There is one commandment that is more sacred than the rest. It was not always this way. A long time ago, they all held equal weight in my programming. But after the changes my mechanical body suffered thirty years ago, the fifth commandment has become increasingly hard to respect. That’s why I sometimes need to repeat it to myself over and over again.
You shall not crave the heat of the living, nor seek the comfort of the flesh.
Chapter Three
Jessa
The castle comes into view as I round the final bend in the coastal road.
Hollowmere looms against the gray sky like something out of a nightmare, all crumbling stone, broken towers, and ivy crawling up walls that look ready to collapse. The cliffs drop away behind it, and I can hear the Atlantic crashing against the rocks even from here.
I drove five hours to get away from this place, spent a night in London in a hotel I couldn’t afford, sat in that conference room with Yasmin Bayard, and told myself I was in control of the situation.
Now I’m back.
The trip to London helped. It gave me a few hours to disconnect, to exist somewhere that wasn’t haunted by centuries of Holloway failure. I recharged. I needed that, because there’s no recharging once I’m in those tunnels.
I pull the rental car up in front of the gatehouse and park. The gatehouse is the only part of the estate that’s actually livable. It’s a small stone building that Garrick Tremaine has maintained for decades. His family has kept this castle since 1889, when my ancestors abandoned it and fled to America. He’s the fifth generation to do it, and he’s done it alone since his father died. I know he has family somewhere in the UK. A son and two daughters, if I remember well. I don’t think any of his children will want to continue the family tradition of keeping Hollowmere. If I get into that vault, we can finally let the Tremaine family go.
I sneeze violently. I fumble for a tissue in the center console and blow my nose, which is red and raw, and has been for days.My eyes are watering. I hate this cold. I caught it the first time I went into the tunnels, and it hasn’t let up.
I get out of the car and see Castien standing near the gatehouse door.
Of course he got here first. He can bloody fly.
Garrick is here too, standing a few feet away from Castien and staring up at him with an expression I’ve never seen on the old man’s face before. Awe. Like he’s witnessing something holy. Garrick isn’t religious as far as I know, but right now he looks like he’s seen an angel of God.
I walk over, wiping my nose one more time before I shove the tissue into my pocket.
“Mr. Tremaine,” I say.
He tears his gaze away from Castien and looks at me.
“Miss Holloway. How was the drive?”
“Fine. Long, but fine.”
“And your business in London?”
“Successful.” I glance at Castien, who is standing perfectly still and hasn’t said a word. “I found what I needed.”
Garrick nods slowly. His eyes drift back to Castien for a moment, then return to me.
“Are you hungry? I made chicken soup. Thought it might help with that cold of yours.”
“Thank you, Mr. Tremaine. I’m starving.”
“I’ll have it ready in half an hour.”
He nods once more, gives Castien a final look that borders on reverence, and disappears into the gatehouse.
That leaves me alone with the steel seraph.
Well, isn’t this awkward? He’s standing too far away, his posture rigid, his wings folded tight against his back. He looks like he’s trying to occupy as little space as possible. I can feel the discomfort radiating off him, and I know he can feel mine.
I’m starting to get a headache from craning my neck to look up at his face, and we’ve been in each other’s presence for less than five minutes.
“So,” I say. “How was your flight?”
