World After

73

BURNT LOOKS at me like I’m a mosquito. “What are you going to do? Pummel me with your teddy bear?”

I pull my sword out and get in my combat position.

He actually bursts out laughing. “You’re going to fight me with your tin sword, little girl?”

I can almost feel the rage pulsing from Raffe who is fighting several warriors.

Burnt casually swipes at me with his sword.

I automatically meet his steely blow with my own. The dream training must have worked, at least to some degree.

Burnt looks surprised. But that doesn’t stop him from immediately winding up for his next blow. I can tell he takes this one more seriously.

His sword comes down like a sledgehammer.

I swing my own sword to meet his.

The shock of the impact rattles my bones all the way down to my ankles. My teeth clack so hard I’m surprised they don’t fall out.

Amazingly, I’m still standing.

But just barely.

It’s clear I can’t take too many direct blows. Now I know why none of my dream training involved an opponent with a sword.

Burnt expected me to go down with a single blow. He lifts his sword again, looking annoyed.

I duck and scramble under his sword arm. Probably not a recommended move but there’s a reason why you have to wind up for a hit. With me up close, he can cut but can’t do a lot of impact damage.

I try to kick out his knee but he’s ready for me and spins out of the way. Unlike the other opponents I’ve been fighting lately, Burnt is neither drunk nor an amateur.

He swings for another blow.

I duck. I feel the wind of his blade along the top of my head.

I’m off balance and don’t have enough time to set myself up for a good defensive stance.

I have just enough time to raise my blade to block.

He hits me again with bone-smashing force.

When the impact hits, my skull rattles so much, it feels as if it’s vibrating off my spine. I almost lose the sword but miraculously manage to hang onto it.

I stagger and fall to my knee.

I vaguely register Paige screaming behind me. Paige may have a killer bite but she’s no match for a warrior angel with a sword and I’m glad she knows it.

A part of me sees Raffe wading through blades and blows, trying to make his way to me. But there are too many opponents ganging up on him.

Waves of fury swamp me. What I thought was rage pulsing from Raffe is actually coming from me.

No, not me.

The sword.

Burnt was part of the gang that cut off Raffe’s wings. Because of that, the sword had to leave Raffe. Now, she’s stuck with me, a weakling little human. She’s had to suffer insult upon insult since then, including being laughed at. And now, the final humiliation—Burnt’s about to beat us into the ground with no more than two or three blows.

Boy, is she pissed.

Fine. I’m pissed too. This bastard took my sister and look what happened.

We might as well go down in flames together. At least we can vent some of our anger in a final push. I hope I can hit him somewhere where it really hurts.

Burnt has the nerve to impatiently motion for me to get up. He’d probably never live it down if he swung his killing blow while his scrawny-girl opponent was down.

I wind up all that anger as I take my stance and get ready.

Burnt and I both draw back our swords.

With all my might, I yell and swing at the same time he does.

Paige cries my name. Raffe shouts as he shoves warriors aside, trying to reach me.

When the two swords crash, the impact neither rattles my bones nor has me tasting blood. It’s as if all the force stopped at the blade before it vibrated down to me. As if all that tremendous killing power got redirected.

Burnt’s blade shatters.

It sounds simultaneously like glass smashing and someone screaming. A jagged piece hits Burnt’s wing, slicing right through it.

I keep swinging and my blade cuts through Burnt’s chest.

It’s a clean stroke that leaves no mark until the blood seeps out in a line from one arm to the other.

He crumples.

Burnt lies on the trampled grass, bleeding. His eyes are wide open in shocked disbelief. His body trembles. His breathing is ragged and strained.

He struggles to breathe.

One… Two…

His eyes lose focus and gaze at nothing.

There’s no life in them.

I stare at him for a second longer to make sure he’s dead, reassuring myself that angel swords really can kill angels.

I look up. Raffe and the others are frozen in the middle of their fight. Everyone is staring at us.

A human girl. Killing a warrior angel. In a sword fight.

Impossible.

I’m frozen too. My arms are still up, holding the blade, poised to strike again.

I glance back at the dead body of Burnt, trying to wrap my mind around the fact that I killed an angel warrior.

Then, another incredible thing happens.

One second, we are surrounded by angels holding their swords. The next second, one of their arms drops and his sword thunks to the grass like a lead weight. The angel stares at his blade uncomprehendingly.

Another sword drops.

Then another.

Then a whole bunch, until all the other unsheathed swords fall, thudding on the grass like subjects bowing down to their queen.

The angels stare at the swords at their feet in utter shock.

Then everyone looks at me. Actually, it’s probably more accurate to say they’re looking at my sword.

“Whoa.” That’s about the most intelligent thing I can say right now. Did Raffe say something about an archangel sword intimidating other angel swords if she could gain their respect?

I swivel my eyes to look at the blade in my hands. Was that you, Pooky Bear?