34. WEN

The angel-damned, nephilim-fucking leash.

It appeared around my neck, connected to his hand. After I started to forget how it felt, and to feel secure he wouldn’t use it on me again. He tugs on it, hard, choking me, hurting me enough to “curb” me, but stopping short of serious damage.

The atrocious Angelhole doesn’t only know the limits of mortal bodies well, he knows my healing ability will take care of the damage he did cause.

He forces me to run after him, creating a path of disarray in his wake as I stumble and bump into bodies and chairs. He keeps the pressure on my windpipe steady until he drags me two steps behind him, before letting the leash loosen for some give, and air.

“Take. It. Off.” I shred the words between teeth that itch to sink into his unfeeling neck.

He doesn’t. Neither does he slow down or bother to look back. “I did warn you it would make a comeback if you didn’t behave.”

At this moment, if I could see his Life Essence, I would have yanked the Hell out of it, and dropped him at my feet. Then stomped on him like a manic cartoon character while he was down.

I settle for grabbing the leash and yanking it with all the rage and resentment crashing inside me.

The burn of its repellent magic cuts into my palms, but I only care about the quake it causes him as it reverberates within me.

But it seems he was ready for it, since he makes no outward reaction. Can’t even let me have the vicious satisfaction, can he?

Short of jumping on his back and tearing his hair out and proving my status as the Academy loon, there’s nothing I can do. Nothing but avoid the openly entertained and contemptuous eyes as I follow him in fuming silence. And wade in the drool of those who wish to be in my place.

Once outside Ariel Hall, even though he dissolves the leash, I still contemplate his winged back and consider how big a vat I’d need to boil him in.

Halfway to Metatron Library, where Astaroth holds our Transcendence Training sessions, Godric suddenly stops.

He turns to me, eyes flaring emerald. “You still didn’t message me.”

I gape up at him. “Is that why you hunted me down? You were feeling snubbed?” A snorting laugh escapes me. “Ah, irony, thy name is Godawful.”

His scowl deepens and I raise him my own.

He looks away first. “Astaroth agreed it was prudent to postpone breaking the news about you. Since he’s the head of the Committee, he bound the others to his decision. He’s of the same mind that I must train you in using your power in a defensive setting before we take that step.”

I shrug. “I have been wondering why the news wasn’t out yet. But I did tell you Jinny said I needed to do the auto-shielding thing, ages ago. What took you so long?”

His jaw muscles bunch, at my scolding or Jinny’s mention, or both. “I do recall I made it clear it’s one thing to know what I should do, and another to know how to do it. Null powers have long been shrouded in misinformation and superstition.”

“But you said I’m not exactly a Null, that I’m something worse.”

“You share most of their basic traits, so I expect the same rules apply where training you to activate a passive defense is concerned. That hasn’t made it any easier to find specifics. The historical records, on both the Celestial and Infernal sides, recount the bare bones of Nulls’ nature. As for other resources, not many remain in existence who know anything of any accuracy about them.”

“You mean the archangels weren’t around when Nulls existed?”

“They were, but had no contact with them, so their information is anecdotal. That’s why Azazel could demand the Ligare from the Congress and get it. He’s one of those beings with firsthand experience with Nulls. Since he wasn’t about to share his information, I’ve been researching.”

“Is that what you’ve been doing the past two weeks?”

His jaw hardens even more. “Among other things.”

“Yeah, be a cryptic Angelhole.” I glare up at him, wanting to punch him, then wind myself around him and weep my unspent heartache, then kiss him until I pass out. Then when I came to, I’d punch him some more for my contradictory emotions. I huff out my exasperation. “So you’re getting closer to learning the truth about Nulls?”

He gives a tight shrug. “In the world of immortals, the truth is wholly a matter of who is telling the tale.”

“It’s the same in every world then. Mortal history is never really history, but the propaganda of those reporting the events.”

His eyebrows rise, as if I surprised him. “I knew your life made you a survivor. It seems it also made you wiser than I gave you credit for.”

I poke him in his titanium-hard abs. “You never credited me with any wisdom. You always thought I was a self-destructive moron.”

“Never a moron, only prone to impulsive, stymieing heroics. Especially when your emotions and those paltry human sensibilities take control of you. But I did initially write you off as someone who lives in the moment, without much insight into the past, or care for the future.” His lips twitch. “It pains me beyond measure to change my mind about you.”

My heart teeters inside my chest at his admission. “Take a Celestial aspirin, big guy.”

“With the kind of headache you are, I’ll need a realm-full of analgesics.”

Was that a joke? He dares?

I change the subject before I shatter my fist on his regal nose, or drag him down and devour those spectacular lips. “So what more do you know about Nulls? Jinny told me some bullet points, then I couldn’t access anything more at the Metatron Library. Anything about them is ‘Classified.’” I sneer that last word.

His lips compress, becoming even more devourable. “The most circulated story is that they were created untold millennia ago by the first pact between Heaven and Hell, a balancing force keeping both in check, so neither side overpowered the other, before the advent of the End of Days?—”

“Praetor.” Astaroth’s voice comes from behind us, making us both turn. He’s looking at Godric with an intensity I haven’t seen from him before. “What brings you here?”

Godric returns the fierceness of his stare. “I observe my charge’s sessions whenever I see fit.”

Astaroth gives him a tight nod. “Very well. Only stay out of range of the Lapides Sacri. Your Graces are too powerful and might disrupt them.”

Godric inclines his head at the archdemon as he overtakes us. Anyone would have missed the fleeting glance they exchanged. I don’t. The world of complexity it conveyed all but hit me in the gut.

