Iniquity (The Premonition, #5)(40)
The warm forearm of an angel wraps ‘round my neck from behind me. I grasp it, and leanin’ forward, I flip the rancid, brown-winged bugger over the top of me. When he’s on the ground at my feet, I step on his neck, crushin’ his larynx. Energy is freely flowin’ to me once more. I use it to crush fallen angels near me.
Brennus backs nearer to me, struck by a whip-like current of energy from Emil. Black blood seeps from his left ear, coursing down over the glowin’ tattoo of the axe I saw earlier. He stumbles to the left a step, his fingers comin’ up to touch his ear. His other hand grips a chair as he tries to stay on his feet. The action draws Emil closer. Brennus whirls with his own whiplash of light, hittin’ Emil with a lightnin’ bolt. It singes the flesh from Emil’s face. The lightning branches out to the evil angels near Emil, cookin’ them alive.
Emil struggles for breath for a moment before he weakly raises his winged-dagger, holdin’ it aloft. His lips move and I strain to hear what he’s sayin’. It eludes me, but I feel no less damned by it. The blade glows red; he slashes the air with it, cuttin’ the room open, like he’s tearin’ away the shroud of wrappin’ paper. Another world beyond this one reveals itself. An intense reek hits me like a punch to the gut, and suddenly I understand what I’m seein’. We’re exposed to the reekin’ pit of Sheol.
Our library crumbles away. The panorama of a dark night sky surrounds us. Beneath it, a Gothic cityscape lies like the chalky outline of a murder victim. This place is like nothin’ I’ve ever seen before. A blood red moon casts ripples of ruby light upon the river below as it twists a tangled spine for miles through the bones of the city. The beautifully gruesome buildings that line the pristine streets have an immense degree of detail. They have perfect symmetry; so perfect, in fact, that they look as if they’re monuments to worship. The stone-white spires are gargoyle-infested. Rosette windows, like a thousand eyes, glow in multicolored splendor. Gazing upon them, they take note of me and they gaze back.
I detect movement in the darkness between the buildings. The limestone figures come alive and loft into the air. Scaly white wings beat against one another in their frenzy to reach us, a tangle of frantic bodies converging. I take a step back. The threshold of Hell follows me, encroachin’ further into the library.
It’s as if I’m the light within a lantern, peerin’ out into the darkness beyond the dome of glass at the violent shapes of an army of evil moth men. My mind screams so loud it drowns out the frantic beat of my heart. A spell! I need a spell!
Wintry cold wind wafts into what’s left of our fadin’ world. With the reek of unbridled evil upon us, I pray to Heaven to escape. Golden light breaks from above, on the opposite side from where Sheol is emergin’. Before I can take it all in, Brennus unleashes a silver ball of energy from his hand. It zips ‘round the perimeter of the room, Faerie dust fallin’ from its path as it coats the walls with shiny gray light that runs down in tears. The lustrous ball spirals up to the ceilin’. When it reaches the top, it explodes in a shower of silver sparks.
I grab the vase just as Brennus’ shimmerin’ dust distorts everythin’. Seein’ double, Hell fades, replaced by a black, white, and gray version of the library. The walls abandon their shape, bleedin’ into one another, formin’ indefinite lines and boundaries.
Before I can think, Brennus whirls on me with a look of frustration. “Whah were ye standin’ around for? When Hell opens up, ye use yer powers ta close it.” He motions to Finn to join him at his side. What’s left of his army of Gancanagh gather nearer, checkin’ their weapons and shakin’ off the battle, but none make a move to harm Zee or me.
“You givin’ me tips now?” I ask.
He stalks nearer, sayin’, “Do na even breathe when I’m speakin’, dat is da tip o’ da day.” He turns to his brother. “Finn, dey’re attemptin’ ta pull us back ta dem. Weave a stronger silver-linin’ spell.”
“What were those white creatures?” I blurt out, referrin’ to the albino moth men who just came at us from Sheol.
“Motes,” Brennus growls. “Dey consume fear. Stop feedin’ dem! Dey could smell it on ye da moment our world was ripped open ta dem. Ye need ta learn ta control it if ye want ta become invisible ta dem.”
“Why’d you save us from them?” I ask, indicatin’ Zee and me with a gesture of my hand.
“I need ye ta speak to Genevieve—she’s incapable of making a good decision lately—she only accepts me help when her circumstances are dire. I need ye ta convince her dat she needs me—dat we’re allies.”
I throw my head back and laugh. “You’ve been suckin’ on Evie’s blood again, haven’t you? Are ya buzzin’ or somethin’? ‘Cuz you know me well enough to know we’re not friends!”
“Have ye na assessed da situation?” Brennus asks in with a calculatin’ look. “’Twas tousands of centuries o’ yer past dat jus leaked out all over da room back dere.” He points his thumb over his shoulder to the world just beyond this one.
In the backdrop of this new dimension, shadows from the ashen Motes creep ‘round; their pensive movements stalkin’ the magic of this realm, lookin’ for a way in. The angels and Emil are there, too. Finn is holdin’ up his hands with his eyes closed, murmurin’ words that work to entwine silvery layers, creatin’ thicker walls. I turn away from him to focus on Brennus.