10. WEN

My legs tremble beneath me as I lag behind my Unitas, a blood-chilling deja vu drenching me. Even without dreading the Ceremony and its results, walking back into that damn Assembly Hall is disturbing enough.

This is where I almost died. And where they sent us to the Imperium Realm, where we all almost died. Repeatedly.

I’m still not clear how much time passed while we were at the Trials, or since our return. But it feels like yesterday since we were here. To me, with the time I lost, it was yesterday when we were practically shoved through the Imperium Gate. The day before that was when the whole nightmare with Azazel happened.

Jinny’s shrieks of rage and agony reverberate in my head again. They were far worse than any screams of the damned I ever imagined. But it was the horror of Azazel’s laughter, that soul-crushing sweet melody, that will stay with me forever.

The deeper we wade into the hall, the louder the echoes slice into my brain, and the remembered stench of her burning flesh fills my nostrils.

Then we’re approaching the platform where Azazel slashed my neck.

My first look at the fading scar was in the bathroom an hour ago. The jagged lines crisscrossing over my Demon-Owned Mark looked like cobwebs spun by evil, and felt forged from malevolence. Which is accurate of that fucktard.

I only survived because my healing ability deals with flesh wounds best, and I’m grateful it kicked in before I bled out. If there’s another life, I would have hated telling my fellow deceased that I died by chainsaw dick.

The remembered horror radiates across my neck like the sting of a hundred wasps. My hands snaps to the phantom pain, and my gaze latches onto Jinny, just in time to see her fisting a hand over her chest. Right where Azazel had driven his clawed foot into her ribcage and ruptured her organs.

So being in this damn place is making her relive her trauma, too. It figures. She’s a tough Infernal bitch, but Azazel almost pureed her.

Neither of us got any chance to process. The very next day, when I was barely back on my feet, and she was freshly out of a coma, we were tossed into the Trials. And the moment we got back, they’re shoving us into another ordeal. Even if it isn’t dangerous to her or to the others this time, it might prove disastrous for me and Sarah.

Godric stops at the front of our precession, and we all freeze behind him. We’re now feet from the platform, which reaches the top of his head. And I somehow hurled myself over it to tackle Azazel, driven by Godric’s ruthless forging, and gallons of adrenaline. All to try to save Jinny.

Turning, Godric nods to Lorcan, and they diverge to opposing ends, before half turning and facing each other. From their positions, they have a view of every corner of the gigantic space.

Without thousands of cadets around, it feels so much larger, and so much more ominous. It doesn’t help that I feel as if I’m about to step on a stage naked, to get dissected alive.

The truth is almost as bad. I’m being forced to reveal what I am—something unspeakable, according to Godric. And if he can’t spin the Amulet’s verdict about me into something benign …

I’ve never been able to think beyond that point.

I look at him again, needing to meet his gaze, get any kind of reassurance. But he’s staring ahead. One day, if I survive this place long enough, I’ll find out if he actually sees something out there. And what he listens to when he’s avoiding me. Right now he’s laying disregarding me on thicker than usual. Maybe so no one would pick up on his worry over the outcome of this little shindig.

Not that he looks worried. He looks bored, yet still every inch the Deathspawn that he is.

I’m not buying it. I might know next to nothing about him, yet I know him. His detached act back there might have gotten to me for a minute, but I’m certain it was just that. An act. His nonchalance now is another. I’ve come to realize he’s a superlative actor.

But I can see through his meticulous pretenses. And I’m not letting him get away with that empty stare, or that that not-so-veiled threat. After this latest catastrophe is averted.

For now, I turn my gaze to Lorcan. He’s good, in his own compassionately unfeeling way, at making me feel better in hopeless situations. But he’s looking away from us, and at the Committee in the depth of the stage, an uncharacteristic nervous energy emanating from him. Which doesn’t bode well. A worried Lorcan is a terrible omen.

