Archangel's Storm

25

Caught by the odd tone of his voice, she crossed through a beam of sunlight and came to a dead halt. Within the alcove in front of Venom sat a box wrapped in sparkling gold paper tied with a silver bow. When the vampire gingerly slid out the card tucked in under the silver ribbon, it proved to contain nothing but her name in the same script as that on the note commanding her to be here at this time.

“I may not be a spymaster like our Jason,” Venom mused, “but I would hazard Neha did not send that note.”

Mahiya had to agree, her mind trying to make sense of the bizarre circumstances and failing. “Let’s take the box outside before we open it.”

“You shouldn’t open it at all until Jason and I have a chance to—”

“As a strong vampire, your hearing is acute,” she interrupted. “Do you hear ticking? Anything to indicate it may contain an incendiary device?” If an explosion hit either of them right, it could decapitate and kill.

Venom angled his head, finally gave a reluctant shake. “No. But—”

“And, there is a high chance you have an excellent sense of smell.” She’d seen him “taste” the air with his tongue. “Smell anything suspicious?” The fact was, she knew if she walked away now, either Venom or Jason would take the risk. And that, she refused to allow. “Chemicals, anything?”

Gritted teeth. “No.”

“I don’t, either, and if this is the murderer,” she said reasonably, “he or she has no reason to play such games.” An angel strong enough to annihilate Arav could break her in half. “Someone else could have stumbled upon this—a guard on a break, a curious child—and none of the murders so far appear to have been random.” The latter was arguable, but her gut said there was a connection between the four victims, and she knew Jason agreed.

The slitted black pupils of Venom’s eyes narrowed as he considered her. “I thought you were a princess.”

“You should know that an archangel’s court is far more dangerous than the streets of New York.” She picked up the box before he could and took it, very carefully, into the sunshine. Making her way around to the side totally hidden from Guardian, she placed the box on a clear patch of grass a good fifty feet from the temple, on the theory that she didn’t want the walls collapsing on top of her. “Go stand in the distance.”

A raised eyebrow. “I think not.”

“Don’t be foolish,” she said, deciding she liked Venom not only because he was Jason’s friend, but because he looked at her as if she were the dangerous creature. “If something does happen to me, you’ll be unaffected and able to summon help. Or would you rather be injured at the same time?”

His lips curved. “That logic holds if I’m the one to open the box.”

“True—but I have a higher chance of survival.”

“I doubt it.” He folded his arms. “You might be an angel, but I’m stronger than you are. And Jason is stronger than both of us.”

Yes, and I will not have him hurt, no matter if that is a silly emotional decision. “So you’d wait for him?” When he didn’t reply, she said, “Yes, that’s what I thought. This box was meant for me, Venom. I’ll allow no one else to open it”—to be hurt—“and you can’t follow me in to the sky should I take off with it. Wouldn’t you rather I stay here?”

Another hard stare. “Obviously, I need to study princesses further.” With that, he turned on his heel and jogged to crouch behind a large rock.

Going to her knees, she undid the ribbon after examining it for hidden wires, realizing as she did so that the box wasn’t wrapped in gold foil—the cardboard was actually painted the metallic shade, so once she had the ribbon off, all she had to do was lift the lid. “Venom! Do you see any branches nearby?” There was a tree not far from him.

“Wait.” A minute later, he threw over a sturdy branch at least four feet long. “I’m happy to know you’re not suicidal.”

No, I plan to live, to love, to fly . . . and if he’ll let me, dance again with a spymaster with wings of jet. “Here I go.” Flattening her body to the ground to ameliorate the impact of any blast, she reached out with the stick and flicked the lid off.

Nothing happened.

Blowing out a trembling breath, she got up and padded closer, aware of Venom jogging across to join her. Both of them stared at what lay within the box before Venom crouched down. “Nothing smells off.” He held up a hand when she would’ve reached for the object. “Wait, let me make sure it’s not sitting on something.”

Mahiya waited, patient, until he nodded at her to go ahead.

“Seems you have a secret admirer,” he murmured as she examined the fluffy pink teddy bear with white paws and face. “Maybe I scared him off.”

“Perhaps.” She searched the whole toy, but could find no hidden compartment. “I admit this is so strange a thing I have no idea what to make of it. Maybe Jason will.”

“If I might suggest that I carry it down.”

“Yes, it’s better if I’m not seen with it. If you are, it’ll be assumed you’re courting a lover.”

“I have a reputation, it seems.” A statement smooth as silk, but for the bite of it.

“I’d have to be blind not to notice your sensuality.” Dangerous and languid at the same time. “I’m fairly certain you don’t ever have to go to an empty bed unless you choose it.” Regardless of the eerie “otherness” of his eyes.

“Careful”—taking the box and its cargo, he rose, the movement liquid with grace—“you’ll make Jason jealous.”

“Do not let this crush you, but you aren’t my type.” Though she framed it as a joke, the fact was, she saw Neha too deeply in Venom. His eyes were of her creatures, his movements the same—and that was why she said what she did next, for she refused to allow Neha to spoil the friendships she might make. “I do think we’ll be wonderful friends.”

