“What do you mean? Has someone tried?”
“Valor.” His eyes were haunted. “I’m so ashamed I once called him my friend.”
“What does he think he can do with her?” I said, tiptoeing over to check on Arabella. She lay as still and beautiful as ever.
“He found a book, an old one. Or someone did. He showed me a page. Wait.” Quickly, he finished eating, then took a deep breath. “It’s a book they once used in senior-level seminars,Great Sacrifices of the Ancient High Angeli. It was the only copy, written by Seraphiel himself, and it went missing four centuries ago.”
My mind spun. I really didn’t like it when the words “four centuries ago” came up in conversation; it set off my conspiracy theory radar.
“Before Sanctuary existed, when the Celestial Realm and the Abyss had no dividing line between them, no defenses, High Angeli had to create weapons to fight the shadow creatures who came against them. They created soul knives from sacrificed feathers mixed with shadows, but also Celestial swords.”
“I’ve seen one,” I said. “Gavriel’s.”
“Yes.” Merry grinned weakly. “Would it creep you out if you knew it was made of a sacrificed wing from the Celestial Realm?”
I slapped my own hand over my mouth. “That’s disgusting!”
“Not really,” Merry explained, as we walked back to the door. “There’s only so much pure soul energy that can be taken to form new Protectors. The Well was always sacred for that purpose alone. The Great Maker of All instructed Her First Children never to use its fire to create a weapon, only soulmates and souls. When they needed a weapon, one of the High Angeli gave his wings to create the two Celestial swords that exist. One is in the Celestial Realm, so far as we know, and one is Gavriel’s.”
I shivered, though the room was warm. “And you think they want to harvest Arabella’s wings to make swords? To fight the Abyss?”
“No.” Merry shook his head, and I’d never seen his face so grave. “I think they want them to break out of Sanctuary.”
Chapter 21
Gavriel
The skies above Texas were an ominous greenish-gray, the cloudbank looming over the Earth like an avalanche waiting for the lightest touch to begin the devastation.
A feather falling on it would be enough.
Mikhail soared on my left, scanning the ground below visually, while I listened, dipping in and out of mortals’ minds with the ease of long practice. It was almost the only way to knowhow to plan a mission; we had to know first who was in danger of falling into shadow, and where to apply the pressure to move the potential future into the light.
Not that I’d been doing a great job of it for the past centuries. Not since Arabella had… No. I had to stop blaming Arabella’s fall for my own failures. Mikhail had gone on for centuries in silent sacrifice, literally carving himself into pieces to provide for Earth and Sanctuary alike, with no complaint. He had never hinted at the pain he must have felt. Never once mentioned the sealed Well, though I had sensed the resignation in his soul when he’d known he would remain alone forever.
But he hadn’t. I glanced at him, startled at the burnished shine of his wings in a sudden, stray beam of sunlight. He was watching for signs of the demon, but his soul… It was so light, and I had a feeling the energy he released in his joyful state could dissipate the entire storm.
“She’s good for you,” I shouted into the wind, not wanting him to hear the tinge of jealousy I feared I would reveal in my thoughts. “I’ve never seen you this happy.”
“She is the most unexpected gift…” His voice trailed off as he pointed to a plume of deep gray and black smoke. “That fire, Gav. Does it look like…?” We both sniffed.
A waft of sulfur and burning flesh met my nostrils. “Hellfire,” I agreed, and we both banked sharply down and to the left. The building wasn’t visibly ablaze, but smoke was pouring out the windows all along one side. I tried the door, murmuring the angelic word to unlock it. It slid quietly open, and we stepped inside. The room smelled of stale urine, feces, and burning hair, an odor that had seeped into the walls. More than that, it stank of terror, desperation, and pain. Shouting—desperate screams and cursing—came from a doorway to the left, the same side as the smoke. As we strode toward that room, a small, muffled whimper sounded from our right.
At the end of the warehouse on the right, there were odd half-walls, like shelving units had been stacked to make cells. I sensed the hum of an electrical current of some sort running along the metal shelving. “Children,” Mikhail said, his voice heavy with rage. “I’ll free them.”
“Mmm,” I agreed. “I’ll go make sure this demon never touches them again.” We separated, and I tore the door off its hinges, incensed. There was nothing so despicable as someone who would hurt the innocent.
Though that’s what you did, isn’t it, Gavriel?my conscience taunted.Feather was innocent, blameless, and you treated her as trash. You called her nothing, and convinced her to sacrifice herself. You fucking tortured her with a soul knife the first time you met her. Terrified her. Judged her without a second thought.
I blocked out the voice. It was right, but I didn’t have time for self-flagellation. I scanned the room, but heavy, dark smoke shrouded it from floor to ceiling. I sensed four humans inside, dead or close to it, and one… other. A presence that felt familiar, but wrong.
“Show yourself, demon,” I said in angelic. A muffled scream came from one of the people inside. I winced, realizing I had just permanently deafened them. I used my wings to wave most of the smoke out of the room and through a broken window, and saw what it had hidden.
Four human men, their wrists and ankles tied with what looked like long rubber balloons, as well as glittering wire with metallic plastic stars on the sides and pipe cleaners twisted together in long chains, were stacked in the center of the room like firewood.
No, theywerefirewood. Small, two-inch high flames licked around the edges of the bare, hairy legs of the man closest to the door. Seeing me, the dying man let out a whimper before his eyeswent blank and his breath stopped. His mouth, like the others, was stuffed full of… plastic, or cotton? Something that looked like fluffy, glittery white foam, in any case. The faces of the dead men staring in my direction had been painted with more white stuff to look like sad clowns, and their hair burned off. They were all naked, and demonic words were written on every bit of their flesh.
I blinked when I read what was there. Seraphiel had taught me to read demonic languages thousands of years before. All High Angeli had lessons in it; it was vital to know if the Abyss was making plans, and how to interpret messages they had left for one another. As leader of Sanctuary, I was expected to be fluent.
