“My silence may have been complacence, but I never lied to you and I won’t start now,” Michael countered, summoning the strength—and courage—to pull himself up to a sitting position. His aching wings drooped, falling around him like a makeshift shawl. “I should have spoken for you that day, but I was too blinded by your betrayal. I impugned my honor by allowing it to color my judgement.”
Luce scowled. “I never betrayedyou. What are you talking about?”
“You really don’t consider seducing Eve to be a betrayal of...what we were?”
“What?!” Luce recoiled, annoyance transforming to horror. “I looked upon Eve and Adam as one might a child. Achild, Michael! I would never.”
“I saw you!” He beat his balled fist against his palm, brows furrowed and mouth set in a snarl. “I saw you, in the Garden, with Eve in your arms. As much as I’ve tried, I’ve never been able to erase that scene from my mind. I know what I saw.”
The look of horror mingled with disgust. “I don’t know what you saw that day, but I can assure you, it was not me.”
“How so?”
“Because I wasn’t with Evein the Garden that day, Michael. I took your advice and went to the Garden, yes, but I was planning for the rebellion withAdam.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Humans were so unbelievably fragile. Gabe could admit that he was fairly detached, even for an immortal. Trying to cultivate relationships was difficult for him—it was part of the reason Foster was so precious to him. It was inconceivable for him to imagine expending that much effort to connect with a mortal when their existence would be a blink of his own.
The woman on the bed before him was a prime example. At the tail end of her lifespan, only a few revolutions from slipping the mortal coil, they considered her an “elder”. He scoffed. At her age, an angel was barely an infant. He hadsweatersolder than this woman.
And yet, she was beyond important because Foster loved her. Gabe bent over the woman’s still form, assessing her wounds and probing with his magic to ensure her life force still flickered within. After all he had suffered, Gabe would not allow Foster to lose this woman and gain nothing in return.
The sound of the doorknob turning caught his ear, and Gabe glanced up to see Foster returning with a brown paper bag cradled in one arm. He snapped his fingers and the bag rose from the boy’s grip, bobbing slightly as it drifted across the roomand overturned itself. The contents spilled across the bedside table for Gabe’s appraisal.
Neatly tied bundles of herbs, expertly cut spheres of amethyst and selenite, a small vial of oil stoppered and sealed with black wax. He moved aside the purple and black taper candles and lifted a jar full of neatly sifted yellowed white powder.
“You’repositivethis is bone powder from an Arcanum Praeceptor?”
“The Praeceptor Dominus, in fact. Would you like a copy of the death certificate?”
“Forgive my dubious nature.” Gabe marked the boy’s agitated tone, and reminded himself to be patient. Foster still wavered over this decision. The angel smiled in a way he hoped was reassuring. “The remains of the highest devotees are sacred, and a rare prize to come by. I’ll take your word.”
“I would hope so,” Foster muttered, crossing to the window and staring out over the small courtyard to avoid looking at the hospital bed. A long moment passed as Gabe arranged the spell components, and then he said, “This feels wrong, Gabe.”
“Wrong in what way?” A swell of irritation bloomed in his chest, and Gabe squashed it. The boy was half mortal with an unbearably human heart; his struggles with loss were a natural consequence of feeling so deeply.
“I don’t feel qualified to make this call.”
“Youaren’tmaking it.” Gabe rolled the amethyst sphere between his fingers. “The universe works in mysterious ways.”
“And my uncle.” Foster turned, frowning, and his attention skipped over the bed to land on the small vase of flowers one of the apartment neighbors had sent. “He can do nothing?”
Gabe sobered as a bitter recollection tickled the edges of his memory. “No, Jehovah doesn’t interfere in the designs of fate. Not for mortals.”
“No, just for mydearcousin Christos.” There was a bitterness there that made Gabe’s frown deepen.
“Saving Mary Magdalene was a…different case,” he hedged.
“As if God himself doesn’t have the power?”
“The laws are the laws,” Gabe sighed. “Which is why we’re here.”
Finally, Foster looked to the bed. His expression immediately darkened, eyes going flat and distant. “I wish there was any other way.”
“There is not.”
“I know!” Foster raked his hands through his hair. The vial of peppermint and lilac oil rolled to the edge of the nightstand that trembled in the wake of his overflowing emotion, and Gabe snatched it from the air as it fell.