A single raised eyebrow, sophisticated cool in his next words. “We will?”

“Of course. Admit it, you already rather like me even if I did win our argument.”

A faint twitch of Venom’s lips. “When I first met you, I couldn’t understand the attraction, but I do believe Jason has met his match.”

It took effort to keep her tone steady. “I’m going into the city for a short time. I’ll see you when I return to the fort.” It was a fuzzy memory at best, from over two years ago, but if she was right, there was a slim chance it might provide them with an answer of some kind.

Venom scowled. “Jason gave me strict orders to keep you safe.”

Her heart hitched at the direct confirmation of her guess. Some women might have chafed at the protectiveness, but for Mahiya, who had never mattered much to anyone, such a thing was no unwanted chain, but a welcome indication of care. That didn’t mean she intended to stop thinking for herself. “It’s daylight,” she said, “I don’t plan to linger in any dark alleys and will in fact be in a busy market district.”

“Some princess,” Venom muttered, but dug in his pocket to retrieve a cell phone. “This is a spare. I’m inputting my number and Jason’s. Call if you have any problems.”

A few minutes later, she swept down over the city. Her target was a sunny yellow building with an old but gleaming treadle sewing machine in the window and a dusty child in short pants playing on the doorstep.

His eyes widened at the sight of Mahiya. He was off like a shot the next instant, running into the house yelling, “Ma! Ma!”

Making no effort to hide her smile, Mahiya waited politely on the street, aware of other shopkeepers poking their heads out of small storefronts and/or workshops, and of customers congregating on doorsteps across the narrow lane. Six or seven shops down, a camel chewed cud, while his owner fiddled with a saddle that bore little silver bells and pretended not to watch Mahiya.

Angels filled the skies of this city, but an angel in this street of the market district was a rare thing. It wasn’t snobbery that kept her kind away, for angels were as curious as mortals when it came to exploring a city’s hidden byways. It was because the shops here were tiny, with no room for wings. The only reason Mahiya even knew about this particular one was that the owner had been invited to showcase her goods at the fort in a trade exhibition.

Now, the young mortal appeared in the doorway. Of course, Mahiya thought, youth was a relative thing. This woman who had lived but twenty-seven, perhaps twenty-eight years, was old enough to have a little boy hiding behind her skirts. At the same age, Mahiya had been a babe not much bigger than the boy.

“My lady.” The toymaker bowed, her hands fisting in her apron. “I would welcome you inside but . . .”

“The intent is enough,” Mahiya said with utmost gentleness in the informal local dialect. “I will not disturb you long.”

“Please, let me bring you a cup of tea at least.” Entreaty in eyes of melted chocolate. “I cannot send an angel from my doorstep without courtesy.”

“Thank you. Tea would be welcome.”

A shaky smile lit up the woman’s face. “I have a pot on the stove. A minute, no more.” As she turned to go, the little boy found the courage to stay behind, eyes of the same melted chocolate as his mother gazing at Mahiya in wonder.

“Hello,” Mahiya said, and since he didn’t bolt, asked, “Why are you not at school?”

His eyes became even rounder, and he sucked his thumb into his mouth. When she didn’t say anything further, he withdrew that thumb with slow carefulness, as if not trusting her silence. “I’m not as big as Nishi yet.” A pause, then he added, “Nishi goes to school,” as if to make sure she understood.

“Ah,” she said. “Will you be old enough soon?”

Lines on his forehead. “Not too soon. Maybe almost soon.”

Biting back her smile at his flawless childish logic, she saw his eyes go to her wings. “You may come closer if you wish.”

Thumb in his mouth again, he padded out to stand only inches from her, examining her feathers with the frankness of the very young. When his mother appeared in the doorway, cup in hand, she went to call him back, but Mahiya shook her head. Accepting the tea, she said, “He is smart and brave both.”

“Yes.” The proud woman beamed, her thin face beautiful. “Takes after his father.”

Only then did Mahiya ask her question. “I saw someone with a toy bear—pink and white, with an embroidered collar—”

“Of white daisies.” Quickening excitement.

“Yes, exactly. I thought it may have been your work.” Hand sewn and embroidered, the eyes a lovely blue crystal, and the stitch work exquisite.

“Do you remember if it had a tiny yellow star on the left foot?”

Mahiya thought back. “Yes.”

“Then it is mine for certain. But I’m sorry, my lady, I don’t have another.”

“Oh, that’s a pity. Do you keep many?”

“No, only one of each kind.” The woman smoothed her hands down her apron. “I sold Daisy a week ago. Oh, let me take your cup.”

“Thank you. The tea was delicious.” Rich, milky, flavored with cardamom and sweetened with honey. “Do you remember to whom you sold Daisy? I may see if they are willing to sell it to me.”

“A vampire. Unfamiliar, perhaps a guest at the fort.” The woman bit her lip, shook her head. “He gave no name, but his hair was scarlet, his skin like fine bone china.”