With what looks like an army of angels lined at their backs, the Committee is thirteen strong, and I recognize five of our professors and administrators. An angel, Zerachiel, a fallen, Harut, an angel-graced, Zachary Caine, a demon-blighted, Amira Nassar, and an archdemon—Astaroth.

I can only assume the other eight are the same eclectic mix. Not that I care. The only thing I’m grateful for in this whole disaster-in-the-making is Azazel’s absence.

Aela suddenly moves. I must have missed some signal for us to ascend to the stage. There are even steps now. Someone must have waved them into existence.

That’s it. It has begun.

I shuffle after everyone, for once not rushing ahead of Sarah. Whatever her deal is, according to Godric, mine is far worse.

Once on the stage, the others do what I’ve been dreading. They part for me to move forward as the Amulet Bearer.

Cursing under my breath, I teeter toward the Committee on shaking legs. Astaroth separates from their solemn lineup to meet me halfway. Relief drenches me, that it’s him who’s presiding over the Amulet fitting ceremony. At least, I hope he is.

It’s amazing how I’ve come to consider a archdemon, a King of Hell no less, the least of all evils in this Sinister Academy.

After I hand Astaroth the Amulet, I shudder with reprieve when he motions Aela forward first.

All I can hope now is that some miracle stops the process before it’s my or Sarah’s turn. Like the Amulet playing some rap song instead of what it recorded in the Imperium Realm. Or the whole Committee dropping dead.

Astaroth raises the Amulet, as if demonstrating it to the presence. It reminds me of what Godric did yesterday—the day before yesterday. But that spectacular laser-like show that burst from the girls to strike it is nowhere in sight.

Part of the reason Godric took it was to prevent that manifestation, what he said had never happened before. So, he succeeded. And he must have also erased the black hole incident. Guess the one thing he couldn’t nullify was its diagnostic abilities.

Aela bows her head in such solemn deference as Astaroth slips the Amulet over her head, as if she’s a soldier being decorated for the highest achievement of valor. He rests it over her heart, before stepping back.

And nothing happens.

The Amulet remains unchanged, until anxiety starts blasting off of Aela. Pent-up heartbeats pound in my chest as I turn my gaze to Astaroth. If the uncertainty spreading across the hewn planes of his aristocratic face is any indication, an inert Amulet is unprecedented.

Maybe Godric’s modifications damaged it, and it would reveal nothing about any of us. That would be the perfect way out of this?—

Golden light erupts from the Amulet, like a mini sun going supernova.

I hear the girls’ cries as I duck for Sarah, but she’s not within reach. I can’t tell where she is as my eyes squeeze shut. Not that it does any good. The light feels as if it’s eating through my lids, and burning more than my retinas. It reminds me of Jophiel’s pervasive light that permeated all my senses, my very being.

But Aela’s has an extra dimension. One of annihilation.

Just as I think I will disintegrate under its brunt, it dies down.

Long moments pass before I venture my eyes open, only to find them riddled in afterburn. The dark spots start to part as I straighten, and snap my gaze around looking for Sarah. She is a few steps behind me, eyes glazed, mouth slack as she stares at Aela. Turning my head around, I stare, too. At her, and the Amulet on her chest.

The circle in the middle of the Khamsa hand is blazing like a golden laser lasso. It dims down gradually, leaving seven of the Grace runes glowing with the same intensity, as if they’re windows into the heart of a star. The others simmer like burning coals.

Just as I think that’s it, the final verdict of the Amulet, a round, multi-faceted and golden gem appears on the middle finger.

“Outstanding, Daughter of Raphael,” Astaroth finally says, though his face and voice betray no reaction. “We haven’t seen a nephilim with more than five full Grace Manifestations in over a millennium. Apart from Godric who has nine. You’re also second only to him in the power of Manifestation of the rest of the Graces.”

As the committee murmurs among themselves, with expressions ranging from shock to disbelief, Aela keeps her expression stoic. But I can tell she’s bursting with pride and excitement. She has every right to be. Second only to Godric, the most powerful nephilim in history, is a huge deal. Gigantic.

