“Now ask yourself why,” I continued, already knowing the answer.
MJ gazed at the empty, lifeless streets. “A divided kingdom is easier to take over and destroy.”
“Exactly. And it would seem someone in our military has turned sides.”
Her attention shifted to the flyer again. “But they’re not just creating division. They want souls. They’re trying to build an army.”
Her words struck a chord, pulling forth the memory of the Immolation Circle. Dread wrapped around my throat and squeezed.
“They’ve already started.”
“What do you mean?” she asked.
“We didn’t see or hear a single burning soul or Hellhound in the Immolation Circle. It’s supposed to contain tens of thousands. And the majority of the infected attacking have?—”
“Molting, charred skin,” MJ finished.
I nodded and peered around the lifeless streets. “If we don’t figure out where they’re entering our circle, we could be fighting a war we’re not equipped for.”
“If they have those kinds of numbers, why aren’t we already?”
The warm breeze brushed the collar of my uniform as the hair on my nape rose. “Maybe there are issues with how they’re getting in or…” I remembered the glazed eyes of the infected Damned we fought at Saraqael’s funeral. “Maybe there are limits to controlling souls that are practically insane, and they need souls who aren’t.”
“Like the soul of a Dread?” MJ glanced up from the paper, an unspoken meaning behind her words.
“At this point, I hope she deserted,” I said grimly, continuing down the street.
Minutes later, we arrived at Cecilee’s secluded home. Brown vines clung to the red brick, spotted with black as if molding. Her snowy roof dripped onto the evergreen bushes bordering the front steps. The once-frosted green leaves were in a similar state of decay.
Hell’s foliage was no longer preserved in the Redemption Circle’s permanent frost. The knowledge tightened my shoulders.
“Why is this happening, Ronen?” MJ breathed, surveying the property with a similarly distressed look.
“I don’t know.”
We followed the muddy boot prints to the front door, most likely left over from Xavier’s visit.
“Ronen.” MJ pointed at the door handle.
Dark red blood wrapped around the tarnished brass.
Seven Hells.
“Step back.”
I wouldn’t let either of us touch it.
She moved down a step, and fire flashedin my peripherals.
I kicked in the door, the wood splintering and crashing open with a bang. Immediately, a sweet, sickening scent of rot and feces hit my nose.
Death.
My shadows pooled from my hands, and my visions switched to infrared. The rooms lit up with heat signatures wherever the shadows entered. Most appeared in shades of purple and blue, furniture and objects devoid of heat or life. But my shadows found one room containing two forms pulsing with white-hot signatures touched with red. One lay on a bed, while the other sat beside it. Based on their signatures, they seemed alive, but why white?
Archangels and Seraphim had white heat signatures when they used their Glory. But Cecilee was a soul. Her signature should register as purple, like most of the dead. And her daughter was a Nephilim, like she had once been, with at most an orange signature.
“What do you see?” MJ whispered, covering her nose.
