Lilith had lost her patience in the fourteenth century and never bothered to find it. Today she was in an even more restless mood than usual. Lilith felt her unfamiliar mouth twitch into a smirk as she thought: No rest for the wicked, and who was ever more wicked than I?
Lilith came to a decision. She turned her back on the Infernal Pedestal and snapped her fingers at her minion, gesturing to an elaborate fan, wrought gold and festooned with the feathers of peacocks and ravens. “You may escort me. Fan the sparks of hell to light my passage. I go to visit our guest.”
She had to monitor the situation. Lucifer was bound to break the boy shortly. Action must be taken when he did.
Nobody knew her lord’s wrath better than Lilith. The arrogance that could not endure serving in heaven, the pride that had created hell, must be outraged at being tricked and jailed. He must be seething at the betrayal by his own daughter. Her god was the most vengeful god. Lucifer was exercising his worst wiles and all the dark fury at his command to rip apart the prison that held him. The boy’s soul would soon shatter into a thousand pieces.
Lilith was surprised Nicholas Scratch had lasted this long.
A t the top of our plan to free Nick from hell I’d written, in capital letters, the words OPERATION EURYDICE .
I felt the name was fitting. My Nick, who was passionate about books, would like that it was taken from a story. If he didn’t know the legend, when we reclaimed Nick I could tell him: how Orpheus the musician went into the underworld to rescue his love, Eurydice. He charmed the lost souls and won her passage out with the beauty of his song. I believed Nick would approve of gender-bending the classics.
“One thing we’re trying is unlocking the configurations that bind the gates of hell.” I pointed to Harvey’s sketch, gates hanging ominously open in the corner of our whiteboard. “If we work out the right combination, the gates should open. Roz is keeping track of the different combinations I try and calculating which might have the best chance.”
“Harv and I can’t help with that,” contributed Theo. “Because math.”
Theo and Harvey nodded, bros united against math. Roz and I gave them a reproachful look for being math delinquents.
“Next up!” I pointed to a drawing of an angel blowing a trumpet. “The horn of the Archangel Gabriel will make the gates of hell open. We should acquire it. Harvey and I were discussing this last night.”
Harvey leaned forward eagerly.
“You know how some of the witches call me heaven-sent and it’s very weird? I think it’s their less offensive way of saying witch-hunter. When a bunch of witch-hunters came and tried to murder the witches that one time, Sabrina said they were … basically angels. There might be a connection to heaven I could use to summon the Archangel Gabriel.”
Harvey came from a long line of witch-hunters. Many witches were suspicious of him for that reason. They didn’t know him as I did. I was certain there had never been a witch-hunter like Harvey before.
Theo didn’t sound as impressed as I’d hoped.
“Harv, what’s the next step? After you … summon the Archangel Gabriel.”
“Ask him to let us borrow his horn.”
“Have you guys considered that the archangel might not want to loan you his, like, sacred horn?”
“’Course,” Harvey answered, clearly relieved that was the objection. “Sabrina’s researching ways she could use her power to threaten the Archangel Gabriel after I summon him, so he’ll give up his trumpet.”
I nodded confirmation.
“Failing a spell,” Harvey added thoughtfully, “I guess I have my gun.”
Theo’s and Roz’s stares suggested they weren’t completely on board.
“Whoa,” said Theo eventually. “That’s a banger of a plan.”
“Harvey,” said Roz in a high voice. “I implore you not to mug an angel!”
Harvey reached for her hand. “Not if you don’t want me to.”
“I don’t want you to!” Roz exclaimed. “I’m literally the daughter of a preacher man, and I’m not comfortable with this idea.”
I’d gone to sleep last night reading up on ways to menace the heavenly host and trying to recall what I’d done to the witch-hunters we’d encountered once. It was a blur, but I remembered shouting that I was the Dark Lord’s sword and reducing the angelic witch-hunters to ash. I’d thought I could refine the process, but obviously we didn’t want to make Roz uncomfortable.
She was the reverend’s daughter. I was the spawn of Satan. Roz was already putting up with a lot.
I nodded. “We’ll put down shooting archangels as a last resort.”
Shooting archangels probably wouldn’t work. My plan to menace the archangel was an intricate infernal ritual, but there were other things I could try first.
“Cool,” said Theo. “I support you guys mugging angels if it comes down to it.”
Harvey gave Theo a grateful grin. I gestured toward the far side of the whiteboard, where Harvey had drawn a large blue lake. “Which brings us to our next idea.”
I clapped, and the whiteboard whisked itself out of sight. Harvey unlocked the door. A red-gold head appeared, adorned with a piece of black spiderweb lace and a disdainful expression.
“Please welcome to the Fright Club our first guest speaker, my aunt and the new High Priestess of the Church of Night, Zelda Spellman.”
Zelda, Lady Blackwood , the Academy students called her. But there were those who called me Sabrina Morningstar. Father Blackwood wasn’t worthy to touch her, any more than Lucifer was worthy to touch me. We were Spellmans.
The tight corners of Aunt Zelda’s mouth relaxed infinitesimally when she looked at me. Her mouth set again when she surveyed my friends.
“I’m far too busy to waste my time in this manner, but Hilda feels it’s important you engage in bondage with the mortals.”
A pause followed this announcement.
“Pretty sure Aunt Hilda said ‘bonding,’ ” I muttered.
Aunt Zelda waved this off with a regal air. “Either seems misguided. However, against my better judgment I came here to tell these unworthy mortals the story of the Lady of the Lake.”
“We appreciate it, Lady Blackwood,” piped up Roz. “The Fright Club is very dedicated to our academic interest in legends that put women in the foreground.”
Theo contributed: “Not a woman personally, but interested in women’s untold stories.”
“Herstory as well as history,” Harvey murmured, with a covert glance Roz’s way to see if he’d gotten that right. She gave him a thumbs-up.
Aunt Zelda moved in front of Ambrose’s British flag as though it were the backdrop to a play, and she the star of the show. She lifted her voice authoritatively. My aunt wasn’t overly fond of mortals, but she’d been mistress of the Infernal Choir at the Academy. Plus, she’d spent my whole life admonishing me and Ambrose. Lecturing was an area in which Aunt Zelda excelled.
“I realize mortal children are ill-educated. Have you even heard of the Lady of the Lake?”
“Arthurian legend,” said Roz.
“Monty Python.” Harvey nodded.
This caught Aunt Zelda’s attention. “Is Monty Python a warlock?”