Reaver shot a tight smile at her. “Humiliated that someone finally gave you what you deserve?”
Oddly, Harvester didn’t fire back. Instead, she moved toward the computer screen, still showing CNN’s website. “Human governments are keeping the majority of Pestilence’s handiwork quiet. Have you noticed?”
Ares had noticed. He also noticed how she was favoring her left leg. “Why are you here, anyway?” He glanced at Reaver. “That goes for you, too.”
“Because I can tell you what Pestilence has been up to,” Reaver said. “He’s been sparking miniepidemics all over the world and killing every Unfallen he can find. I think he’s frustrated that he can’t locate Sestiel.”
Maybe, but Reseph had never been a hothead. When Ares, Thanatos, and Limos had been rampage-furious about something, Reseph had always been the one to step in and calm them all down. Maybe turning into Pestilence had changed that, but Ares didn’t think so. No, he was smarter than that. If Ares were in Reseph’s place, he’d cut off Sestiel’s escape routes, not waste time on petty vengeance…
“I know what he’s doing. He’s taking out anyone who could potentially become the agimortus.” Ares cursed. “And he’s using the pockets of epidemics to trap them.”
Harvester’s wings twitched. “How so?”
“The Unfallen are attracted to the suffering,” Reaver mused. “Angels always are, and Unfallen are no exception. They may hope that by comforting the dying, they can earn their way back into Heaven.”
Ares studied the giant world map on the wall. Push-pins marked Pestilence’s known handiwork. The sucker was running out of room. “Pestilence is setting traps. It’s what I’d do.”
The door to the office opened, and Vulgrim, one of Ares’s Ramreel demon servants, entered with a tray of iced tea, which he placed on the desk. After Vulgrim left, Reaver pinned another location on the map. “Let’s just hope that Sestiel doesn’t panic and do something stupid if he runs out of options to transfer.”
“Stupid?”
Harvester snatched a glass off the tray the way she always did; as if she was afraid someone would take it before she got it. “The only other species that can be an agimortus is human.”
Son of a— Ares shoved back from the desk. “Maybe you could have mentioned that earlier? You know, like about two thousand years earlier?” He cursed, not waiting for her or Reaver to say something idiotic like, you know the rules. “Humans are fragile. Easy to kill. If one of them takes on the agimortus—”
“That’s not the main problem,” Reaver said.
“Being easy to kill sounds like a big fucking problem to me. So what else is there?”
“Humans aren’t meant to host it. It’ll kill them. A human would, at most, have forty-eight hours to live.” Harvester smiled, and it was almost a relief to see her back to her sinister self. “And FYI? Pestilence knows. Expect him to step up the killing of Unfallens so Sestiel is forced to use a human. And then watch your world crumble, Horseman.”
Four
Reaver stood alone outside Ares’s house staring blindly at the distant olive grove, his helplessness eating at him. There were so many freaking rules when you were an angel, and Reaver was more aware of that fact than most.
He’d broken a strict Heavenly rule once, and he’d paid the price, had spent a couple of decades as a fallen angel. Then, during a near-Apocalyptic battle a couple of years ago, he’d sacrificed himself to save humanity, and he’d earned his wings back.
For a while, being fully winged and no longer scorned by his Heavenly brethren had been awesome. He was a battle angel, one of God’s warriors, and he’d spent his days slaughtering demons. He’d also been assigned as the Horsemen’s good Watcher. That had been cool, too, even if he was forced to deal with Harvester on a regular basis. Watcher was a prestigious position, and Gethel, the angel who had previously been assigned, hadn’t seemed to mind being rotated out of the duty.
Reaver hadn’t known why he’d been given the task, but now, with a new Apocalypse on the horizon, he was beginning to suspect that this was a test. A test to make sure he could be trusted not to break any rules no matter how dire things got for the human world.
Leaving behind the tang of the warm salt breeze, Reaver flashed to Reseph’s lair in the Himalayas. It was difficult thinking of the easygoing Horseman as Pestilence now, especially when Reaver strolled through the cave and the remnants of Reseph’s life: bean-bag chairs, a margarita blender, open bags of chips, and clothes strewn about the place.
Reaver wandered through the cave, seeking any evidence that Pestilence had been here recently. Hellrats the size of woodchucks scurried under his feet, their gaping mouths lined with multiple rows of needlelike teeth, their forked, black tongues flicking in the air. These were Pestilence’s little spies, and they would report back to him that Reaver had been here.
But not if Reaver could help it.
Smiling grimly, Reaver made a sweeping gesture, and power sang through him, creating an invisible wave of holy fire. The rats disintegrated, their squeaky screams echoing off the walls. Holy fire was awesome. Too bad it only worked on low-level evil.
Still, as an angel, he had an arsenal of weapons at his disposal. The Horsemen did, as well, and if they could locate Deliverance, they would have two weapons in one… because the dagger had a use they didn’t even know about. Problem was, neither he nor Harvester could reveal what they knew. To do so would be a violation of divine law. And Reaver was never going to break a rule again—even if not doing so meant an end to the world.
Gathering his thoughts, he circled the living room, trying to find a way to help Ares, Thanatos, and Limos without actually helping. They were running out of time, and he didn’t need to read all the celestial, biblical, and prophetic signs to know that. He felt it in the tremor shaking his soul.
Tremor. Frowning, he stopped pacing, but impact shocks continued to shoot up his legs. A dense malevolence thickened the air, the ground shifted beneath him, and suddenly pebbles were raining down from the ceiling. He looked up as a massive crack tore through the rock, and then the entire cave collapsed inward. A recliner-sized boulder crashed down, slamming into Reaver’s shoulder. Pain was a white-hot bolt of agony as he summoned all his concentration and flashed out of there before he was crushed and entombed for eternity inside a mountain.
Spreading his wings in the sky above the mountain range, he scanned the area, immediately zeroing in on the source of the sinister vibes… and the violent cave collapse.
Harvester.
Snarling, he dove for her, hitting her as she stood on a nearby mountain peak. She screamed as they both tumbled down the icy cliff face, hitting the bottom in a tangle of limbs and wings.
“Demon scum!” he snarled, as he wrapped his hand around her throat.
Her green eyes fired crimson, and her nails became talons that she swiped across his face. “What is your malfunction?”
He squeezed, taking satisfaction in her gasp for air. “What, you thought I’d be happy that you tried to encase me in stone forever?”
She blinked, and for a moment, he almost thought she didn’t know what he was talking about. Then she sank her claws deep into his ruined shoulder, and the pain that swept through him was enough to make him sway and loosen his grip.
She was up in an instant, her booted foot crunching into his ribs. “If I’d wanted you out of the way, you wouldn’t have gotten out of there. Do you know what it’s like to be crushed flat and unable to die? Oh, that’s right, you don’t, because even if it had happened to you, you wouldn’t remember, would you?”