Chapter 42

The deja vu is overwhelming as we stand in lines of five in the Assembly Hall of Raziel Complex.

In my group’s case, we’re only four, again. Jinny won’t be joining us any time soon.

She won’t die. That is as much as we could get out of Healer Althea. What would happen to her, if she’d wake up, if she’d have permanent damage or be a vegetable if she does, the angel-graced woman couldn’t tell us. Or maybe, wouldn’t.

So here we are, without her again, waiting for our professors to tell us what the Trials entail.

Yesterday, everyone stood in these same spots, hungry and anxious, but mostly eager to find out the nature of their Grace. Today, we are all subdued and afraid, after another brush with the brutal reality of the beings who hold our fates in their hands. Even with Azazel’s pointed absence, his threat is ever-present.

Sarah is desolate over Jinny’s condition, and Cara is wary of whatever random cruelties we might be subjected to. Even Aela looks uneasy.

As for me, Godric couldn’t find anything to spin into a reason to exempt me from the Trials. Since he already tried, I suspected any new evidence he presented would get rejected. Citing psychological trauma from my almost-fatal run in with Azazel was dismissed out of hand. They used the same reasoning he did when I protested not postponing the Trials longer. If I can’t take a near-fajita experience in my stride, I wouldn’t survive long in this world.

But according to him, I have taken it in stride. He didn’t find a trace of psychic damage he could use. Which is a fat silver lining in his opinion. He already knew I have stamina and fortitude, but he now thinks I’m stronger than he imagined. This bodes well for enacting our plan, which depends on my steadiness and clarity.

But though it’s strange yet true my clash with Azazel hasn’t left me duly rattled, I am beyond agitated. And it’s all about my confrontation with Godric. None of his dire predictions have affected me this way before. They’ve always sounded so far-fetched.

But his latest one feels real. It’s based on something I did. I antagonized one of the most dangerous entities in the Academy, maybe the world, and my actions have caused horrific consequences.

All I once hoped for was to keep my head down, and escape anyone’s notice. Now I’ve managed to hurl myself into the spotlight, made myself the focus of not only attention, but animosity. Having Azazel and his Cadre as enemies is something I haven’t imagined in my worst projections.

But since there’s nothing I can do about it, I have to focus on doing what Godric taught me, to project an Elemental Grace. If I fail, I’m to at least contain that thing inside me. He’ll deal with interpreting my Trials’ results as long as I do.

Astaroth takes the podium, and the already hushed buzz fades away. It’s amazing to think I’m bone-meltingly relieved at the sight of the demon. If anyone told me a couple of months ago I’d prefer a demon to a human or an angel, I would have laughed their heads off.

But Astaroth is by far my favorite of all our professors. Of everyone here, actually. Apart from Sarah. And Lorcan. And Godric.

Hey! What am I thinking, putting Godric in the same category as Sarah, or even Lorcan? So I lust after the guy, empathize with his upbringing, and I had a near-breakdown thinking he could have died. But that has nothing to do with liking him, let alone lumping him with my favorite people…

Focus, idiot.

Astaroth is talking, and I’ve missed at least a few sentences.

I tune in again as he says, “…in all the eons the Imperium Trials have been performed, it has always been when the four celestial Hosts of Aldebaran, Regulus, Antares and Fomalhaut are in alignment. And though we have no way of knowing how this delay will change the Trials themselves or the results, missing them completely is out of the question. But we are fairly confident we have not missed the alignment altogether, and are still in the allotted cosmic window.”

“Fairly confident” huh? In my extensive life experience, this translates to, “We have no fucking clue” and “We’re flying blind here, folks.”

How very reassuring.

“So, to continue what I was saying before being—interrupted yesterday.” Astaroth holds his hand over the open ledger before him, before sweeping it out to encompass us. “The Choosing selected each five of you for a reason. In forming your Unitas, it senses faculties in each of you that complement the others. And this is how you’ll go into your Trials.”

I exchange baffled glances with my own “Unitas” as everyone around us does the same.

How are we supposed to do this together? And do what exactly? We haven’t trained to do anything with each other yet.

Even if we have, I stink at team games. In the few times other kids let me play catch with them, I was always the reason they lost. I dropped every ball tossed at me.

I groan inwardly. That’s really all I need. To make the roomies who already hate my guts, flop whatever this test is. I doubt I’d survive that.

