“Thank you, Finn,” I murmur.
Brennus approaches me slowly, saying, “We stand little chance against all of da aingeals. We can fight da fallen or da divine, but we can na hold out against both of dem.”
“We won’t have to, Brennus. We’ll fight Emil. Xavier and my father will bring their armies to help us.”
“Eh? Divine aingeals do na fight wi’ Gancanagh,” Brennus says in disbelief.
“They do now,” I reply.
“Emil will be hard ta kill, mo chroí. His brand of savagery is someting I’ve na seen in a long time. Do ye know whah he did when he found out da location of his soul mate on Earth in dis lifetime?” Brennus asks.
I pale, shaking my head. “No.” I glance at Russell to see that he’s listening. Russell’s mouth forms a grim line.
“When Emil was only fifteen, he went ta her home a few cities away. He knew who she was and whah she was because unlike ye, he had total recall of all of his previous lifetimes. His soul mate was still a little girl—only eleven. He found her and he butchered her. She was da other’s inescapable,” he gestures toward Russell, “but she does na exist anymore. Neither of ye will ever see her again in any lifetime. Emil used da weapon dat is meant ta kill ye, mo chroí, ta annihilate her soul as well as her angelic body.”
“Why would he do that?” I whisper.
“He does na want anyone ta be as powerful as him.”
I feel like I can’t breathe. Finn notices. He gestures to the hallway that leads from this room, “If you come dis way, I will get ye and yer friends outfitted wi’ whah ye’ll need ta face whah lies ahead.”
I nod. Finn picks up the battle hammer and ushers me to the adjacent corridor. We enter a room that has state-of-the-art weaponry and lightweight modern armor. “Dese weapons,” Finn says, spreading his arm wide, “have all been charmed. Da body armor has been enchanted ta repel other magic, but I do na know how ’twill fare against Emil. He’s exceptional when it comes ta conjuring energy. Ye have ta be spry and avoid his spells as much as possible.”
He rests the weapon in his hand against the wall as he opens a glass case that contains ebony body armor. Lifting it out of the case, he holds the shapely combat uniform up to me. The breastplate is a hard shell, the surface of which appears black until I touch it. When my skin meets it, scrolling Faerie writing illuminates it in silver and gold light, showing the protective magic layered into it. Finn presses it into my arms. “Dere’s a room,” he points to one of the several silver doors to my right.
“I have to pee,” I blurt out. I do. I’m so afraid that it has made finding a bathroom a dire necessity.
“Dat is why we’ll win, mo chroí,” Brennus says behind me, “because ye’re still so human.”
Am I still human? I don’t know. All I know is I’m terrified and I need a few seconds to myself.
Finn takes pity on me. “Ye can do dat in da room I jus showed ye as well. Dis part of da seminary was an underground bathhouse. Dere’s a shower and grooming—”
I avoid everyone’s eyes and don’t wait for Finn to finish explaining it all to me. I hurry to the room with the silver door and close it behind me. Setting down my armor on a red velvet-covered bench near a three-way mirror, I locate a private attached bathroom and use it. There’s an enclosed shower in the bathroom as well. Turning the water on, I strip off my clothes and wait only long enough for the water to become somewhat warm before entering it.
As I shower, my mind wants to detach from all of this, so that fear goes away and I can be numb. But I know I can’t escape it. This is happening. There’s no way I can stop it, or go back and change it, or issue a do-over. I have to face it. I turn off the water. Finding a clean robe on a hook, I dry off. A small vanity has everything I need. I towel dry my hair. Locating a comb, I use it to untangle snarls. I gather it into a ponytail at the crown of my head and secure it with a hair tie from the pocket of my discarded jeans.
When I go back into the room to collect the armor, I pause. Reed is leaning against the door with his arms crossed over his chest. He already has his black Faerie armor on. His hair is wet from a shower. He straightens as I approach the bench near the mirror. “Would you like some help with your armor?” he asks.
“Yes. Thank you,” I murmur, looking at his reflection in the mirror.