Infinite Page 2

  Mad isn’t the right word for the jangle of energy that has me on edge. It’s nerves. The atrocious anxiety of finally seeing Azael again. My brother, who wants me dead. My brother, who gathered a host of demons whose sole mission is to find Michael and me and deliver us to Lucifer.

  Michael glances back at me and offers me a tight nod, and I try to smile back, but I can’t manage it. We have to succeed here, in retrieving the piece of his soul Azael’s in possession of. If we don’t get it back, there’s no telling what else Azael will do with it. He’s already compelled Michael a few times now. That kind of control over Michael, especially when we’re in the midst of New Genesis, is dangerous. He’s a weapon in the hands of a madman, waiting to be detonated.

  The ice under my feet groans and cracks, and I stifle a curse at the noise. At my side, Eli looks equally annoyed at our progress on foot. It would go so much faster if we could just—

  “It’s up here, on the right,” whispers the redhead angel who drew us a map of the fortress. She points to a stone wall, her eyes widening as she takes in the structure again.

  I wonder how long it’s been since she’s seen the Tower of London. What is it like seeing something that’s remained almost untouched after years of change and progress raged around it?

  Michael nods. “This is it. This is what I saw.”

  In his vision, he means. The flashes he got of Azael’s location were brief, but they were enough that Ana felt confident in gathering a group of volunteers to fly to London. It was enough that she sent word to an angel, Zo, to get eyes on the perimeter—and that cost the angel her life. I don’t think Ana will ever forgive herself for that.

  So Azael is staying in the bloody fortress. I should have guessed he’d take up residence in some place so ostentatious. He was never one for subtlety. How he would hate the state of disrepair the compound of New Genesis sits in.

  “Remember the plan,” I say, moving to the front of the group and taking Michael’s hand. “Michael and I will go in first. Give us a few minutes, and then you guys”—I turn and indicate Kala and Eli—“can follow.”

  We figured it would be safest if Michael and I enter first and start searching out his soul. The rough rundown of the layout we got is enough to know the best places to search—and I know how Azael thinks, where he would consider hiding something so precious to him and his plans. Michael… Well, I’m hoping that, once we’re in, he might be drawn to wherever Azael is keeping his stolen prize. Maybe he’ll feel the pull of his soul the closer we get. Or maybe Azael’s shielded it well, like he forgot to do during his compulsion when he ordered Michael to strangle me.

  Our plan is smart, but it is not without risk. It won’t take much for it to go wrong, and there are so many unknown variables. That’s what sets Ana’s jaw forward with doubt, what keeps our group in an anxious sort of silence. I’m worried about Kala joining Eli after Michael and I sneak in. They’re supposed to be searching out what weapons Azael’s gotten ahold of. After we saw how he mutilated Zo, they were quick to volunteer to strip him of the power to do it again. I don’t bother reminding them that he could do just as much damage with just his hands.

  I bite my tongue, looking at Kala. She’s not the right one for this job. She can’t fly on her own, so she’ll have to walk across the lawn inside the walls of the fortress. There’ll be no way she can stay as silent as she needs to be. Doubt must flash across my face, because Kala squares her shoulders at me and narrows her eyes, that small temper rising to meet my skepticism. She doesn’t take well to her competency being questioned or even momentarily considered as anything less than stellar.

  “We’ll be fine,” Kala says. A brief smile, and then her face settles into the seriousness of a warrior.

  I forgot how much action she’s seen. She’s saved my life before in battle; I have to trust that—if it comes to it—she’ll do it again. She doesn’t need two wings to shoot an arrow.

  “Just go,” Kala says.

  Michael and I survey the Tower from the wall. The windows glow golden with lights—from torches, I assume. There’s no power anymore. The deep freeze took care of that.

  Strangely shaped shadows move around inside, pulling thin and stretching long across the walls. They look like ghosts, like wraiths, like souls being dragged unwillingly out of a body. We watch the shadows and attempt to count the number of soldiers Azael has with him.

