My guards shove me forward, but they’re not even looking at me. They’re watching the crazed winged warriors as they perform their version of an election.

Some of the angels have what looks like blood smeared across their faces like war paint. Others snarl as they fly past each other over broken plates and crushed champagne glasses. Those who are still wearing dinner jackets from the last party rip them off their shoulders, tearing the seams along the fabric.

They’ve stopped pretending to be civilized and are letting their inner barbarians out.

No wonder Uriel has to go to such extreme sliminess. Raffe and Michael are warriors with armies of fighters loyal to them. Uriel is just a politician and probably wouldn’t stand a chance unless he offered something like a legendary apocalypse as a treat for crazed, bloodthirsty warriors.

Being the only human in the center of all this violence makes me feel like my fate is sealed. I probably have until the end of the voting before they kill me. I wonder how long that will be.

By the time my guards shove me through the chaos and up onto the raised stage, my insides are trembling and I’m fighting to keep my legs moving. I’m surrounded by a sea of frenzied angels, and I can’t see a way out.

29

So far, it’s a surprisingly close election. Surprising in that Uriel has been campaigning for so long, and Raffe and Michael haven’t even been here.

‘I hate to interrupt the festivities,’ shouts Uriel from up in the air, ‘but this is something worth seeing.’ He floats down to the stage at the edge of the lawn.

My guards drag me up the steps to meet him. Angels climb the steps on the other side, dragging two huge cages crammed full of thumping and screeching hellions.

Another group of angels climbs up with a third cage between them. In among the ugly hellions thrashing behind the bars is Beliel.

I haven’t seen him since Angel Island. It looks like partnering up with the hellions hasn’t worked out for him. The dried-up demon holds on to the bars with his shriveled hands. He looks around, assessing the assembled host.

Uriel faces the crowd. ‘Before you decide which candidate to fight for, I have two pieces of crucial information you may want to consider.’ He sounds as though he’s impartial to this whole affair. ‘First, we have found hellions skulking about far too close to the aerie,’ says Uriel. ‘Certainly we can expect them in a hellhole like earth, but I’d like you to take a close look at these two in particular.’

Two angels step forward, each holding a spotted hellion they’ve extracted from a cage. They are considerably larger, and they fight and thrash more fiercely than the others.

‘These are not one of the local breeds,’ says Uriel. ‘Take a good look at them. These hellions emerged straight from the Pit.’

And so they did. I recognize them as the ones who followed me from Beliel’s hell. The angels fall silent.

‘You may remember that we exterminated this cunning species – wiped them out from every known world to be rid of their intense ferocity and their nasty habit of organizing the others,’ says Uriel. ‘The only place they could still exist is in the Pit.’

His eyes sweep the crowd. ‘We all know that nothing leaves the Pit without being let out. The hellions who infest this world have become puny and stupid. These, however, are fresh from their hellish homeland and are being led by this demon.’ He points to Beliel.

Beliel is still not healed, although he has patches of pink skin beginning to grow on his face. He looks horrible, like he’s been ravaged by a designer disease. His skin is still crusty and withered, but now it’s split by fresh pink strips of new skin. His back is bleeding, as if his body is having particular trouble healing from the severed wings.

‘Somewhere, gates have been opened to the Pit,’ says Uriel. ‘Somewhere, the beast lurks and is letting out his creatures. Somewhere, the apocalypse is starting without us.’ He pauses.

‘As I have promised in the past – and I continue to promise today – elect me now, and by morning, you will be a legendary warrior for the apocalypse. Raphael is absent. Michael is absent. If you elect one of them as Messenger, the glory of the apocalypse might be over by the time they lead you into battle. You might already be dead by then, or worse, perhaps you’ll be saggy, out of shape, and unprepared. You never know. It could happen.’

A dutiful chuckle goes through the crowd.

‘The second thing I’d like to present,’ says Uriel, ‘is the girl.’

My guards shove me onto center stage.

‘If you’ve just arrived, I thank you for traveling such a great distance to participate in the election. Many of you were not present during the fight on the beach when one of ours was slain by this Daughter of Man. But I know you’ve all heard the story by now. I’m here to tell you that it’s all true. This human girl – as puny as she seems – somehow managed to convince an angel sword to allow her to wield it.’ Uriel pauses for effect. ‘Even more astonishingly, she used the sword to kill one of our own.’

He lets that sink in. I notice that he doesn’t say anything about my sword commanding theirs to stand down. If only they knew that the sword that dominated their weapons is called Pooky Bear.

‘I captured her with utmost speed and have brought her to justice. It’s time we avenge our fallen brother.’

The crowd cheers.

30

‘Uriel murdered Archangel Gabriel!’ I point my finger at Uriel. ‘He’s making up a false apocalypse so he can become the new Messenger!’

The crowd quiets down. I don’t for a second think that they believe me. But I’m guessing that I’m entertaining enough for them to listen to, for now anyway. ‘At least investigate if you don’t believe me.’

Uriel chuckles. ‘The Pit is too good a punishment for her. She should be torn apart by hellions. How convenient that we have some.’

‘I don’t even get a sham trial? What kind of justice is that?’ I know this won’t get me very far, but right now, I’m too amped to keep my mouth shut.

Uriel raises his eyebrows. ‘That’s an idea. Shall we give her a trial?’

To my surprise, the angels take up the chant. ‘Trial! Trial! Trial!’

The way they’re saying it makes it sound like Romans at a stadium, demanding the death of a gladiator.

Uriel puts out his hands to quiet the crowd. ‘A trial it is.’

I’m suddenly not so excited about getting a trial.