Scorn of Angels (24 page)

Arcana stepped through the Gate and nodded at the Angel who was standing there.

Except it wasn’t an Angel. Arcana froze in horror.

“Hello, Arcana,” said Tribunal with a smile. “Welcome home.”

The catacombs beneath Rome were greater than the humans knew.

The humans had dug a hundred miles of tunnels for the bones of their ancestors. The cleverly made tunnels were brick and stone and designed for the ages. But they were only the beginning. Old villas, long since buried beneath new construction, created their own mini-caves where the original frescoes, protected from the ravages of sunlight and wind, could still be seen. Tunnels dug by slaves and Christians and pagans alike, hiding from persecution at various times, added to the labyrinth. Water had also carved paths that led deep into the Earth.

And through this maze of darkness Nyx was hunted and hunter in turns.

She and Persephone had split up as soon as they’d come into the catacombs. They had been here before during their times in Rome, and each knew the place perfectly.

The Descended that followed did not.

At first, the Descended had rushed into the tunnels and into battle. Nyx, with walls to protect her flanks, and endless darkness to retreat into, dispatched three in the first moments. Persephone accounted for two more. Then they had split, running into the darkness, changing shape and size to avoid detection. The Descended shone in Nyx and Persephone’s minds like beacons. They could see exactly where each was. But thanks to Epiphenia, the Descended could only guess and chase after Nyx and Persephone.

It was not a game of cat and mouse; it was two lethal cats fighting a pack of vicious rats.

And so far, the cats were winning.

Pesado stood at the front of his squad, listening.

He was tall even for an Angel, and the catacombs forced him to bend and crouch, which made him angry. The fact that he only had seven of his original squad left made him even angrier. That two survivors from Berith’s squad had also joined him, and two from Sonneilon’s squad, did not improve his mood in the slightest, because it meant that his friends were gone—blown into dust which would never recover its form again.

Pesado’s red armor, which normally repaired itself over time, was scored in a half-dozen places by Nyx’s attacks. She had nearly killed him before the others managed to drive her off.

Around him, Pesado could hear water dripping and, somewhere deeper, flowing. There were rats and cats and mice and snakes and bats, and a myriad of insects moving in the tunnels. Miles away he could hear Gressil and the nine Descended that followed her—five of her own, one of Sonneilon’s and three of Verrine’s—hunting.

Verrine had told his squad to fend for themselves and had gone off hunting alone.
Cocky
bastard.

Movement,
sent one of her squad.
Two tunnels away. Coming
fast.

Get
ready!

They could hear footsteps rushing toward them; hear the air singing off the drawn blade the runner was carrying. They tensed, all knowing how good a fighter Nyx was and know- ing that in these cramped quarters their numbers would hinder as much as help.

The running came closer and closer, and around the corner of the tunnel came…

Nothing.

Nyx’s whip wrapped tight around Pesado’s neck from behind, cutting off any sound he could make before her sword, transformed into a short, deadly thrusting blade, punched a half-dozen holes through his armor from behind.

It’s an…
was all he managed to send before the blade found his heart and he exploded into silver dust. The other Descended swung around, away from the illusion Nyx had sent, and screamed their battle cries as Nyx cut through their numbers like a black scythe, leaving severed limbs and hacked-open heads and two more piles of silver dust before she vanished into the dark tunnels once more.

Michael landed in time to see Arcana freeze in front of Tribunal. God’s Son was smiling at her, and Arcana was terrified.

“Welcome back,” said Tribunal. “What took so long?”

“The Gate was blocked,” said Arcana. “But today it opened enough for me to get through and I have returned.”

“And how did you unblock it?”

“I didn’t,” said Arcana. Angels could not lie, but Arcana had no intention of telling Tribunal what had happened. “I must report to God all that I have seen in my time on Earth,” she said instead. She went to walk past Tribunal, and he caught her arm.

“You can report to me instead,” he said.

“I cannot,” said Arcana. “Please let me go.”

