Hiding behind rocks, fences, and bushes, we sneak up as close as we dare near the circle of light by the edge of the hotel’s lawn. New torches have been set up to replace the old ones that got knocked down during the brawl. But they’re placed randomly and at drunken angles as if whoever put them up couldn’t be bothered with them.
I try to match Raffe’s stealth and smooth coordination, but my frozen limbs are clumsy, and I have to grab him several times to keep myself from tipping over. He throws me a look with a clear message that I should deal with my issues.
We dart to a row of low bushes and follow them closer to the lawn. The edges of the grounds are crammed with the remains of the party like debris washed up on shore. Fallen party tables, upside-down lounge chairs, torn costumes, and other broken things.
The lawn also has a motley carpet of trampled wing coverings, masks, and shattered things that are now hard to identify. There are dark patches on the grass that probably look red in daylight. If there are any servants left, they’re not inclined to come out and clean up.
The angels scattered on the lawn seem too hung over to notice much. One group is singing in the middle of the grass, still wearing their masks. Their voices blend beautifully but with all their swaying and kicking of debris, they look more like drunken pirates after a raid.
Another group is putting something together near the mansion-like hotel. They’re setting up a table with wooden boxes. Beside it are poles of different heights.
An angel hovers at the top of the poles, tying triangular flags that wave colorfully in the ocean breeze like castle flags. Two angels fly up with a banner in their hands. They tie it to the top of the two highest poles. It has several symbols that run across the banner like script.
Raffe’s eyes become cold and hostile as he looks at the banner.
I give him a questioning look, asking him what it says.
He leans over, his words barely slipping into my ear. “Vote for Uriel today, start the apocalypse by tomorrow.”
I don’t understand all the implications of angel politics but I know this isn’t good. They’re setting up an election booth for the Messenger.
Another banner goes up, this one angled up so it can be seen from above. One of the angels unfurling the banner is a giant with snow-white wings. Beliel.
Raffe and I exchange a look and we head his way.
As we sneak closer, Raffe finds wing coverings draped over a bush. A ripped layer of sequins hangs over the dark feathers but he easily discards them, leaving only the feather coverings. He swings them over his wings and I help the feathers lie flat.
He also grabs one of the discarded masks as it tumbles off the lawn in the ocean breeze. I tie it on for him. The mask is deep red shot through with silver around the eyes and cheeks. It covers his entire face except his mouth.
He gets up and without a word pulls me up beside him, placing himself between me and the hotel lawn. I have to peek around him to see the angels, which means they can’t see me either. Raffe is big enough to hide me. From a distance, we must look like a warrior walking to the other side of what was once the party.
I worry that angels might fly directly overhead and see me. Luckily, they must be hung over or something because none of them are energetic enough to fly beyond what’s necessary. We walk briskly near the edge of the lawn, getting ever closer to Beliel. I keep up with Raffe, which is not too difficult since he’s walking at a casual pace.
Beliel stands behind Uriel. He’s at the edge of Uriel’s entourage as Uriel gives them orders.
Raffe glances up at the sky and I wonder if he hears something. Beliel also looks up toward the same place. He leans over to Uriel and they have a quick exchange.
One by one, the angels pause in their tasks and all look up. The dull roar that blended so well with the crashing waves is becoming thunderous and hard to ignore.
A cloud darker than the night sky swarms toward us. It twists, expands, then contracts, swinging this way and that.
The angry sound of a thousand scorpion wings is unmistakable as they fly over our heads.
Chpater 69
SHADOWS SWOOP DOWN beyond the reach of the torches at the edge of the lawn. Raffe watches a scene that’s too dark for me to see. I catch a glimpse of shadows flying back up into the air, though, giving me an impression of iridescent insect wings.
Out of the darkness walks little Paige.
She moves stiffly and carefully as if she was part machine, part girl. In the torchlight, the stitches that run across her face are red-black and her razor-edged teeth reflect the flames as she passes by the torches.
Now that I’m looking for it, she does move like someone in pain but her expression doesn’t show it. She’s toughing it out, maybe because it probably hurts to wince or make any expression. I never knew she had such steel in her.
Beliel tilts his head, watching her as she walks toward him.
“Little Worm,” he says. “Is that you?” His mouth stretches into a smile that’s part surprise and part pride. “You’re no longer crawling in the dirt.”
He puts out his hand. “You’re coming into your own, aren’t you?”
It kills me to see my baby sister slip her small hand into his.
Doc was right. Somewhere in me, I clung to the hope that he was off his rocker. But seeing her turn to a demon like Beliel only reminds me how horrible it must have been for her to be with the rest of us.
Paige looks up at him. Her neck strains as she meets his eyes. Holding hands like that, they could almost be father and daughter.
