Archangel's Heart

10

“A well-executed illusion,” Raphael said to his consort, his voice low enough that it would reach only her.

Her eyes narrowed. “They’re good at it,” she replied at the same volume. “I didn’t hear or glimpse them until they wanted to be noticed.” She brushed her wing over his, the barest contact to slide under the radar of those who might be watching. I don’t know what these Luminata have convinced angelkind is their purpose and aim, but they move like they have combat training. “I’m starting to think they’re more warrior monks than philosophers on the road to enlightenment.”

Raphael had to agree with her now that he’d seen the way the Luminata moved, the grace in their bodies, the contained strength beneath the pale, golden brown robes that covered them neck to toe. Including over their wings. That was extraordinary—no angel liked his wings confined.

However, when a light wind lifted the hem of one of the robes, he saw that the robe was in three sections at the back. The fabric was heavy enough not to part over the wings in ordinary movement, but should one of the Luminata wish to fly, they could snap out their wings without problem. Despite that, the effect was subtly disturbing to an angel. Not only did their silhouettes appear misshapen, but they were covering so much of what defined their identity.

Their heads were currently uncovered, but Raphael could see the hoods that lay on their backs, between the covered arches of their wings. Once pulled up, those hoods would shadow their faces, turning individuals into the anonymous many.

That, he realized, was the aim.

And while such anonymity might’ve made sense in a mortal monastery, it didn’t here, with immortals all over a millennia old. Each of them was very much an individual, and nothing Raphael knew of the Luminata suggested they advocated conformity of thought. The path to luminescence, as explained to him, had always been a journey done by one alone, though other Luminata might provide guidance or support.

“Welcome.” The word was spoken by a strikingly handsome man of medium height with eyes of a pale green almost as arresting as Aodhan’s shattered gaze, and hair of a thick, shining brown that was echoed in his primary feathers, the male’s wings otherwise pure white—because of all the Luminata in the courtyard, he alone did not wear a robe designed to hide his wings.

Elsewise, he was dressed identically to the others.

“I am Gian.” His skin shone a flawless cool white in the sunshine. “My brothers do me the honor of calling me Luminata.”

You didn’t say this was a male-only deal.

I did not know, Raphael responded, taking note when Gian’s eyes lingered on Elena for a beat too long—it could be simple curiosity about a new consort, but Raphael took nothing for granted. Angelkind rarely breaks along gender lines. Any demarcation is usually tied to age and power.

“I am glad to have you here,” Gian said. “Please, let us show you to your rooms so that you may refresh yourself.” His smile appeared to hold the purest serenity, as if he was no longer quite on the same plane of existence. “Favashi and Neha arrived an hour earlier, and I’m told that Caliane’s wings have been spotted on the horizon. The others cannot be far behind.”

He swept his hand gently to the left, the movement as graceful as a perfectly balanced sword curving through the air. “My brothers will guide you. Please take no offense that I do not do so myself—I must remain here to welcome the remainder of the Cadre.”

There is a strange peace in listening to him. Aodhan’s voice in Raphael’s mind, the sensation of color and light accompanying the words a mental echo of his physical form.

Yes. A strange peace is a good description, Raphael replied, just as Elena said, That guy is spooky. Not creepy. Spooky.

Raphael waited to respond until they were following their silent escort down an open outdoor corridor, light pouring in through the curved openings on either side that showcased the astonishing beauty of the landscape around Lumia. What is the difference between spooky and creepy?

Creepy is Lijuan. No further explanation was forthcoming—or needed. Spooky can go either way. You know that holy man I met? He was so much at peace that he was spooky. Like he’d become something different from all the rest of us on this planet. But on the flip side, spooky can mean a seriously dangerous mind—just because a person’s not part of this world doesn’t mean the world he is part of isn’t a whackjob nutso place.

Do you believe the latter of Gian?

A small shrug. Got no reason to—honestly, I’d have been a little disappointed if immortal monks turned out to be normal. Have to expect a little spookiness of people who consciously isolate themselves for centuries or millennia, their goal so elusive it must be like trying to find a dream.

Raphael considered her words as Alexander, his grandson, and Valerius’s stocky form were led off through a closed hallway to the right, one that appeared to have no end from this perspective. They are positioning us far from one another.

That’s good, right? Lines formed between Elena’s eyebrows as they passed the entrance to that hallway and the three disappeared from view. Since it’s dangerous if you’re too close together?

It makes no difference when we are all within the same region. The Cadre could remain in close proximity for a short number of weeks before things began to go catastrophically wrong.

The world wasn’t designed to allow the close coexistence of that much power. It began to build and build inside the archangels until the only way to get it out was to attack one another—regardless of whether the sane part of their nature might argue against such an action.

Even Raphael’s parents, no matter their piercing love for one another, had been unable to always be together. Nadiel, through no choice of his own, had been missing from Raphael’s childhood for long periods. At least until Raphael got old enough to travel occasionally to his father’s territory during the times when his parents had to be apart. Caliane’s joy at their return had always been a dazzling song that made Raphael’s heart ache with happiness that his parents were together again.

