They pull her along the rough ground by her ankles. Her arms drag behind her head, and her tangled hair gets snagged on the spiky bones that tug at her. Her dress is torn into rags, and every bit of her is filthy and bloody. I want to help her up, to kick the hellions off her, but I am just a shadow here in Beliel’s memory.
I see faint smudges of the Halloween paint that the Watchers’ wives had on that night when I saw Raffe fighting for them. I don’t recognize this girl, but she must be one of the wives that the hellions were given. Raffe managed to save some but not all. I was there to see how much he tried. Maybe she was one of the ones who ran in panic.
The hellions drag the poor girl around all of the chariot wheels, staying far away from the demon while still being close enough to see the angels. They tremble when they have to come near the demon and keep looking up at him, as though afraid that he’ll strike out.
The demon hisses at them, and the air suddenly becomes more foul. Did he just breathe a whole lot of stinky sulfur toward the hellions the way a skunk might aim its scent? No wonder the air smells like rotten eggs here.
Half of the hellions run off in terror. But the other half stays, curling up and trembling until the demon loses interest.
They carefully resume their walk around the chariot. They’re looking at the expressions of each angel as they pass.
The Fallen tense up when they see the girl, staring with fascinated horror. They all look carefully at the girl as if they’re trying to see if they recognize her. Many shut their eyes when they see her, like their thoughts torture them even more than what’s actually happening to them.
When the hellions finally catch Beliel’s attention, his eyes grow wide in horror.
‘Mira,’ he rasps.
The woman blinks when she hears her name. Her eyes seem to focus. She turns her head. ‘Beliel?’ Her voice is vague, sounding like her inner self is still far away. But when she sees him, her face morphs from a blank mask to recognition. Then it turns to pure anguish.
She reaches out for him. ‘Beliel!’
‘Mira!’ he screams, terror in his voice.
The hellions sense it, and they hop with excitement. They chatter, nearly clapping their hands together in delight like little children.
Then they bare their sharp teeth threateningly, showing Beliel that they’re about to harm Mira in ways he can’t imagine.
‘No!’ Beliel thrashes against his chains, screaming threats against the hellions. ‘Mira!’
Then the hellions dive on the girl.
Beliel’s scream is horrifying. Mira finally breaks and screams too, her cries becoming wet and gurgling.
Beliel begins calling out in a broken, defeated voice, ‘Raphael! Where are you? You were supposed to protect her, you worthless traitor!’
I finally peek to see if I can get out of here. I can’t take this anymore.
The hellions have dragged the girl farther up to keep pace with the chariot to make sure that Beliel continues to see what they’re doing to his woman.
Beliel thrashes against his chains. He’s so frantic I think he might actually have a shot at breaking free. These are not the screams of an angry man. These are the nightmare screams of someone having his soul torn to pieces right in front of him.
Beliel breaks down and sobs. He sobs for his Daughter of Man. For the girl who even now looks to him to rescue and protect her. Maybe even for their children, who are likely being hunted and killed by someone he thought was his friend. A friend like Raffe.
8
I’m so preoccupied with watching the plight of the two lovers that I haven’t been paying attention to anything else. But now, the back of my neck prickles. My sixth sense is urgently whispering to me, trying to get through all the noise of what’s happening in front of me.
I look around. And that’s when I see that the demon lord riding the chariot is staring right at me.
How can he see me? I’m just a ghost in Beliel’s memory.
But he stares right at me. His eyes are bloodshot, looking like he lives in a world of perpetual smoke. His face is curious and angry at the same time, as if he’s offended by an intruder watching him.
‘Spy,’ he hisses. ‘You don’t belong here.’ His words sound like a hundred slithering snakes, but I can still understand him.
As soon as the demon says the word spy, the hellions all look at me. Their eyes widen as though they can’t believe their luck. It doesn’t take me long to figure out that I’m not invisible anymore.
The demon takes a good look at me with his bloodshot eyes. Then he whips his stick in my direction. The heads – the screaming, drowning, bloody heads – shoot out toward me at the end of his unspooling whip.
Their expressions are a mix of despair and hope. They’re desperately delighted to be heading my way, with their fractured teeth showing in their gaping mouths. Their hair, which should be flying back, reaches toward me.
At the same time, the hellions leap at me, all claws and fangs.
I stumble backward.
I try to turn and run, but the uneven ground trips me, and I’m falling onto the sharp glass and shards of bone.
The heads scream as they race toward my face.
I’m falling.
Falling.
I stumble backward and fall onto my butt.
I’m back on the island. Beliel, wingless and shriveled again, lies on the ground in front of me.
Then a hellion jumps out of Beliel’s back. It leaps at me with extended claws.
I scream, crab-crawling backward.
It swipes my shoulder as it flies past me. Blood flows down my arm.