“You must be Aodh,” I say in Faerie, watching the souls of Lachlan and Declan drag Reed from the ground, tying the net around him tighter. I can’t see his face; he’s just a lump in the net.
“I am. And who might ye be?” Aodh’s soul asks. He comes into the half-light. He’s strikingly handsome. His long black hair is pulled back from his face and tied behind his head. He has a strong jaw and a sharp chin, and his skin is smooth and pristine. His eyes glow with green fire. White faerie wings arch upward, forming sharp points above his head. I want to throat punch him. Something shifts in me. I become the hunter, picking out all of his weaknesses.
“Brennus sends his love,” I say with a smile. Aodh’s soul lunges toward me and hits me in the face. It doesn’t really hurt. He’s not that strong and I’m an angel. I laugh because I know it will enrage him. “Take me to Byzantyne. I dare you. I’ll slaughter all of you.”
“And ye’ll bathe in me blood,” he says in a bored tone.
“No.” I wrinkle my nose. “Why would I do that? What’s wrong with you and your disgusting sense of hygiene?”
He doesn’t know how to take that, so he ignores me. “We have found Emil’s aingeal. Move dem. I want dis handled before darkness. Dis will earn me a new station in a higher city instead of dis hole we’ve been livin’ in.” Brennus’ soul takes me in his arms. It’s so familiar that I have a hard time remembering this is not the Brennus I know. This one has been in this nightmare for so long he may never remember anything else. I need to keep that in mind—to differentiate the Brennus I know from this Other Brennus.
The white wings of Other Brennus push downward, lifting us off the rooftop. The souls of Declan and Lachlan each take a side of Reed’s net, lofting into the red haze of sky with him. We fly between buildings that are a mishmash of styles. It appears that each has tried to outdo the other with ornate embellishment.
We approach a fantastical piece of architecture at the end of the city, near the red river. It hurts my stomach to look at it because it is everything I know about Emil. The building is Rococo, which means it’s supremely ornate. Made of stone, the structure soars into the red sky much higher than a stone building should, given its weight. On the fa?ade over hanging the doors, is mounted Emil’s enormous carved face, also done in Rococo-style. It’s his hooded eyes staring blankly out for ten stories or more while a twisting, snake-like tongue crawls from his mouth. There are two smaller statues embedded on either side of Emil’s face. They’re identical, naked likenesses of Simone holding long metal pikes with heads of angels impaled upon them. One angel head is clearly Reed; the other one is that of Xavier.
We enter through the door below Emil’s vile stone head. It’s cavernous inside. Elegantly dressed angels mill around on plush furniture, sipping sparkling liquid from beautiful glasses. Everywhere I look there’s a statue of my inescapable or some carved tribute to him from a past lifetime. Our presence causes a stir—feathers ruffle, high-pitched guffaws pierce the air. The faeries souls don’t stop here, but merely cross the room to another one.
The next room we enter is asymmetrical, and heavily laden with ornamental carvings. Chandeliers hang low from the high ceiling. Brennus has to walk around them like trees. This is a type of throne room. There’s a balcony above our heads that Emil must use to look down on the peasants. Emil emerges from it. He has shed his golden armor. He stands at the railing attired in black dress slacks, but his chest is bare and he has on a black, silk robe that is open. He doesn’t bother to tie it now as he leans his forearms on the railing and looks down at us.
“Simone,” he breathes the name, like it’s the most exquisite thing he’s ever heard. “You’ve finally come to visit me—after all this time. What do you think of my home?”
“I think it’s an ugly shrine to you.”
Emil laughs. “That isn’t a very nice thing to say, Simone. And if there’s one thing about you that I know, it’s that you always try to be nice.”
“I’m not Simone anymore, Emil.”
“Yes, you are. You’re still Simone and I’m still Emil and I still own you.” He leaps over the railing, falling a story to us. He lands on his feet. Shedding his robe, he unfurls his crimson Seraphim wings. They spread out around him, majestic and primal at the same time. He would be so beautiful to me if I didn’t know him, but I do. I know him almost as well as I know myself. He is evil incarnate. He is pretty pain.
Aodh’s soul interrupts Emil. “We have delivered her to you intact. We would have our reward.”
“DO NOT SPEAK!” Emil’s face twists in anger. He doesn’t look at Aodh’s soul. He only has eyes for me. “Cut her legs free.” Other Brennus complies with his order. My legs are unbound. “Have you brought Reed with you? Is that the divine Power, wiggling like a fish in a net?”