Page 94 of Demon Touched

I glance down at my arms. The runes are still clear and readable against my pale flesh. There’s no rash to be seen.

I squint, wondering about still being able to read the Cyrax. Sure, probably by now I’ve memorized the meanings of these particular runes, but…I glance over my shoulders at my wings. Still black. Still “demon touched.”

With a twisting nausea, I hold out my palm.

A prickle of magic rises to the surface, and with it a plume of black shadow.

Shit. I think the word at the same time as Syrus curses in Cyrax—a curse I can understand.

“I thought the spell was supposed to make all the demonic stuff go away?” I hiss.

Viz’s eyes are wide and panicked. He crosses quickly over to the table, flicking through some of his books. “Well…we never knew for certain whether or not those changes were permanent. They’re unprecedented.”

“Vizmodeus,” Syrus says, crossing to loom over him. “If she’s kept the demon traits the possession gave her, then she’s doomed as soon as she faces the oracle.” His voice is stern, but it’s only to hide his fear, I think.

My own panic bubbles up in me. He’s right. Bond or no bond, the oracle’s going to take one look inside me and smell Infernum on my soul. And then I’m toast. So facing the oracle isn’t an option, which means I won’t be able to take the third trial.

And if I can’t take the third trial…what does that mean for staying in Aradis? Will the seraphim still try to lock me up? Kick me out of Aradis? Could I maybe find a way to avoid the third trial without raising everyone’s suspicions?

“There must be something else we can do,” Viz echoes my thoughts, running a hand through his wild, silver hair.

Syrus’s head snaps up, eyes unfocused as if he’s listening. “Something’s happening.”

I hear it a moment later: bangs, joined by shouts, coming from somewhere else in the building.

A piercing scream rings through the corridors of the Seraph Seat.

Chapter 26

Leah

Our guard is still sleeping outside, just as Asterim left him. Her magic is keeping him from stirring even as what sounds like a battle takes place down the hall.

All three of us exchange a tense look. Both Viz and Syrus grabbed swords before we left their quarters, and I have Swiftwing on my hip. Syrus takes a step along the corridor, stops, then glances back at me.

For a moment, I think he’s going to tell me to stay here. I draw my sword, already lining up a list of protests. But he gives a little exhale, as if already resigned, and turns to look down the corridor that leads toward the noise.

“We’ll go carefully,” he says.

We don’t have to move far. Lightning crackles up the wall as a Seraph Seat guard slams another ephilium into the stonework, pinning them at the throat with one arm. I can’t see the pinned person’s face, it’s obscured by a closed helmet the likes of which I haven’t seen before, but they kick out and catch the guard, driving him back. Not that it does them any good. Another bolt of lightning slams into the helmeted ephilium, driving them to their knees. With his opponent subdued for a moment, the guard spots us and his eyes widen. He scrambles for the sword which lies a few feet from him, dropped in the fight.

“So much for careful,” Viz says, shadow snaking along the length of his own drawn blade.

But the guard has only just gotten his hands on his weapon when the helmeted ephilium staggers up from their knees and charges him again, hands crackling with lightning.

“What is happening?” I murmur. This is just one skirmish, but shouts and crashes echo down the hall from elsewhere in the building.

Syrus jerks his head toward where the corridor veers off to the right. “Let’s find out, fast.”

We leave the pair fighting, hurrying toward the greatest concentration of noise. We pass another fighting pair: a guard pitted against a second helmeted ephilium, this one with a crest on their armor. They’re too focused on trying to fry each other to pay attention to us.

“That’s the symbol of Aphelion,” Viz says, nodding to the crest, and my gut twists.

I try not to make any assumptions until we find the epicenter of the fight in the entrance hall. It seems every guard in the building has been summoned by the commotion—a hundred of them grappling with an equal number of intruders. Lightning arcs through the air. There’s already a handful of bodies strewn across the floor, motionless but for the whisps of smoke rising from their blackened bodies or the slow drip of blood hitting stone.

There’s a particularly tight cluster of guards by the doors to the seraph’s reception room. The doors are ajar, but the guards are holding their own against a knot of attackers, blocking access.

Syrus catches a guard running past, hauling them in by the edge of their armor.