“What every demon wants,” Asher said. “To prove the weakness of the Light.”
“This one also wants to be free,” Anthony said. “He believes that if his human body is destroyed by holy power and his human soul damned, the rest of him will be become a full demon, immortal.”
“So what are we supposed to do?” Rachel demanded. “Watch him murder these people? Stand by looking sad and wringing our little white hands?”
“If we could push him into the space between worlds, his demon self would emerge as the more powerful form,” Asher said. “Then we could kill the demon and leave the human half alive with its soul still intact.”
“Say goodbye, old man,” the creature said, brandishing the flaming torch. “Give my regards to your God.”
“He can’t be forced between worlds,” Anthony said.
“Wait!” one of the children screamed from the cage. “It was me! Leave him alone! It was my prayer! I did it!”
The half-demon stopped. He held the torch high, grinning triumphantly as one of his thugs opened the cage just enough for a girl to crawl out. “Oh no,” Rachel moaned.
The child climbed to her feet directly in front of the creature. “I prayed to God to send His angels to make you go away,” she said. She looked to be ten or eleven with a pale, sharp little face and long, black braids. “If you think you can win by burning someone, burn me.”
The creature touched her face. “So this is what a real saint looks like,” he said, his voice rough silk as he caressed her. “Much too pretty to burn.”
“Oh no,” Rachel repeated, struggling to get away from Asher and Anthony. “Forget this shit. I’m going.”
“You will fall,” Asher said, tightening his grip. “Let me.”
He let her go and drew his sword of flame. He stepped out of the crowd into the square, a seraph in full glory, visible to all. “Leave that child in peace, creature of filth!” he called out. “I am Hesperus, the Evening Star, and I am calling you out!”
A hopeful whisper rippled through the crowd, and several women fell to their knees to pray. But the creature on the truck was laughing. “The Evening Star,” he repeated. “Come to me, uncle, and welcome.”
Rachel and Anthony had transformed as well and were standing at his back. “We’ll get the other children,” Rachel said. “Save the girl.”
“You called upon the seraphim,” Asher said, moving closer. “What is it you seek?” The child saint was facing him now, and though her back was straight, she was trembling all over. Had she seen what had happened to Malachi? Was her faith in the Light still strong?
“Nothing,” the creature said. Unlike a true demon, he looked like any other man, smooth-skinned, even handsome. “Everything.” He took a step toward Asher, away from the child. His arms were outstretched as if in surrender, but he held a long knife still stained with Malachi’s blood. “Take your magic sword and strike me dead, uncle,” he said. “Or I will kill them all.”
Asher raised his sword. For a moment, he thought of what Serena had said. If he used his power to strike down the child, she would pass straight into the Light. He would be releasing her from torment. He was empowered by his office to make such a decision; he would not fall. Many seraphim had made such choices since humans had come into the world. He didn’t doubt that Malachi had hoped he would take on this task when he sent him here.
Then he looked into her eyes. She was so young, so full of promise. She deserved to live, to grow up, to fall in love, to be a mother, to pass her faith on to others who would learn from the example of her life, not the tragedy of her martyrdom. In a flash, he knew exactly what to do.
In a single, fluid motion he sheathed his sword and took flight. He snatched the creature up by the lapels of his leather coat and carried him into the sky.
“Will you fly with me to Heaven?” the creature said, laughing, shouting over the rush of the wind. Asher ignored him, flying higher. Soon the air was too thin for human lungs and too cold for human bearing. The creature gasped in Asher’s grasp, ice forming over them both, his human skin turning blue, but he didn’t struggle. “It won’t work, angel,” he rasped, a flicker of fire showing in his eyes. “I’ll die of cold before I transform.”
Asher hovered, still holding him by his coat. The lights of the village had disappeared among the clouds. A fall from this height would take several agonizing minutes, plenty of time to imagine the moment of impact. “No,” he said, letting the creature go. “You won’t.”
The half-demon screamed as he plummeted toward the Earth. Asher followed, drawing his sword. If the creature let himself die, they would both be damned. But he trusted his long, bitter experience. No demon was that brave.
Less than half a mile from the ground, his human skin flayed bloody from the wind, the creature roared and transformed. Great black wings rushed out, stopping his fall, and Asher struck, driving the sword of flame through the demon’s breast. The crowd below them screamed as they fell together, gold wings tangling with black. The demon twisted, clinging to the angel like a drowning man grasping at reeds, and with a force of will, Asher passed over to the space between worlds, carrying the demon with him.
The demon realized his mistake at once and screamed, but it was too late. Breaking the demon’s grip, Asher tore the sword upward, splitting the creature in two, ripping his heart apart. Then he caught the dying creature as it fell and held him close, willing life back into his mortal body, using all his healing gifts. He passed back into the mortal plane with a broken but breathing mortal in his arms.
He dropped him on the flatbed in front of the burning cross. “He lives,” he shouted to the crowd in Russian. “He is just like one of you.”
The villagers rushed forward, overpowering the thugs, wrenching their weapons away. Rachel and Anthony broke open the cage and set the children free, then moved through the mob, calming them, using their powers to convince them to bring their oppressors to the law instead of tearing them apart, even the creature himself. Two old men came forward and picked him up, nodding to Asher before they carried him away.
The saint child was standing before him, smiling. Two more men went to help the fallen priest, and three women came out of the crowd and fell to their knees in front of Asher. “No!” he and the child cried out at the same time.
“Get up,” Asher ordered. “See to your children.”
The women moved away, looking back over their shoulders. “You are not my Lord,” the child said, looking up at him. “You are His soldier.”