James swore. Cordelia could not look to see Lilith’s reaction: she was walking toward Belial, who stood smirking, his blade gripped in his hand. It was as if she were in a dream; she could not stop herself. She raised Cortana and, for the first time in her life, took no pleasure in the golden arc of the blade as it passed across the sun.

“Kill him,” Lilith hissed.

Cordelia flung herself at Belial.

Blade slammed against blade, metal grinding; Cordelia felt the same burning in her bones, the clang and crash in her heart that echoed the sounds of battle. But there was no joy in it now, not even that she could swing faster, leap higher, duck and parry and blow with the silent speed of a dream. Not even the dark joy of battling a Prince of Hell.

She raised her eyes and met the icy depths of Belial’s gaze. Was this how it was to be an angel who fell? Cordelia thought. To have once served what was good, and radiantly beautiful, and to find instead that every gesture was turned toward the service of evil and the Pit? Was there a screaming hollow place in Belial’s soul, the way there was now in hers?

Belial hissed, as if sensing her thoughts; the Blackthorn sword swept in from the right, slicing across her shoulder as she turned to duck it; she heard Lilith scream in rage, and suddenly she was spinning back, heedless of the danger, her sword whirling in her grasp—

James cried out. There was a flash of movement as something darted between Cordelia and Belial, arms outstretched wide to protect him.

Not something. Someone.

Lucie.

Cortana was already moving, ripping a path through the air that would cut Lucie apart. With a last, desperate convulsion, Cordelia wrenched her body sideways, against Lilith’s will. Her sword thrust went wide as she staggered, collapsing to her knees before pushing herself immediately upright again. She turned back toward Lucie, pain shooting through her like daggers. Lucie’s eyes were huge, pleading with Cordelia: Daisy, don’t do it. Daisy, no.

But Cortana seemed to burn in Cordelia’s hands, the blade whispering, demanding, telling her what to do.

It would be easy to make the pain stop. Just raise the sword and cut Lucie down.

It took everything she had to hold herself still. The pressure was brutal, pushing from the inside outward, clenching her hand around Cortana’s hilt.

“Lucie!” James called, starting toward his sister. “Lucie, get out of the way!”

Lucie shook her head wildly. She looked impossibly small and fragile, her arms flung wide, shielding Belial. “I know why you want to hurt him,” she said. “But you can’t—I summoned Emmanuel Gast, he told me everything—Jesse is innocent—”

“There is no Jesse,” James said, coming closer. “That’s his body. What animates it is Belial. Jesse Blackthorn is dead, Lucie.”