“Each Unitas will now ascend to the platform, starting by the first row.”

Astaroth gestures at the five girls from the room six doors down our corridor. Their self-appointed leader is a nephilim with the trite name of Angela, who might one day bury my body with Cara. Yeah, another Godric cultist.

She moves at once, nose in the air, as if she considers being called first a well-deserved honor. She can have it. I’d rather be last. I’d rather something happens before it’s our turn to cancel it. Like a comet destroying the Complex. Or the Apocalypse resuming.

The others scramble to follow Angela, tossing nervous glances at the rest of us.

As soon as they are standing in front of Astaroth, he waves his hand, and in the depth of the stage, a shimmering veil that looks like the roiling waters of mid-ocean forms. It soon parts to reveal a towering gateway.

A gasp tears through the hall. Though it isn’t massive like some of the structures around here, it makes everything else look normal, earthly. It feels totally alien. I can’t tell what it’s made of, or rather, what I’m even looking at. Whatever its material, it seems to warp my senses so I can’t see its details.

No—I see them, I just can’t retain them. It’s as if I register them and forget them, over and over, every single second. All I know is that it looks…as new as an unformed-yet life, but feels as old as time. Or made of time.

Unaware or unconcerned with the collective awe gripping the crowd, Astaroth addresses us again. “Before you pass through the Imperium Gate, each quintet will take an Angel Amulet, where fragments of all the Graces are contained. Once you make it out, each of you will wear the Amulet, and it will light up with your specific Graces.”

Without intending to, my hand shoots up in the air, and I hear my voice, loud enough for everyone in the massive hall to hear. “You still didn’t tell us about the Trials themselves!”

Every gaze in the hall lands on me, but only Astaroth’s makes me wish for that ground-swallowing miracle.

I have managed to avoid any contact with our professors—until I rammed into Azazel yesterday. Now I’ve forced Astaroth to focus on me. And it feels as if he’s probing me. I wouldn’t be surprised if he is. Some demons have powerful psychic abilities. Mostly mind-control, but telepathy has to be a part of that. And then he isn’t any demon.

He adjusts his monocle in a suave movement that, to me, speaks of uncertainty. As if he’s taken my measure—or rather failed to.

“As it has been explained,” he says. “They will determine what your specific Graces are, or lean towards.”

Without intending to still, I fire back, “Yes, but what do they entail? This hasn’t been explained, and we were promised an explanation.”

Can you sound more aggressive and accusatory, Wen? Go ahead, provoke yet another all-powerful entity. Don’t rest until one melts your head off!

As I wince inwardly, dreading I’ve incited that demon into showing his true face, too, Astaroth just inclines his head graciously. “There has been no such promise, since no one knows what the Trials are. They are different for each Unitas.”

Before he can move on, I blurt again, “So tell us some of the previous cadets’ experiences! Y’know, so we’d have a ballpark estimate.”

The others shuffle uneasily around me. I know my questions are burning in their minds, but they must be glad I’m the one stupid enough to voice them. Especially now they must think his patience is running out.

Not that it is. He seems the epitome of forbearance as he steeples his fingers over the ledger, and regards me with the calm curiosity of a scientist examining a grotesque specimen.

Or maybe this is the quiet before the storm. Maybe there won’t be any outward indication he’d lash out. After all, he is a collected, cultured creature, and his retribution wouldn’t involve Azazel’s demented theatrics.

Probing the nature of the Imperium Trials openly might be some sacrilege, and he’d be required to dole out proper punishment. Maybe that’s specified in the Celestial Codex—the archangel’s handbook of rules—too. We just saw him uncover that Imperium Gate with a flick of his hand. Maybe he’d snap my neck with another.

My hands lurch up to clutch it defensively when he brings his down. I feel like a fool when he only answers in his composed manner, his voice almost soothing, “Cadets are not required to relate their experiences after the fact. In fact, it has always been strongly discouraged.”

Knowing I’m beyond foolish for persisting, I again stop him from dismissing the subject. “So no one ever told you what happened to them?” His nod is too smooth, his face too expressionless, I know he’s lying. A long-practiced lie. It takes a liar to know another, after all. So I push on, “At least you know if they can be dangerous?”

