Page 32 of Astaroth
“Yes,” Aster snapped.
Luca turned on their heels and rushed into the hall.
Briar reached for Aster. Took his palm and squeezed. “Aster, don’t. Let me handle this—”
“Go upstairs.”
“Absolutely not,” Briar bit out. He stood, pacing after the Great Duke. Aster blew into the hallway, shrugging away his button-down, unlatching the clasps on his corset, and snatched the sheathed sword laid across Luca’s raised, open palms. Briar stepped between him and the door. “Anger is clouding your judgement. Aster, please, I’m—”
“Luca, the door,” Aster said.
Luca offered a wilted, apologetic glance, stepped around him, and did as they were told. The heavy door floated open, allowing a gust of wind and snow to coast across the antique runner and polished floorboards.
On the porch, illuminated by a dim, yellow bulb, Michael stood with his hands clasped at his waist. Golden hair fell across his brow, and his perfectly tailored black suit fit snugly beneath a heavy, wool coat. Lines creased his eyes, as if time had met its mark like an arrow, whereas Aster still appeared boyish, as if the same sharpened point had hardly clipped his flesh. Pale stubble peppered Michael’s cheeks, and his massive, butter-colored wings twitched at his back.Like the sun,Briar thought.Burning mightily, brightly, terribly.
Michael gave Aster a slow once over. “Brother,” he said, not unkindly, then turned and met Briar’s wide, startled eyes. “Briar,” he said, gently, like love had once lived there. “May I speak with you?”
Without pause, Aster said, “No,” and promptly kicked Michael in the chest.
Briar knew panic. He recognized the shape of it, how it fit inside his chest like a cinder block, and he knew not to fight the shout tumbling over his lips. “Enough,” he hollered, but neither Aster nor Michael listened.
The Archangel and the Demon King staggered into the courtyard. Before Briar had the chance to yell again, to chase after them and demand peace, he was forced to shield his eyes from a fierce, blinding light.
Feathers flurried, growing larger, humming like machinery, and an army of unblinking eyes filled the sky. Aster and Michael became and unbecame. They lifted into the frozen, solstice night, gigantic and unknown, and clashed like opposing storms. Swords struck. Unholy sounds stitched an old, guttural language into existence—one Briar had never been taught—and he had to crane to see the two ancient beings locked in combat, hovering above the courtyard. For the first time in a long while, Briar remembered prayer.Be not afraid.But fear still throttled him, still burrowed bone-deep and stirred hot tears behind his lashes. Aster and Michael had no bodies. Only light and metalloid, feathers and incandescent eyes.
“Briar, let them work it out,” Luca said, voice wobbling.
“Workwhatout? A lifetime of betrayals? They’ll destroy each other,” Briar said. He’d meant for his voice to carry, but he hardly managed to whisper. He swiped at his leaking eyes and stepped toward the door, halted by Luca’s hand around his wrist.
The harsh light faded, and a body toppled from the heavens. Aster hit the courtyard, antelope horns arced away from his skull, wings spread wide and feathers ruffled. He braced on his palms, weakly attempting to stay upright.
Bravery was a learned thing for Briar. It wedged inside him like a splinter, sinking deeper whenever he tried to dig it out. Moments like this—as he tore away from Luca and ran into the snow—made him grateful for what he’d been. Angel of War. Battle ready. Accustomed to the sight and smell of blood. Snow sucked at his ankles and numbed his bare feet, but he still managed to snatch Aster’s weapon, kneel in front of the Great Duke, and raise his blade to meet Michael’s sword. Steel sang. Briar winced, buckling under the weight of a ferocious blow.
The Archangel of War leaned closer and a curious eye opened on his forehead. “This is why I sent a mediator. He’s impossible.”
“Enough.” Briar gritted the word through clenched teeth. “Lower your weapon or I will remove your hand.”
“You’ll do no such thing, Briar Wright.”
“God as my witness, you will walk away bleeding,” he snapped. He held tight to the sleek, black handle, pushing hard against Michael’s sword. “Kill me and Astaroth will cut your throat. Kill Astaroth and another brother will hunt you for eternity. Lower your weapon, allow me to tend to his wounds, and I will assist you in Olympia.”
Aster let out a hushed, surprised breath. “Briar, don’t—”
Briar set his knees hard against the frozen ground and locked his elbows. His shaky limbs hardly held the blade at bay. “You have my word, Michael!”
Michael hovered above him. Dual wings pulsed and eyes glinted between pale feathers. His fingertips had lengthened into knife-sharp claws and his mouth had thinned, widened, cut like a fragmented skull where his upper and lower jaws met. He tipped his head. “I would very much appreciate your assistance,”he said, voice low and honeyed. He tugged his short-sword away and sheathed it beneath his coat. His winter boots crunched the snowy ground. “I only came here to talk, you know.”
Briar sighed, relieved. “You arrived uninvited, unwelcomed, and unannounced.”
“It’s the holidays, isn’t it? Family always comes together this time of year,” Michael said.
At that, Aster barked a laugh. “You’re a fucking menace.”
“And you’ve been bested,” Michael said, matter-of-factly. He turned his eyes—all of them—to Briar. “I will retrieve you in the morning. Understood?”
“No,” Aster said, at the same time, Briar said, “Yes.”
Michael flashed a fanged grin. With a beat of his wings, the Archangel disappeared into the sky, kicking heaps of white powder into the air. Slowly, the glittering snow fell around Aster and Briar. For a long, suspended moment, Briar watched the inky blackness, waiting for Michael’s wings to unfurl, waiting for his worst fear to crash back to Earth, waiting for the flutter of a wool coat, hands latched around his shoulders, strong fingers digging at half-healed bone.
