Iniquity (The Premonition, #5)(70)

Wiping beads of water from his face, Byzantyne peers up at me. He shakes the water from his wings as he lofts into the air. “Simone,” he says as he approaches me. “You look divine.” His smile is rueful.

I feel the need to shiver, even though I don’t possess a body at the moment. “Byzantyne, forgot your umbrella?”

“I was in a hurry. I wasn’t expecting this summons. Something went awry, did it?”

“Depends on how you look at it.”

“This is, indeed, interesting timing. I just left Xavier. He isn’t faring well, I fear. I daresay he won’t be joining you. Ever.”

“You know what I remember the most about all of my afterlives, Byzantyne?” I ask.

“That I nearly always win?”

“That you enjoy lying to me.”

“I would never lie to you. I have only the utmost respect for you. I always tell you that one day I will possess your soul.”

“Why am I so important to you?”

“Because you’re important to Xavier…or at least you were. Sorry he couldn’t meet you at your rendezvous at the bridge. He was otherwise engaged.”

Fear makes my glowing light pulse in thumping beats. I try to control it. The light from me strobes Byzantyne’s face, making his features more pronounced, and then deeply shadowed. “I never made it to the bridge.”

“I can see that,” Byzantyne replies. He turns in circles, assessing the holy host of angels before him.

“Xavier had become more and more predictable the longer he stayed with you. He allowed us to kill your soul mate right away in this round. It wasn’t even fun for us. Casimir just let the chlorine gas take Nicolas. You should’ve seen it though, Simone—Nicolas clutching your picture as he struggled to take his last breath. In that way, it was an exquisite death.”

I try to ignore the gruesome images that evokes. “I know Xavier is alive. I would feel it if he weren’t.”

“Would you? I wonder how long it will take me to inspire such loyalty in you when you become mine.”

“I’ll never be yours.”

“That sounds like a challenge.” Without looking away from me, Byzantyne barks out, “Why has no one released my property from his meat sack?” he indicates Emil’s dead body on the ground.

A Throne responds, “That’s not our concern. It can rot in there for all we care.”

Byzantyne’s eyelids hood, and then he gazes at me. “It’s a little embarrassing that you can transition so easily, Simone, and Emil cannot. But,” he sighs, “Emil makes up for his shortcomings in sheer brutality, wouldn’t you agree?” He’s playing with me. He’s in a cheerful mood, as if he has a horrible secret that he just can’t wait for me to find out. I feel like I’m melting. What if what he said about Xavier is true?

Byzantyne directs his attention at the divine angels. “Which one of you has stolen this life from Sheol?” he demands.

“I am responsible for sending your killer home early,” Reed replies without emotion.

“A Power has gone rogue! What has this world come to when you cannot trust a divine Power to play by the rules?” Byzantyne shrugs. “Alfred!”

A very slight Reaper angel slips in from the darkness outside. He’s maybe the scrawniest angel I’ve ever seen. Condescending laughter comes from the divine angels when they see him slink in with rounded shoulders, clearly terrified to be there. Byzantyne gives him a haughty look. “Transition the soul from his prison.”

Alfred’s translucent dragonfly wings buzz in agitation. He runs a hand through his wet, blond hair. Rainwater drips from his pale, pointed chin. He moves to Emil. Wielding his scythe with the flair of a Samurai, he cuts through Emil’s aura to split it wide open. Most souls, when they emerge from their bodies, are luminous, the brighter the light, the more vibrant the soul. There’s an absence of illumination from Emil as he claws his way from his corpse. He’s a black hole devouring radiance.

Humiliation and rage ravage Emil’s features. He turns these emotions on Alfred. “WHERE WERE YOU? I HAVE BEEN DEAD FOR HOURS!” This is a blatant exaggeration. It has been less than one hour. In the old days, it could take days of languishing in rotting flesh before being emancipated. It speaks to his Sheol status that an hour now seems an eternity to him. He must be very important to them—especially high on the evil food chain.

Alfred doesn’t cower from Emil. His vindictive glare and pinched mouth promise retaliation. The Reaper raises his scythe, spinning it around with deadly precision. “Alfred,” Byzantyne’s contempt for the Reaper is in his tone. “Do not threaten my protégé.” Alfred’s head tilts forward with involuntary submission, but his blue eyes still stare unblinking at Emil.

Emil shifts his blind animal fury to me. “You were mine! I had you this time! You would’ve fallen! It was inevitable!” I don’t find this a bit amusing, but I force a smile as I extend a luminous limb, turning my arm over in front of me to assess its shine.

“I don’t think that’s quite true. I seem to be lighting up the room.”

“You will dim when I play with you in Sheol,” Emil rages.

“If I ever fell from grace, I don’t believe Byzantyne would allow you near me. I’d replace you as his favorite.” I force another smile. “Maybe you shouldn’t try so hard to make me fall.”