Papa managed a wry grin. “Can we define ‘vigorous’ for science?”
Doc shook his head, grinning. “For your age? You can probably walk to the mailbox by tomorrow. Just listen to your body, and if anything feels weird; like, supernatural weird, call me.”
I glanced at his hand. The knuckles were raw, stained with pink from scrubbing off Papa’s blood. His nails were chewed down to the quick, and his collarbone was tight as a bowstring. Doc was not made for house calls, or for being around archangels. Speaking of—
Archon stood in the bedroom doorway, arms folded behind his back, watching the sunrise as if he’d personally set the lightbulb to “stun” this morning. Even in faded jeans and a t-shirt, he looked regal; like an emperor slumming it in suburbia. He radiated presence, and I could feel Oscar’s hackles spike every time he so much as moved.
Doc packed up his bag, then made for the door with the hurried energy of a man who’d rather lance boils than make small talk with an angel king. Archon turned and nodded to him, a gesture that held so much dignity it almost made Doc bow. Instead, he froze halfway, then did an awkward two-fingered salute and vanished into the Texas morning.
Papa let out a snort. “He’ll need therapy for a year.”
I squeezed his hand. “You’re the one who almost bled out, Papa.”
He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “But you’re the one who saved the world. And me.”
That brought the memories back, flooding my skin with goosebumps: the heat in my chest, the fire in my hands, the sight of the Wyrdmother shattering like a mirror dropped off the roof. I wanted to shrink away from it, but the memory didn’t let me. I wasn’t afraid, not really. Just—changed.
Archon’s voice cut through the hush, softer than velvet but sharp enough to slice. “Aspen, if you’re up to it, we should talk.”
I expected him to sound formal, all thunder and commandments. But he didn’t. He sounded like a dad who’d never figured out how to be a dad, which made my heart twist even more.
I licked my lips. “Can Papa join? I don’t want to have to repeat everything to him later. He’ll just make me tell it, anyway.”
Archon’s smile flickered. “Of course. In fact, I’d prefer it.”
Papa and I made our way to the living room and got comfortable on the couch, and I placed the grimoire on the end table.
Archon strode to the kitchen and poured himself a mug of coffee, just, you know, like archangels do, and came back to the couch, perching on the edge of the ottoman like it was a throne. He fixed his golden gaze on me, then on the grimoire, then back to me. The air in the room prickled with something that felt holy and dangerous and more than a little like home.
I waited for him to start, but he let the silence stretch, watching the dust motes swirl in the sunlight.
Finally, he said, “Your mother was the most wonderful woman I ever knew.”
My breath caught. He’d never said her name. Not once, even at the wedding.
Archon saw it. He nodded, like he understood exactly what I was thinking. “I met Laurel at a council in Geneva twenty-seven years ago. She was already the strongest elemental witch in her coven, and she argued like she was born to it. But she was kind, too. Gentle, in ways that surprised everyone. Including me.” He looked down into his coffee, the faintest frown at the surface. “We weren’t supposed to fall in love. That’s… forbidden, for angels. But we did. And then, you happened.”
Papa squeezed my hand. Oscar let out a long, low whistle.
Archon’s eyes were far away. “She didn’t tell me she was pregnant. She cut all contact. I thought it was just too much having to be secretive with everything. So, I stayed away.” He shrugged, a celestial gesture that somehow still looked sad. “Your mother was very good at hiding. I never knew you existed until last night.”
I stared at the floor. “She never told me, either. Not even at the end. She just said my father was ‘other’.”
“She was protecting you,” Archon said. “If the angelic host had known, you’d have been a target. From all sides. So she hid you. Hid your power, too, as best she could.” His gaze flicked to the grimoire. “But she left a way for you to find it. For you to find yourself.”
I felt tears burning behind my eyes, but I forced them down. “So I’m a… what? Witch-angel hybrid?”
He gave a single, small nod. “That’s as close as any language can get. You are unique. The first and only of your kind, as far as I know.”
Papa gave a low whistle. “Damn, Sunshine. No pressure.”
I punched his thigh, laughing through the sting of tears. “No kidding. I just wanted to bake cakes and pay my bills.”
Archon actually smiled at that. “You’re allowed to want simple things. Even the most powerful beings crave peace. But you must also know that word of this will eventually spread, likely has already. And in the event that the Council calls for an accounting, I will be there by your side.”
Papa spoke up. “If the Council should call for an accounting, you should know that Maltraz was involved in this.”
I looked at Papa surprised.
