Archangel's Prophecy

14

Having caught the motion out of the corner of her eye, she managed to pull it up before her sister or father noticed.

“What do we tell Beth?” Jeffrey’s tone held no wrenching emotion, but that was the thing with her father—he hadn’t cried when they’d discovered Marguerite, and he’d stood stone-faced at her funeral. Two days later, Elena had woken from a nightmare and walked down the hall to see Jeffrey crumpled on the floor of his study, sobs wracking his frame. An empty whiskey bottle had lain on its side beside him.

Elena had gone in even though the two of them were already broken by then, and she’d hugged him and they’d cried together.

That was their terrible history. Pain and love entwined in equal measures.

“We tell her the truth,” she said as a prickling sensation ran over the back of her hand, “but we lead with Harrison being alive and in excellent hands. She needs to know what’s happening to take precautions to protect herself and Maggie.”

“I don’t think we should tell her about all the blood in her lounge, though,” Eve suggested. “Father—”

“I’ll organize a cleaner,” Jeffrey said. “In the interim, and for her and Maggie’s safety, she needs to stay with either myself and Gwendolyn or Maggie’s great-grandparents.”

“Jean-Baptiste is a trained fighter,” Elena said. “It’s probably better if they stay with him and Majda until we figure out what’s going on. Majda can also look after Maggie when Beth visits Harrison at the Tower.”

Jeffrey didn’t point out that he had the capacity to hire round-the-clock bodyguards, and that Gwendolyn didn’t work outside the home and could also babysit Maggie. He knew as well as she did that Beth had bonded far deeper with her mother’s parents than she had to Jeffrey’s second wife.

There was no enmity between Gwendolyn and Beth, but Beth saw her mother in Majda’s face. She saw the same fine bones and small stature, the same darkly golden skin, the hair that could’ve been Marguerite’s under a waterfall of sunshine. And in Majda and Jean-Baptiste’s piercing love for one another, a love that had survived decades of torture and isolation, she saw an echo of Marguerite and Jeffrey.

Those were the very reasons Jeffrey couldn’t stand to look at Majda and Jean-Baptiste. Majda most of all. Elena knew that her grandmother and grandfather had reached out to Jeffrey many times. As far as she was aware, he’d rebuffed each and every approach, politely but firmly.

She wondered what he’d do today, but that he was coming with her was a good sign. Beth might’ve bonded to her grandparents, but she was still a daddy’s girl. Jeffrey’s presence would help her weather the shock.

Two little boys playing in the snow up ahead stared at Elena with huge eyes, their impressive snowballs forgotten in their hands. “Whoa,” one of them said as she passed. “Those real?”

Taking the chance to confirm everything was functional, Elena flared out her wings—and heard excited chatter behind them as the boys ran off to tell their parents they’d spotted an angel walking around the neighborhood. Poor kids probably wouldn’t be believed unless someone else snapped a pic and uploaded it online.

She closed her wings, using the excuse of avoiding a broken piece of fencing to glance back and check everything was where it should be. No drag. No obvious sign of weakness. She remained unable to feel her wing muscles.

Her stomach gnawed at her spine.

Shit.

Elena couldn’t have felt less like eating, but she took out two energy bars and methodically finished them one by one. Eve didn’t pay much attention, her face set in a determined frown and her eyes looking straight ahead, but Jeffrey said, “You’re still transitioning?”

No one would ever call her father anything but sharply intelligent.

“Long process.” Which appeared to be going backward.

Bars eaten, she tucked the wrappers into a pocket then rubbed her fingertips gently over the worry lines on Eve’s brow. “She won’t believe us if you look so gloomy.”

Sniffing out a breath, Eve leaned a little into Elena.

And Jeffrey ran his hand over the raven black of his youngest daughter’s hair.

Then there it was, the pretty town house Elena’s grandparents had made their own, complete with a low-slung black sports car in the drive. Jean-Baptiste had taken to technology like the proverbial duck to water—not only had he quickly learned how to use phones, he loved driving. He especially loved driving the fast car he’d been assigned by the Tower after Dmitri caught him admiring the red Ferrari that was Dmitri’s pride and joy.

At first, Jean-Baptiste had been given the courtesy because he was Elena’s grandfather. Not that Elena couldn’t have bought him the car herself, as she could’ve bought her grandparents this home—the hunt that had ended her mortal existence had also left her a wealthy woman, and then she’d fallen into the blood-café business.

Money wasn’t a problem.

But the Tower had insisted on providing for the couple—and she’d realized Majda and Jean-Baptiste would be more likely to accept the help from their archangel than their child’s child. Especially as Jean-Baptiste, experienced and valued for his skill, was now a commander in charge of an infantry unit.

