“Shoot.” Tempeste spoke pleasantly. Reaching into his inner jacket pocket, he produced a roll of mint Mentos and popped one, then offered them to Layla. She took one with a smile and a nod of thanks.
“Well,” she spoke, chewing the Mentos. “What is Heathren Merkami? I get the sense of wings around him and Insinio Brandfort, but not like a Phoenix or any other kind of bird-shifter.”
“That’s because Heathren and Insinio are not bird-shifters,” Tempeste spoke pleasantly, even as his gaze continued scanning the gradually-thickening crowd on the platform. “They’re Ephilohim. What you would call Elohim. Angels. Archangels actually, the both of them, though they are first-generation Fallen Ephilohim, both born on earth in the Twilight Realm. Though neither is originally celestial, they are extremely powerful and not to be crossed.”
“Archangels?” Layla blinked, realizing how much that fit with her first impression of the intensely beautiful Heathren Merkami and Insinio Brandfort. As if they had something otherworldly about them, in a way that not even Dusk, Adrian, or Reginald could match. They were more on the level of Sylvania’s beauty – as if they were something that didn’t quite come from earth. “So do they come from the Ascended Realms? Like Sylvania Eroganis did?”
“Originally, yes.” Tempeste nodded, glancing at her. “Ephilohim are an ancient race, and not limited to the earthly realms. But there have been Fallen Ephilohim in the Twilight Realm for quite some time – Ephilohim that decided to reject their ephemeral nature to have a more worldly experience. Heathren and Insinio both come from clans that Fell many thousands of years ago, in the area of the Caucasus Mountains and all around the Black Sea. Their Lineages are ancient and have engaged in terrifying purges over the years. Do you know the legend of Dracula?”
“I thought Dracula was a vampire?” Layla frowned.
“No.” Tempeste shook his head, something dark in his eyes. “Vampires can get powerful, but their power is in manipulation and coercion. They don’t have an Archangel’s raw brutality. Vlad the Impaler was a Fallen Ephilohim – his true name in the Twilight Realm was Vladimir Merkami. Heathren Merkami is his first son. It was Insinio Brandfort that convinced Heathren to turn against his father and bring him down, before all of Eastern Europe in both the Twilight and Human Realms fell to Vlad’s madness. The wars that happened both before Heathren turned against his father and after were mind-boggling. It’s a terrible thing when a Fallen Archangel goes mad and has to be put down.”
“I can only imagine.” Layla tried to wrap her mind around it, that a legend she had known all her life was actually the terrible story of a Fallen Archangel. “So that explains the seven layers of wings I felt from Heathren and Insinio.”
“You felt their wings?” Tempeste’s gaze sharpened on her. “That’s rare. Most Twilight species only get a feeling of tremendous power from Ephilohim.”
Layla shrugged. But before she could say more, the train’s arrival was announced in Italian, English, and a few more languages. They rose from the bench, though Tempeste held a hand out to forestall Layla from pushing through the crowd. Waiting in the back of the throng as the train arrived, they moved far down the line to a car that was mostly unoccupied.
Finding seats, Layla put her bag up on the luggage rack as they settled in, an old Italian couple taking the seats opposite. The old man stared out the window and the old lady yelled something at him in heavily-accented Italian that Layla couldn’t quite track despite her fluency. The old man didn’t respond and the woman whacked him with her cane, then shouted louder as he glanced at her, aboutdinnerandfish. They shouted at each other for a moment, apparently discussing what they were going to eat when they got home to La Spezia. Their argument was so vocal with so many agitated hand gestures that Layla thought they might come to blows. But suddenly, they were kissing – cute little pecks of long-term love before he stared out the window again and she took up a magazine.
“God, I love Italy.” Tempeste chuckled.
Layla grinned and they shared a smile as the train pulled away from the platform. Moving out of the Genoa station, they were soon rolling past a dark evening cityscape dotted with lights. Old Roman ruins were lit with modern yellow streetlights, combined with classical Italian architecture as they rolled through the city. They soon gained the countryside, moving through a wide landscape that would have been beautiful by day, but by night was simply dark.