By now the crowd is watching us like a tennis match, gazes swinging back and forth between us. All eyes pan to Astaroth as he simply says, “They can be.”

“Does this mean you had incidents when cadets came out injured? Or didn’t come out at all?”

Astaroth’s gaze finally leaves me, and sweeps over the hall. That’s a clearer dismissal than if he shouted for me to shut up already. “What you face inside will be unique to both your personal attributes, and your Unitas’s combination of strengths and weaknesses.”

“But that’s not an answer! And how do you even know that if…”

My latest protest is cut short by a vicious tug on my arm. It’s Aela.

She drops a fierce hiss in my ear. “You almost got yourself shredded yesterday. Shut up now, before they have your tongue ripped out.”

“Why, Aela, I didn’t know you cared,” I mumble, the need to interrogate Astaroth further burning in the back of my throat.

She tosses my arm back at me. “I care about completing the Trials. And you’re regretfully a key ingredient I’ve been saddled with.”

I snort a huff. “Yeah, it’s a common sentiment with your kind. Seems I’m the burden you archangelspawn have to lug around, one way or another.”

“Maybe we don’t have to.” Cara pokes her head between us, glaring icicles at me. “Since we’re the only quartet instead of a quintet, our Unitas is irregular already. One less so-called key ingredient shouldn’t be a big deal in our case. It’s certainly in our best interests that we go in as a trio.”

Aela seems to be considering it. And neither girl is thinking of making it a duo or going solo. It’s only me they want to get rid of.

While I’m glad Sarah is safe from their nefarious intentions, I don’t want her to set foot through that Gate either.

Before this little exchange with Astaroth, I still hoped the Trials were some placement test that only posed the threat of exposure to me. But after he ignored my question about possible injuries or even death, I’m “fairly confident” they will be dangerous to all, and lethal to some.

And even if Sarah is among those who make it out unharmed, I’m as fairly certain she isn’t Angel-Graced. There’s no telling what would happen when the Trials expose her, too. I have no idea what they do to those who don’t belong here.

As my thoughts roil, Aela and Cara continue discussing how to dispose of me.

Sarah interrupts them. “Even if you can get rid of Wen, I’m going nowhere without her. But you can’t, since not going isn’t an option for any of us. So how about we focus on what’s coming?”

It amazes me that this silences them and ends their debate.

Meanwhile, a few dozen quintets have disappeared through the Gate.

The good news is, no one screams in agony or terror as they step through. But maybe they started to the moment that Gate swallowed them. Something we wouldn’t find out until it is our turn. Which is quickly approaching.

I have to do something to stop us from going through this Gate!

But what can I do? A fainting spell might work, considering what I went through at Azazel’s hands yesterday. But if it does, it would only exempt me. Saving Sarah takes precedence. But if I ask her to feign fainting, she won’t. She’d consider it abandoning the others, and she’s infuriatingly responsible and committed that way.

Shoulders slumping in resignation, I trudge forward with the others. There’s no way to get out of this. If there were, Godric would have told me about it. He doesn’t want me to go through these Trials even more than I do.

I’m examining my feet fatalistically when another wave of gasps snaps my gaze up and around, hoping for anything that might stop us from reaching our destination. I’d welcome another attack by Azazel right now.

But as the cadets behind us part, I see the cause of the commotion.

Jinny!

Head held high and looking ahead at no one, she is cutting through the lines with purposeful strides. I can still feel her struggling not to limp or stoop. Her rigid face is still swollen from her ordeal, and her fiery hair now has bangs, sloppily cut, hiding her shorn-off horns. I wonder why she didn’t Glamor them as she sometimes did when they were still intact.

“Jinny!” Sarah cries as she hurtles toward her.

I feel the stupid urge to follow, but force myself to stay where I am, to watch as Sarah hugs Jinny frantically.

“Order, please,” Astaroth calls out. “Return to your lines.”

Jinny puts Sarah away with a stiff smile, and walks on.

“You can’t be thinking of going through the Trials,” Sarah exclaims as they approach. “You almost died! You were in a coma when we last checked on you an hour ago! You should be recuperating!”

“I’m fine, Sarah,” Jinny says, though it’s clear to me she isn’t. She’s faking it very well, though. “Archdemons are the most resilient beings in existence.”

“But you don’t have to!” Sarah persists tearfully.