Even had Jean-Baptiste decided against such service, he and Majda would’ve been treated with the same courtesy.

“They are your grandparents,” Raphael had said as he and Elena lay tangled in bed one night, “and so they are mine, too.” A pause before he’d added, “I also do not feel the desire to murder them as I so often do your father.”

The door Jean-Baptiste had painted a bright pink at Majda’s request opened before she reached it. As with Beth’s home, this door was wide enough to allow Elena entry. And it was Beth whose smiling face filled the doorway. Jean-Baptiste must’ve spotted them coming and not stopped Beth. From the joy of her, he also hadn’t alarmed her with a warning about nebulous danger. Good.

Before Beth could say anything, a smaller body wriggled out from around her side and pelted down the walk. “Auntie Ellie! Grampa! Auntie Eve!”

Bending, Elena scooped Maggie’s body in her arms and snuggled her close. Her niece was dressed in pink jeans with pink snow boots and a white furry jacket that was open over a white top that had a sparkly design on it. Her head was bare, the shoulder-length strands of her silky black hair awry, but she’d no doubt be wearing her pink sparkly hat when she ventured out into the snow again.

Her eyes were a sweet brown, tilted up at the edges, and her light olive-toned skin held a brush of gold. In the cheekbones hidden beneath the little-girl softness, Elena saw the promise of dramatic beauty. Most of all, in Maggie’s tiny body, she saw myriad threads of their family—strands of Morocco, of France, of New York, of her other great-grandparents’ history in Hong Kong and India.

But Maggie’s smile was a reflection of the pretty woman with strawberry-blond hair who stood in the doorway, clad in skinny blue jeans and a fuzzy green sweater with threads of silver.

Beth’s face had lit up at seeing the three of them, but her smile began to fade at the edges almost before Maggie finished digging in Elena’s top jacket pocket for a treat. As Maggie knew her aunt often had a small sweet for her, Beth knew that Elena and Jeffrey didn’t go out for companionable walks in the snow. Her eyes zigzagged between them to finally land on Elena. “Ellie?” A shaky question.

Maggie kissed Elena on the cheek, even though all she’d found today were a couple of crumpled energy bar wrappers. The foil backing of the wrappers caught the snow-amplified sunlight when Elena passed her niece to Jeffrey. Then she gave Beth a hug and tugged her sister with her as she walked into their grandparents’ home.

Majda and Jean-Baptiste sat in front of the fire, cakes made from the colorful clay children used to form their dreams spread out in front of them. A plastic tea set sat nearby. Heartbreakingly young in appearance, Majda and Jean-Baptiste could’ve been two twentysomethings who might have a three- or four-year-old of their own, but Majda was more than eighty years old and had been trapped in hell for much of that time. Jean-Baptiste, muscular and golden-blond with a square jaw and eyes of silvery blue, was older than his wife by a hundred and forty-five years.

Majda’s face was solemn when she looked at Elena. Her eyes, a hauntingly clear turquoise identical to Beth’s, spoke to Elena without saying a word. Jean-Baptiste had told his wife of the threat alert.

Elena gave a small, barely perceptible nod.

Rising in a graceful move, Majda held out a hand. “Maggie, azeeztee. Would you like to help me ice the cookies we made?”

Over the years since she’d found her grandparents, Elena had become used to hearing the affectionate word from Majda’s lips, the same word Marguerite had once used with Elena and Beth, Ari and Belle. But she sensed more than saw Jeffrey go rigid, as, across from them, Jean-Baptiste got to his feet.

None of them spoke until Maggie was in the kitchen, safely behind the closed door. Then, aware Beth had to be imagining all sorts of horrible things, Elena cupped her sister’s face in her hands. “Harrison is alive.”

Beth’s pupils flared.

Elena didn’t give her a chance to panic. “He was hurt, but Father and Eve found him in time,” she said in a voice as calm as Jeffrey’s had been at Beth’s house. “By now, he’s at the Tower under the care of a team of experienced healers.”

Beth lifted her hands to clamp them over Elena’s wrists. “How badly is he hurt?”

Elena didn’t lie to her sister. She had once, softening the edges of reality because she’d thought Beth couldn’t accept the harsh truth, but she knew better now. Though Beth lived in a world of sparkles and pink coats and a little girl who was her starlight, there remained inside her a Beth who understood death and loss and having to stand at gravesides while the people you loved were put in the cold ground.

Elena wished she didn’t, but life had stolen that choice from them.

“Bad,” Elena said. “But one of Raphael’s Seven donated blood to help him heal. You know that blood is powerful, Bethie.”