  There’s one in the courtyard. Not a shadow, but a beautiful girl with short hair who impresses me with the fluidity of her movements. She swings from the tree to the ground and then climbs the side of the tower up to a window, where she disappears for a moment. Then she comes flying through the dark opening, jumping down to the ground and barely slowing her fall with her wings. She hardly makes a sound.

  There are two—at least two—fighting somewhere within the walls. The clash of their swords rings loudly across the lawn, and every now and then, their profiles move in front of windows and then out of view again.

  There’s Jeremy. My skin gets all prickly when I see him again, remembering how he looked the moment I snatched his life away. Now, he’s pacing in one of the towers, his movements stuttering to a start and stop. He’s gotten worse, I think. The way his fingers twitch, how he keeps turning around in a circle and talking to himself. There’s no one else in the room with him that I can tell, yet he’s holding a full conversation, complete with wild gesticulation.

  Four, I say to Michael.

  That’s what I’m seeing, too.

  Plus Azael, but I haven’t—

  My stomach jumps to sit in my throat when I catch sight of a silhouette moving throughout the fortress. It starts by a high window to our right and then travels left, moving around the sparring pair of swords. Then it stops in the doorway that looks out into the courtyard.

  It’s dark, and the cloud cover is as thick as ever, but I still manage to make out his features.

  Azael. He looks older, more tired. Angrier. His sharp-featured face is even more angular than before, his cheeks gaunt, dark circles deep and bruised under his eyes.

  Standing in the doorway, he cuts a fearsome figure. He’s stringy with strength—not bulky in the slightest, but he’s definitely stronger than he was before. I don’t know if I’d still be able to hold my own against him as well. Not after the days I’ve neglected keeping up with my conditioning when he’s obviously been training again, like he did during the first war.

  I notice that his fingers keep traveling to the pocket of his pants, almost unconsciously. His tell. His hands were never able to keep up the lies his mouth told. I press my palms harder into the stone, letting the smooth coldness settle my nerves and silence the ringing in my ears at the sight of my brother. He’s so different; he’s exactly the same.

  What’s happened to us?

  When Azael turns to go back inside, I nod at Michael.

  He may have the piece of your soul on him, I say. He kept touching his pocket. His tell.

  I saw. Michael pauses, does another visual sweep of the space. We should look other places first. If we go in and straight for him—

  It’ll send up a signal. I know.

  I push myself up and swing my leg over the wall. Michael follows. We slide to the ground as quietly as possible and then remain perfectly still, waiting for any sign that we’ve been spotted.

  All remains quiet, save metal clashing and animalistic growls of the swordsmen fighting in the distance. The girl in the courtyard has climbed through the window she was scaling, hidden from sight. She has yet to reappear.

  The wind lifts around us, but nothing else moves. We’re safe—we haven’t been spotted or heard. Let’s keep it that way.

  I make a subtle hand signal and Michael and I begin to move, creeping across the courtyard, sliding our feet over the ice when it’s thick enough to not crunch under our step and letting our wings carry our weight when it’s too thin. When we’re in the center of the yard, we come across the glass pillow sculpture Michael describ
ed. At least we now know that the vision Michael saw was accurate; Azael didn’t alter that at all. Which means it had to have been a mistake that Michael was able to see where Azael was staying.

  If Azael had known that opening his mind up to compel Michael would mean the connection went both ways, he might not have done it at all. Or if he’d suspected that it might reveal where he was staying, he would have abandoned camp. Moved on to somewhere safer—unknown. Exposing his location like he did was the first mistake he made, and I plan to make the most of it. Who knows if he’ll screw up again.

  Once he knows we’ve taken what leverage he has over us—Michael’s soul—I’m sure he’ll be especially careful. My brother won’t let anyone show him up twice. He hardly allows it to happen once. The weight of our mistakes in Eden still hangs over him.

