Dusk’s eyes follow mine to the bloody, shredded practice target. “They’re training to fight humanoids in general. The Adversary will turnboth of our people to their cause.”
I finally pull my eyes back to him. “What cause is that?”
“Anarchy.” A colder, deeper voice comes from behind me, making me flinch. “They want to destabilize the planet so they can seize control, establishing a new world order.”
I turn around, finding Abaddon behind me.
His thick silver hair is partially pulled back, leaving his hardened, cruel face fully visible in the daylight. Unlike Dusk, he’s wearing his full celestial armor—black, gleaming metal, complete with that wraith-like cloak of his that melds into the shadows.
“Is that not what already happened with the rebellion? You know, the story of Lucifer Morningstar?”
“What is it with humans and their obsession with the devil…” Dusk mutters from beside me, but Abaddon ignores him.
“No,” he answers. “That was different.”
“How so?”
Annoyance inches into the finest features of his expression. “Do you intend to live in the past, or are you coming with us into the hereafter?”
“Who says history isn’t relevant for the future?”
“For you? I do.” He storms past me, not bothering to look my way as he stalks forward. “You will maximize the use of your time here. Come now, girl. I will briefly show you what facilities you will have access to, then I must be on my way. The Messenger should be capable of managing your training for now.”
“Don’t think about it so much,” Dusk instructs, his voice vibrating in that musical mid-pitch of his that I’m so sick of hearing right now. “Just swing.”
“Oh, jeeze, why didn’t I try that yet?” I bite back.
I’ve tried every way possible to hit the stupid tiny ball. Concentrating, closing an eye, shifting my weight, pretending it isn’teven there… Maybe if my muscles weren’t so utterly exhausted from the first five days of the week, I might stand a chance.
Instead, I swing my pathetic wooden sword through the air with whatshould beperfect form, and I miss the ballentirely. It stays perfectly perched on the pole, not even wobbling from the airflow. It’s like the damn thing is mocking me.
“I knew I should have played more sports as a kid,” I grumble, mostly to myself. “I have no hand-eye coordination whatsoever.”
An obnoxious smirk plays on Dusk’s pretty, plump lips. “Well, I’ve seen worse. Then again, I’m pretty sure there are toddlers with better aim than you.” I glare at him, but his golden eyes only twinkle with amusement. “The human kind, too.”
“Remind me again why we have to start sword-fighting with a lacrosse ball?” I rest my toy weapon over my shoulder, biting back a wince from the bruise I took yesterday. My balance in the obstacle course was fantastic, but my dodging? Not so great.
“Because I’ve already taught you everything else I can with your miserable aim. You can’t be trusted with sharp objects yet. If you’d just let us focus on hand-to-hand combat?—”
“Hey, Dusk,” I interrupt, beckoning him closer with a serious expression. To my delight, he falls for it. “Did you know there’s been these crazy modern inventions that are, like, handheld canons? We call themguns. They tend to beat out all other individual weapons these days.”
He rolls his eyes, groaning. “Darling, you know that mortal weapons can’t hurt angels. If you’re using celestially forged amplifying weapons to take down an angel, you have to channel your power throughdirectcontact. Otherwise, you’re better off using your power directly, and you’re not even close to making progress on that front… Besides, with all the knowledge in the universe available to us, don’t you think angels would have started with your ‘modern inventions’ if they were really the best option?”
“Well, when you put it like that, I sound like a fucking idiot.”
Dusk cackles.
“Stop laughing,” I mutter, swinging the sword again. To my surprise, it slams into the little ball, sending it flying through the air. Only a few feet, but satisfying nonetheless.
Dusk whistles, following the ball with his eyes. “I think you just surpassed toddler aiming. With enough luck, you’ll be swinging sticks like an actual adult within the next week!”
“You mean I’ll be stuck with the sticks of my own age group?” I mock incredulity. “Damn. Here I was, thinking I had a chance with the wood of an immortal angel.”
Dusk laughs even harder, smiling ear to ear. “Okay, you got me there—I left myself open for that. I take it back.” Mischief twinkles on him as he bows to me theatrically. “All hail Kae Lambros! Key to the Abyss, Dawn of the Apocalypse, and Prodigy of the Stick.”
I give him a sarcastic curtsy in return. “Thank you, thank you. No autographs at this time, please.”
By the time the weekend finally rolls around, I’m walking stiff-legged back to the castle, wincing at every incline. The intense, non-stop physical training of this week has whooped my ass in every way possible. I’m going to have to spend my whole day off—the Sundays of my strict new weekly regimen—soaking my aching muscles in a hot bath, preferably with a strong drink and a good book to keep me company.