Beliel partially opens his stolen wings and holds up Paige’s hand as he turns to smile at Uriel. His smile says, See? Look at my trophies.
Paige tugs his arm so that Beliel ends up leaning down toward her. For a second, I think she might give him a kiss. The thought makes my stomach roil.
Instead, she leaps and bites into his neck.
She shakes her head like a rabid dog as a chunk of his neck comes ripping off in her mouth.
Beliel shrieks.
Blood flows everywhere.
Uriel and his entourage jump back from the attack. Everyone else just stops in the middle of whatever they’re doing and stares.
The buzzing above gets more frantic as the swarm of scorpions twists in the distance and heads back for another flyby. Hadn’t the scorpions been following Beliel’s commands all this time? Will they be angry?
Paige spits out the still attached piece of flesh and grabs Beliel’s head before he can pull out of her reach. She rips into his face.
Three scorpions dive toward them from the sky.
I gasp, thinking they are attacking Paige.
But instead, they grab Beliel.
Their stingers zap in and out, pumping him full of paralysis venom.
Instead of finishing him off, Paige begins kicking him. Screams at him. Rips out clumps of his hair and skin. She tears out chunks of his flesh and spits them into his face.
And all the while, she is crying.
I am mesmerized by the sight of my little sister raging against Beliel. He’s no small opponent, but she caught him utterly by surprise.
I have never seen a seven-year-old with this much fury. I’ve certainly never seen Paige with anything like this much anger. She pummels him with her tiny fists in a way that I know is more about dealing with her internal demons than about the demon that is Beliel.
It feels like my heart chars and turns to crumbling ash as I watch the remnants of my sister. Salty wetness touches my lips before I even realize I’m crying.
The ocean wind blows against me, making me shiver like a frail petal in a storm.
Chpater 70
RAFFE RUNS along the cliff toward Beliel and dives toward a scorpion. He grabs it just before it’s about to plunge its talon-like fingers into Beliel’s back.
At first, I’m confused. Why is Raffe protecting Beliel?
But as the blood trickles from Beliel’s neck onto his snowy wings, I understand. Raffe deflects Paige’s hands from ripping out a fistful of feathers.
Instead, she grabs Beliel’s hair and tears it out. White feathers puff out as the group wrestles.
While Raffe, Beliel, Paige and three scorpions fight, the angels on the lawn watch curiously. They don’t seem inclined to jump in to save Beliel. My guess is that those who’ve met him don’t like him, and those who haven’t might sense that he doesn’t belong with them.
Raffe’s mask is still on his face but he’s not the only one still in costume. No one takes notice of me, as if the humans they were so focused on just a few hours ago don’t really matter now.
I glance around to see if there’s anything I can slink back behind. There is nothing unless I’m willing to hide behind a bush that’s too far away for me to see anything. Nearby, there’s only the ocean, cliff, grass, and torchlights.
The trickle of angels quickly turns into a flood. The oddity of it must be fueling their curiosity. They crowd in and jostle me. Late-coming angel spectators have to take to the air to see the action.
Above us, a cloud of scorpions dips and dives, approaching, then receding like a hive of bees agitating around their nest.
I end up on the inner edge of the wall of bodies. So much for not bringing attention to ourselves. I stroke the soft fur of my teddy bear sword, trying to stay calm.
Beliel’s tortured screams fill the night.
Everyone watches as he gets mercilessly torn and stung. Aside from Raffe, who is only protecting his wings, not a single living thing comes to his aid. No one even cringes sympathetically for him.
Beliel was right. He is unloved and unwanted.
Paige, who has been panting and crying over Beliel finally looks up and seems to notice the angels for the first time. Even in this light, I can see the fear and uncertainty dawning on her face as her eyes move from coldhearted warrior to warrior.
The angels are partially lit by torches, looking savage with red-tinged shadows flickering along their faces.
Her eyes pause when she sees me. She blinks several times as if unsure that it’s me. Her face scrunches up, giving the eerie illusion that the stitched-up monster melts away from her face, leaving a terribly upset Paige in its wake.
She looks the way she did in the video in Beliel’s cell—tiny, alone, lost. A little kid trying to hang onto the belief that her big sister will come and save her.
I extend my arms out toward her, realizing how long it’s been since I’ve touched her. She’s not the same Paige that I knew but I can’t write her off as a monster, either. If we’re all going down, at least I’ll be able to comfort my baby sister in the last few moments of our lives.
Paige drops her gaze and looks unsure of herself. Tears leave track marks in the blood on her face.
I step into the center circle and walk over to her. Her crying intensifies as I get nearer. When I reach her, she wraps her arms around my waist as tight as can be.