“There must be something I can do.” Maddox took a step closer to the fount, but that only revealed more of Azrael’s defined muscles, and so he kept his eyes downcast. “I…miss him.”
“Sinclair will return to the celestial realm when he is ready. His sentence has nothing to do with time. Only with the clearing of his soul’s mark.”
“Then tell me how I can help him clear the mark.”
The frustrated sound rumbling in Azrael’s chest, along with the jerk of his wings sent Maddox stepping back in fear. No one crossed Azrael. Making him angry was a very good way to find yourself assigned to Purgatory.
After a moment, the Angel of Death sighed. “There is something I require. An item stolen from our realm and in the possession of a coven of witches in a place called New Orleans.”
“I can retrieve it for you,” Maddox said, hope building deep inside him. “Anything. What is it?”
“A vial of celestial sand from the shores of the Sea of Redemption. With it, the witches have power over life and death, a power no human should ever be able to wield. Find it and bring it back to me, and I will see what I can do about your brother.”
Maddox bowed, his wings dipping and touching the ground as he backed away. “Thank you, Azrael. Your kindness knows no bounds.”
“You may not think me so kind when you land in the human realm,” the angel muttered. “I have heard nothing good about this New Orleans. A den of sin and iniquity. See the Traveler before you leave. He will provide you with appropriate clothing and a token for your return. Now be gone. This is the only time I have to myself, and I would like to enjoy it.”
Maddox spun on his heel and sprinted from the room. By the time he’d left Azrael’s dominion, he was floating two feet above the ground, his wings fluttering softly in air that was always the perfect temperature, smelled like the freshest breeze, and cushioned every fall.
He was going to the earthen realm. To New Orleans. And he was finally going to be able to help Sinclair return where he belonged.
C H A P T E R T W O
KILLIAN
T he crowds were going to drive him mad. Or cause him to lose control. Killian fingered the cuff around his wrist, praying his emotions would not overwhelm the dampening spell infused into the metal before he got somewhere…quiet.
But where?
Beatrix could have warned him. Or Tiny. That damn cat had known there was magic in the envelope. “No more tuna for you,” he muttered to no one.
Glancing down at the invitation, he frowned.
Killian Wade
You are invited to the Gathering
Magnolia House, Samhain Eve
As he read, the words shifted.
You will be met at the Monarch Hotel. All you require will be provided.
Fucking spelled ink. He didn’t even have his mobile on him. And with the dampening cuff, he could not summon it. Not unless he wanted to risk the lives of the hundreds of people around him.
Scanning the street, he spied a police officer watching the crowds. Certainly he would know where this hotel was. “Pardon me,” Killian said as he approached slowly. “I’m afraid I’ve gotten myself all turned around. Would you be able to direct me to the Monarch Hotel?”
The officer peered down at him—the man had to be half a head taller than Killian—and frowned. “How much have you had to drink tonight, sir?”
“Nothing. Why?”
Arching a brow, the police officer nodded toward the corner. “Because the Monarch Hotel is all of thirty feet away.”
“Bugger it,” Killian said as he sighed and gave a small shake of his head. “My better half is right. She can’t take me anywhere. I have no sense of direction. Apologies. When I tell her how daft I was that I couldn’t see what was right in front of me, she’ll never let me live it down.”
The cop’s lips twitched into a half-smile. “I won’t tell her. Just…don’t get yourself in any trouble.”
“No, sir. Not at all. Good night.” Killian rushed across the street, weaving through a parade of revelers wearing all manner of costumes, until he could push through the doors of the Monarch Hotel.