Her sister’s trembling lips firmed. “Oh. That’s good.” She took a shuddering breath. “Raphael’s angels and vampires are scary and tough.” She turned toward Jeffrey, and, to Elena’s surprise, their father held out an arm.

Beth fell against his chest, let him wrap his arms around her. “Harrison got the best possible help at the right time. Barring any unforeseen complications, he’ll be fine,” he told Beth with curt practicality. “Your house, however, is a mess—you should stay with your grandparents for the time being. We’ll make sure you and Maggie have what you need from the house.”

“I need to see him.”

Elena had expected as much. “I’ll organize it.” As her sister, Beth was always welcome at the Tower, but Beth was intimidated by the vampires and angels who called it home.

“We’ll take care of Maggie while you’re with your husband.” Jean-Baptiste touched his hand to Beth’s shoulder after she stepped out of Jeffrey’s embrace.

Another deep breath. “How was he hurt?”

“Someone attacked him,” Elena said, because Beth couldn’t protect herself in ignorance. “Harrison was afraid you and Maggie might be targets too—you’ll have guards until we figure out what’s going on.” She’d talk to Dmitri, get Jean-Baptiste some help.

Beth didn’t dispute the order, her pupils hugely dilated. But even after the shock passed, Elena had no doubts that Beth would acquiesce to the protection—her sister was agreeable and gentle, and she’d do anything to keep Maggie safe.

Now, she took Elena’s hand again, holding on as she had as a bewildered little girl. “I’ll be able to think properly after I see him.”

“Do you wish to say good-bye to little Marguerite so she doesn’t worry?” Jean-Baptiste asked, and Elena felt her father go impossibly stiffer. They all knew Maggie’s full name, but neither Jeffrey nor Elena ever used it. It was too hard.

Beth straightened her shoulders. “Yes.” A determined smile on her face. “No stressing out in front of my baby.”

Jean-Baptiste’s eyes narrowed after Beth was gone, his hands on his hips. “You have the details of the assault on Harrison?”

“The assailant attempted to decapitate him.” Elena took care to keep her voice low. “Harrison couldn’t speak, but he was desperate to warn me that Beth and Maggie were in danger.”

“No one will take another child from us,” Jean-Baptiste said grimly. “I promise you this.” Then he turned to look at Eve and, though she was no blood relation of his, leaned in to press a kiss to her forehead. “And how are you, Evelyn? Such a fierce look you have on your face.”

“It was horrible.” Eve gave him a hug, was warmly hugged in turn. “But I stood watch with my long blade while Father tried to help Harrison.”

Meeting Jeffrey’s gaze once Eve broke the embrace, Jean-Baptiste held out a hand. “It is good to meet the man who loved my child and was loved by her.”

Perhaps because this was Jean-Baptiste, who didn’t remind Jeffrey so terribly of Marguerite, he shook the proffered hand. “If you’ll excuse me,” he said afterward. “I need to organize a cleaning crew for Beth’s home.”

“I’m going to steal a cookie,” Eve said after Jeffrey stepped outside to make the call.

Alone with Elena, Jean-Baptiste sighed. “Majda wants so much to know the man who was our child’s husband and who spent so many years with her, but your father is . . . difficult.”

A very diplomatic word. “She reminds him too much of Mama.” Her grandparents could have no idea of the staggering resonance of the resemblance—photographs didn’t capture her mother’s spirit or her innate gentleness. Majda had the same gentleness, though her spirit was wilder than Marguerite’s. “Father loved Mama more than he’s loved anyone else his entire life. He broke inside after he lost her.”

“I understand, child of my child.” Her grandfather’s tone was bleak. “But we will keep trying. You and Beth are living pieces of our Marguerite, but Jeffrey has memories you cannot know.”

Eyes threatening to burn, Elena nodded.

Beth returned from the kitchen a couple of seconds later. She had her coat with her, was already shrugging into the deep purple of it. “Maggie’s more than happy to stay here while I go out for a little bit.” She pulled out a set of keys. “My car’s parked on the street.”

Jeffrey confiscated Beth’s keys the instant they got outside. “I’ll drive you.”

Beth, being Beth, agreed.

Elena didn’t veto the arrangement either; Jeffrey’s car was bulletproof and the distance to the Tower short. To be safe, however, she made a call to Dmitri so he could alert angels in the air to keep track of the vehicle. That done, she waved Jeffrey, Beth, and Eve off . . . and tried not to flinch when two huge white owls appeared out of the snow to fly past within inches of her on either side. Her hair lifted in the wind created by their wings, a soft brush against her cheek from the very edge of a feather.

But when she swiveled to follow their flight, the owls were gone.

Ghosts.

Her own wings dropped to drag along the cold stone of the path.