Archangel's Prophecy

29

Its feathers were luxuriantly soft under her palm, its body warm.

And it looked at her with its golden eyes suddenly fathomless, the gold holding the glow of an old, old power.

It is a sadness, child, to die. But it must be so. One must die for one to live.

You must die.

“Who the hell says so?” Elena growled, her hand tensing on the owl’s back.

The silence was . . . odd. As odd as the way the owl watched her. When it tipped its head to the side, she was reminded forcefully of the Legion.

It is written in time.

The earth will boil.

The marker will fall.

And the one to die will falter.

Elena’s wing threatened to drag as if in silent agreement. “Fuck destiny and fate,” she said without care. “I will fight to my last fucking breath.”

The owl looked at her again, its eyes endless and beautiful and strange. Under her hands, its warmth was a soft glow, and in her mind spoke the voice that wasn’t there. Child of love. Child of grief. Child of courage. Watch for the broken blade. Watch for the mourner. He is your death. A long sigh . . . and the owl spread its wings.

Unwilling to even attempt to cage the wonder and wildness of it, Elena removed her hand and watched the owl take flight. It went up into the sky . . . and was no longer there. She made herself look at the part of the balcony where it had sat.

No clawprints in the snow, no signs of disturbance at all.

“Elena.”

She jumped up, her knives in her hands even as she turned. “Oh, it’s you.”

The Primary stared at her from his silent crouch on the far side of the balcony, his eyes a deeper blue today and his skin carrying a touch of gold. “Who did you speak to?”

Breath rough, Elena put away her knives. “Did you see the owl sitting there?”

“No.” Wind blowing back his hair. “We felt you reach for us. Will we fly again?”

Her phone rang before she could answer. “I’ll take this inside.” She was cold deep within her bones. “You want to come in?”

“I will watch the snow and remember it.”

Leaving the Primary to his unfathomable vigil, she stepped in, phone to her ear. “V, what is it?”

“You still in Raphael’s office? I’m patching in a call on his screen.”

“Thanks.”

The screen cleared to reveal a woman with curls of golden brown against skin the shade of rich honey. Her eyes were a clear brown with a burst of gold in the center, the wings that rose up behind her shoulders the evocative shade of bitter chocolate. “Andi.” Elena’s blood grew hot. “Did Jess put you on my research question?” Mated to Naasir, the young angel was Jessamy’s student and a nascent historian in her own right.

“The white owls.” Andromeda’s voice trembled. “Legend says they are Cassandra’s—she’s often described as having lilac hair and it’s said she clawed out her eyes to stop her visions.”

. . . tears of dark red.

“I think Jessamy mentioned her once.” Elena frowned, fighting to remember what her friend had told her. “She was an archangel long ago?”

“Cassandra is more myth than memory now. Many people think she never existed, the few of her prophecies that survived, nothing but the fantasies of a Sleeping poet.” Andromeda’s curls vibrated with her energy. “Ellie, the legends say she was kin to the Ancestors—the first ones of our kind, the angels said to Sleep under the Refuge.”

Elena staggered inside at the idea of an archangel of such enormous age. Cassandra had Slept a long time. “Is she waking now?” she asked, a rasp in her throat. “Is that why I see her owls?” Elena had spoken to Jessamy right after leaving Nisia, given the historian the necessary background to her request.

“Jessamy and I don’t know.” Andi hugged an old book with a battered leather cover. “We spoke to Caliane, and she says she dreamed in her Sleep. You may be part of Cassandra’s dream—she might not be conscious she’s woken enough to impact the world.”

Rubbing at her forehead, Elena tried to quiet the incipient headache. “Do you know anything else about her?”

“Not yet,” Andromeda said. “But I won’t stop hunting.”

After saying good-bye to the other woman, Elena got dressed for the weather then went outside and asked the Primary the same question she’d asked Andi.

The gargoyle that was the Primary didn’t so much as blink as snow began to fall on him. Within seconds, he was coated in a fine layer of white, a stone creature who had always been on the balcony in that position. When he spoke, his voice was inside Elena’s head, his lips unmoving. We remember the snow. She loved the snow. She loved our first aeclari.

And Elena knew. Cassandra ascended during the Cascade of Terror, didn’t she? A time of such violent energies that it had changed the fabric of the world—and given an archangel the terrible gift of endless foresight.

The Primary didn’t answer, only said, She saw what was to be. She dug out her own eyes to stop. But she could not stop seeing. She saw you, Elena.

Elena stared at the Primary. “What?”

We did not understand then. We did not know. The Primary’s voice held an echo now, the others of the Legion coming through. Mortal born. Mortal fall. Mortal heart. Ambrosia’s sweet kiss. Wings of dawn. Wings of night. This will be.

Elena’s heart still felt like ice ten minutes later, though she’d come inside again to give herself time to calm down before she went looking for Jade on the ground while Vivek continued to try to find an electronic trail. He’d even contacted both Claire Vargas and Andreas’s Nara, but so far, had nothing. In this case, talking to certain connected people might get her the answer faster.

