Iniquity (The Premonition, #5)(35)
“You’re good with surprises, Buns.” His smile is placid.
She sniffs the air in derision and waddles forward like a golden-haired sumo wrestler. “I do like a good surprise,” she reluctantly agrees.
“The portal is not activated to pull you through. You will need to shapeshift,” Zephyr says, suppressin’ a smile.
“That’s something you could’ve pointed out to me an hour ago!” Buns sweeps her hands in front of her, indicatin’ the pile of clothes layered on her. “Maybe I don’t feel like becoming butterflies right now! Did you ever think of that?” Her hands find their way to where her hips might lie beneath the fabric.
Brownie gathers her hair away from her neck and fans her sweaty face with her other hand. “I can maybe manage moths—butterflies are a stretch.”
“I’m okay with that if you can manage to change into them in the next few seconds because we’ve stayed here too long as it is.” Zephyr holds out a delicate earthen vase. Crack lines in the gold and black enamel run through the angels depicted on its sides. He lifts the lid from it. The immensity of time and space swirls in a spiral within it; ready to devour us like a black hole does a star going supernova.
“None of us is going to look very good when we get wherever we’re going in that portal,” Buns pouts.
“I don’t even care anymore,” Brownie says irritably. “I just wanna go. There’s something oppressive in the air we’re breathing. It’s starting to feel like two and two makes five around here.” At that, Brownie bursts into a shimmerin’ copper cloud of moths, shapeshiftin’ to fit inside the portal. The clothes that she was wearin’ fall to the floor, a discarded chrysalis of cotton, linen, and denim. One moth at a time, Brownie rains down into the vase that Zephyr holds open.
As Brownie slips away, Buns shivers despite her overheated skin. “Okay, sweetie,” she gives Zephyr a half-smile. “I like you best when you’re wearing nothing at all anyway.” Zephyr’s eyes get bluer just as Buns’ iridescent skin glows golden and she closes her eyes. In a poof, like a smoky distraction in a magician’s trick, Buns transforms herself into a kaleidoscope of golden-winged butterflies. The flock floats and ungulates, swimmin’ in the air of the library. A landfill of coats, sweaters and pants collapse in the middle of the room at the loss of Buns’ former shape.
“You’re next,” Zephyr says to Anya with a smile as he waits, holdin’ the vase as the first few of Buns’ velvety-winged thoraxes crawl into it.
The pit of my soul shakes in the next moment. The windows linin’ the library shatter inward. Jagged shards of glass scatter golden butterflies, preventin’ pieces of our Reaper angel from enterin’ the portal. Hoards of fallen angels crawl into our sanctuary. Cold air infiltrates, too, turnin’ my breath to wisps of white vapor. Powerful brown, white, and gray-colored wings unfurl from the backs of the evil angels. Their strong hands draw steely blades from jewel-encrusted sheaths.
Raisin’ both my hands, I hit the enemies’ first wave with magical white-hot beams of light. The flesh of evil Power angels burns from their bones, renderin’ them to dust. Clouds of ash rise in the air. It doesn’t stop the next wave. Hundreds of monstrous vulture-winged angels with brown and white feathers emerge from it.
From somewhere behind me, black-feathered arrows rip through the air. The arrowheads pass by my eyes, striking the foreheads of the fallen Power angels ahead of me. Anya ratchets four more arrows to the bow, firin’ them off in one bow stroke. She sets four more with lightnin’-fast speed and strikes the eyes of her targets, fellin’ them in less than an instant.
“Russell!” Zephyr calls to me. “Catch!” He throws the fragile portal vase with the force of a comet. The vase becomes a net, catchin’ several golden butterflies within it as it tumbles through the air.
My reaction is ingrained. I shift into reverse. My feet move as my eyes follow the trajectory of the vase spiralin’ through the air like a football. I stumble, runnin’ into furniture in my path, but I never take my gaze from it. Spreading my wings, I leap into the air as the urn soars by my head. Its smooth surface slides over my fingertips. I fumble with the amphora shape, it tumbles from my left hand to my right and back again. I secure it in my grasp. Catching as many golden-winged creatures out of the air as I can, I stuff ‘em in the portal. They disappear in a swirl that mimics the Milky Way.
From the corner of my eye, I see Anya being forced backward toward one of the walls lined with bookcases. “Zee!” I roar. He glances at me. His back is covered with golden butterflies as he wields his broad sword with vicious intent. It flows through the onslaught of angels before him, stemmin’ their tide and keepin’ them in front of him so they can’t crush any of the butterfly pieces of our Reaper. “Catch!” I yell.
I toss the portal into the air toward Zee. As it rockets to him, it swallows up several flutterin’ butterflies in it’s path. I only wait long enough for him to catch it in his raised fingers before my hands swing to the books on the shelf behind Anya’s head. I cast a spell that has tomes flyin’ off them, strikin’ the snarlin’ angels bearin’ down on my girl. It only stops a few. A large Power with silver-gray wings manages to slip through them. Anya drops her bow at his approach because she’s out of arrows. Drawin’ out her bone-handled knife from her thigh holster, she grips it firmly in her fist. The towerin’ angel swings his silvery sword, intent on cuttin’ her in half. She ducks and it misses her by less than a millimeter. My fear for her safety is a steely blade cutting my belly in two.