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“Chaya,” Derdekea said with ice frosting her voice, “you are hereby under arrest for treason.”
My mouth fell open, fear stealing my breath. No. This couldn’t be happening. It was too soon. I hadn’t found my mom yet. I’d just gotten back—how had they caught on to me?
“There must be a mistake,” I said, my voice reed-thin. “I didn’t do anything.”
Ithuriel glared at me, but it was Derdekea who spoke. “We have reason to believe that you assisted the demon prisoner in his escape.”
I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. I was choking on air, my throat too tight, my mouth too dry to form words.
Derdekea curled her lip at me and nodded at the angel at my back. “Take her away.”
They dragged me out of my suite, and I struggled to keep up and stumble along. Down the hallways we went, past lines of whispering angels standing aside and watching. The walls passed in a blur, my mind in an uproar, my thoughts scattered by fear and shock.
How had they found out? Had someone seen and recognized me after all? Had they not believed Naamah when she’d confirmed my alibi?
Oh, my God, what if they suspected Naamah as well? What if they’d arrested her, too?
My blood iced over. She’d been so sure that they wouldn’t be able to trace anything back to her, that she’d be beyond reproach as long as there was no concrete evidence tying her to this crime.
A full-body tremble took hold of me as they hauled me out of the main mansion and toward one of Derdekea’s soul stables. Naamah couldn’t be implicated. If they suspected her, I had to cover for her. I had to convince them that I’d worked alone, that no one had helped me with this.
Naamah and I had planned for the moment when I’d eventually surrender myself, how the fact that Naamah had given me an alibi when she supposedly wasn’t involved could be explained. I’d have to play that part now and hope they’d believe Naamah when she played hers.
I had a horrible sense of upturned déjà vu when they shoved me inside an empty room in the soul stable, much like they’d done with Azazel. And, further echoing his treatment, they secured my manacles to a chain in the ground, though at least the way I was restrained didn’t put me in an uncomfortable position, but rather left me to sit on the floor, with a bit of give to the chain.
Unlike Azazel, though, I wouldn’t face torture here. Ithuriel had mentioned it offhand, and Naamah had confirmed it when I’d talked with her about the plan. Heaven’s laws didn’t allow for the torture of angels, not even for the worst offenses. Angel-on-angel crime wasn’t a big thing—hence the lack of proper dungeons or prisons—and there really was only one way the authorities dealt with those who committed more heinous crimes: exile from Heaven.
From the point of view of angels, that was the worst punishment, more severe even than death. With an execution, the suffering ended swiftly, whereas if an angel was cast from Heaven, their wings burned off and the divine spark excised from their soul, they’d have to live with that loss for eternity. And in the eyes of angels, nothing was more punishing than having to live banished from God’s presence and his divine warmth.
So, as far as small mercies went, at least I wouldn’t have to go through an interrogation involving torture, which was a good thing, and not just because being hurt sucked in general. More importantly, I wouldn’t run the risk of giving up all the intel about the mission and Naamah’s complicity. If I faced torture, I most certainly wouldn’t last. Knowing myself, I’d break during the first session and sing like a canary.
But with Heaven’s laws being as strict as they were, I could only be interrogated without coercion through pain or terror, giving me a good chance to keep the sensitive intel to myself.
With one last withering look at me, Ithuriel and her posse exited and closed the door, leaving me alone to stew in my panicked thoughts.
I had to find out if they’d arrested Naamah as well. Whatever happened, I couldn’t let her go down with me. Not just because I liked her and didn’t want her to suffer, but also because so much rested on her not being implicated. She’d been right when she’d said that if the authorities found out she was involved, it could have devastating consequences on the status quo of the truce and, by extension, the fate of the entire world.
Memories of the almost apocalypse flashed before my inner eye, making me wince. I could still hear the screams of the people being burned alive, fleeing from hellhounds, being butchered by demons. I saw buildings crumble and the sky awash in unnatural black clouds, felt the zing of unimaginable power as angels and demons battled it out in the air and on the ground.
I shivered, bile creeping up my throat.
No matter what, I’d have to prevent that from happening again.
Lucifer had already lost Lilith, one of the few people keeping him halfway sane. If Naamah should come to harm now, nothing in all the realms would keep him from razing Earth in retaliation.
The door opened, and I jerked.
Even before he entered, his power punched the air in such a way that I immediately knew I was coming face-to-face with an archangel.
CHAPTER 23
I’d never seen Raphael before, but there was no doubt it was him as he walked in with the lithe grace of a big cat, his energy so potent that it sizzled over my skin in a near-painful way. I flinched back.
He was tall, glossy black hair falling to his shoulders, his porcelain-colored face almost too pretty to be classically masculine, yet his beauty was incredibly arresting. I tried to look away, but my eyes strayed back to him almost of their own accord. Those cheekbones of his could have cut glass. Slightly turned up at the corners, his light blue eyes were framed by thick, dark lashes.
Behind him, another angel came into the room as well, his power paling in comparison to Raphael’s.
The archangel regarded me with such coldness it frosted my veins. “So you are the traitor. You don’t look like much.”
