“Your hair products, that lotion that smells like nectarines, and two pairs of shoes? Yes, I raked everything I saw into this comically huge duffle bag. It should be everything you and Celine need.”
“Thanks, babe.” Ciprian smirks and takes the massive duffle bag from Luca, hoisting it over his shoulder.
“You’re all coming?” Celine’s voice is shrill. It doesn’t match her slack expression.
Alistair kisses her cheek. “Obviously, angel. Am I correct in assuming we’re in a rush?”
She nods, the movement jerky and wooden.
Idris lifts his hands, his jaw clenching as he creates a portal. “Hurry,” he says. “I am too depleted to hold it for long.”
Since no one wants to be inside the fae’s portal when it collapses, we file into the light quickly.
The Colorado compound disappears in a blink, replaced by the shiny black and chrome SUV and the dull, abandoned construction site dirt.
How long have we been gone?Fifteen minutes? It can’t be more than halfan hour.
The tiny, golden pocket portal is still active.
With both portals visible at once, the differences are obvious. The celestial one is more mechanics than magic, filled with sparks and zig-zagging currents that are desperate to latch on to something. In comparison, Idris’s magic is living watercolor.
“None of you have to do this,” Celine says. “This is my fight. And Malach’s, but neither of us expect?—”
“Shut up and take me to your childhood home, already, hot wings. I’m dying to go.” Ciprian’s tone is a combination of warning and teasing.
Celine nods. Her eyes are glassy. Dazed. She’s going to crash hard, but there’s no time for that yet. We’re invading a mega mansion in a foreign realm, and we need to turn it into a fortressbefore S’lach realizes his daughter forcibly evicted him.
There’s nothing left to say; it’s time to move. Gritting my teeth, I step into the golden portal and let it take me away. My stomach churns. I close my eyes, only opening them again when there’s solid ground beneath my feet.
Raised white patterns stuck to a whiter wall. It gives me the creeps. Shaking off my disquiet, I move out of the way as the others come through.
“Is he alive?” Lyklan demands, staring at Malach’s unconscious form.
Celine sighs. “He’s healed.”
“But his wings?”Can he not see I’m still holding the damned things?
Celine shakes her head.
Lyklan’s throat bobs, then he twists the orb and closes the portal. “What are your orders?”
“What?” Celine’s eyes bulge.
“What are your orders?” Lyklan repeats himself slowly enough to be offensive. “We’re taking a stand, and if you hope to be successful, I’llneed orders.”
“Gather the staff.” Celine lays Malach down on a spindly couch which won’t remain white for long and plants her hands on her hips. “They deserve to know what’s going on.”
The next half hour passes in a blur.
I’m given a place to stow Malach’s wings, and I’ve never been more grateful to be finished with a task. There’s not much I can do about the bloodstains on my shirt, but I can handle that. It’s hardly the first time.
Celine addresses the angels in a large, empty room. A ballroom, perhaps? Golden truth runes dot her skin, and she speaks in the common tongue while Lyklan translates for us, muttering her words to Alistair, Ciprian, Luca, and I on a slight delay.
She asks if any of them know where their contracts with her father are. None of them come forward, and she winces. “You can’t leave yet, and for that I’m sorry,” she says. “But I promise not to hurt anyone unless they try to help S’lach. Lie low until the dust settles, and I’ll do my best to find and destroy your contracts.”
An old woman steps forward. Shoulders curled with age; her silver hair is twisted into a tight bun at the nape of her neck. Her wings are shabby. I’m not sure if she’s from a differentnishor simply the oldest angel I’ve ever seen.
She speaks in a raspy but powerful voice, and I glance at Lyklan as he translates. “She says she will stand with Celine and fight until this house is restored to its former glory.”
