He swallowed. He wanted to see her too, but that had to be set aside.
‘Mihály, we’ve lost the miracles.’
There would be no more banishing demons, no matter what they did. Shadow would crawl through the population soul by soul, corrupting them. When the physical vessels finally gave up, they wouldn’t be allowed to join to greater peace. They would be in anguish for eternity.
Their only chance now was to catch the conspirators and hope they knew a way to reverse the magic, or trust that the Incarnate would arrive in time to guide them back to the light. Neither of those things had panned out terribly well so far.
‘We’ve lost the old miracles,’ Mihály said, reverence still illuminating his voice. ‘Let me introduce you to a new one.’
?
The pews were filled, but those in them were dead or dying. Even the few candles that had been set out in hasty respect had blown out in the wind cutting through broken windows.
Csilla was on the floor next to where Ágnes’s body lay, head pillowed on her arms, pale and still like a corpse herself in the moonlight. For a moment his heart stopped, only starting again when she took a deep breath that ended in a small snore.
If she were dead, it would be sad, but it wouldn’t matter, he tried to remind himself as his steps quickened.
At least now there was no glass to show how he lied to himself.
‘Csilla.’
He crouched down next to her, frowning at the pink scrapes marring her cheek. She opened her hazel eyes slowly, lips curving into a soft and relieved smile, and the dog lunged forward to lick her and receive a pat.
He couldn’t help but smile back, even surrounded by detritus and the bodies of people they knew. All of this around them was his failure, and yet he was still happy to see her breathing. If she hadn’t been, none of the rest of it would matter. She was safe, and he was desperate to touch her, to feel that she was fine. He clenched his hands instead.
The feelings were as natural as any other illness. He could starve or slice them out the same way and be quietly jealous of the dog.
‘Ilan. You’re alright?’
Of course she would ask him, when she was the one sleeping in a makeshift crypt.
He nodded. ‘But you don’t seem to be.’
He gestured to her face, and her hand flew up to touch her cheek as her eyes darted to Mihály.
‘It’s...’ Her eyes darkened. ‘I have so much to tell you.’
‘In here?’ It was far too open, indefensible, and his skin was still crawling from a brush with an ancient corpse.
Csilla looked down at Ágnes. The woman’s face had taken on a grey cast, and her mouth hung wide in the loose-jawed gasp of the dead. Csilla touched the sunken cheek. ‘I’m fine here.’
She was grieving and loyal, not fine.
‘Off the floor, at least. Not every pew has a body.’
Csilla rose then stilled, the perfect pause of a bird about to take flight.
‘Watch.’ She approached the altar as if entranced, broken glass crunching under her feet.
The flame in front of the ever-seeing Eye still burned, licking yellow and orange across her skin. Perhaps that was where their saboteur took their own fire from. The light ringed her in gold, blending the shadows on her face into something soft and sacred.
‘Mihály. Come here.’
The angel surprisingly said nothing, hurrying at the quiet command. Csilla offered her hand to him with a small nod.
He took it and raised it to his lips, and the holy firelight was eclipsed by white and shining Brilliance, Csilla in the centre of it all. She slanted her head towards him, the slightest hopefulsmile on her pale lips as silver kissed every inch of her. Holiness and beauty incarnate.
Ilan fell to his knees.
