The Archangel's Gift: The Ghost

The year is 1611. The city-states of Renaissance Italy were long ago transformed into floating islands to escape a second worldwide flood. But now the Chosen Isles need saving once more. Portals to the nine circles of hell are opening wide, spilling out legions of demon-like inferni. Serafina Corso, the daughter of the man whose forbidden voyage opened the way to the inferni in the first place, discovers her father's lost journal, which would allow her to retrace his steps and close the gate for good. But the notorious outlaw Lorenzo de Montague needs that journal if he ever wants to see his missing son again. Now, Serafina and Lorenzo must put aside their differences and forge an uneasy alliance—and possibly more—if they want to save the world… Subscribe now Part I Prelude|Under Siege|Last Stand|The Viper of Venice|The Medici Gambit|The Visitor|Blood in the Library|Letters from the Lost|The Point of No Return|The Flames of Justice|Sanctum of Penance|Deadline at Dawn|Leap of Faith|Three Against Hell|Mercy and Hope|The Needs of the Many|The Price of a Life Part II The Spider's Web|The Debt|The Venetian Aethergraphic Society|Jacopo Zampa|Greek Fire|An Aeronaut of Great Renown|The Silent Lion|The Box|A Minor Affliction|The Exchange|Hollow|Bounty Hunters|The Viper's Task|The Ultimatum|Trust|Grand Theft Skyship Part III Rome Besieged|To Empyrea|The Isle of Thieves|Judgment Day PREVIOUSLY:Lorenzo and Serafina approached the Isle of Thieves, only to discover it was under attack by inferni. Lorenzo took the ship'svoltorro—a small one-man flying craft—and flew off to find his son. He arrived too late. Meanwhile, Serafina saw a ship belonging to the Divinocracy's Knights of the Threshold (her former comrades) and ordered her ship to signal it so they could assist in the defense of the island. However, as they drew closer, the other ship opened fire, killing Rafael de Medici. Unbeknownst to Serafina, her adversary Nicanora Pirossa was now in command of the other ship,Judgment Day. She ordered forbidden Greek Fire unleashed upon Serafina's ship… That realm was the sole domain of the most storied explorers. She'd heard the stories, of course, and read the descriptions in theDaemonicum:eternal red skies, dead wastes as far as the eye could see, air thick with sulfur, and the distant screams of creatures of nightmare. But whatever hell looked like, it couldn't be worse than this. Serafina lay onMist Queen's deck in the midst of ruin. She coughed, her throat burning from the foul, acrid smoke wafting from spent cannons. That smoke was an omnipresent, opaque curtain hiding everything beyond ten feet or so except for the intermittent orange-red pulses of cannon shots through the haze. Embers drifted from where the portside rail had caught fire, and overhead the ravenous Greek fire consumed the tattered jib sail, painting the night with flickering emerald light. And the screams—she might have preferred to hear the cries of inferni over the hopeless moans of the dying on the wind. Five feet away, one of the crew was slumped against the mast, sobbing as he tried to extricate the foot-long splinter of wood from his chest. His name was Mario, or Mattario, or something like that—she hadn't met all the crew yet. Serafina tried to pull herself up and help the poor fellow, only to slip on something red and slimy and stumble back to her knees. The enemy ship's cannons boomed again. The sound was a concussion that pummeled her ears and left them ringing, but she barely noticed—because at the same moment another section of the portside rail vanished into a cloud of splinters, and Serafina let out a cry of pain as something swift and small stabbed her in the leg. She bent down and plucked out a splinter—not so small after all, it turned out. She withdrew a four-inch length of wood from her upper thigh and let out a cry of pain, flinging the offending splinter to the deck. When she turned back to the impaled crewman, Mario or Mattario was no longer moving. Through the din of cannonfire and the shrieks of the wounded, she could just hear the captain, Sanguini, reiterating the command to return fire, his voice momentarily drowned out by percussive thundercracks as the gun crews below obeyed. She heard a new sound—a crunching from overhead. She looked up, yelping and throwing herself backward just in time to dodge a falling spar of wood as thick as her leg, the wood glowing with angry green flame. She glanced upward again to see the Greek fire now climbing the lines from the jib sail to the foremast, those green flames slithering down the canvas of the sails. Angels beyond. If the masts caught fire, they were dead in the sky. What she wouldn't give to have Rafael back—Rafael in his prime, before his injury at the hands of Cosimo di Marco, back when he could summon storms of fire and ice with a song. Another realization hit a moment later: she alone could do something about this. Rafael was dead, but Serafina Corso could save the vessel. She'd known it from the moment the other ship had opened fire, but the thought had snagged on something, a sharp barb of hesitation. She knew what that solution would cost her. She rose to her feet, gingerly, and held out her left arm. Her ghostly stump was clear for all to see—at least, if there had been anyone close enough to see the sight through the pall of smoke. The last time she'd used the strange power, half her body had turned translucent. What would happen if she used it again? She was struck by the certainty that one more use could very well kill her. And yet, did she have another choice? She tightened her hand—the right one, the intact one—into a fist. She did what she'd done back on the roof of the brothel in Rome, and again in the harbor in Venice. She embraced the power she'd inherited from her father. She listened for that discordant melody, its subaudible beat thumping beneath the veneer of the universe. She thought of what she needed to accomplish, willing her wishes into song, and laid her own melody