World After

68

WE SKIM so close to the water that we might as well be swimming. I keep expecting us to fly right through a large swell. As it is, the spray feels like an icy shower. I bury my face in Raffe’s neck, seeking his endless warmth.

It’s so cold that my arms want to crack and fall off in protest. It’s no consolation that this is the only way we can get near the aerie without being seen. If we had flown over land, they would have spotted us.

Raffe is stoic and calm this close to the water despite having swum probably only once in his entire existence. I’m a little less calm. I can’t help but think that this might be the last thing I do. I can’t get the images of the crazed warriors sprayed in blood out of my head.

Raffe holds me tighter. “It’s about time you showed some sense. You should be afraid.”

“I’m shivering because I’m freezing.”

“You’re cute when you’re afraid.”

I give him a dirty look. “Yeah, you’re cute when you’re afraid too.”

He actually bursts out laughing. “You mean I’m devastatingly handsome when I’m not afraid. Because you’ve never seen me afraid.”

“I said you were cute, not ‘devastatingly handsome.’ ”

We’re nearing the shore. So far, the sound of waves crashing onto the sand and rocks should have disguised our banter. But we’re getting close enough that we both instinctively shut up.

We, of course, don’t have a plan. We’ll simply have to see what’s going on and take it from there. We drift a little to the side of the new aerie so that we can go on shore unnoticed. We land on the beach below the bluff at the edge of the hotel grounds.

Hiding behind rocks, fences, and bushes, we sneak up as close as we dare near the circle of light by the edge of the hotel’s lawn. New torches have been set up to replace the old ones that got knocked down during the brawl. But they’re placed randomly and at drunken angles as if whoever put them up couldn’t be bothered with them.

I try to match Raffe’s stealth and smooth coordination, but my frozen limbs are clumsy, and I have to grab him several times to keep myself from tipping over. He throws me a look with a clear message that I should deal with my issues.

We dart to a row of low bushes and follow them closer to the lawn. The edges of the grounds are crammed with the remains of the party like debris washed up on shore. Fallen party tables, upside-down lounge chairs, torn costumes, and other broken things.

The lawn also has a motley carpet of trampled wing coverings, masks, and shattered things that are now hard to identify. There are dark patches on the grass that probably look red in daylight. If there are any servants left, they’re not inclined to come out and clean up.

The angels scattered on the lawn seem too hung over to notice much. One group is singing in the middle of the grass, still wearing their masks. Their voices blend beautifully but with all their swaying and kicking of debris, they look more like drunken pirates after a raid.

Another group is putting something together near the mansion-like hotel. They’re setting up a table with wooden boxes. Beside it are poles of different heights.

An angel hovers at the top of the poles, tying triangular flags that wave colorfully in the ocean breeze like castle flags. Two angels fly up with a banner in their hands. They tie it to the top of the two highest poles. It has several symbols that run across the banner like script.

Raffe’s eyes become cold and hostile as he looks at the banner.

I give him a questioning look, asking him what it says.

He leans over, his words barely slipping into my ear. “Vote for Uriel today, start the apocalypse by tomorrow.”

I don’t understand all the implications of angel politics but I know this isn’t good. They’re setting up an election booth for the Messenger.

Another banner goes up, this one angled up so it can be seen from above. One of the angels unfurling the banner is a giant with snow-white wings. Beliel.

Raffe and I exchange a look and we head his way.

As we sneak closer, Raffe finds wing coverings draped over a bush. A ripped layer of sequins hangs over the dark feathers but he easily discards them, leaving only the feather coverings. He swings them over his wings and I help the feathers lie flat.

He also grabs one of the discarded masks as it tumbles off the lawn in the ocean breeze. I tie it on for him. The mask is deep red shot through with silver around the eyes and cheeks. It covers his entire face except his mouth.

He gets up and without a word pulls me up beside him, placing himself between me and the hotel lawn. I have to peek around him to see the angels, which means they can’t see me either. Raffe is big enough to hide me. From a distance, we must look like a warrior walking to the other side of what was once the party.

I worry that angels might fly directly overhead and see me. Luckily, they must be hung over or something because none of them are energetic enough to fly beyond what’s necessary. We walk briskly near the edge of the lawn, getting ever closer to Beliel. I keep up with Raffe, which is not too difficult since he’s walking at a casual pace.

Beliel stands behind Uriel. He’s at the edge of Uriel’s entourage as Uriel gives them orders.

Raffe glances up at the sky and I wonder if he hears something. Beliel also looks up toward the same place. He leans over to Uriel and they have a quick exchange.

One by one, the angels pause in their tasks and all look up. The dull roar that blended so well with the crashing waves is becoming thunderous and hard to ignore.

A cloud darker than the night sky swarms toward us. It twists, expands, then contracts, swinging this way and that.

The angry sound of a thousand scorpion wings is unmistakable as they fly over our heads.