Hellsbane Hereafter by Paige Cuccaro Read Free Book Online Page B

swords, though; the angels slashed at each other with them, their speed blurring. Metal clashed against metal, sparks lighting off the blades like mini fireworks. Dust, shredded paper, and other random debris whipped in the air around them, caught in the wake of their speed. They raced around cars, moved over street signs, and seemed to float in midair at times. Their speed was unbelievable, their skill terrifying, and as quickly as it had started, it was over.
    A brilliant light flashed, the telltale sign an angelic spirit had been sent back to the divine ether. But which one? I blinked, trying to see through the settling dust as garbage floated to the blacktop like autumn leaves. A figure took shape, striding toward the entrance to the parking lot, and seconds later I could see the long hair fluttering at his back.
    I exhaled, not even realizing I’d been holding my breath, relieved the seraph had survived.
    And he was heading my way. Shit.
    I spun, grabbing for the shop door, but it was out of reach. “Uh-oh.” I’d been so caught up in the battle I’d moved to the edge of the sidewalk at least five feet away without even knowing it.
    “You there,” the angel called to me.
    I didn’t even look. I just shot toward the door, using my illorum speed. I wasn’t fast enough.
    The angel’s long-fingered hand grabbed the knob, holding it shut. I stumbled back, an icy sting burning through my illorum mark as I groped for the hilt of my sword at the small of my back. Illorum marks were meant to burn like fire when a Fallen was near. But after I’d used Jukar’s sword to save him and thereby save Eli, my mark had mutated to something else. Now when a seraph got within striking distance, an icy stab sliced down to the bone. Lucky me.
    The angel leaned forward, his oval face coming too close, his white eyes narrowing. He sniffed the top of my head, then sniffed it again. “What are you?”
    Oddly enough, it wasn’t the first time I’d been asked that. I pulled my sword. It was just the hilt for a moment—the blade, forged in the fires of Heaven, materialized with my will, pulling from this plane and the next, drawing molecules from my body and the archangel Michael’s to become solid.
    “Just your average mild-mannered, sword-wielding, intuitive consciousness explorer. Nothing worth stopping your day for.” I smiled widely and batted my eyes. I don’t think it helped. I didn’t want to raise a sword against a seraph, not just because it went against every moral fiber in my body, but because he could seriously kick my ass.
    “Your mind perceives me, yet I cannot sense you as one of the bastard half-breed horde turned against us. I smell the sweetness of Michael’s mark on you, yet it is wrong: cold and wicked like those halflings who have betrayed him. So why do you not reek of the Fallen?”
    “I showered.” My hand gripped tighter around the hilt of my sword.
    Smart-mouthing a sword-happy seraph was dumb, and in my head I gave myself a nice solid kick to the gut for it. But my nerves had a way of hijacking my mouth sometimes, making me say things that either sounded braver than I was or more stupid. Either way, it usually didn’t end well.
    He snapped back, body stiff, blinking those creepy white eyes at me as though I’d flicked his nose. “You are the demi-arch.”
    That’s a new one. Up until this morning I, and pretty much everyone else, thought I was the first and only child of an archangel. Jukar had come up with the Domina title, forcing his people to use it as a sign of respect. But I hadn’t talked to anyone on the other side of the battlefield. And truthfully, I hadn’t even thought about how they’d describe me. Demi-arch . Now I knew. Wonderful.
    “Um, you can just call me Emma.”
    His arm shifted, just a flick of muscle, and his sword appeared in his hand. “What has your parentage given you? Show me your power.”
    “Huh?” Before I could think of anything more intelligent to say, a