I tiptoed through the church. This is fine, I told myself. No one will suspect anything. This is fine. My footsteps echoed in the empty sanctuary. I cringed at the noise. I couldn’t believe I was doing this—and all because Lilith Meadows asked me to.
It was surreal, looking for the Herald so I could tell his lover where he was. Nothing like this ever happened to me.
It was easier to draw back from the world, pretend something else was happening. I’d gotten very good at that in the two months I was Absalom Meadows’s wife.
Releasing a shaky breath, I left the church. The bitter wind stung my face as I paused at the top of the church steps. I hunched against the cold, trying to think.
I can do this, I lied to myself. I often stayed at the peripheries of scenes to avoid catching attention. It hadn’t saved me from wedding Absalom, but for the most part it worked. Now here I was, putting myself in the middle of a situation that could bring the wrath of the elders down on me.
My skin prickled, as if I was being watched. Shivering, I hurried down the lane. I sidestepped a few women who were out running errands and nodded at some of the men leaving for work. Most of the men in our community worked at a factory further in town or co-owned a few shops in the next district.
I thought back to the incredible story Lilith had told me. Something pricked at my memory. Something about angels and covens sounded familiar. Hawkstone? I could’ve sworn I’d heard it before.
Shadows rippled across the cobblestones.
I paused, the hair on my arms and nape prickling. Glancing around, it didn’t appear as if anyone else noticed. I looked up at the sky.
There, through the wispy, thin cover of clouds something dark moved.
My heart leapt into my throat. That was too big to be a bird. I squinted, through the bare branches of the trees, to see something flying overhead. Castiel?
Heedless of anything around me, I followed the movement, running down the lane toward the edge of the neighborhood. I waved my arms in the air, trying to gain the seraph’s attention. I reached the fence that marked the neighborhood’s end and this corner of the city, then clambered over.
My skirt caught on a post and I fell over into the dirt, my skirt ripping with me. I spared no concern for it, snatching up the torn fabric and passing the goats and milk cows, still waving and jumping as I ran.
“Herald!” I shouted, hoping the wind would carry my voice up to him. “Herald, down here!”
The seraph halted midair, hovering over me. I couldn’t make out much more than a silhouette, but it looked like he’d seen me.
I held my breath as he began to descend, lazily flapping wings as he spiraled nearer and nearer. Maybe he was free. Then it would all be over. Lilith would finish her time of reflection in the prayer closet, her seraph was free, and we could move on without too much upheaval.
But as he neared, the hope growing began to plummet. No, this was someone else. Those wings weren’t brown.
They were a dark, charcoal gray.
The seraph landed on the ground about ten feet away from me.
This one was as different from the Herald—Castiel, I corrected myself—as night was from day. He didn’t have any of the warmth Castiel did—gray wings, pale skin, hard jaw, and black eyes. No smile lurking in the corners of his mouth. The hilt of a sword peeked over his shoulder.
“Who are you?” I squeaked.
The seraph arched a single brow, sweeping me up and down with a look. I had the distinct impression he had examined me and found me wanting.
“Who are you?” he returned. “And why did you flag me down?”
Time to be brave. They’re not really Heralds of Death. They can’t drag me to the Beyond. “I was looking for Castiel,” I said quietly, not quite able to meet his eyes. “My friend says he’s in danger and I am trying to find him.”
He froze, not a single muscle moving. Although he didn’t step closer to me, somehow he…loomed menacingly.
My feet shuffled in the dew-wet grass, and I held my breath, hoping he wouldn’t harm me.
“Where?”
“I don’t know.” I bit my lip.
He stalked closer, so suddenly I had to fight my body’s instinct to shy away from him. “Speak up, little human. Your whispers grate my ears.”
“I don’t know,” I repeated louder.
