He bared his teeth.
Wound him, she thought. Three mortal wounds from Cortana—
Belial hissed and leaped at her, the Blackthorn sword dancing in his hand. Distantly, Cordelia was aware that she had never seen sword work like this before. She should have been cut to ribbons. A week ago she would have been, despite a lifetime of training.
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.
Through the shadows, figures darted, illuminated by witchlight. There was Ariadne, standing over a crumpled body, holding off something Cordelia couldn’t quite see—something that looked like a massive rubbery limb clustered with vicious suction cups. It was a tentacle, she realized, the waving appendage of something huge, and hidden.
And in among the tentacles were their family and friends: Anna, high atop a broken section of wall, intercepted a tentacle headed for Christopher with her whip. Henry, his chair backed up against a slab of rock, laid about him with a sanjiegun. Alastair clambered onto a pile of rubble, spear in hand, turning to help Thomas up after him. The windows of the Institute, full of faces—
Belial dropped his hand. The window blinked out of existence. Cordelia could hear her own panicked breathing.
Alastair.
Beside her, James was very still. She knew what he was thinking, his mind darting from name to name: Will, Tessa, Gideon, Gabriel, Sophie, Cecily. Cordelia hadn’t seen Lucie, but she was almost certainly there as well, probably inside the Institute. Nearly everyone James loved in his life was there, facing obliteration.
“Your brother,” said James, his voice barely recognizable. “Leviathan, the sea demon. You have called him up out of Hell.”
“He owed me a favor,” said Belial, his old insouciance returning. “And he enjoys this sort of thing. So you see, James, you really have no choice at all, regardless of Cortana.”
“You are telling me that if I do not give up my body willingly, let you possess me, then you will have Leviathan kill them,” said James. “All of them.”
“Oh, yes, I’ll make sure they all die,” said Belial. “It’s your choice.”