atop the existing one. At once, a raging pain threatened to split her head in half. But before she doubled over, she was rewarded by the sight of a miracle. All the fire aboard the ship—conventional and green alike—winked out as though snuffed out by a heavy wind. The damaged sails sagged, while burned ropes fluttered loose, but the blackened masts held firm. She could hear the crew's cries through the smoke as they saw flames vanish, all while she fought to stay conscious. The last time, she'd blacked out for who knew how long, but she couldn't afford it now. Not in the middle of a bloody battle, miracle or no miracle. But had the smoke grown thicker, or was there some other veil suddenly separating Serafina from the rest of the battle? Why was her cloak, the garment that had shielded her translucent half from the rest of the crew, suddenly lying on the deck? And was that hersword? She snatched at it, her fingers clumsy, and found she couldn't gain purchase. Panic seized her heart. What cost had she paid this time? She held up both arms—the stump of the left and the right, which had been intact a moment ago—and saw only wispy outlines. She flexed the fingers of her right hand. The fingers that responded were nothing but smoke. She stood on shaky feet—or she meant to. She couldn't quite feel her boots or the deck beneath them—only a curious, untethered feeling as though her presence was hovering a few feet above the deck. She couldn't see her own body, other than a ghostly outline. Oh, angels.Oh, angels beyond! And she remembered the way her mother had been, just before she'd succumbed to the same curse. It had taken so much longer to claim her mother—she must have been using the power slowly, in tiny increments without ever truly realizing what she was doing, over the course of years. But it had taken her in the end. She'd been a ghost, too insubstantial to eat or drink. With a feeling of disembodied dread that lacked a stomach to take root in, Serafina thought of Empyrea. If she'd needed to reach the Archangels' forbidden mountain before, the need had never felt so urgent as it did now. Without the answers she hoped to find, she was finished. And just as the terrible thought came, she saw the great bulk of the enemy ship looming through the smoke and knew the battle wasn't over. She'd extinguished the fires for the moment, but the enemy had powder and ball aplenty—and how many more Greek fire grenades did they still carry? It was standard practice for a company of Knights of the Threshold to bring at leastfiveinto battle. The enemy guns thundered again. A cannonball smashed through the rail directly in front of Serafina. A cloud of splinters hissed through the air. They should have shredded Serafina, and yet she felt no pain. Her deliverance brought her no joy. Around her, the jubilant cries turned hollow as their joy turned to ash in the face of the enemy's renewed assault, and Serafina knew that all her efforts hadn't been enough. Could she use the power one last time? It would certainly doom her, consigning all that remained of Serafina Corso to simply fade away, her very being dispersed like ashes in the wind. The enemy guns spoke again, their mighty voices roaring in unison. More splinters. More screams. And then green fire bloomed once more in the dark. Serafina's heart—such as it was—plummeted. She heard the angry crackling of Greek fire as it again raced to consume rope, wood, and flesh alike. But— Wait, that couldn't be right. The green flames weren't onMist Queenat all, and this time it wasn't her crew screaming in terror. No, those flames raced along the deck of theenemy ship. For once, those great guns were silent as the enemy dealt with this terrible new complication. But … how? Then something like a great bird passed overhead, and a moment later avoltorroswooped down to land on the deck amidst the smoke. Boots thunked on wood. A figure straightened up, his familiar profile silhouetted against the green flames as he heaved himself out of thevoltorroharness and turned to look at her. 'Oh, Serafina,' said Lorenzo de Montague, his eyes wide as he took in whatever was left of her. 'What have youdone?' Next:Lorenzo is back, but the battle isn't over. How do they escape? This was a really fun scene to write. I love a good battle scene. I love embracing the chaos of the moment, planting the reader smack dab in the middle and letting them take in the horrors. Wow, that sounds sadistic, but it's true. Anyway, it's a scene that has existed, in one form or another, since about 2018, though it's changed drastically since then. In the earliest drafts, long before this world was Renaissance Italy in the sky, people flew giant living crustaceans called skyshells. Serafina—called Freya Crabbe back then—used her power to blow up the attacking skyshell, paying a huge price in the process. I didn't let her blow up the enemy ship this time, because I've got plans for it. By my count, there are only five chapters left inThe Archangel's Gift.Are you ready for the finale? Part I Prelude|Under Siege|Last Stand|The Viper of Venice|The Medici Gambit|The Visitor|Blood in the Library|Letters from the Lost|The Point of No Return|The Flames of Justice|Sanctum of Penance|Deadline at Dawn|Leap of Faith|Three Against Hell|Mercy and Hope|The Needs of the Many|The Price of a Life Part II The Spider's Web|The Debt|The Venetian Aethergraphic Society|Jacopo Zampa|Greek Fire|An Aeronaut of Great Renown|The Silent Lion|The Box|A Minor Affliction|The Exchange|Hollow|Bounty Hunters|The Viper's Task|The Ultimatum|Trust|Grand Theft Skyship Part III Rome Besieged|To Empyrea|The Isle of Thieves|Judgment Day The delightful journey of an adult readingHarry Potterfor the first time continues, thanks to: A short piece that touches on why we need fantasy in our lives from: A great discussion on why trigger warnings matter more than some might think from: The Archangel's Gift: A Fantasy Serial is a reader-supported publication. 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