body wearing clothes and found an old, wingless woman in a white dress, almost like a wedding gown. Elise ripped a strip off of the hem with her teeth. Tying the ends together made a serviceable sling.
A sling and stones—she could take an entire fucking army with a start like that.
Distant shouts echoed over the graveyard.
They were searching for her.
“Come and get me,” she hissed into the cavern.
The air continued to grow denser as she walked deeper, and every time she saw another small stone, she added it to her sling. By the time the rocks started to thin out in favor of ferns, each with fanning leaves the size of her head, she had a half dozen stones to throw.
She pushed through the ferns. The edges were sharp enough to slice.
On the other side, Elise found the shore.
She stood on the edge of a vast, glassy basin at the center of the cavern. It wasn’t filled with water. It was filled with amber sludge—sap from the Tree. The fluid rippled gently, channeled into the ground beneath the glowing rocks, almost like veins.
Elise stepped up to the edge, her heart pounding in her chest. She took one of the stones from her sling and shook it hard. Something rattled inside, muffled and small, like a dull bell.
They aren’t rocks, she realized, feeling sick.
“Search the nursery.”
The voice echoed through the cavern, bouncing off the stones and distorted by the fog. It could have come from one of the doorways into the tree, or from just feet away. There was no way to tell.
Elise clutched the sling to her chest and slipped into the ferns, ears perked for motion. She didn’t have enough room to whirl the sling, but the rocks— they aren’t rocks —would work well as a bludgeon, too, if something came too close.
She scrambled out of the ferns and belly-crawled through the glowing graveyard. The huge stone spheres had more than just their own source of light; they were warm, too, as warm as skin, but felt as hard and smooth as the scales of lizards.
“Take the right,” said the distant voice, “and you take the left.”
The flapping of wings stirred the fog.
Elise kept crawling and decided how she would kill the first angel to find her.
She would come up behind it and crack the rock against ts skull. She would need to cover its mouth so that it wouldn’t alert the others, which still left one hand free. The wings were a delicate point—strong, but sensitive to pain. She could wrench out fistfuls of feathers. Distract it with the pain. And then she could rip its throat out with her bare hands.
Elise was so absorbed in her own violent fantasies that she didn’t realize she had crawled beside another slab until a hand dangled in her face.
She jerked back, swallowing down a gasp of surprise.
The hand was gray, but not desiccated. She followed it up to the forearm, which was covered in a brush of dark brown hair, to a muscular bicep, and a shoulder. The head had rolled to the opposite side so that she couldn’t see the face, but as she rose up on her knees, she thought that she recognized the broad chest, the hair drawing a line from navel to the juncture of his thighs.
Elise reached out and tipped the face toward her.
James’s head flopped to the side.
His throat had been slit. It was an ugly, bloody mouth underneath his chin, though it looked like it had been a long time since he bled. The cut must have been performed with something very sharp, since the skin had torn very little. It would have taken quite a blade—like the sword of an angel.
She forgot that she was holding the sling. Rocks tumbled to the ground around her.
James was dead. He was dead .
Had he been caught trying to save her and thrown onto a slab to rot?
Which of them had done it? Had it been the cherubim, Metaraon…or Him?
There was a wound on his shoulder, too, as if someone had stabbed him in his left pectoral, near the shoulder. Her fingers shook as she touched it.
Of all the things that she would have expected to
A sling and stones—she could take an entire fucking army with a start like that.
Distant shouts echoed over the graveyard.
They were searching for her.
“Come and get me,” she hissed into the cavern.
The air continued to grow denser as she walked deeper, and every time she saw another small stone, she added it to her sling. By the time the rocks started to thin out in favor of ferns, each with fanning leaves the size of her head, she had a half dozen stones to throw.
She pushed through the ferns. The edges were sharp enough to slice.
On the other side, Elise found the shore.
She stood on the edge of a vast, glassy basin at the center of the cavern. It wasn’t filled with water. It was filled with amber sludge—sap from the Tree. The fluid rippled gently, channeled into the ground beneath the glowing rocks, almost like veins.
Elise stepped up to the edge, her heart pounding in her chest. She took one of the stones from her sling and shook it hard. Something rattled inside, muffled and small, like a dull bell.
They aren’t rocks, she realized, feeling sick.
“Search the nursery.”
The voice echoed through the cavern, bouncing off the stones and distorted by the fog. It could have come from one of the doorways into the tree, or from just feet away. There was no way to tell.
Elise clutched the sling to her chest and slipped into the ferns, ears perked for motion. She didn’t have enough room to whirl the sling, but the rocks— they aren’t rocks —would work well as a bludgeon, too, if something came too close.
She scrambled out of the ferns and belly-crawled through the glowing graveyard. The huge stone spheres had more than just their own source of light; they were warm, too, as warm as skin, but felt as hard and smooth as the scales of lizards.
“Take the right,” said the distant voice, “and you take the left.”
The flapping of wings stirred the fog.
Elise kept crawling and decided how she would kill the first angel to find her.
She would come up behind it and crack the rock against ts skull. She would need to cover its mouth so that it wouldn’t alert the others, which still left one hand free. The wings were a delicate point—strong, but sensitive to pain. She could wrench out fistfuls of feathers. Distract it with the pain. And then she could rip its throat out with her bare hands.
Elise was so absorbed in her own violent fantasies that she didn’t realize she had crawled beside another slab until a hand dangled in her face.
She jerked back, swallowing down a gasp of surprise.
The hand was gray, but not desiccated. She followed it up to the forearm, which was covered in a brush of dark brown hair, to a muscular bicep, and a shoulder. The head had rolled to the opposite side so that she couldn’t see the face, but as she rose up on her knees, she thought that she recognized the broad chest, the hair drawing a line from navel to the juncture of his thighs.
Elise reached out and tipped the face toward her.
James’s head flopped to the side.
His throat had been slit. It was an ugly, bloody mouth underneath his chin, though it looked like it had been a long time since he bled. The cut must have been performed with something very sharp, since the skin had torn very little. It would have taken quite a blade—like the sword of an angel.
She forgot that she was holding the sling. Rocks tumbled to the ground around her.
James was dead. He was dead .
Had he been caught trying to save her and thrown onto a slab to rot?
Which of them had done it? Had it been the cherubim, Metaraon…or Him?
There was a wound on his shoulder, too, as if someone had stabbed him in his left pectoral, near the shoulder. Her fingers shook as she touched it.
Of all the things that she would have expected to
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