But you are right, he added when Elena turned a worried face to him, the separation is likely a simple courtesy. The Luminata may be taking the safest option, given that they do not know which of the Cadre are enemies with one another and which are allies. Raphael made a note of their route nonetheless, along with any other corridors and doors they passed along the way.

He knew his hunter and Aodhan were doing the same.

“Archangel. Consort. I am Gervais.” Their escort’s voice was rougher than Gian’s, his face long and saturnine under skin of a dark mahogany. “Your suite.” Using one hand, he opened a door of smooth honey-colored wood polished to such a high shine that it appeared like stone.

It was identical to every other door they’d passed.

“Dinner will be announced by use of the central bell,” the tall, thin male said, his presence along the same continuum as Gian’s—not as oddly peaceful, but with an internal confidence that said the outer world did not matter to him as much as his personal journey. There was certainly no indication that he was intimidated by being in the presence of an archangel.

“We have placed refreshments within your suite. Please rest and explore as you will. The Luminata do not have secrets.” Moving back with an unexpectedly shallow bow, he indicated that the room across the hall was Aodhan’s, then disappeared down the corridor in a whisper of faded golden brown robes that blended into the stone of Lumia, his wings hidden beneath the heavy garment.

Elena frowned after the Luminata brother but didn’t say anything until they were behind the closed door to their suite. “There’s something off about this place,” she muttered. “Gian’s spookiness aside, the sense of peace I expected is missing.” She rubbed her hands over her upper arms. “You know, like when you walk into a place of worship? It might not be a religion to which you ascribe, but there’s always this hushed reverence about the place.”

“I am not mortal, Elena. Mortal religions are not mine.”

“Right. Well, think of your mystic, how being near him made you feel.”

It had been a long time ago, but the memory was at the surface of his mind after their earlier conversation. “I see your meaning,” he said, walking across the thickly carpeted front room and past a seating area of white painted furniture with velvet gray cushions; his goal was the back wall set with a small stained glass window.

When he opened it, it was to find it looked out not onto the outside slopes but an internal hallway identical to those through which they’d walked. “It’s not simply a lack of psychic peace. From within, Lumia feels more like the Refuge stronghold of another archangel.”

The shallow bow from an escort who had not earned that right, the fact Gian had taken the names of the Cadre without adding “Archangel” to the front, the Luminata who’d watched them from the shadows, their faces hidden under the hoods of their robes, none of it was as it should be.

Elena came to stand beside him as he pulled the window shut. “Maybe it’s just because they’re immortals who’ve been by themselves for way too long.” Nodding at the window, she said, “They’ve buried us.”

“Yes.” Raphael considered their route to the suite. “Did you notice anything about the architecture?”

“Yes, it’s not exactly convenient for a people with wings. Ceilings are relatively low for angelic dwellings, and once past the courtyard, there aren’t any openings from which to take off.” She glanced around, saw a notepad of thick cream paper on a small white writing desk. Beside it was a pen.

Taking both, she began to draw. “These are all the courtyards we saw from above.”

“You’ve memorized them?” He could blast through stone if need be, but his consort wasn’t powerful enough to smash her way out.

“Yes, but I’ll need to do some exploring, get an idea of distances involved.” Putting down the map, Elena stared at the door through which they’d entered. “The corridors are so circular and winding that it’s hard to figure out how much time it’ll take to go anywhere.”

Raphael closed his hand around the side of her neck. “Stay with Aodhan as much as you can. This place . . . it has a darkness to it that may simply be a result of secrecy and long isolation, but we will take no chances.”

Elena rose on her toes to brush her lips over his, her hands on his shoulders. “I won’t drop my guard. I mean seriously, even if the Luminata are just odd because they spend so much time alone out here, there’s still Michaela, Charisemnon, and the others to worry about.” She twisted her lips . . . but her jaundiced expression turned suddenly into a smile. “Do you think Astaad will bring Mele?”

“He knows you are friends, so perhaps.” Astaad also favored Mele above all his other concubines. “But Mele is a beautiful, fragile bloom—he may not bring her into such a perilous situation.” Astaad had his faults but his care of his concubines wasn’t one of them. “You will still have Hannah.” Elijah’s consort was as fragile a bloom as Mele, an artist happier with a paintbrush than with a blade, but custom dictated that she be at Elijah’s side for this gathering.

“We’ve already made plans to meet up.” Where Elena wanted to explore the nooks and crannies of Lumia and get into their historical archives, Hannah was itching to look through the repository of angelic art held in trust by the Luminata.

“I figure if we get bored, Hannah’ll teach me about art so I can pull off snooty if need be”—she raised her nose into the air and pursed her lips like a stuck-up antique dealer she’d met once during a hunt—“and I can teach her how to throw knives more accurately. Paint knives, of course, since that’s her weapon of choice.”

Raphael’s laughter wrapped around her like the crashing sea. “I’m sure Elijah will be most grateful. Hannah’s aim leaves much to be desired, and with the pumas who follow her around like pets, she’s beginning to rely on them for her personal safety during the times she’s otherwise on her own.”