Mortal born. Mortal fall. Mortal heart. Ambrosia’s sweet kiss. Wings of dawn. Wings of night. This will be.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” She screamed it out and felt immediately better. “Right, Ellie, pack it away until your archangel gets home. Your focus is fixing this mess of Harrison’s.”

She couldn’t think about how if Cassandra had foretold her ascension to angelhood so long ago that she’d been forgotten by immortals, then it was unlikely the Sleeping archangel was wrong about her upcoming death. So she’d push that cheery thought aside till she had Raphael beside her. She knew her limits, and she knew this was archangel-level insanity.

She’d just taken a step to the balcony door when her pants sagged.

Giving in to another scream because, goddamn it, she could not get a break, she wrenched her belt tighter around her waist and carried on—after grabbing three chocolate bars and ripping into one as she decided to talk to Ash and Janvier before she headed out. The two might have contacts inaccessible to her.

Also, she needed to brief them on what she’d discovered this morning. She was pretty sure she’d heard them in the hallway earlier, but if they’d left the Tower, she’d call. No point letting her research go to waste if her brain turned to paste when her wings sent her on a swan dive into a skyscraper.

She ran into Dmitri during her search. Dressed in a slick black-on-black suit, his hair brushed perfectly, he just raised an eyebrow when he saw her.

Elena pointed the half-eaten chocolate bar at him. “Mess with me and I will shoot you through the heart, I swear to God. I am so far past hangry, I’m homicidal.”

A twitch of his lips. “Have you tried drinking blood?”

Elena nearly pulled out her crossbow and carried through on her threat—the asshole was powerful, would survive it—then she realized he was serious. “Blood?”

“Archangelic blood in particular. Violent amount of energy in it.”

Finishing off the chocolate bar, Elena considered it. “I’m not a vampire. Would it even work?” Forget about the actual drinking blood part of it; if it would stop the hunger gnawing at her from the inside out, she’d pinch her nose closed and throw it back like medicine.

Dmitri shrugged. “What have you got to lose?”

“I’ll talk to Raphael.” Walking past, she said, “Sometimes, I can almost believe you might once have been human.”

“Clearly, I need to up my game.” A hint of fur and champagne wrapped around her, sensual and caressing and mocking.

“Argh!” Swiveling, she had the crossbow in her hand and was shooting the bolt before she could think about it.

Dmitri moved . . . and the crossbow bolt thudded home in the wall behind him. “Destroying Tower property again.” A headshake followed those censorious words. “‘Don’t get involved with the white-haired accident-on-legs,’ I said to Raphael, but did he listen?”

“Give me back my bolt you scent-infested-excuse-for-a-vampire.”

Grabbing it out of the air when he obliged, she strode off without another word . . . and heard Dmitri laughing behind her, the sound deep and unrestrained. Her own lips were twitching hard, but she managed to keep it together until she was in the elevator and he couldn’t see her. Her laughter was near-hysterical and it was a release.

God, she wanted her archangel home.

She was sane again by the time she tracked Ashwini and Janvier to the sparring ring in a lower level of the Tower. As members of her Guard—which she would never need if Cassandra’s prophecy held true—the couple had to spend a certain amount of time honing their skills with the blade and any other weapons in which they were or could become proficient.

Since the two were in the middle of something, Elena sat down on the bleachers and reviewed all she knew. With Santiago digging up more on Lee and Kumar, Jade remained her best lead. She had to eliminate him from the suspect list, if nothing else. That was, unless he had a connection to Lee, Kumar, Blakely, and Acosta—or had decided to use their deaths to cloak his attempt against Harrison.

She was getting ready to interrupt Ash and Janvier when Dmitri—now dressed in an olive-green T-shirt and camouflage pants suitable for sparring—appeared from a ringside entrance and assumed the role of adversary. Janvier was older than Ashwini, but she was better at taking on Dmitri.

Because Ash saw the future, too.

A cold wind infiltrated Elena’s blood, a wind that tasted of incomprehensible age.

She did interrupt then—she had no time to waste. When she updated them on Nishant Kumar and Terence Lee, Janvier’s bayou-green eyes widened. “There is our connection, cher,” he said to Ashwini.

It turned out the couple had heard the same rumors—of a drug that caused psychotic hallucinations and blackouts in vampires and could be used for sexual assault. Street name: Vamhypnol. “We had no reason to connect it to Blakely or Acosta—or Harrison,” Ashwini said, hands braced on her hips. “But we’ve been gathering intel on it as fast as we can around investigating the murders, because this stuff is bad news.”

Dmitri spoke. “Why is this the first I’m hearing about it?”

“Not enough for a report,” Janvier replied. “We’re waiting to hear back from a woman who might give us more.”

As the couple laid out all they knew, Elena heard two familiar names.

“Wait,” she broke in. “Unless Red Cutie and Monique Darling are common working names among pros, those are the two who spoke to Santiago about how Kumar and his buddy, Lee, raped them under the drug’s influence.”

“Shit, Ellie.” Ashwini played restlessly with a blade star. “Both women are dead.”