As we follow, I look up at Godric. “What’s your deal with Astaroth anyway?”

No one thinks these two share anything but restrained disdain and polite hostility as high-ranking beings in enemy races. But I’m certain it’s not that simple. They’re both way too complex for such stereotypes, and what I feel between them is infinitely more layered. It’s another mystery that I need to get to the bottom of.

From his stony stare ahead as we cross the Library’s gates, I’m not getting an answer from Godric right now. Maybe ever.

Putting a mental dagger in it for later investigation, I mumble, “Reticent Chicken.”

His aggravated rumble gratifies me.

But I’m soon distracted from both him and the other posh, inscrutable monster when we reach the Library’s hub.

As we cross it to the thirteenth gate, I again think that library is the loosest term to ever describe anything where this place is concerned. It feels like a catalog of the whole universe, looks like a visual representation of the realms with all they contain of knowledge, secrets, dangers, and magic. If the word indescribable ever had a physical application, this place is it.

After a few hops on the zooming walkways, what I recently learned are called meatus, we reach the Thirteenth Wing.

During our first session, Astaroth told us that it has transcendental qualities that would aid in our training. I can believe that. The tops of the bookcases seem to bend over some event horizon that soars into other planes of existence. The scope makes me feel at once tiny to the point of insignificance, and so empowered and privileged to have access to something of this—immensity.

After we reach the hall where we had our training before, we’re soon joined by the other cadets. We’re forty nine in all.

During the first session, Astaroth told us that Transcendence Training is mandatory for all cadets, starting the Second Year. We were assigned this early training because each of us has some interference with our powers, or something unidentified within us. According to him, only through this training can our blockages be cleared out, or our mysteries revealed.

I still don’t know why he put me in a class, when I thought my training would be one-on-one. He only told me it’s “the way” when I asked. But Godric has signed off on this, so I have to assume they’re not both idiots.

But during every session, he chooses pairs he judges liable to help each other toward these objectives, to perform exercises together. I’m dreading what might happen when it’s finally my turn. What if my so-far secret powers suck the life out of whomever he pairs me with?

We gather around the Lapides Sacri, or Sacred Stones, seven twenty-foot monoliths standing equidistant from each other, and joined by undulating energy ribbons. Three seem to be cut from single blocks of diamond, emerald and ruby, their endless facets scrolling with what looks like every word ever written. Three others are made from some iridescent substance imbued with constantly morphing shapes that feel like everything to have ever existed. The last one doesn’t look solid, as if it”s a slash in existence, transmitting ghostly scenes from other realms.

All my hair stands on end when Astaroth says, “Cadet White, Cadet Inanis, please come forward.”

My gaze snaps to Matt in horror. She only grins back at me in her signature unbridled excitement.

I seek out Astaroth’s eyes with a pleading look, but he only nods calmly. I look up at Godric, who’s hovering high above us like the demi-angel of Death that he is, begging him to intervene. He only stares back, his eyes heavy and watchful. Thanks, Angelhole.

If I end up killing the only actual friend I made in this damn Academy, I’m adding them both to my kill list.

Exhaling my reluctance, I let Matt drag me to the center of the heptagon, where we stand facing each other.

Wincing, I survey her amazing porcelain face, with its gleaming onyx eyes and lips, and surrounding frame of space-dark hair. I can’t bear the idea that I might harm her. I must control my power, no matter what.

Which is ultimately the purpose behind this exercise. I have been studying Astaroth’s notes, and they were thorough, complex, yet easily digestible. I also think I watched the others train enough times, I know how this should go. It’s all about intention, control—specificity. I can do this.

Feeling steadier at my own peptalk, and feeling slightly less murderous toward him and Godric, I try to relax as Astaroth starts his usual introductions at every session.

“Transcendence is as diverse as life itself. We begin by recognizing it, within ourselves and in all of existence. We leaf through its abundance, aim to access it. And through it, anything else can be mastered. Mastering anything is shutting out the noise—that of doubts, wants, and possibilities. Transcendence is Choice.”

Suddenly, Jophiel’s out-of-the-blue declaration from weeks ago echoes in my ears.

Remember that, Wen White, when the time comes. Convictions can reverse, when existence stretches long enough. Good and Evil no longer exist, only Choice. Choice, and Chaos.

That made no sense when she said it. I don’t know how or why I remembered it now, word for word.

I don’t have the chance to ponder it as Astaroth’s deep voice washes over us like a wave of hypnosis.

“Cadet White, Cadet Inanis, focus on your partner in the method I detailed in my notes, and that you’ve seen in the past sessions. Reach for everything that constitutes the other’s existence. Then among the myriad components, you must ignore everything that is clear and accessible. Find one thing that is obscure or buried. Begin.”

Gritting my teeth as Matt grins at me, I watch her close her eyes, raise her hands, and create the triangle shape with all her fingers above her head. As she slowly brings them down so her thumbs are resting against her eyebrows, I follow suit.

Then I focus on her. Or I try. I see nothing. Not the crimson darkness of my closed lids, but nothing at all. As if I’m gazing into the void.

Guess all my focus is turned inward, since my so-called Choice is all tied up in not hurting Matt.

I keep trying, since it’s not fair to her that I’m not helping her clear her blockages, or unearth her hidden powers—or whatever tossed her into this class. But no matter what I do, all I see is that empty endlessness.

Suddenly, a wildfire of gasps reaches my straining ears, and I snap my eyes open.

Matt is gone. So is everyone, and everything else.

I am nowhere.