But she was a paladin now. She let the power of it flow into her, igniting the marrow of her bones. Cortana was lightning in her hand: the blade slammed against Belial’s, over and over, filling the gardens with the sound of ringing metal. Surely one of the blades would crack in half. Surely the world would crack in half, and she would spin across the gulf, carried by Cortana’s whirling blade.

The Blackthorn sword swept by, dancing and slashing, but with every movement Cordelia was able to dart out of its way. She returned over and over, Cortana blazing in her hand, driving Belial backward on the path, even as his eyes widened with incredulity.

“This is impossible!” he hissed, the Blackthorn sword slicing through the air where Cordelia had stood a moment ago.

Cordelia exulted, raising Cortana overhead, then delivering a fast kick to Belial’s abdomen. It propelled him back; his unbuttoned jacket flew open, and Cordelia saw James’s gun, thrust through his belt.

Belial dropped into a crouch, slashing out with the Blackthorn sword; Cordelia leaped over the blade intended to slice her legs out from under her. She feinted, parried, and brought Cortana down in a long diagonal arc; it slammed against the cross guard of Belial’s sword.

His right hand began to bleed.

He howled, a long scream of rage that seemed to shake the last leaves from the trees. It struck Cordelia as impossible all London could not hear it. Her heart pounded—had she wounded him? Would it be enough?—as Belial raised his raging eyes and barked out a vicious laugh.

“You think because you have scratched me, it will make a difference?” he snarled. He wiped the back of his injured hand across his face. It left behind a scarlet streak of blood. But he was smiling now. “You think so little of your grandfather, James?”

Cordelia froze, Cortana still upraised; she had not even realized James was beside her on the path, a seraph blade in his hand. She should be attacking, she thought, should be lunging at Belial—but there was something in his expression that held her back. Something in the way he smiled and said, “Did you not guess that I was delaying until my brother was ready?”

Cordelia felt James, beside her, stiffen.

My brother.

Belial laughed and raised his left hand. The air between the plane trees seemed to go white, and suddenly it was as if they were looking through an enormous window.

Through it, Cordelia saw a scene of chaos. It was the courtyard of the Institute, but barely recognizable. The flagstones had been smashed into heaps of rubble, around which gray-green water surged. Lightning crackled above, the air heavy and black.