World After (36 page)

R
AFFE
RUNS
along the cliff toward Beliel and dives toward a scorpion. He grabs it just before it’s about to plunge its talon-like fingers into Beliel’s back.

At first, I’m confused. Why is Raffe protecting Beliel?

But as the blood trickles from Beliel’s neck onto his snowy wings, I understand. Raffe deflects Paige’s hands from ripping out a fistful of feathers.

Instead, she grabs Beliel’s hair and tears it out. White feathers puff out as the group wrestles.

While Raffe, Beliel, Paige and three scorpions fight, the angels on the lawn watch curiously. They don’t seem inclined to jump in to save Beliel. My guess is that those who’ve met him don’t like him, and those who haven’t might sense that he doesn’t belong with them.

Raffe’s mask is still on his face but he’s not the only one still in costume. No one takes notice of me, as if the humans they were so focused on just a few hours ago don’t really matter now.

I glance around to see if there’s anything I can slink back behind. There is nothing unless I’m willing to hide behind a bush that’s too far away for me to see anything. Nearby, there’s only the ocean, cliff, grass, and torchlights.

The trickle of angels quickly turns into a flood. The oddity of it must be fueling their curiosity. They crowd in and jostle me. Late-coming angel spectators have to take to the air to see the action.

Above us, a cloud of scorpions dips and dives, approaching, then receding like a hive of bees agitating around their nest.

I end up on the inner edge of the wall of bodies. So much for not bringing attention to ourselves. I stroke the soft fur of my teddy bear sword, trying to stay calm.

Beliel’s tortured screams fill the night.

Everyone watches as he gets mercilessly torn and stung. Aside from Raffe, who is only protecting his wings, not a single living thing comes to his aid. No one even cringes sympathetically for him.

Beliel was right. He is unloved and unwanted.

Paige, who has been panting and crying over Beliel finally looks up and seems to notice the angels for the first time. Even in this light, I can see the fear and uncertainty dawning on her face as her eyes move from coldhearted warrior to warrior.

The angels are partially lit by torches, looking savage with red-tinged shadows flickering along their faces.

Her eyes pause when she sees me. She blinks several times as if unsure that it’s me. Her face scrunches up, giving the eerie illusion that the stitched-up monster melts away from her face, leaving a terribly upset Paige in its wake.

She looks the way she did in the video in Beliel’s cell—tiny, alone, lost. A little kid trying to hang onto the belief that her big sister will come and save her.

I extend my arms out toward her, realizing how long it’s been since I’ve touched her. She’s not the same Paige that I knew but I can’t write her off as a monster, either. If we’re all going down, at least I’ll be able to comfort my baby sister in the last few moments of our lives.

Paige drops her gaze and looks unsure of herself. Tears leave track marks in the blood on her face.

I step into the center circle and walk over to her. Her crying intensifies as I get nearer. When I reach her, she wraps her arms around my waist as tight as can be.

My little sister looks up at me.

Mom was right. Her eyes are the same as they’ve always been. Brown eyes fringed with long lashes and steeped with the memory of sweetness and light, laughter and joy—trapped in this mangled, corpse-like face.

“It’s all right, baby girl,” I whisper into her hair as I hug her. “I’m here. I came for you.”

Her face crumples and her eyes shine. “You came for me.”

I stroke her hair. It’s as silky as ever.

A
T
R
AFFE
’
S
FEET
,
Beliel lies on the dirt. He bleeds through gashes, bites, and missing chunks. The three scorpions latch their mouths onto his open wounds and begin to suck him dry like enormous leeches with stingers.

Beliel yells, clumsily batting away the scorpions with the last of his energy.

Beliel’s skin becomes parched and begins to crinkle. Soon, I know he’ll shrivel and his flesh will look like beef jerky.

Raffe glances at the angels watching them, then back at Beliel’s shriveling skin. Even with his mask, I can tell he doesn’t want to do anything drastic in front of the angels. But he can’t let his wings be sucked dry and shrivel. And even if he could get these scorpions off Beliel, more could come down from the sky.

He spreads one of Beliel’s stolen wings and holds it firmly in one hand. From his waistband, he pulls out the kitchen knife he took from the beach house. It reflects the torch flames as he raises it, just before he swings down with the blade.

Beliel, still not entirely paralyzed, shrieks as Raffe cuts through his wing joint.

The wing falls on the ground.

The angels watch, stunned.

Raffe lifts his knife again.

A few warriors leap toward Raffe with their wings spread back and their fists ready. They think he’s cutting off an angel’s wings and that they’re defending their own. I guess it’s one thing to let an angel fend for himself against a little girl and her pets but not against another angel amputating his wings.

But they can’t reach him fast enough. Raffe slices through Beliel’s second wing.

The snowy wing falls to the ground, still glorious and full of life.

