“Mama,” he wailed, pushing away, trying to break free and reaching for the unseen female who’d cried out.
“Find the brat and kill him, too!” a male snarled.
“Hush,morae.” She put her palm over the child’s mouth, instinct warning her that something terrible had happened to his mother. “We don’t want the bad people to find us.”
The little boy whimpered, dark eyes on hers. Then he clung to her, one thin arm tangling in her hair, his tears wetting her neck and squeezing her heart. In her world, no babes had been born for millennia, and she hugged him—
Ely stilled as the abrading power she hid from grew stronger, bruising her psyche.
A faint clatter sounded. The child wriggled, pointing to the grimy asphalt.
“No, we cannot leave yet,” she whispered in warning. “The bad people are still out there.”
Vae! She even glamoured herself after escaping the castle, and still, they managed to track her. Her mouth clamped into a hard line, she swiped the dull glint of metal—the toy car the child wanted—off the ground. Then she dematerialized them…
And ended up here, in this place in Brooklyn, where she left the little boy with an older couple.
She’d promised him she’d come back, but life just wasn’t fair.
“Hello, my dear. Can I help you?”
At the croaky voice, Ely glanced to her right and smiled at the older man shuffling toward her, a folded newspaper tucked under his arm, his thin body hunched beneath the thick fleece coat, gnarled fingers resting on a walking cane.
“I’m not sure,” she told him.
He pushed the bill of his knitted cap up. Rheumy blue eyes blinked, then crinkled into a smile. “You are a sight for sore eyes on this devilishly cold night.”
Hastily, Ely tightened her psychic shields, keeping her angelic side hidden. While she might not be divine, she was still an angel, an Empyrean possessing a similar appeal as those celestial beings.
“Do you live on this street?” she asked.
“Yes, about thirty or so years.”
Please, please let him remember something about the child.
“Maybe you can help me. A few years ago, a little boy was left here.” She nodded to the brownstone. “Would you know anything about that?”
He shuffled to the wooden bench in front of the house. Faded graffiti mapped the weathered timber. Exhaling tiredly, as if it was an effort to maneuver himself, he set the newspaper on the damp wood and sat on it—the streetlight casting a dull glow over man and bench.
“These old bones don’t support me so well anymore.” Despite his obvious discomfort, he cast her a wry smile, rested his cane next to him, and rubbed his bony knees. “We have many young ones here.”
“No, no. A, er, woman left him with a couple,” she said. “The boy would have been around four or five?” Drat, she had no clue how old he’d been, but he had been quite small. “He had dark hair.”
“Children are always left on doorsteps when parents can’t afford to keep ‘em,” he said, his features pinching. “Sad.”
This was a waste of time, but she refused to give up.
“Umm, there was something,” he murmured, huddling under his thick coat and shoving his hands in his pockets. “I was home…” He tipped his head to the next building, blazing with lights. “It was late. I couldn’t sleep. Insomnia. Had it all my life. I was sitting near the window, as I oftentimes do, when an angel appeared. She glowed like the moon…”
Ely hastily checked that her allure remained locked tight. Back then, she didn’t know she had to conceal her angelic nature, having just escaped her world to this one.
“What happened?” she asked softly.
Rheumy eyes met hers. His deeply lined brow creased, digging further grooves. “She spoke to the couple, gave ‘em the child, and disappeared as quickly as she appeared.”
Her heart banged painfully against her ribs, hope springing.
“Are they here?”