  I look away from the weird glass sculpture to search the windows higher up. It would be smarter to start at the top and work our way down. I have a feeling Azael would choose a room with a view. He likes to see the horizon like I do. We’re both always looking for wings, just for very different reasons.

  I point up at a window above the one the girl disappeared inside. Start up, work down?

  There’s a rustle over our shoulders as two inky, black birds land in the tree across from us. A raven and a crow. They watch us with intelligent eyes, their heads following our movement, pivoting as we take a step toward the tower with the open windows.

  To our left, Kala and Eli are making their way over the wall, close to where the other angel said the weapons room is—or should be. So much for waiting; they should have given us more time to get inside and actually start the search. But I’m not surprised they rushed the count. They’re just as anxious as we are to get this done and head back to New Genesis before we’re discovered. The birds turn their heads toward Kala and Eli, and the crow takes flight, landing just where they’ve dropped from the wall. Its feathers ruffle, and its tiny head tilts to the side.

  Michael… I say in my mind, a wave of goose bumps crawling over my skin.

  Something about the birds freezes my blood. I can’t move forward, and Michael notices my pause. He hangs back by my elbow, his eyebrows raised in question.

  Kala and Eli haven’t even taken notice of the birds. They don’t seem the least bit disturbed by their presence, but I can’t shake the dread that drips down my spine. I can’t explain it, but I can’t ignore it. The crow watches Eli carefully, and then it lifts its head back up. It bobs it up and down, and the raven watches it like it’s been waiting for that movement. It pays attention. Too closely. Too…

  I watch it, rooted to the spot for a moment as dread sinks to my toes. Intelligent eyes—

  The raven lets out a piercing caw and spreads its wings wide, its feathers an oil spill of black against the storm clouds above.

  “GO!” I call out to Eli and Kala.

  Their faces tighten in surprise at the loud call, but our cover is already broken. The crow starts cawing, joining in with the raven, and I point to them as they start to swoop and attack, their unnaturally sharp talons bared.

  “GO! RUN!”

  Eli and Kala don’t bother trying to move with stealth anymore as they take off toward the armory. Eli has his axe in one hand and the shield from his back in the other. It is with distant humor that I notice that the shield is still painted with the coat of arms for the Knight of Hell. Kala pulls her bow from around her shoulders and nocks an arrow. She holds it down as she runs, not wanting to waste a shot until she knows has a clean one.

  The girl from the courtyard is the first to appear, jumping out the window, her wings slowing her descent, but just barely. She’s still much too fast. The scraping metal of the swords sparring inside fall silent, and faster than I expected, Azael reappears in the doorway. He meets my eyes, and his lips form my name. I can’t break the stare, can’t move from my spot, but then I hear the others scaling over the wall, jumping down into the courtyard—the rest of our team, ready to jump in should there be any problems.

  This was supposed to be our fallback plan—the safety net we had to use only if absolutely necessary. The others aren’t as skilled at fighting as we are. Ana doesn’t fight at all! Having so many others joining us in the line of fire… It might distract the others momentarily, but I’ve no doubt Azael will cut his way through them to make it to me. He won’t spare them a moment of thought in his tunnel vision.

  Ana’s shouting orders to the others, standing with her hands up and gesturing directions. She’s unarmed, an easy target, but I don’t have enough time to consider that now, because while I’ve been staring, Azael’s found his sense again, and he’s racing across the space that divides us.

  “We have to go,” Michael says, gripping my hand and pulling me with him.

  Together, we weave through the volunteer angels and demons that promised to serve as our backup and Azael loses sight of me. I hear him shout my name, his voice clawing the night to pieces with a fury I’ve never heard. A fury I never knew existed.

  Flying to the top window is out of the question for now—too easy to spot us, to shoot us down. Azael would be on us in seconds, so we take the closest door and tear up the stairs.

  With our cursory understanding of the layout, we make our way through the tower. Most of the rooms we enter are large and empty. Stone and wooden benches. Stone and wooden tables with wooden benches. There’s nothing to search through, but still, we check the corners of the room, run across the floor and listen for loose stones or floorboards that could be pried up for a secret hiding spot.

