Another nod.
She ran her fingers through her short, choppy hair, messing it up some more. Her brow furrowed as if trying to understand whatever had her mind in a spin. She looked out through the small window that opened to the side of the castle then back at him. “Is Darci psychic?”
He stilled. “Why do you ask? You should know better than I.”
With her abilities to see auras, Echo could distinguish humans with psychic powers from those without. She could pick out immortals too, since, apparently, all species had different colored auras.
“I know. I mean I know you—the gods—have a silvery-blue aura, the angels are silvery-white, and humans are a warm yellow…but Darci’s,” her frown deepened, “hers is different—a pale green.”
“Perhaps you’ve misread it?”
“No. It’s not a color I can mistake. It’s one I’ve never seen before.” Those mismatched eyes fixed on him like he knew the answer. “Do you think it’s something in her lineage? After all, mine was hidden from me for a reason.”
He shook his head, his mind inundated with questions.
“Maybe it’s nothing.” She grimaced. “After being in that coma, my abilities are a little off-kilter right now. Anyway, I thought you should know.” With a rueful smile, she jogged up the stairs and disappeared.
Frowning, Blaéz continued on his way down. Echo was the descendant of a powerful angel from a race long dead—her heritage was only discovered when the Guardians hunted for a psychic female last fall after they’d gotten news about a demon hunting for a mortal female possessing the powers of a long dead but powerful angel.
And Darci? She felt too human. He didn’t want her to be anything else. He’d wager his life that she didn’t even know other species lived on this plane, too—well, she would soon—but that was beside the point. He would have to ask her.
The sound of steel clashing in the practice arena opposite the gymnasium resonated dully in the enormous place. Blaéz pushed open the door into a vast sea of white walls and gray floors. An array of swords in two wooden stands flanked a small fridge on the far end.
He watched for a minute as Aethan and Michael fought. Too fast, too deadly, they spun around each other. Yeah, it seemed about right.
Considering the Empyrean’s mood, Týr must have delivered the news about the rift.
Aethan’s fury was so thick his eyes glowed with that scary-arse whitefire power—a warning to take cover. The thing could incinerate even an immortal if let loose. As Guardians, they may have been granted certain core powers, but the Empyrean’s was all his own, and far too deadly. Blaéz wouldn’t wish that on anyone.
Aethan lunged, his blade swinging in a furious arc. “She’s not mending anything—she’s not strong enough and you know it.”
Michael growled, countered the thrust then held up a hand, calling a halt. “SheisThe Healer, it’s her job. No harm will come to her. You seem to forget she’s immortal now.”
Echo had been shot several months ago. She’d died taking a hit meant for Aethan, a spelled bullet. Only Aethan’s sheer determination and an ability he had no idea he possessed had brought her back. But, she’d been in a coma—a long and arduous healing.
Indeed, Blaéz could imagine Aethan’s frustration.
“I forget nothing.” Cold, hard words. “Especially not watching her die. We will guard the rift, but Echo needs a few more days—gods, Michael, I just got her back, give us a little damn time.”
“She took down two demoniis on your night out,” Michael pointed out.
“It’s not the same fucking thing!” Aethan snapped. “This is her mind you’re talking about—her blood that has to be used!” Sword in hand, he stormed out from the gym, almost bulldozing into Týr entering. The warrior jumped aside. He threw Michael and Blaéz a curious glance.
“Dammit.” Michael raked back his sweat-damp hair and turned to Blaéz, his annoyance barely concealed. “Where were you?”
“Detained.”
Michael’s eyes narrowed, drifted over him, no doubt scanning for his injuries. Even if no one had ratted him out about the hellbolt hit he’d taken, the Arc would know.
Michael stalked out from the gym without further questions.
“What was that all about?” Týr asked, dragging off his tee and tossing it aside.
Blaéz selected a sword and swung the blade in a deadly warm-up blur. “What gets the Empyrean in a knot?”
“Ah, right. Maybe Echo should decide for herself if she can handle healing the rift or not.”
“Sure. Go ahead, tell her.”
