The mirror changes that which it is given, Cassandra said at last. It does not reflect the truth but it does not lie. It is . . . a channel.
Elena asked the question different ways, brought Raphael into the discussion, too, but that was all the Ancient could tell them. Cassandra sighed before her mind faded once more.
Elena met Raphael’s eyes as she walked back into the war room, the endless blue a familiar shock. You think she’ll join us for the battle? Cassandra had already altered her pattern of behavior once by acting to help change the future.
Ancients are difficult to predict. Even if she does, it may not be enough to balance the scales of power.
Elena nodded, her jaw tight. Because this time, the Cascade might’ve outplayed itself by giving one player a seemingly unbeatable ability.
How could you win against an enemy who could regenerate at rapid speed?
“. . . happened to Antonicus,” Neha was saying when Elena quietly rejoined the group. “Simply being an Ancient, with powerful energies, will not protect you.” Her eyes were trained on Aegaeon. “Don’t be an arrogant fool.”
The Ancient’s nostrils flared, the blue-green of his hair liquid silk around his harshly handsome face. “Remember to whom you speak, girl. I was a ruler before you were ever a thought.”
Illium’s father is an asshole. She couldn’t see how their bright, beautiful, beloved Bluebell had come from this man. Yeah, fine, the wild blue feathers had definitely had their genesis in Aegaeon—the streaks of blue in the predominantly sea green hue of the Ancient’s wings were identical to Bluebell’s, but that appeared to be his sole contribution. What the hell did the Hummingbird see in him?
Aegaeon was well known for his ability to seduce women. I am told that, in the beginning, he was often a different man with the Hummingbird, as you say Dmitri is with Honor.
I’ll deny it until I’m blue in the face if you tell Dmitri this, but there’s no comparison. He’s a prince in contrast to this pompous ass.
Despite all their powerful clashing personalities, the Cadre managed to come up with a battle plan by the time dawn’s light touched the sky. Elena had made herself do the sensible thing and gone to bed to catch some rest so she could be at her best when morning broke. As it was, she returned in time to hear their decision.
The first was one Raphael had already made: to begin the battle on their terms, not Lijuan’s. “The tiredness of our troops is no longer a handicap. Not when we have all of you.” He looked around the table, his hands braced on the side and his wings held neatly to his back. “Even the sheer numbers at her disposal can’t outweigh the power of ten archangels, four of them Ancients.”
His next words were cold with power, demanding attention. “If there is a risk that you will be taken by the enemy and rescue is unlikely, do what must be done. We cannot know how strong she’ll become if she feeds on an archangel.”
Aegaeon banged his fist on the table, scattering the markers they’d just laid out as they discussed the battle plan. “You truly believe she would dare cross that line?”
“She turned children into infected vampires,” Neha spit out. “There is no line she will not cross.”
No one had anything to say to that.
“Two hours until we strike.” Raphael pushed off the table, rose to his full height. “Prepare for battle.”
70
Titus was glorious to watch. The Archangel of Southern Africa had planted his booted feet on the ground on this side of the front, his wings spread wide and his golden breastplate gleaming even in the dull morning light that got through the snow-heavy clouds. The equally gold “tattoo” that had formed on his skin was visible only in glimpses on his thickly muscled shoulders and equally impressive biceps.
His roughly hewn and square-jawed face was set in a glower that dared the other side to shoot anything at him.
The man was beautiful—and also a little arrogant, Elena thought with a grin. She was on a nearby rooftop, her crossbow pointed at one of those on the other side who might try to take out Titus’s wings. She fired just as she saw a hand go to press the trigger. More crossbows and guns fired all around her.
A roar of sound, Titus’s growl rising to the skies as he lifted up both his uninjured arm and his splinted one. And rained down hell.
The road lifted up under the feet of the enemy, cracking and rippling as if it was a river. Buildings shook hard. Glass that had survived the earlier detonations shattered. The quake seemed to go on forever, sending angels into the sky—butterflies disturbed from a tree. Dust blurred the landscape, floating up to further dull the turgid gray skies.
Ice, hard and biting, sleeted from the clouds at that very instant, pounding at the angels who’d taken off. Neha couldn’t totally control the area hit, so their side also got a dose of frigid cold, but they were prepared for it. Clothing, gloves, cap, Elena was dressed for the heart of winter.
Howling mini-tornados whacked into the angels on the other side on the heels of the ice, taking them down like dominos. Zanaya was not playing.
Neither was Alexander: every bit of metal on the ground on the enemy side began to liquefy even as the angels fell. Alexander couldn’t affect things that weren’t touching the ground—so the weapons held by fighters would survive, as would any that were stored in buildings or crates that protected them from direct contact with the earth.
But Alexander wasn’t targeting the weapons anyway.
At first, all Elena saw was a fire hydrant that melted, spraying water everywhere . . . but then the buildings that were still standing began to shake, as the metal rods within started to quiver and fail.
Ground fighters looked up at those precariously swaying buildings, their eyes huge.
Waves rose from the water on the other side, smashing into the shore and washing away vampires and reborn and fallen angels before the waves sucked back out with unbeatable force, taking anyone on the ground out to sea. Astaad and Aegaeon had to be careful how far they pushed things, because too much water and it’d wash away their own side, but the two seemed to have calculated it just right.
They’d had Caliane standing by to create a shield to protect their own, but it wasn’t needed. Michaela had been told to stay back, keep her power in reserve for a direct strike against Lijuan, while Elijah hung to the far back, his job to protect their flank until Lijuan was sighted—in case the Archangel of China decided to pull another noncorporeal ambush.
Raphael waited for Lijuan.
As with all archangelic powers, the Cadre couldn’t keep this up endlessly, but when the ground stopped shaking and the rain and ice stopped, and the tornados halted, the seas retreating, Lijuan’s forces were in disarray. Buildings had collapsed into melted shapes straight out of a Salvador Dali painting. Roads no longer existed.