Raffe kicks at the first angel to reach him.

He fights hand-to-hand with the first two angels who come at him. He yells at them, probably trying to explain what’s really going on but his words get lost among the roar of the scorpions above, the angry clamor of the angels, and the crashing of the waves.

He can hold his own with the first two but a third one pulls out his sword.

The only effective weapon Raffe has is his demon wings which are still hidden beneath the feathered disguise. He backs up, hesitating to show them to so many angels even though it’s unlikely that anyone will recognize him with his mask. But his attacker gives him no choice as he winds up to slice with his sword.

Raffe’s demon wings burst open.

The crowd becomes silent. The scorpion buzzing fades as they finish their flyby. And Raffe’s wing scythes slide out with a snick.

His scythes clang and deflect against his opponent’s sword. The sword flies into the air and lands on the lawn.

Raffe lowers his chin and glares at the angels with a menacing look. With his giant bat wings behind him and the scythes glinting red by the torchlight, he’s the perfect picture of the devil.

The two severed wings lie on either side of Beliel. The white feathers blowing in the breeze look surreally out of place on the blood-soaked ground. Raffe’s festive mask only adds to the horror of it as he looms over Beliel.

As everyone stares, the only sound is the buzz of the locusts flying away and the waves smashing against the cliffs below.

Then the sound of a hundred angel swords being pulled from their scabbards fills the night.

M
Y
BREATH
comes out shaky and I don’t think I can feel my fingers. I can’t see a way out of this.

Raffe stands over Beliel, watching the warriors all around him. His eyes are fierce but it’s obvious that our situation looks pretty bad. Even if Raffe was in his best form, he couldn’t fight off an entire legion of his own people, even assuming that he wanted to.

Paige and I are just as surrounded as Raffe. My sister seems to have some new tricks up her sleeve but the odds aren’t exactly in our favor. I look around to see if there’s a gap in the wall of angels that I could sneak Paige through to safety but there is none.

We’re trapped.

They’ve fanned out around us, cut off every direction—land, water, and air. I guess this isn’t the first time they’ve trapped their quarry. They know how to move in for the kill, I’ll give them that.

Several angels step toward Raffe with their swords. He assesses them, then glances at his wings on the ground as if memorizing their location. He steps over Beliel’s head to get in front of his wings for the fight.

The scorpions watch Raffe with a wary eye but continue their life-sucking of Beliel as he shrivels. When the angel swords clash with Raffe’s wing scythes, the scorpions startle and fly away.

Beliel’s eyes stare blankly while the rest of him bleeds through gashes, bites, and missing chunks. If I didn’t know better, I’d assume he was dead.

Raffe tries to keep the angels from treading on his wings but there’s only so much you can do when you’re fighting for your life.

I get down on the ground and snatch a snowy wing before anyone tramples it. I quickly fold it and hand it to Paige.

“Hold this. Don’t let anything happen to it.”

I duck to the other side of Raffe and crawl on the ground to grab the other wing just as an angel is about to step on it. Above me, Raffe slices and blocks in a frenzy of motion with his demon wings.

I crawl backwards with the wing to get out of the way. I fold the wing and give it to Paige. The wings are light but they practically cover her whole body as she holds them in her arms.

I guide Paige back away from the fight. But our way is blocked by a warrior who glares down at us.

In the torchlight, his wings look more like flames but I know that they would be burnt orange under a streetlight. It’s Burnt, the one who kidnapped Paige out of spite.

He looks the same as he did in Doc’s surveillance video—bitter and mean. He takes a step toward us.

“There you are,” says Burnt as he reaches for Paige. “You finally came in handy for something, didn’t you? It’s about time someone took that reject down.”

I push Paige behind me and yank the bear from my sword. I’m almost glad that I get a chance to fight him. I have a special hatred for Burnt, the Kidnapper of Helpless Little Girls.

B
URNT
LOOKS
at me like I’m a mosquito. “What are you going to do? Pummel me with your teddy bear?”

I pull my sword out and get in my combat position.

He actually bursts out laughing. “You’re going to fight me with your tin sword, little girl?”

I can almost feel the rage pulsing from Raffe who is fighting several warriors.

Burnt casually swipes at me with his sword.

I automatically meet his steely blow with my own. The dream training must have worked, at least to some degree.

Burnt looks surprised. But that doesn’t stop him from immediately winding up for his next blow. I can tell he takes this one more seriously.

His sword comes down like a sledgehammer.

I swing my own sword to meet his.

The shock of the impact rattles my bones all the way down to my ankles. My teeth clack so hard I’m surprised they don’t fall out.

Amazingly, I’m still standing.

But just barely.

It’s clear I can’t take too many direct blows. Now I know why none of my dream training involved an opponent with a sword.

Burnt expected me to go down with a single blow. He lifts his sword again, looking annoyed.