Grace and Glory (The Harbinger #3) - Jennifer L. Armentrout Page 0,50

I shouted, spinning toward the hallway.

“What the—?” Teller’s wings arced behind him as Jordan turned.

Holy crap, they could see the Shadow People, just like demons could.

Teller lifted off the ground, but he wasn’t fast enough. The Shadow slammed into him, knocking him back as it went through him. The Warden fell backward. Lockers rattled as he slid down them, pink mottling his skin as he began to shift into his human form.

“You okay?” Dez shouted.

“Good God,” he gasped, coughing as he maintained hold of his Warden form. “What in the Hell was that?”

“A Shadow Person,” I said, scanning the hall. “It’s gone.” Behind me, one of the ghosts giggled. “I think.”

“I’m fine.” Teller rose to his feet, shaking out his wings. “That was like getting hit by a freight train.” He straightened. “A freight train on fire.”

“At least it didn’t pick you up,” I said, thinking of what one of them had done to Cayman.

“There’s another!” Dez rose into the air. “Coming out the damn wall.”

Spinning toward where he pointed, I caught sight of one peeling its way out of where the wall met the ceiling.

It darted down in a ball, unfurling to its full height halfway to the floor. It landed in the shape of a person, a combination of black smoke and shadow, eyes bloodred, like burning coals.

“I got it.” I stalked forward, summoning my grace. The corners of my vision turned white as the whitish-gold fire spread down my arm, flowing to my hand. The weight of the handle formed against my palm as the blade erupted from sparks and flames.

“That’s also something I’ve never seen before,” Jordan commented from behind.

The SP rushed forward, leaving a stream of black smoke behind it. Stepping into the attack, I sliced through the midsection. The shadow folded into itself, shattering into wisps of smoke.

“They may be strong,” I said, lowering the Sword of Michael. The ghosts gave me wide berth. “But they aren’t the smartest.” I turned back to the others. “There’s got to be more here.”

“You sure you’re okay?” Jordan asked, and Teller nodded. He turned back to us. “They’re dead, aren’t they? The missing people?”

“Yeah,” Dez grunted. “And the cops.”

Pulling my gaze from Teller, I glanced up at the bodies. My stomach twisted. “Why?” My voice was hoarse as I looked at the dead girl.

“Because they hoped you’d come,” she answered in a wispy voice.

Instinct flared to life at the same moment the door that led to the basement and the portal flew open. I had a wicked sense of déjà vu and tensed for LUDs—little ugly demons that resembled foot-tall rats...if rats could run on their hind legs.

That wasn’t what came through the door. In hindsight, I would’ve preferred LUDs.

A burst of bright white light exploded from the door, charging the air with power as it rippled over the ceiling and walls, pouring across the floor. I threw up a hand to shield my eyes, but the intensity was so sudden and extreme it still momentarily blinded me.

Something large crashed into the wall behind me as I lowered my hand. I really hoped it wasn’t Dez. I blinked my vision clear enough to see that the ghosts had scattered to the sides. My grace throbbed in response to the...the heavenly glow.

A huge shape came through the door, and the first thing I saw was the wings—the massive white wings with inky veins streaked throughout.

My heart seized in my chest.

Gabriel.

13

Fear punched a hole through my chest as Gabriel entered the gymnasium, and every instinct demanded that I hightail my butt out of here, but I held my ground—I held on to my grace.

“Trinity,” he spoke, and the sound of him was like rusty nails against my nerves. “I knew you would come.”

Nicolai was going to be so mad when he learned he was right.

This had been a trap.

“Wow,” I said, forcing my voice level. “That was a less than impressive entrance.”

Gabriel stopped, cocking his head to the side. He was closer, his features were clearer to me, and I could also tell that the black in his veins was spreading across the ever-shifting shades of the skin of his neck.

That couldn’t be good.

“What happened to the trumpets and earthquakes? Couldn’t perform?” I asked, tsking. “I hear they make a pill for that.”

His head straightened. “I see you still have no control of your mouth.”

“And I bet you have no idea what I was referencing, which makes my immature snarkiness less entertaining.” The Sword of Michael spit fire as