Jinny shakes her head. “When I woke up, Healer Althea told me no one has ever gone through the Trials in less than a group of five. She spouted some mumbo-jumbo about a cosmic balance in each Unitas that the Trials require. And that they could be extremely dangerous even when all requirements are in place.”

I huff. “She sure told you more than our esteemed demonic professor told us.”

Jinny ignores me, eyes fixed on Sarah. “Bottom line is, they could be gambling your life away letting only the four of you go in.”

“I didn’t know you cared, Jinny,” Cara repeats what I told Aela minutes ago.

Jinny deadpans at her. “I didn’t, until I realized Sarah’s fate is tied to yours, and that my presence is vital to this little field trip. So here I am. You better not mess up in there.” Her glare sweeps over Cara, then rests on me.

I’m the one she singles out as a danger to our combined outcome? Even after yesterday?

You’re welcome for your life, Infernal Ingrate! almost slings out of my lips.

Knowing I’ve caused enough disruption, I clamp them shut. Especially when Jinny’s eyebrows jerk together. As if my fury hit her between them.

Which is a stupid idea. Even if she felt I was hopping mad, she’d relish it. This must be a spasm of pain escaping her mask of control.

Tearing my gaze away, I watch the line dwindling, and inwardly call her every filthy name yet to be invented.

Now she dragged herself from her deathbed to complete our Unitas, there’s no way we aren’t going through this Gate.

Then we are there, and one of the angels flanking it steps forward. He’s the one distributing the Angel Amulets.

At the sight of the gleaming gold disc, something tumbles inside me, like a breaker crashing on a shore. I have no idea why, since its rune-dial design resembles the frieze’s frame and Godric’s tattoo. But it seems its very material is what provokes this swarm of emotions.

I cringe behind Aela and Cara who are leading the way.

But the angel bypasses them and holds the amulet out to me.

I stumble back, bumping into Jinny, almost taking her down in her weakened state, and Sarah with her in a domino effect.

As we all steady ourselves, with assorted grunts and groans, I snatch my hands behind my back before he foists it into them.

“No, thanks,” I croak.

The angel scowls. “You have been charged with safekeeping it throughout the Trials.”

“That should be a job for the strongest among us.” I point at Aela.

“Take it, human,” he grits.

My gaze darts around, pleading with Aela and Cara, even Jinny, to step up and take this thing. More responsibility means more ways to mess up. And more reasons to be murdered afterward. If there is an afterward.

The trio only glare back at me impatiently. Cursing them under my breath, I reluctantly bring one hand forward.

“Don’t wear it around your neck under any circumstances,” the angel says as he shoves the amulet into my palm.

I’m about to argue this is the safest place to keep it when a yelp rips from me.

The moment it touched my skin, a charge of something indescribable coursed through me. Cut through my brain and spine, like a laser made of memories.

Sweaty and shaky, my hand closes around the Amulet, and it chokes me up how familiar it feels. How terrifyingly—right.

What does this mean? When no one else seemed to have any reaction to their Amulets?

Where is Godric when I need to pelt him with a few dozen more questions!

“Lead the way through the Imperium Gate, human,” the angel orders.

I start to object, but Jinny shoves me, hissing low in my ear, “Let’s get this over with, before I pass out, okay?”

Stuffing the resonating Angel Amulet in my pocket, I put one trembling foot in front of the other.

It’s only when I’m about ten feet away from the Gate that I see what’s inside. Or maybe it activated or whatever, at my proximity. A hypnotically rotating vortex, like a fiery galaxy with a white-hot center. It looks as if it would incinerate me on contact.

The one thing that makes me venture closer is that I’ve seen others step through it. Still, as I do, I expect anything. From instant vaporization to a tumble down some cosmic rabbit hole.

What happens is something totally different, of course.

I find myself in a homogenous space that doesn’t have hue or dimension or substance. I spin around, not feeling ground beneath my feet, but treading something stable, dreading to find myself alone.

I am. No one else is coming out of the vortex. It looks so far away, yet so close. There’s no distance or perspective here, either, it seems.

Before my heart bursts with panic, Aela appears. The moment she materializes out of the vortex that now looks a mile away, she’s feet away somehow. She’s followed by the others, each treading into our new indeterminate surroundings tentatively.

The moment Sarah crosses over, the vortex blinks out.