It’s Time

“We are the lions, free of the coliseums . . .

We’re the beginning of the end.”

—“Young Volcanoes” by Fall Out Boy

I knew things would get worse.

Whispered voices down the hall catch my attention, European accents. I hear the name Marek and I listen intently. It’s a language I don’t understand, but the man speaking sounds urgent. He slips into English at the end. “Find it.”

Footsteps head down the hall, our direction. It’s Marek, and I know what he’s after. I run to my duffel bag and yank out Anna’s bag from within, shoving it toward her.

“Here’s your bag. Get ready.” She stares at me like I’ve gone crazy. I sign, Hide the hilt! The son of Shax is coming!

She pales and opens the bag. We all watch, tense, as she pulls out a sack of wrapped sweets, looks around the room frantically, and then shoves the sack into the rubbish bin. The hilt has traveled the world, hidden in this fashion, with no notice, undetected by man-made machines. But something tells me the son of Theft will be harder to fool.

Moments later he’s at the door, with a whisperer following him in. Marek is matter-of-fact, completely at ease. It’s almost eerie the way Marek seems to know exactly what he’s looking for—the bag of taffies. He fishes it from the bin and opens it, removing the hilt.

He turns to me. “She had it all along. Don’t you know never to trust a pretty face?” His eyes scan me from top to bottom. I’m getting a sense from this guy that I can’t place. It’s nothing to do with the sensual way he takes me in. It’s in the way his eyes seem to be trying to communicate something more. I am rigid from the fact that he’s taking the Sword of Righteousness on his father’s orders, but something in his gaze tells me not to fight it.

When Marek and the whisperer leave, Shax gives him instructions: “Dispose of it. Bury it in the desert if you must.”

We’ve lost our solitary weapon, and it’s almost time to leave for the summit. Panic flares in my chest, and then oddly subsides. From the look on Anna’s face, she’s got enough anxiety for the both of us.

It’s not until an hour later, as Marek is checking us over at the door to the nightclub, that I figure out what’s strange about him—he gives off no evil vibes, no malicious intent. I don’t get the feeling from him that I get with the Dukes and sons of Thamuz and other likely suspects. Marek takes his time patting me down. When the metal detector blares at my boots, and he checks them over with care, I am not nervous. He wears a malevolent expression, but I am the king of masks, and his feels false.

Despite appearances, I have the feeling Marek is an ally. I think he knew how the hilt was hidden because Belial got ahold of him. When he glances up at me from where he’s crouched at my feet, we share the smallest of inconspicuous grins. He knows there are compartments in the underside of my boots, but he doesn’t open them. He merely stands and nods for me to move along. I don’t linger. I want to tell Anna my suspicions, to ease her mind, but it’s not safe. As we enter the club, I bloody hope I’m right about Marek. I hope the son of Theft has the hilt up his sleeve, ready to play.

I keep myself consistently buzzed with a constant stream of alcohol. I have to keep the bonds between me and Anna hidden from Astaroth. I wish I could stay sober, but I must remain on that cusp of fuzziness.

As promised, Father shows to walk Anna into the summit, ready to take full credit for her “capture.” He looks her over with a sneer, and I know what he’s thinking.

She looks the part—a badass mercenary in black leather with heeled boots, and bright blond hair flowing wildly. Her eyes are dark and her lips are red. She doesn’t back down from his stare.

Father turns to me with an abrasive glare. “This isn’t exactly what I had in mind when I said to get her different clothes.”

I don’t respond. He grabs her arm and yanks her toward the VIP room where the summit will take place. Anna turns her head to capture my gaze over her shoulder. She is afraid, but pushing forward. My brave girl. Anyone else, including me, would have tried to run from this fate.

I’m here, I tell her with my eyes. I’m not going anywhere.

Father struts into the darkened lounge, shooting a haughty look at the other Dukes, and shoves Anna away. “Go sit down until we’re ready to deal with you.”

I want to grab him by the thick neck and deal with him right now. I feel Marna scratch me gently on the back to calm me, and we all move forward, following Anna to the long black couches along the wall. Fake stars twinkle down on us from the black ceiling. Other Nephilim from around the world filter in and sit along the walls with us.

I search the room for exits. Aside from where we entered, there seems to be a door on the side wall that blends in with all the black. It has no exit sign. The club is underground, so that door could lead to a cellar or closet. I wish I could check for certain.

When Astaroth arrives, Marna inconspicuously leans forward and glances between me and Anna, checking to see if the bond will be visible to her father. She gives a satisfied nod to say we’re okay, and I exhale. I’m more nervous than I’ve ever been, but it’s different than the last summit. We still don’t have a plan. We’ve no clue how to take down all of these Dukes and spirits. Anna keeps talking about having faith, how this battle is bigger than just her, bigger than any of us, but I just want her to live. And yes. I want the demons gone for good.

I haven’t let myself imagine what life will be like without them, but as I watch the eleven of them mingling—all present except Belial—the lot of them unconcerned and unbothered by the hell they’ve put everyone through, I want them gone so badly it burns like acid in my blood. I want them to pay.

I sit very still, as do the other Neph. We learned early on not to fidget. Not to draw attention or show weakness or disrespect. Anna starts to nibble on her nail and I nudge her leg with mine. She drops her hand to her lap.

Moments later Duke Rahab fills the open spot in the center of the room. All attention is on him as he speaks in a French accent, malice lacing each word. “I never believed this summit would be called. But alas . . . the great prophecy is upon us.” He motions to Father. I tense as Father strides straight to Anna, yanking her to her feet. My lungs constrict, watching him pull her to the middle of the room.

I slide to the edge of my seat.

“Her badge holds the white of innocence,” Rahab spits. “First the angels intervened to keep her alive, and then her father goes missing when we attempt to question him. But once we take out his offspring, we will find Belial, and he will be dealt with.”

“How can this be, Brother Rahab?” asks Blake’s dad, Melchom. Blake stares at his father in his new, young body—he looks like a Chinese movie star, and he’s modeled his hair to look just like Blake’s. “The prophecy was a myth!”

Rahab grins wickedly. “We have reason to believe that eighteen years ago a guardian angel broke ranks and possessed her human to be with a Duke. Some of you might recall the angel Mariantha and her touching bond with Belial?”

“The traitor!” bellows Zania’s father, Duke Sonellion. His eyes burn red and he bashes a fist against the table. Other Dukes follow suit, shouting their disgust.

“I am not sold on this so-called prophecy,” calls the smooth voice of Duke Alocer, Kope’s father. “How do we know it’s true? What proof do we have?”

The Dukes are so accustomed to being lied to from every angle that they break into an argument about the prophecy’s validity. I’m quite pleased about this development, as watching them squabble among themselves makes me feel that our ranks of Neph are stronger. Plus, it gives me a chance to discreetly bend my knee up and reach down, prying my knife from the sole of my boot. And then, slowly, I grab the other, sliding them both into my pockets.