Elena’s gut clenched. “Murder?”

“Non.” Janvier’s languid tone had turned grim. “What was the word our doctor friend used, cher?”

“Brain aneurysm,” Ashwini supplied. “Each had a massive one.”

“As effective as decapitation in causing vampiric death.” Dmitri folded his arms. “Cause severe damage to the brain and there’s not enough left for the body to know how to regenerate it.”

Elena’s own brain snagged on something. As if she had a crucial bit of the puzzle and didn’t know it. But when she tried to follow up on the thought, it vanished without a trace. Frustrated, she said, “When did they die?” Santiago had spoken to them a bare two months ago.

“Been five weeks for Red, four weeks for Monique,” Ashwini said.

The timeline didn’t work to answer the questions of this confusion of a case. “Any hint of other victims?”

Ash nodded. “One other—her friend that told us about her said she’d ask the victim to call.” A frown. “It’d be good if she did that now.”

They all stared at her when her phone rang from where it sat at the side of the sparring circle.

“You are not sending telepathic messages now.” Elena scowled.

A grin. “Just playing with you.” Ashwini grabbed her phone. “She messaged before to say she’d call when she was on break from her shift at the strip club. I got lucky with my timing.”

“Lucky as only your wife gets,” Dmitri murmured to Janvier under the cover of her conversation.

The vampire grinned. “My Ashblade is always lucky—she has me for a husband.”

“You, on the other hand, won’t be getting lucky anytime soon, if you keep that up,” Ashwini threatened after hanging up. “Our third victim didn’t black out, but she did get hazy after drinking a glass of blood offered to her by her date. Her memories of the hour that followed are patchy, but she’s sure she was sexually assaulted.” Voice a blade, she continued. “Date was Simon Blakely.”

Silence as they absorbed that information.

“Accidental lower dose . . . or a purposeful one because Blakely fancied himself a ladies’ man?” Elena thought aloud. “A comatose ‘lover’ wouldn’t feed his ego.” She was starting to feel more and more in harmony with the man who’d amputated Blakely’s genitals. “Maybe Blakely figured a lower dose would mean a compliant, semiconscious woman.”

“We must get this woman medical assistance.” No humor in Janvier’s voice or expression now. “We don’t know when the two dead victims were raped, which means there’s no way to work out the time it takes for the aneurysm to strike.”

“Lower dose, she might survive.” Dmitri’s face was dangerous. “Tell her the Tower will cover her costs.”

Yes, Dmitri could act human at times.

“A rape drug that kills down the road is one hell of a motive.” The only problem was Harrison—either Elena didn’t know him at all and he was hiding an ugly secret, or they were missing a critical piece.

And what was it that she couldn’t remember?

“Is the drug widespread?” Dmitri asked, all deadly power and taut control.

Ashwini shook her head. “Low-level vamps have heard of it, but the only people we know to have had personal contact with it are the three rape victims—and the men who gave it to them.”

Running his hand through the dark chestnut strands of his hair, Janvier picked up the thread. “Our Holly and Venom know a fixer who works in the higher levels of the city, with the richer vampires and angels, and he says none of them are using it. No one wants to risk it after you came down so hard with the umber situation.”

“Blakely, Kumar, and Lee didn’t care about the risk to their victims.” Elena wanted to stab the rapists herself. “It’s possible Acosta didn’t, either.” Though the amputated hand made her think he hadn’t been involved in the sexual abuse. “It was about control, about power.” Same as rapists everywhere. “This drug, it only works on vampires?”

“Yes,” Ashwini confirmed. “But two human pros who work the Quarter”—a tap on her neck to indicate they offered honey feeds—“said Kumar picked them up a time or two, and they came out of it without memories.” Her eyes flashed. “Only reason they kept going back was because he paid them in cocaine.”

“He chose his targets well.” Dmitri’s voice was like ice, so cold it burned. “Your brother-in-law,” he said to Elena, dark eyes flat. “You think he’s capable of this crime?”

“As far as I know, Harrison isn’t into rape or drugs.” She clenched her jaw. “If I find out different, I’ll execute him myself.” It’d break Beth to discover that kind of evil in the man she loved. “He has a wife, a child, both of them innocent of any wrongdoing—we give him the benefit of the doubt until we have proof either way.”

Dmitri gave a curt nod.

“As for suspects—a well-trained human could’ve taken out Nishant Kumar and Terence Lee.” Elena could’ve done it as a young hunter. “Per the police report, they were small, not particularly strong, and had no real combat training. Did admin work during their Contracts.”

“I examined Blakely and Acosta,” Ashwini said, “and they were flabby for vampires. Strong because of the vampirism, but not old enough for that to be a serious advantage against a skilled opponent.”

Elena went to reply when her forearm cramped again, giant screws twisting her muscles tight enough to snap. Raphael! An instinctive call as the pain threatened to bring her to tears, the agony in her arm joined by the throbbing vein on her temple. Archangel, I really need you. It was a desperate mental whisper even though she knew he was too far away to hear her.