Chapter Six
Dust and mildew spores filtered through the pale, diffused light. A wire-mesh garbage can, a threadbare couch withexposed wiring, and a stained mattress rested beneath a cracked fresco of the Madonna and child. It was precisely the creepy, haunted environment one might expect after being cursed through a mirror and assaulted by the unseen. Sickly-sweet nausea stuck in the back of my throat as I fought to compose myself.
Silas claimed we had three days before the angels would come for us. He was wrong.
Silas also claimed we had to leave Nia’s house. As soon as we had, I was attacked. He was wrong.
And now, Silas led us confidently into a church, and I’d dragged the most important people in the world along to face the consequences of my actions.
Domed ceilings, arched windows, centuries-old paintings, and the fractured melding of religion and history blurred together as we walked. I warred with two conflicting truths: I wanted to trust Silas, but the stakes were too high for me to let my guard down.
Dirt and rubble crunched underfoot. We picked our steps carefully past the broken foundation and slumping pews, immersed in the damp cloud of decay, until we reached the stage of what was once St. Lawrence’s Cathedral.
“What is this place?” Kirby asked beneath their breath.
“It’s a church, you heathen.” Nia whispered her reply.
They were too busy glaring to watch where they walked. A piece of cement dislodged under Kirby’s foot, forcing them to stumble into the pulpit with a soft thump. “I know it’s a church. I mean, why the fuck is it like this in the middle of downtown?
“The Chapel of Resurrection is a historical site,” I said. “It’s hard to pay the mortgage on these big buildings but equally hard to get the permits to tear down a building with landmark status.” A small puff of dust kicked up around my ass as I plopped onto the top step of the stage. I planted the box of liquor in the space beside me, and the others dove in, twisting off tops and drinking straight from the bottle.
Azrames flattened his hand, covering the remaining bottles just as Silas reached for one.
“Take a lap,” he said to the angel. “Didn’t you drag us here to flex your angelic protection? Unless you’re fine with what happened in the car?”
The men were poised for a standoff, both itching for a reason to fight.
Silas’s nostrils flared with thinly controlled agitation. He pulled his hand back, holding Az’s gaze all the while. “You’re kidding yourself if you don’t see how dedicated I am to her safety.”
“You said we had three days before the angels attacked,” Azrames said coolly.
“I have three days to pivot and stay in their good graces,” he replied. “They didn’t say anything about how long the rest of you have. I’m here for Marlow, am I not? I’m standing on deconsecrated soil with a demon and the antichrist. My allegiances are clear.”
“Are they?” Azrames shoved his hands into his pockets, shrugging as he said, “Words don’t mean much when your brethren found the single loophole they needed to end her life.”
It was hard for me to categorize the breathless, achingtear that pulled me in two directions. Gods almighty, I loved Azrames. I trusted him to the ends of the earth and felt so wholly seen and defended by the infernal Patron Saint of Women. On the other hand, Silas wore raw, strangled pain on his face the way I wore lipstick. I couldn’t explain the parts of me that were so desperate to defend him, to say he was misunderstood, to advocate for someone who’d been used and tossed aside by Heaven. But was I willing to bet it all?
Nia was three strong pulls into her bottle of Don Julio. Kirby was sucking down a purple, pre-mixed monstrosity. I grabbed the neck of a merlot and tipped it toward Azrames.
“Shall we take communion?”
He tilted his head toward the moth-eaten couch, and I followed him over to the filthy furniture. He had no problem unpacking Nia’s laptop and resuming his searches in the middle of a sanctuary.
“Give me a second,” he said. “As soon as the angel returns, I’ll follow his trail and seal any mirrors in earnest.”
“You don’t trust him?” I asked, knowing the answer.
He continued to tap on the keyboard but didn’t answer me. Perhaps he was sparing us both the oxygen of discussing a moot point.
“Now that the blood’s cleaned away, you smell like sex,” he said without looking up.
“I was dreaming in the car” was all I could spit out. “I almost died.”
I barely saw his disinterested eyes pop up from the silver brim of her computer. He shrugged, talking as he returned rapidly typing fingers to something on his screen. “You nearly dying is a pretty standard Tuesday. But while you’re alive, if you’re planning on fucking an angel, now’s the time to do it.”
I looked at the way the white, hazy light silhouetted the horns peeking through his black tousle of hair. Below the halo, his gray features were difficult to distinguish against the church’s shadowy smears of poorly-lit walls and aisles.
My eyes shot to Silas, who had reemerged from the hallsthat ran along the perimeter of the sanctuary. He appeared to be oblivious to our conversation, though I couldn’t tell if his disinterest was earnest.
