Archangel's War

8 The Legion

The blinding blast had sent the Legion spiraling into the waters of the river, their wings unable to deal with the massive crush of energy. The Bluebell had gone in beside them. But they all came up through the churned-up water, having been far enough from the explosion that the impact had been painful but not catastrophic. No vessels had been close enough to suffer damage, all weaker angels already far distant.

It did take time for them to regain their ability to fly; the concussive shock of the blast was yet ringing in their heads when they began to rise up out of the water. And though the Bluebell had feathers, his wings far heavier in the water than the Legion’s sleeker shape, he reacted the fastest. Water streamed off his wings in a shimmer of droplets that reflected the sunlight.

Rising up beside the Bluebell’s hovering form, the Primary followed his gaze.

Where the aeclari’s house had once stood was now a bubble of what appeared to be molten lava.

Lava does not form huge bubbles above the earth.

Lava does not hold its shape.

Lava is of the earth, a luminous secret.

Lava should not be here.

As his brethren spoke inside his mind, he and the Bluebell rose higher in silence, high enough that they dared fly across the impossible construct. The lava was alive, sliding and moving with languid grace in hues of red and orange and yellow and everything in between. Yet it held its shape. In the very center was a small clear circle but it was overrun with molten heat before they could get close enough to view what lay within.

Any closer and the Bluebell’s feathers would singe, the Primary’s skin begin to ulcerate and slough off.

“Remind you of anything?” the Bluebell murmured, as sweat rolled down his face, steam a halo around him. His wet wings no longer dripped, the heat evaporating the water before it left his feathers.

The Primary considered the furnace below, sent the question to his brethren. They all said one word and so did he: “Cassandra.”

“Yeah.” The Bluebell drew back from the heat, an unreadable emotion on his face. “The last time she created a lava sinkhole, it swallowed a vampire. This time . . .” Darkness in eyes the color of aged coins the Primary had seen in the deep. “We wait. We watch.”

“We wait. We watch.”