Free The Devil's Secret by Joshua Ingle Page A

room when I’m mad.
    But temptation got the better of her. She opened the crate and reached inside. When her hand reemerged, it held an immense, lumbering sword, nearly as long as Thilial was tall. Despite its size, it was a simple-looking thing. Whatever cloth had once clothed its hilt lay in tatters now, rotted through, and the rust of many ages covered the blade, leaving only the barest tendril of original metal still visible. Ugly and ungainly, the weapon was a relic of the ancient days when such things had been used by angelkind.
    Its fine edge still looked sharp enough to slice through diamond, though. The sword was a fearsome thing, and thus had it been named. Fear, the sword was called. The oldest sword known to exist.
    “My, that’s a sight,” said a voice from behind Thilial.
    She spun around to find an angel marveling at her weapon. He’d frozen in mid-gait, as if he’d just been passing by when he’d suddenly been awestruck by the sword. He was an older fellow—very old, in fact. Wrinkles adorned his skin and his wings sagged a bit. He looked as if he might have been around to see Fear during its glory days.
    “It’s just a keepsake I like to admire now and then,” Thilial said. “It certainly is a sight, though.”
    The elderly angel stepped toward the blade, walking cautiously, as if trying not to trip over his white robes. “May I touch it?”
    “Please.”
    He did so, running his frail hand along the rusty blade, all the way down to the cross-guard. “Can you wield it?”
    “Ha. I suppose I could, though I’ve no idea why I’d want to.”
    “For Thorn,” the old angel said, and he was right. “A public execution with the likes of this would send quite a message to Atlanta’s other demons.”
    “That it would. Though God would never allow such a thing.” As the angel squinted through age-worn eyes at her sword, Thilial squinted back at him, trying to place him. “Have we met before? I don’t think I’ve seen you around here.”
    “Ah, no. I’m Leregnon, an Angel of War. A group of us was sent here to plan for contingencies.”
    “Yes, I’ve heard. I’m Thilial, an Angel of—”
    “Oh, I know who you are. You don’t have to introduce yourself. We’re all behind you, you know. We all want to see Thorn suffer for what he did to Ezandris.”
    “You knew Ezandris?”
    “Indeed. He was an acquaintance. I mostly knew him through friends. His breakdown was such a shame. I was sad to hear he’d been murdered.”
    “Yes.”
    As much as anything else Thorn had done to Thilial, the memory of her friend Ezandris stung as fiercely as the blade she carried. She paced to some boxes and sat on them, placing Fear athwart her lap.
    Leregnon must have noticed her somber mood, because he unfolded a nearby chair, sat across from her, then spoke in a chipper voice. “Tell me the story of your sword. Where does it come from? What’s its history?”
    “Ha. I’m sure you have things to do. I won’t waste your time with an old sword story.”
    “Ah, we both have things to do. The Man Up Top has us working our asses off. We deserve a break.”
    “I suppose so.”
    “So tell me about your sword.”
    Thilial shrugged. “Its name is Fear. I’ve been told it was made in Heaven’s great forges at the beginning of time. Some say Tobrius smithed the blade himself, and that when he was slain during the War in Heaven, this was the blade he wielded. A hundred years ago, I actually had the metal tested, and it’s no metal known to angels or humans.” She hefted the blade and arced it through the air in a figure eight. “It’s stronger and lighter than any other metal, and it allows the sword to affect the physical world and the spirit worlds simultaneously.” To demonstrate, she let the sword fall to the floor. It clattered against the cement in the physical realm.
    “Fascinating,” Leregnon said.
    Thilial grabbed the sword and placed it back into her lap. “Over the course of history, Fear