  We speed through the spaces, searching every cranny in as much detail as we can safely allow ourselves. Azael will be closing in behind us soon. He has to fight his way across the courtyard first, but he’ll be on our heels in no time. I can practically feel it, and I keep glancing over my shoulder to make sure he’s not standing there, watching me with an amused look on his face.

  In one room, I find a stack of black armor with Azael’s name carved in the shoulder. His scythe is here, along with the sword he had fashioned that was meant for me, its pale gem dull in the darkness. When I see it, my search slows down, and I find myself reaching for it just to touch it once. To see what it would be like to hold the bone hilt in my hand. I pick it up, and Michael calls my name, snaps me back into the moment. I startle and drop the sword, returning to rifle through Azael’s things.

  After a thorough search of his stuff, I find nothing. Nothing of use, anyway. Michael’s soul isn’t here.

  “He has it on him,” I say, sure now. “If it’s not here, he has it on him!”

  Michael lets out a string of curses—a few he’s picked up from Kala—and we run back through the halls of the fortress. In the weapons room, we come across a small figure. I flip my daggers into my hand before I realize it’s Kala, and then I sheathe them again.

  “Fuck me, they’re armed to their goddamned teeth,” she says, loading herself heavy with blades, with mallets, with every kind of gun.

  When she sees us come in, she looks up and lifts her chin in acknowledgement. She tosses down a few more weapons and then kicks a duffel bag over to us. I pick it up and find it full of different kinds of guns and small explosives.

  “Did you know there were explosives in here when you kicked it?” I ask.

  “Yeah. Not detonated,” she says, but I don’t find it the least bit comforting. She could’ve killed us all right here. “Did you find his soul?”

  She glances out the window that looks into the courtyard. The two black birds, I see, have transformed into two dark brothers with crooked noses. So there are six—plus Azael. They’re all tangled together in the melee of violence, and I can’t quite make out who’s beating who. But there are screams. Loud, piercing shrieks of pain and anger and the loss of control and life. From our view, we see a few of our crew hit, taken down by small blades hidden in Azael’s army’s hands.

  I shake my head, but she doesn’t see it. “No. Azael has it.”

&nbs
p; “Shit.” She shoves more weapons in her belt and tests her range of movement to make sure she’s not too cumbersome to fight. “You sure?”

  “Yes,” I say, watching Michael. “I’m positive.”

  I know that the only place Azael would think something is safe is with him, somewhere so close that he would notice the instant it was missing. And the way he kept patting his pocket…

  “Where’s Eli?” Michael asks, slinging the duffel over his shoulder. He keeps his sword in his hand, ready to fight his way out of here.

  “He went out to help the others,” Kala says. “They need him more than I do.”

  Another scream shudders through the night, punctuating her point. The faces of the volunteers who came with us—who decided to trust Michael and me, to help us even though there were so many others who questioned our loyalty—flash through my mind. They’re dying out there. They believed in us enough to help, and they’re paying the price. If Ana’s guilt over Zophiel’s death will haunt her, every death that occurs tonight will plague me ten times worse. I led them here. I convinced them we could do this. It’s my fault if they don’t make it back.

  As another pained shout echoes off the stone walls of the fortress, I tear away from Michael and Kala, running down the hall. I find the stairs and rush out of the building, straight into the fighting.

  Azael

  JEREMY IS BABBLING—MORE DRIBBLE and nonsense, I assume. This time, about the angels hearing, about them knowing I have a piece of Michael. That they are close. His shaking doesn’t help convince me he’s telling the truth; the way his eyes are dilated serves as further proof he’s spiraling out again. Every stupid syllable he spits out sounds the same, and I’ve come to not trust any of it. But then he says that he hears Pen, and the screeching calls of Rimmon and Raum slash the darkness of the night into ribbons.