Elena shook her head, conscious Elijah had been attempting to teach Hannah defensive skills for years. “She’s stubborn in her own way.”

“All consorts worth their salt know how to stand their ground.”

“Sweet talker.” Her words were light, but Elena’s skin prickled; she didn’t like how little she knew about this place, saw the same disquiet in the hard lines of Raphael’s expression. “Want to look around?”

Raphael’s nod was curt. “But first, eat something. Energy is finite and your body is still burning an incredible amount of it as you grow further into your immortality.”

Having begun to feel the sharp pangs of a hunger that seemed endless these days, her body so hungry for fuel that she was going through a box of energy bars a day in between meals, Elena didn’t argue, just picked up a large handful of nuts and dried fruits. If it was fuel her body needed to become stronger, tougher, then she’d drink every energy shake Montgomery made her, chew down endless bars, eat like a freaking linebacker.

The stronger she was, the less people would look on her as vulnerable prey—and the less chance that an enemy would get to her archangel through hurting her. When she put one of the dried fruits to Raphael’s lips, he took the offering with a brush of his lips on her fingers. A sweet kiss. It made her feel like a silly teenage girl—but then, she’d never been that. So maybe she was due.

“Try this.” Raphael fed her a hunk of cheese that had a rich, creamy taste to it. “It’s a delicacy, meant to be partnered with these peppers.”

Elena made a face. “No thanks. I’ll stick to naked cheese.”

When she leaned forward, he gave her another bite, ate the second half himself. “Make sure Aodhan is eating, too.” She knew older angels could survive for long periods without food, but it had an impact eventually. “He didn’t eat anything on the plane.” She knew she didn’t have to tell Raphael why she was worried about the other angel.

The thought reminded her of something else.

Sliding out her phone, she went to message Beth of her safe arrival, saw she had no reception. Raphael took the phone when she muttered under her breath, shook his head. “Too many of the Cadre in close proximity,” he told her. “The energy can cause major interference.”

“Damn it. I didn’t think about that.” Putting away her phone, she pressed a clenched hand against her abdomen. “You know how Beth is. She’ll have a panic attack if—”

“It is all right, Elena-mine.” Her archangel cupped her cheek, brushing his thumb over her cheekbone. “I know your sister is a jewel easily broken—I left instructions with Dmitri to ensure she receives a note from the Tower confirming our safe arrival, regardless of whether Dmitri has heard from us.”

Eyes hot, she touched her fingers to the jaw of this deadly being who understood her soul. “Thank you.”

“There is no need. Beth is like the Hummingbird, requires a little extra gentleness,” he said, just as there was a knock on their door. “Aodhan. I invited him.”

No knot in her gut now that she knew Beth wouldn’t be plunged into a horrible nightmare until her return, Elena moved to open the door. “Good plan.” Waving in Aodhan, she said, “We’re snacking before exploring this place. Come grab something.”

“I ate the cheeses and nuts in my chambers,” Aodhan replied, then, as if catching her skepticism, said, “My task is to be another sword at your back. I can’t do that if I’m weak.”

There was no way Elena could disbelieve him. To do so would be to question his strength all over again. “Come in anyway. Tell us what you think of this place.”

Aodhan entered, shutting the door behind him. “It’s not what I expected,” he said, as Elena continued to refuel with single-minded focus.

Raphael kept her company by eating the occasional tidbit she fed him.

“Lumia itself is a construct of beauty and grace,” Aodhan continued. “But there is an odd resonance beneath.”

Elena noticed he was keeping his voice low, only realized then that she and Raphael had done the same since they entered this suite. As if they all believed the walls might have ears.

“The rooms are what you might expect in the home of any angel past six or seven hundred years of age.” Aodhan waved at the fancy furniture, the luxurious carpet. “But the art is missing.”

Elena swallowed the cheese in her mouth, chased it down with water. “Isn’t that held in some kind of gallery?” It’s what she’d assumed when Hannah had spoken about the art she intended to view at Lumia.

Raphael was the one who answered. “Some of it may be, yes. But the walls of Lumia itself are meant to be lined with art, a new wonder around every corner.” He resettled his wings and she couldn’t help but run her fingers over his primaries in a petting gesture that was openly possessive.

It still struck her mute at times that he was hers.

The funny thing was, he had the same response to her.

Eternity would mean nothing without you. For no power on this earth would I trade my Elena.

The memory of his raw words was a crossbow bolt right to the heart every single time.

“The Luminata,” Raphael added, “have collected that art for untold eons. Artists offer them their greatest works, because to be displayed on Lumia’s walls is a great accolade.”

So where, Elena thought, was all that art? Why would the Luminata prefer anonymous hallways that all appeared the same? Why did they scurry about so secretively and watch their visitors from hidden alcoves? Elena might’ve missed the first lot of Luminata until they apparently emerged from the walls, but she’d learned from her mistake. So she knew this place had eyes.

And those eyes raised every hair on her body.