, they are the divine carriers of the Holy One’s will.

  Ariel is perhaps the least well-known Archangel. She is a protector of nature and all living things, yet it is her presence most often felt in the human world. Her choir, the Magen, is few in number, and in recent years has dwindled to an estimation of less than fifty due to the environmental changes seen throughout the globe.

  The Shelovim is a choir that is perhaps the least seen in the world today. Their purpose is peace, though Archangel Raziel’s name means “secrets.”

  Next are the Seraphim—also known as The Burning Ones. Archangel Michael rules this choir with the sword of Righteousness. They are warriors. On Earth, they fought wars alongside humans, taking human mates which spawned the first Giborim.

  Lastly is Azrael, Archangel of Death. Considered most powerful, he has no choir of his own, for his work is solitary. Though there are many who believe he employs a vast number of angels and demons to escort a human’s soul into whichever afterlife they earned.

  “Do you think Ariel has any Magen wandering around Washington somewhere?” Haddie asked, jarring him from the text.

  Blaze nodded. “Seems the most likely.”

  He skimmed further, turning page after page, and spying various illustrations of the different ranks of angels, until he flipped a page that had come loose. However, the more he inspected the slightly different shade of paper, the rough edge indicating it had been torn free, as well as the handwritten notes in the margins, the clearer it became that the page was from a different book entirely.

  At the top was a picture of what looked like a fairy kneeling in a ring of mushrooms and wildflowers. The section’s title read:

  A Recipe to Encourage a Magen’s Blessing Over the Land

  Blaze and Haddie exchanged looks of curiosity and skepticism. He’d heard of humans praying to various gods to bless their crops and livestock, but never had he come across what appeared to be a potion for a Magen’s blessing.

  He studied the list of ingredients, his hope dwindling with each line.

  “Twelve spotted toadstools?” Haddie read, trying not to laugh.

  Blaze didn’t feel like laughing. He needed a serious lead on how to capture a Magen—or even how to find one, and soon.

  Folding up the paper, he slipped it into his pocket to at least show Taryn when he next saw her.

  Haddie left when Nadia stirred, bringing up some tea and sandwiches a while later after he’d finished thumbing through the rest of the book. He pulled out others, searching for anything of use. His sister stayed to eat with him, keeping him company until her daughter grew restless, squirming and shrieking at the top of her lungs.

  Haddie kissed the top of his head and bade him goodnight before whisking Nadia down the hall to her own room.

  Blaze felt the absence of her presence keenly. It was an adjustment having her around, but he had to commend her on how seamlessly she found her place back among her own kind.

  Hours later, when he’d exhausted his limited library of resources, his eyes aching from lack of sleep, he showered and collapsed on his bed.

  Sleep, however, did not come easily.

  He laid in the dark, feeling the soft tremors of the earth, and wishing he could peer inside Sheol’s walls just to see if Emma was safe. No doubt she was changed, but he refused to believe she could ever succumb to darkness entirely.

  Gradually, his thoughts shifted, their subject much closer to home. To a woman who likely slept soundly right outside the manor. Though he wondered if thoughts of her brother’s sentencing kept her awake.

  He peered at the clock on his wall, which read just a few minutes past two in the morning. The trial was set for nine. In less than seven hours, several people would be tried and likely put to death for their crimes. Part of him wanted to go to Taryn and grant her one last visit with her brother, but it was forbidden.

  He wondered what he would do if his own brother was faced with being executed. Though Axel hadn’t been responsible for the part he played in Emerelda’s betrayal, Blaze had believed him to be guilty at one point. And he’d accepted whatever fate his brother would face, no matter how painful. It was the way he was raised. How all Giborim were trained. To be loyal to their race and protect humankind above all else.

  His lip curled, and he wasn’t sure if the disgust he felt was for how he’d let his brother die without thought, or for how blindingly loyal he was to the Giborim. Their customs—though more modern now—were still sexist against their women. And the prejudices his people still clung to were so hardwired into his brain that he felt like each time he went against their beliefs, he had to pull out a part of himself to discard.

  He’d been taught to fear and mistrust all Spellcasters. To his father, they were servants and nothing more. Yet they’d fought alongside him. Died for his people as well as their own. Blaze knew he owed the covens a life-debt that he’d never be able to repay. Which he’d spend every moment of the rest of his life helping the Giborim see past their fears and prejudices. He had to.

  The world was already too full of hate.

  Only with that resolve firmly in his mind did sleep envelop him in its soothing embrace.

  Voices and laughter sounded in the hall outside his room. The children played as though today would not be a day for death.

  He rose with a sigh to collect the suit hanging in his closet. His movements were mechanical while his mind wandered to his brother. Axel’s childhood love would be put to death today.

 

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