After twenty minutes of silence, Tempeste glanced over. “You can sleep if you’d like. I’ll keep watch.”
“No, I’m not tired.” Layla shook her head. “Hungry, actually. I could use a meal when we get to Manarola.”
“I know the perfect place.” Tempeste smiled kindly, like a father. “It’s a five-minute walk from the apartment I’ve booked for us tonight, just down the main street towards the wharf.”
“You booked us a place to stay?” Layla blinked, suddenly grateful that they had a place to rest tonight, in a small town where nearly everything probably shut down at 9 p.m.
“It’s mostly for me to wait at while you’re at the Aviary,” Tempeste chuckled. “But you’ll have your own bed tonight, and any other night if for whatever reason you decide to not sleep inside the fortress.”
“Do you know where to access the fortress?” Layla asked him.
“It’s off the cliff-walk.” Tempeste shrugged elegantly. “That’s all we really know. The feather will guide you there once you get close enough.”
“Tempeste?” Layla sat back in her seat, a few more questions on her mind. “Do you know Adrian?”
“Not well.” He glanced over at her, alert to her sudden line of questioning. “Adrian Rhakvir and I have met on a few occasions. I had the distinct displeasure of interrogating him once on Intercessoria business. Adrian is close-lipped about his dealings, and quite resistant to magical coercion. We had to bring in six Vampires and still he wouldn’t break to our questioning. Ultimately, we couldn’t get a confession out of him, or any physical evidence on the case, so Heathren had to let him go.”
“You interrogated Adrian?” Layla blinked, feeling fury suddenly rise in her as she looked over at Tempeste.
“It’s my job.” Tempeste held her gaze, his blue eyes frank. “Not a part I revel in, but a part of being Intercessoria Judiciary. In any case, there wasn’t any overt physical torture involved. The Intercessoria do have scruples, unless extreme methods are warranted. You’d be well-informed to know that Adrian lasted ten days under our duress, including the elimination of food and water. He’s stronger than he looks, that Royal Desert Dragon of yours. He breaks Heathren’s immense patience, which is something to note. Few people can top the patience of a Fallen Ephilohim.”
Layla digested that, both hating that she’d learned this tidbit about Tempeste, but somehow strangely comforted by the information on Adrian. It made her worry less about him being incarcerated, though she still wanted him free as soon as possible. “What was the case?”
“I’m not at liberty to share the specifics.” Tempeste held her gaze. “Just know that it involved crimes against Twilight folk and Humans alike – a vast ring of people-trafficking that Adrian had been implicated in. He wouldn’t defend himself during the interrogation. We don’t know if that was because he was involved or because he was trying to infiltrate the traffickers to shut them down, and didn’t want his cover blown. Knowing Adrian, it could have been either way. He’s a renegade, and doesn’t play by Twilight laws.”
“So it seems.” Layla’s mood darkened, wondering if she would ever not be surprised by the things she heard about Adrian. She added this to her list of things to ask him when she saw him again. “Sometimes I feel like I barely know him at all.”
Tempeste’s gaze was deep as he contemplated her. “Adrian Rhakvir is a mysterious creature. But Heathren has confessed to me that he can’t sense evil intent in Adrian. Clandestine activity, surely, omissions and even outright lies, but never malice. Heathren is an Archangel – it’s his magic to know if a soul is tarnished or clean. And for whatever else he’s involved in… Adrian’s soul is still somehow clean of tarnish.”
Taking that in, Layla crossed her arms. Thinking about Adrian, she suddenly realized she could feel him. Distant, a vision came to her as if she was looking out of his eyes, seeing a silver table in a white room that scrolled with gold sigils and script. Adrian’s wrists were manacled to the table, the silver cuffs writhing with gold script like the room. She could see his crimson Dragon tattoo on his left forearm, beneath his rolled-up shirtsleeve. As she felt him, roiling with defiance despite an immense fatigue, she felt him startle. Adrian inhaled, and Layla felt him breathe in her scent across the distance.
She got a whisper of cinnamon-jasmine back, and a breath through her mind –Layla…
