“Oh, she’s always wanted him raised as well,” said Belial. “But that didn’t suit me. I’ve had to put her off for years. It wasn’t until she was carted off to be watched over by the Iron Sisters that I was able to access her precious baby boy so that he could do what I needed him to do.”
“So you made him a killer,” said James flatly. “But why?” Cordelia loved that look on James’s face—sharp, problem-solving, precise—it seemed the opposite of the Mask, somehow. He was seeing a pattern, one she didn’t see yet, the way those with the Sight saw through glamours impervious to mundanes. “You woke his body at dawn—possessed it—walked him around London like a puppet. Had him use the pithos to take runes from dead Nephilim. Had him kill.” Realization sparked in his eyes. “Not just to collect death energy, or to make Leviathan’s sigil. You were making Jesse stronger. Strong enough to bear those stolen runes.”
Belial smirked. “Ah, yes, and you saw it all. It’s rude to spy, you know, even in dreams.”
“You still deny you had anything to do with those dreams?” said James.
“I do indeed. It was not me who showed you those deaths. Perhaps someone else wished you to see them.” He shrugged. “You can believe me or not. I have no reason to lie, and less reason to care what you think.”
Cordelia exchanged a look with James; she sensed they both doubted they would get a better answer from Belial. “So Jesse isn’t alive or dead,” said James, “and your anchor inside him allows you to possess him without his body giving way and crumbling apart. You’re even carrying the Blackthorn sword.” He looked disgusted. “So why did you ask me again, outside Edom, if I would let you possess me? Why not give up on me?”
Belial only grinned his icy grin. “Perhaps I don’t need you. Perhaps I only want to kill you. Your reluctance, your refusal to cooperate with me—they have vexed me very much. And one does not vex a Prince of Hell without consequences.”
“No,” James said. “That’s not it. Jesse isn’t your final goal.”
“His body can only be used half the day,” said Cordelia. “Isn’t that right? At night he becomes a ghost and his body can’t be used?”
“He is alive only half the day, and not even the amusing half,” Belial agreed. “No, I have never thought of this body as a final destination for my soul. More a method of reaching that destination.”
“Which is still James,” said Cordelia. “But you will not touch him.” She raised her blade.
And this time, Belial did not flinch. He began to smile—a manticore’s smile, as if his jaw were not properly hinged, and the grin might take over his whole face, turning it to a mask of teeth.
“Cordelia, no.” James flung out his hand, his arm across Cordelia’s body. He was suddenly very pale. “The runes,” he said. “When Jesse lost the pithos, you had to send an Eidolon to retrieve it from Christopher, even though it risked discovery of your plan. You needed it that badly. You’ve been making Jesse a warrior. Demon and angel, dead and alive. You think he can defeat Cortana. That’s why you made him. To get Cordelia out of the way—to get at me—” He spun to face her. “Daisy—run—”
And leave you without protection? Cordelia shot James a single, incredulous look before she raised Cortana high above her head. “I said,” she repeated, “you will not touch him—”
Belial charged at her. One moment he was lounging with the Blackthorn sword dangling from his hand. The next he was a streak of fire, a blaze tipped with silver.
James lunged at Cordelia, knocking her out of the way. They rolled across the packed dirt of the pathway; Cordelia somersaulted up and into a standing position, slashing out with Cortana. Her blade clanged against Jesse’s—Belial’s. She registered the pattern of thorns winding around the cross guard of the Blackthorn sword even as he spun, stabbed out at her again—the blade’s tip parted the fabric at her collar with a whisper. She felt the burning sting, a hot spill of blood.
She heard James shout her name. But he seemed distant; the gardens and everything in them were far away. She was facing Belial as if on the vast chessboard James had described to her from his vision. There was nothing there but the two of them, and the next moves they would make.
She charged at Belial, leaping onto a nearby bench and pushing off it, spinning like a top as she whirled through the air, coming down with the sword. He sprang out of the way, but barely fast enough: the sword slashed a cut across the front of his shirt.