As Aela strides back to rejoin our line, Astaroth motions Cara forward next. She obeys, looking back at us nervously, as if for moral support. She meets even Jinny’s eyes, but bypasses mine.

Seems when she’s not in Godric-induced acrimony mode, she doesn’t know how to look at me. Clinging to my leg for her life during the black hole incident has either humbled or humiliated her. I’m not looking forward to her reaction when she decides which. Like with Aela, I’m not holding my breath owing me her life will neutralize her antipathy. I just hope it doesn’t intensify it.

When Astaroth repeats the ritual on her, the burst of light is faster, but almost as powerful as Aela’s. The main difference is that it’s multi-hued, with the dominant color that vibrant shade of teal her energy bolts had in the Imperium Realm.

When it subsides, there is the same blazing laser circle in the middle of the Khamsa hand. When the intensity dies down, five runes are left glowing. Different from Aela’s main Graces, but almost as intense. Five of the other runes are flashing on and off, as if illuminated by the strobing light of a disco ball. At the end, also like with Aela, another gem appears on another finger of the middle three, the same size and cut, but teal in color.

I can almost feel Aela’s chagrin blasting Cara. She’s not thrilled to find a mere human, one she considers infected with Angel Grace, so near her in power potential.

Astaroth removes the Amulet over Cara’s head, the intrigue in his words still not touching his expression. “You’re the first angel-graced to ever manifest five Graces, Cadet Vanderbilt. We didn’t even know this was possible. Neither is the pulsing Manifestation of secondary Graces. This has to be investigated further.”

Cara nods at him dazedly, and I can sense her agitation. She clearly hasn’t expected that much power. Seems she doesn’t know whether to be happy or worried about it.

As she heads back to our line, I expect Sarah or me to be next. But Astaroth beckons to Jinny instead.

We all exchange surprised glances. Jinny came with us only so Azazel doesn’t finish squishing her for staying behind. And for our USTB as she calls it, or Unitas Sticking Together Business, which why she was sent to the Imperium Trials in the first place.

So why would Astaroth want a archdemon like himself to wear an amulet designed to detect angelic Graces?

There’s no explanation but that they go through the motions with every cadet who attended the Trials. He probably did this with the other races in each Unitas.

Having learned her lesson, and even in the absence of Azazel, Jinny steps forward without a fuss. She looks resigned as he places the Amulet over her head. As it rests over her chest she opens her mouth, and I think she’s going to yawn.

She screams instead. A blood-curdling shriek that snaps my already overstretched nerves.

Without a second thought, I bolt toward her, even as Sarah does the same at the edge of my vision. Before we reach her, a couple of angels block our way. Astaroth raises an adamant hand at all of us, watching Jinny impassively as she claws desperately at the Amulet.

I stop, snatch a glance at Sarah, find her transmitting my same confusion and anxiety, before our gazes snap back to Jinny.

She can’t even budge the Amulet. It seems stuck to her flesh, and is glowing like a sword being tempered in fire. The rune circle looks like a dark chasm on its incandescent surface, an inverse of how it reacted with the others.

Jinny’s screams become a polyphonic mix of terror and desperation, tears pouring down her cheeks. When they start sizzling, accompanied by the terrible hiss of steam and the stench of burning flesh that still fills my sinuses, I lurch forward again.

I hear Sarah’s horrified cry as she pushes against the angel blocking her, and he shoves her back, hard. The angel in my way wrenches my arm, stopping me from lunging after her, and I watch her flying back and off the platform, as if in slow motion.

Then everything speeds up again and she crashes, seven feet below, and the cracking sound of her head hitting the marble-like floor judders through me.

And I see it all at once.

Lorcan blurring toward Sarah, no longer looking like himself, Godric’s wings flaring black and crimson like a shroud of doom, and the Essence of my detaining angel shimmering like a forcefield all around him.

With a screech of terror and fury, I shove my hand through it, grab it, and yank.

The angel drops at my feet like a sack of wet cement.