Celia’s heart skipped a beat as she took in the two muscular men bounding toward them on either side of a long table, chanting something in unison. There was a thud—Oswald dropping Thomas—before a vine on the right began to move. The vine knocked into another vine as an invisible Oswald swung from one to another. Bottles gripped in their tendrils clanked together.
Celia’s pulse raced. He’s trying to lure the guards from the door—from Thomas and me. The guards pivoted, distracted from their chant. Pikes readied, their attention darted to a vine that swung over the table. A guard leapt onto the table, pike in hand, and whirled around, searching for the invisible intruder. The other froze, hand over chest. He hunched forward. Blood poured from his mouth and through the fingers over his heart before he slumped to the floor.
His companion was frantic now, muttering a spell, but even with her limited knowledge of Angelic, Celia could tell he was stumbling over the words.
Her legs faltered as Oswald’s unseen knife ripped open the guard’s throat, and blood sprayed in a wide arc over the table, drenching the books and tablecloth. There was no scream, just a gurgling sound before the man dropped to the ground. Celia’s mouth was dry. Who have I allied myself with?
After the man’s gurgling fell silent, she heard nothing but Oswald’s heavy breathing coming closer. Her hands shaking, she groped around on the floor until she felt Thomas’s shoulder. At least Thomas is sane. Sort of.
“Celia?” Oswald rasped.
She worked to steady her voice. “I’m here. I have Thomas.” She pulled him up, propping him against the wall before turning to face Oswald. “Did you have to murder them?”
“What was your plan? Giggle at them until they gave you the spell?”
White hot fury blazed through her, and she would have shoved him if she knew where he was. “Just because I don’t go around slitting people’s throats doesn’t mean I’m some kind of airhead. They weren’t here because they’re evil. They were here because they have families to support and they work for my father. You could have knocked them unconscious.”
The anger in her voice must have surprised him, because he fell silent for a moment. When he spoke again, his voice was softer. “When they saw the door swing open, they started chanting a spell to raise the alarm. In any case, I’m not exactly trained in gently subduing people.”
She was surprised that he felt the need to explain himself to her. Guilt, maybe. The edges of his shoulders were glimmering back into view, squared with tension.
She ran a hand through her hair. For the first time, she noticed the statues of her mother and stepfather at the other end of the hall. “Fine. Anyway, we need to find the plague spell, right?” She gazed around the room at the towering walls of books and potions. Where were they supposed to start?
She could just make out Oswald’s blond curls as he turned back to the hall. “Thomas figured it out earlier. Everything is coded with the zodiac. Do you see the paintings on the ceiling?”
She glanced up at the vaulted ceiling painted with astrological signs. “Yes. But I have no idea what they mean.”
“Leo.” He pointed to the dais, where a swooping, gold symbol adorned the ceiling above the statues of Balthazar and Bathsheba. “It’s a code for the fire goddess. And the fire goddess gave birth to the demon of healing.”
“There’s a demon of healing?” She shook her head. “Never mind. You can explain later. Just get on with it.”
Thomas croaked from the floor, “Water.” His bloodshot eyes opened, and he grasped his throat, wincing.
Oswald stepped over and crouched down, laying a hand on his shoulder. “Can you stand?”
Thomas nodded.
“I’ll take you to the cure.” He slipped an arm around Thomas’s back and hoisted him up, leading him to the dais. “You’ll be better in a hummingbird’s heartbeat.”
This nursemaid attitude was a dizzying contrast from the brutal warrior he’d been a moment ago. She followed the shambling pair, wincing as she passed the guard with the slit throat. His eyes stared up in shock, and a shudder ran through her. She forced herself to look away, surveying the walls. Statues of Bathsheba’s platinum-haired family stood in the alcoves on the right wall, and her father’s family on the left. Her chubby cousin Godfrey frowned beside a statue of the imposing Lady Sybill. What would they have done with the statue of my mother? Demolished, probably. Discarded like trash. The thought made her teeth clench with anger.
Oswald lowered Thomas to the platform. The guards’ blood soaked the white robe. Even his blond curls were drenched, giving him the appearance of a bloody avenging angel. He stopped to glance thoughtfully at a marble bowl resting on a golden stand between the thrones before moving on to the stacks of books that stood behind them. His lips moved as he scanned the titles.