“A difficult man to miss.” Yet she knew of no vampire with such hair and skin in the vicinity.

Another mystery.

Jason had spent the morning collecting information from quarters closed to others, and now landed in a farmer’s fallow field, heading to the shade cast by a hut likely used as a resting place during the planting season. He needed the whispering silence to think, to put all the pieces together.

The fact was, though he’d said nothing to either Venom or Mahiya, he had the amorphous feeling that Mahiya was the key. But while she’d had relationships of some kind with both Eris and Arav, nothing significant connected her to either Audrey or Shabnam. Yet, his instincts persisted—as if he’d seen or heard something he hadn’t consciously understood.

Frustrated, he took out his phone, deciding to pursue the answer to another question.

“Jason.” The warmth of Jessamy’s smile traveled through even the tiny screen. “It’s good to see you.”

“And you.” It was Jessamy who had first helped him remember what it was to be a person again.

Standing outside the place where he’d watched the baby angels go to learn things, he waited for the last lingering student to disappear before he slipped inside.

The woman within looked up, her eyes gentle with a kindness that wasn’t pity. “I have something for you,” she said, as if she’d been waiting for him, as if she knew he’d been listening to her lessons from the shadows for many days.

Walking over, she handed him a set of hard books with big letters on the pages. “To help you remember.”

He touched the cover, turned the pages.

He’d once had books like this, had read them over and over even after he was alone, but then they’d crumbled, and after a while, he’d forgotten he was supposed to know how to read. Until today, when Jessamy’s newest lesson had turned a key in his mind, unlocking the sound of his mother’s voice as she taught him his letters.

Taking the books, he left without a word.

It had taken him months to break his silence, but Jessamy, with her wise eyes and kind heart, had never pushed, always left him room to breathe. Now, he said, “I have a question for you.”

A tilt of her head.

“You know Lijuan has evolved, and Raphael has gained a new ability. There are now signs that something may be happening to Titus, though I cannot yet say what.” The warrior archangel’s people were fiercely loyal, and Jason’s spies had only been able to ascertain that Titus was battling an illness. As archangels did not get sick, Titus must be undergoing a transformation of some kind.

Neha’s ability to wield ice wasn’t public knowledge, thus he couldn’t speak of it without breaking the blood vow, but he had further evidence of a Cadre-wide phenomenon. “You remember Astaad’s erratic behavior.” The archangel had beaten one of his beloved concubines to a pulp, when he was known to be indulgent with his women to the point of spoiling them. “What I’m hearing is that he’s stabilized and may have gained nascent abilities over sea creatures.”

Jessamy’s expression was thoughtful. “At the time, his behavior was explained by the disruption caused by Caliane’s awakening.”

“The awakening of an Ancient is nothing to ignore,” Jason said, thinking of the lost city of Amanat risen in a place far from its origin. “But could Caliane’s awakening have been triggered by a more dominant force?” Lijuan’s dark evolution had predated Caliane’s waking by mere months, both events shifting the course of the world’s history.

“There’s no—” Jessamy went silent. “Wait.”

When she returned, it was with an old bound book she held with such care, it was clear it was fragile. “This history mentions an event called the ‘Cascade’ and states: ‘And the archangels were not who they should be, and bodies rotted in the streets, and blood rained from the skies as empires burned.’”

Expression solemn, Jessamy glanced up. “This Cascade was over twenty-five thousand years ago. I’ll begin to search the archives for further information, but though her exact age is disputed, I believe there is one archangel awake who would’ve experienced it firsthand.”

Caliane.

Ending the call soon afterward to make another, he rose on a flight path toward the fort, aiming for the office Rhys kept near the barracks that housed most of the guard. The other man was overseeing a training exercise from his balcony, but he had the forensic reports.

“Nothing we didn’t already know,” he said to Jason. “There was no finesse, no attempt to hide anything. Audrey appears to have had her organs removed, while Shabnam’s head was torn off. Arav, too, was ripped apart—tendons sheared, muscles snapped.”

Jason scanned the reports, saw the note about Shabnam’s head, read that Arav had indeed been ripped apart—by bare hands. Not a single mark that could be attributed to a weapon had been found on his body. That told Jason something important. Very, very few angels had the strength to physically rip out another angel’s spine, much less wrench off his head.

And to do that in flight against a general of Arav’s abilities? It would require near-archangel level strength or an unknown new ability. He needed to have his people begin to covertly check the power status of certain angels, get an indication if they, too, were being impacted by this strange evolution that seemed to be affecting the Cadre.

Flipping back, he rechecked the report on Shabnam. Though the pathologist had been unable to confirm, given the nature of her injuries, it was his considered opinion that her face had been raked with claws of some kind. Jason had witnessed Neha’s fingernails elongate into claws, but it wasn’t an ability limited to her alone. Still, it was another piece of the puzzle.

“Yes,” he said, retaining his copy of the forensic findings. “There’s nothing important here.” Rhys might be Neha’s man, but he wasn’t Jason’s.