“Are you the reason he’s refused to touch me?” The voice was soft but tinged with malevolence.
“No,” Piers snapped. “I told you, I just don’t like being forced. And the deal was I’d be at your side, not on top of you. I never said I would fuck you.”
“It was implicit in the deal.”
“Maybe to you.”
“It’s her, isn’t it? You’re in love with her.” Andarta’s voice filled with disbelief.
Bitch. Roz stepped forward—time to get to the point of this meeting. Her throat was dry, and she swallowed. She could do this.
“Andarta, I challenge you to mortal combat.”
“Are you goddamn crazy?” Piers whirled around to face Asmodai again. “For fuck’s sake, get her out of here.”
“Too late,” Andarta purred. “I accept.”
Shit. This was it. “When?”
“Why not right now? Perhaps once you’re dead, Piers will be a little more amenable.”
“And perhaps he won’t,” Piers growled. Panic was forming on his face. Obviously it was sinking in that he had no control over what went on here. He shook his head as though trying to make sense. “Don’t do this, Andarta. Let her go, and I’ll do anything you ask. Just let her go.”
“Too late; the challenge has been accepted.”
“I’m sorry,” Asmodai said. “I didn’t know she was going to do this. She said she wanted to say goodbye, tell you she’d wait for you. She cried, goddamn it.” He took a deep breath. “We’re going to fight, I take it? But you know you’ll also perish if Andarta dies outside a challenge?”
Piers ran his hands through his hair. “To be honest, after a few hours with that bitch, I think death is preferable.”
Roz realized they meant to fight Andarta. No, this wasn’t how it was supposed to happen. But even as the fear crowded her mind, a circle of crimson flame formed around her and the demoness. Too late.
“Only one of us comes out of this circle alive,” Andarta said, her tone making it clear she had no doubt who that would be.
This was it. Roz backed away instinctively until the heat of the fire burned her skin, and she could go no further.
The weight of Piers’ stare drew her gaze sideways. He stared at her and his eyes filled with despair. “Why?”
“Because I never told you I loved you. And you sneaked away. And I’ve been happy this last week. And I couldn’t bear the thought of going on with my life all the while knowing that you were here with her because of me. I’m sorry.”
“Well, ‘sorry’ is not fucking good enough. Look out!”
The first bolt hit her in the arm, and red needles of pain shot through her. She swayed but managed to keep her feet.
She had no clue how to fight back. What was she supposed to do? Just stand here while that bitch tore her into little pieces? She’d do anything for a gun right now, but Asmodai had told her long ago that weapons didn’t work in the Abyss.
She was an idiot. What the hell had she been thinking?
That for once, just once, someone would hear her prayers and answer. That somewhere deep in the core of her there was a power. A power trapped inside. A power she had no fucking clue how to release. And even if she could, chances were she would still lose to the demoness.
Andarta seemed to grow until she towered over her, beautiful and oozing malevolence. Roz had never felt so small, so insignificant. The demoness extended her hand almost casually, and fire burst from her fingertips. The blast zapped Roz in the shoulder, whirling her around and slamming her to the floor. She lay for a moment, trying to catch her breath and control the pain that burned along her nerve endings. This was nothing. Andarta was playing with her. Things would get much worse before the end.
Piers was close by; she could sense his fear and despair. She’d made things worse. She should have known that. He’d blame himself for her death.
She struggled to her hands and knees, bracing herself for the next bolt. Andarta smiled as she stretched out her hand.
Then the smile froze. She lowered her arm, her eyes narrowing on something behind Roz. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw Christian and her father had entered the chamber. They’d halted just inside. The Key was clenched in the Walker’s fist, and shock was stamped on both their faces.
“You can’t stop this,” Andarta said. “The challenge has been accepted.”
Ignoring her, the Walker strode over to where Asmodai stood beside Piers. He turned to the demon. “Get out. Now.”
“Why?”
“There’s no time for explanations. Just get out, or you die.”
Asmodai looked from the Walker to Roz and back again. Some expression flickered in his eyes, wonder, awe. She didn’t have time to analyze it because he whirled around and vanished from the chamber.
What the hell was going on?
The Walker reached out a hand toward her. He murmured something and inside her, the door was flung open.
“Fuck.”
The word came from Piers. He was staring at her. She peered down and saw her skin glowing with a pale luminescence. White light blazed out of her, lighting up the cavernous chamber, flaring off the black walls. She turned slowly. Andarta stood motionless, her eyes stretched wide.
Roz threw back her head as the power streamed through her, bathing her in raw energy. She was on fire but didn’t burn, the tongues of white flame licking over her skin.
Focusing her mind on Andarta, the light poured out from her. The demoness screamed, as the flames engulfed her body.
Shock held Roz immobile. What had she done? But she couldn’t stop it now. In panic, she turned to Piers, but the fire hadn’t touched him. He huddled against the wall, his hand shading his eyes. Christian stood beside him.
And all around her, the white fire burned.
The Walker approached the invisible barrier that encircled her and the burning demoness. “Rosamund, call it back. You can do it.”
Could she? Did she even want to? But the flames were spreading, leaking out of the circle, crawling along the floor, up the walls.
She closed her eyes. Visualized the door. Pushed it closed. At first, it resisted. She gave a shove, and the door slammed shut.
When she opened her eyes, the fire was gone. In front of her was a pile of ashes—all that remained of Andarta.
Epilogue
“She’s an angel,” the Walker said.
They were back in Piers’ office at the Order. Everyone was there. And they were all staring at her. Even the goddamn cat.
“Hey, stop gawping at me like I’m about to sprout wings and a halo and start singing halleluiah!” Roz twitched her shoulders as if she could already feel the appendages growing.
“Really? An angel?” Piers asked. He sounded dubious, and who could blame him. He was also studying her as though she might explode. She scowled instead.
“Quarter angel, actually,” the Walker replied. “Her mother was the child of a fallen angel.”
“What happened to him?” Roz asked. Her mother had always said she was an orphan.
“He was hunted down and executed, along with your grandmother, but the child—your mother—escaped.”
“But who killed them?”
“The angels, of course. If you think the fae don’t like their blood being spread about, you should see what the angels do.”
“Actually, I don’t think I do want to see.”
“What sort of angel?” Christian asked.
“There are different sorts?” This morning she hadn’t believed in angels. Now apparently, there were different types. And she was one of them.
“What sort do you think?” the Walker said. “You saw the light, saw what she did to Andarta.”