Black Howl by Christina Henry

father’s crimes.”
    What about mine?
He picked up my left hand.
    “Like I told Lucifer, if it doesn’t bother me, it shouldn’t bother them. Besides, it’s supposed to grow back.” I glared at the place where the missing digits had been like I could make them grow back with just my force of will. “Anyway, Skippy there can’t get in without my permission.”
    “Ummm, about that…” Beezle began.
    Metatrion narrowed his eyes like he’d heard me. Then he drew back his fist and punched it through the front picture window—a thing that he should not have been able to do. I could see his hand very clearly cross the border of the building.
    I shouted in anger and blasted nightfire as Metatrion pulled the broken shards away from the point of impact. The nightfire bounced harmlessly off Metatrion’s armor as he climbed through the window. I took Samiel’s hand and tugged him backward as Metatrion stalked toward us.
    I tried to blast the angel with the same spell that I’d used in the cave, but again the armor seemed to dissipate its effects. I could only conclude that it was impervious to any kind of magic.
    “Cheater,” I muttered as we backed through the dining room.
    Samiel picked up one of the dining chairs and heaved it at the giant angel. They are oak, and heavy, and have been in my mother’s family for generations. Metatrion caught the chair before it hit him and snapped the frame in half as easily as if he were breaking a tree branch.
    Lucifer’s sword lay on the side table next to the front door with my keys and cell phone. I picked up the sword and pushed Samiel behind me. Metatrion paused, staring at the sword.
    I didn’t want to think about how absurd I must look. I was about two feet shorter than Metatrion and wearing nothing but a ratty blue terry-cloth robe. But the pointed tip of the sword was just a few inches from Metatrion’s unarmored throat, and I bet he’d bleed the same as anyone else if I pressed forward.
    “Leave,” I said. “You can’t have Samiel.”
    “I am the Grigori’s Hound of the Hunt,” Metatrion rumbled, and I winced at the close proximity of his voice. It seemed to shake the very cells of my blood. A couple of wineglasses in the cabinet shattered.
    “I am charged with returning Samiel ap Ramuell to the court of the Grigori for his trial. No walls can bind me, and no creature can stop me, not even you, Madeline ap Azazel. I will not cease until the hunt is complete.”
    I stood a little straighter, pushed the blade to his skin. Metatrion’s eyes narrowed.
    “My name is Madeline Black,” I said. “And you cannot have him.”
    “When you are breathing your last breath, remember that you chose this,” Metatrion said, and he closed his handover the sword. As he did he opened his mouth and gave a primal scream.
    I closed my eyes in pain, keeping a tight grip on the sword. Metatrion tried to bend it or pull it from my grasp; I don’t know which. I wasn’t strong enough on my own to keep my hold on it, but the snake on my palm did not seem to like Metatrion’s behavior and held the handle to my skin like it was magnetized there.
    There was the crunch of breaking glass again, and I opened my eyes. Two more armored angels were coming in through the side windows in the dining room. Samiel desperately shot nightfire from behind me. I heard Gabriel pound up the back stairs and crash through the back door into the kitchen.
    “Madeline!” he called.
    I couldn’t turn. I couldn’t answer. I strained with every muscle in my body to hold the sword, to keep Metatrion from taking it or Samiel.
    Metatrion swung his other hand toward me and closed it around my throat.
    The other angels crashed into Gabriel and Samiel behind me. There were the sounds of grunts and fists pounding into skin. From the corner of my eye I saw Beezle flutter to the opposite side of the room and pick something up.
    My vision started to close as Metatrion squeezed his armored hand around my windpipe.