“I think not,” said Tribunal. “I think, instead, you will come with me and tell me everything that has happened.” He looked over his shoulder. “And I think that you, Michael, will go back on patrol.
NOW.
”

The command in Tribunal’s voice was near-irresistible. Tribunal was part of God and spoke with the authority appropriate to that station. He was God’s Son and God’s right hand.

But he was not God.

“I think not,” said Michael, though he had to force the words out through ground-together teeth. “I think you should let Arcana go, and I think that you should let her go speak to God.” His face blazed with effort and with fury at what was being done to him.

Tribunal’s left eyebrow went up. “You do, do you?” He squeezed Arcana’s arm tighter, hoping to elicit a cry of pain. Arcana’s face stayed neutral. “A pity that I’m not going to, Michael. You see, God isn’t paying attention to the Gates or anything that happens around them. And soon, God isn’t going to be paying attention to anything. Ever. And don’t even think of drawing your sword here,” added Tribunal, his words freezing Michael’s hand in place before the Angel could move it further. “Do you really think you can do anything against me now, Michael?”

“I can try,” said Michael, his eyes like flames.

“You will fail. Now go stand at the Gate and invite the souls in like a good little slave,” said Tribunal, dropping even more power into his voice, and this time Michael could not resist the command. “And as for you, my dear…” Tribunal waved his hand. Arcana’s dress disappeared, leaving her naked. Her long, tightly-bound hair pulled suddenly free, and her white wings spread wide as if grabbed at the ends and pulled. Her expression did not change. “You and I will go and discuss your behavior these last few years.”

Tribunal and Arcana vanished. Michael walked forward and took Tribunal’s place at the Gates. He would be there, he knew, until Tribunal released him or God called him. And given what had just happened, Michael began to believe that Tribunal was right. God was no longer paying attention.

Michael felt tears rolling down his face as he welcomed the souls into Heaven. And silently, fervently, he began to pray in the hopes that God would awaken and answer.
O, my Father, he thought. Why hast thou deserted
me?

Far below, hanging in the sky outside the outer Gates of Heaven, Epiphenia felt her own tears starting. She folded her wings and let herself fall to the Earth

Verrine was not tall, as Angels went, but squat and solid, as if all the iron for a twenty-foot statue of a god of athletes was squashed down into his six-foot frame. He was a hunter by nature, and a good one, even by the standards of Hell. His greatest joy was to mark a demon, give it a five-year head start, and then track it until he found it and took its head. He had hunted thousands of demons, hundreds of souls, and at least a dozen Descended—some on bets, some at the behest of Lucifer.

Nyx and Persephone had figured out how to conceal their Angelic presence, but that was fine as far as Verrine was concerned. He hunted by scent. He knew the scents of Nyx and Persephone, both from eons in Hell, and from the battles they’d had since the Descended had come to Earth.

He ducked and squeezed his way through the catacombs, listening and moving as silently as only an Angel could. He could sense his brethren moving through the catacombs. They were staying in groups, hoping to better defend themselves. So far it hadn’t worked. Six more of the Descended were dead now—four of the ones that had been after Nyx, two of the ones after Persephone. Only seventeen of the original fifty were left from their fights with the two.

At least Arcana is gone,
thought Verrine.
That one fights as well as Nyx. The two of them together could probably kill the rest of
us.

There was a whimpering noise in the catacomb ahead. Not the sound an Angel would make, but the sound of a human, scared and alone. Verrine crept forward, his feet noiseless on the worn stones of the tunnel floor. He peered around the corner, his Descended eyes easily piercing the gloom.

The girl was young, just into womanhood, with firm, pert breasts poking out against the thin, ripped, white muslin of the short shift that was her only clothing. Her legs were long and bare, and the shift only barely covered what was between them. Her brown hair fell in messy tangles on her shoulders, and there was a smudge of dirt on her face. She had pushed herself back against a wall in the little chamber she was in. Her brown eyes were wide with terror as she stared, unseeing, into the darkness. “Who… who’s there? Help me!”