Muriel held Jarod’s arm, as though trying to lend him some strength. I walked alongside him, but our hands didn’t so much as graze. Even though I wanted to be there for Jarod today, I’d been worried my presence would be an intrusion. Or worse, a reminder of why we were traveling through this repository of bones. I read the etchings on tombstones, grimacing when the years separating a birth from a death were too few. Human life was fragile and fleeting and, sometimes,unfair.
Without realizing it, my wings cascaded out of my back. It was Jarod’s hand combing through my feathers that alerted me to their presence. “Thank you for coming,” hewhispered.
I threaded my fingers through his and pressed our palms together. “Always,Jarod.”
He stared around us at the sea of gravestones that recorded human lives. “I’m afraid there’s no such thing asalways.”
He was referring to Tristan, to his uncle, to hismother.
Wait . . .Did he know that his mother’s soul hadn’t been collected? Had I told him? He raised our clasped hands and pressed a kiss to myknuckles.
When we finally arrived in front of a crypt that bore the name Adler, Jarod released my fingers to greet the undertaker. A black marble pillar bordered the crypt, inscribed with names: Isaac Adler, Jane Adler, Neil Adler, Mikaela Adler, Tristan Michel. I hadn’t even known Tristan’s last name, not that last names were important. After all, angels weren’t born withany.
Gentle hands wrapped around my arm—Muriel’s. “Last time we were here, he was eight.” She sighed. “History’s just an eternalcycle.”
If only sheknew.
“Was Jane Isaac’swife?”
“Yes.”
“AndNeil?”
“Jarod’s father.” After a quiet moment, she said, “When my name goes up on the stone, can you make sure they write Adler instead of my maidenname?”
I looked over at her, surprised by her request for so manyreasons.
“Don’t look so appalled. I’ve already told Jarod my wishes. I just wanted to share them with you in case heforgets.”
Stunned to silence, I only managed to nod. Jarod came back toward us, eyes as black as the marble pillar mapping his family tree. He crossed his arms and kept them that way until the urn containing Tristan’s ashes had been lowered inside the crypt and the undertaker presented him with a bowl and aspoon.
“Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, dirt to dirt.” Muriel sighed, releasing me. Once Jarod had tossed two spoonfuls into the dark pit, Muriel took the spoon and tossed in some more. “May you finally find peace,Tristan.”
I bit my lip, my teeth digging in so hard they almost drewblood.
Tristan’s soul wouldn’t findpeace.
He’d died a Triple, and Triples had nosouls.
Chapter 59
The daysthat ensued Tristan’s burial were strange andpeaceful.
Strangelypeaceful.
I kept waiting for the other shoe to drop, for Jarod to break down, or for someone else to try and kill me, but nothing like that happened. Although there were moments when Jarod was contemplative,La Cour des Démonsfilled with chatter and laughter. Jarod and I spent hours meeting with people who needed help, and once we were done weighing in on the most pressing cases, we would seek out the privacy and stillness of hisbedroom.
We spent hours together, exploring each other’s bodies, watching movies, reading books, taking strolls through public gardens bursting with spring blooms before either returning to his home for Muriel’s cooking or sampling new restaurants all over the Frenchcapital.
It waswonderful.
Too wonderful to last, even though I dared hope itwould.
It was only when I erupted into Jarod’s office one rainy afternoon, giggling with Celeste about how sodden we both were, and saw Asher sitting across from Jarod that reality knocked into me and dried up mylaughter.
Once Jarod’s guard closed the door behind us, I said, “What are you doing here,Seraph?”
Jarod smiled, and even though it was soft, I knew the shape of his smiles by heart, and there was something wrong about this one. “He stopped by to see how I wasdoing.”
