But what would he gain by keeping her alive? Why didn’t he just finish it off ? Cut her throat and be done with it?
“Where’s Lawrence?” Kingsley coughed as several explosions shook the ground beneath them. “I tried sending him a message, but I couldn’t find him in the glom.”
“He’s not here,” Mimi said, noticing that Kingsley had lowered his dagger. She could kill him now, while he was unguarded. But what if he was telling the truth? Or was his act just another part of the trap?
Before she could make a decision, there was a crash, and Forsyth Llewellyn appeared. He was carrying the limp body of his wife. His clothes were singed, and he sported a deep gash on his forehead. So he had survived as well. Mimi felt a little better. Maybe there were more survivors. But where had the Silver Bloods gone? After she had felled Nan Cutler, the rest of them seemed to have disappeared in the smoke.
“Everyone else is dead,” Mimi told Forsyth. “You and I are the only ones left. I saw Edmund fall, Dashiell, Cushing . . . everyone. The Regent.”
“Nan’s dead?” Forsyth Llewellyn asked, aghast.
“She was one of them,” Mimi told him, her eyes watering from the smoke. “I killed her myself.”
“You . . .”
“C’mon, we’ve got to get out of here,” Kingsley said, suddenly pulling the two of them out of the doorway, which crashed to the ground in flames.
If Kingsley wanted her dead, he sure wasn’t acting like it.
“Thanks,” she said, tucking her sword—again the size of a needle—back into her bag, which she miraculously found she was still holding.
Kingsley didn’t reply, his face hardening as he looked above her shoulder. Meanwhile, Forsyth Llewellyn looked utterly lost, sitting in the middle of the street with his head in his hands.
Mimi turned to where Kingsley was looking. The grand eighteenth-century villa was now a giant black fireball. It was a crematorium. The Silver Bloods were back. And they had struck deep into the heart of the Coven.
The Second Great War had begun.
FORTY-TWO
From far away, Schuyler heard the sound of grunts and screams, the clanging of metal against metal. Wake up. Wake up, child. There was a voice inside her head. A sending. A voice she had heard before. She opened her eyes. Her mother stood before her. Allegra Van Alen was clad in white raiments, and she held a golden sword in her hands. For me? What was once mine is rightfully yours. Stunned, Schuyler took the sword. Once she did, the image of her mother disappeared. Allegra . . . Come back ... Schuyler thought, suddenly afraid. But a desperate yell from Oliver brought her back to the present. She looked up and saw Lawrence locked in a fierce struggle with his adversary. His sword fell to the ground. Above him loomed the white, shining presence. It was so bright it was blinding, like looking into the sun. It was the Light-bringer. The Morningstar.
Her blood froze.
Lucifer.
“Schuyler!” Oliver’s voice was hoarse. “Kill it!”
Schuyler raised her mother’s sword, saw it glinting in the moonlight, a long, pale, deadly shaft. Raised it in the direction of the enemy. Ran with all her might and thrust her weapon toward its heart.
And missed.
But she had given Lawrence time to regain his weapon, and it was his blade that found its mark, slicing into the enemy’s chest and spilling blood everywhere.
They had won.
Schuyler sank to the ground in relief.
But then came a great crack in the sky, the sound of the heavens splitting open, the roaring, deafening sound of thunder. Then the statue was broken in two. Its very foundations shattered. There was a deep rumble, and the ground underneath them began to shake and split into two.
“What’s happening?” Schuyler screamed.
A dark flame burst from the earth, and a mighty demon with crimson eyes and silver pupils leaped into the sky. It laughed a deep booming laugh, and with its blazing spear, pinned Lawrence to the ground, where he lay.
FORTY-THREE
The demon disappeared. The mist lifted, and Schuyler staggered over to where her grandfather had fallen. To where he lay so still, his eyes wide open. “Grandfather . . .” Schuyler cried. “Oliver, do something!” she said as she tried to staunch the flow of dark sapphire blood that spilled from the open wound, the gaping, corrugated hole in the middle of Lawrence’s chest. “It’s too late,” Oliver whispered, kneeling by Lawrence’s side. “What do you mean? No . . . let’s get a vial . . . for the next cycle. Take it to the clinic.” “Leviathan’s spear is poisoned. It will corrode the blood,” Oliver said. “It has the black fire in it. He is gone.” His handsome face was drawn with sorrow. “No!” Schuyler screamed, tears streaming down her cheeks.
There was a moan from the far side of the mountain, and they turned to find the shape of the man in the white suit begin to change. His features softened, faded, and the golden man disappeared to reveal an ordinary boy in a black leather jacket.
A boy with black hair.