by T. G. Ayer
Patrick smiled and it deepened the wrinkles at the corners of his deep, cornflower-blue eyes. Evie teased him mercilessly that he would have made a great Pope since he looked the part. His smile brought life to a face dull and gray with his current illness and with age, which had only recently begun to reveal itself. Evie's heart ached with sadness. He had been the perfect Grand Master, his immortality only helping the success and solidity of the order. His own predecessors had been mortal, just as the rest of the current masters were. Patrick had used that as an excuse, saying perhaps it was time for humans to take charge of the Irin.
Evie smiled sadly as he held his gnarled, wrinkled hands out to her as she knelt beside him. "How are you, Evangeline?" His words scratched out, dusty, unused like his ink and quills, like the handmade parchment she'd sourced from the rarest suppliers that sat untouched on his desk, lit only by the sun's rays.
"I am well, Master," Evie answered, hiding a sad smile.
"Now, Evangeline. You know better than to lie to me." It was too easy to forget that the man who sat, glowing in the now brightening sunlight, had been a father to her. He'd always been able to tell when she was fibbing. They'd spent enough centuries together. Enough to learn more about each other than most normal families could learn in their short lifetimes.
Now, she dropped her eyes, unable to admit her concerns about Marcellus. "It's nothing, Master. I'll get over it."
But Patrick wasn't to be misled that easily. Evie watched him study her face. Knew before he opened his mouth what he would say. "Marcellus again?" His eyes were old, but still bright and fearless. His sigh was soft as she nodded. "Child, you have to give Marcellus a chance to prove his strength as a Grand Master. I can't be Master forever."
He leaned against the soft cushion of his chair back, as if tired of the world itself, and patted her hand. Evie bit her tongue against the accusation teetering at its tip, like a ripened fruit ready to burst. She'd voiced her suspicions to Patrick before. Suspicions about Marcellus' intentions where Patrick himself was concerned. But Patrick had merely batted the accusations away. ‘How would Marcellus kill an Immortal without detection?' Patrick had asked, his disbelief so evident in his question. Patrick had insisted his no longer being Master had no impact on Council decisions and posed no threat to Marcellus' rule of the Brotherhood.
But Evie had to wonder if those words were just a front and if Patrick was just giving up. Was there something more going on here than what Evie could see? She clenched her jaw. Evie meant to find out no matter what Patrick said.
For now she studied Patrick's face, her anger rising within her, an unchecked tide. "He's canned your plans to allow Sofia to join the Brotherhood you know," Evie said, bitter and angry again. Sofia was a Nephilim and a friend. She'd applied to join the Irin but had been refused by Marcellus because she'd once worked for the local Demon Chieftains. Patrick had overlooked it as mistakes of the past and had championed her application but Marcellus had felt otherwise and vetoed her entry.
A shadow of dark color rose in the old man's face and he seemed to war against his emotions for a moment. Evie was glad that at least that piece of information had elicited a deeper emotional reaction from him. Sofia's plight deserved it. Eventually he released his breath and sighed, his face drooping sadly.
"I changed what I could in my time, Evangeline," he said, shaking his head as he looked at Evie, his eyes cloudy and paler than just moments ago. "The Brotherhood is centuries old. Time moves faster than the Irin."
"But she was ready to enter the Order before Marcellus found out. He cancelled the ordainment without even telling her. What is she supposed to do now?" Evie took care to ensure she didn't raise her voice. Patrick wasn't the one who deserved her rage.
"She had petitioned only me and I have done what I can. If the Master of the Irin refuses to ordain her, I am powerless to change anything."
"That's exactly what I mean, Father." Her dislike for Marcellus was palpable and she had to restrain herself from a more vehement statement. "He has put a halt on as many of your projects as he can. He's even recalled the West Coast Cadre."
Patrick was startled enough to look at Evie with disbelief. The West Coast division was as important as their headquarters here at the estate. The West Coast Irin were their eyes and ears out there. The old man remained silent for a while, a look of quiet contemplation on his aged features. "He is the new Master, child. I cannot influence his hand in any way. He will change the Brotherhood and mold it as he sees fit. And even if you believe he is not what he seems, it will only be time that will reveal his intentions. In the meantime, all you can do is your job."
His hand was warm on Evie's head. In essence, she was still very much the child at the father's feet. Her father had chosen with wisdom when he had placed Evie with Patrick. Patrick who'd been a knight in his time, who'd had the knowledge to oversee a Brotherhood, which had grown from a tiny flotilla to an armada of angelic Warriors. He'd fought for the inclusion of all winged Warriors, the Asgardian Valkyries and the Indian Apsaras among others. He'd been tireless in his raising of Evie, so determined, so dedicated.
Now there were only two things Evie could accuse him of—dismissing his ailing state of health, and refusing to listen to her suspicions of Marcellus. He gave Evie the impression he was strong in his belief that the Council had chosen wisely. He believed, too, that his illness seriously hampered his ability to lead the Irin.
Evie, on the other hand, was convinced Marcellus had a nefarious plan. Perhaps it was time to confide in Patrick. Tell him about the metal pieces they were constantly hunting for.
"May I ask one more question, Father?"
He nodded gravely.
"Aren't demons unable to take metal with them beyond the Veil?"
"That's right." He nodded again, a tiny frown of curiosity marring his pale forehead.
Evie forged ahead. "Would the Irin need the metal the demons hold for any purpose at all?"
Patrick was already shaking his head. "No. There's nothing the demons possess that can benefit the Brotherhood in any way. Why do you ask?" Now the frown was no longer mildly curious.
"No reason. Just a question." Evie wanted to think about Patrick's confirmation first. Find out a little more before she confided the whole story to the old Master. The very real possibility that Patrick may soon leave this world was something Evie preferred not to think about. She desperately needed to believe in his longevity. "How are you feeling today? Has Castor been to see you?"
"No better than yesterday, child. And yes, Castor's been and given me the rubs and the oils and whatever those potions are that he creates." Patrick made a face and Evie smiled. Castor was special to Patrick too. There was a strange silence as he paused, searching her face. "Evie, you must know I do not have much time left."
His tone was so matter-of-fact that for a moment she was lost for words. And before she found the strength to negate his statement he said, "No point in denying it. I am not long for this world."
"But why? How is this happening? You are Immortal. Centuries old!" Evie shook her head in disbelief, quivering with impotent rage. "This shouldn't be happening."
Patrick leaned forward and laid a hand to her cheek. "But it is happening. And I don't know how to stop it." Patrick regarded Evie with helpless eyes, his soft palm with its papery-thin skin cupping her face.
"Can't we find someone? Isn't there anyone who can help?" She grabbed his hand, careful to not hurt him.
"My dear child, if there were someone who could help me, they would have done so by now." He sighed, the ragged sound so tired and defeated, so soft Evie wondered if she'd imagined it. "Perhaps the Archangels could have helped. But I sealed my fate a thousand years ago."
Then he smiled at Evie. A paternal and loving smile that brought tears to her grieving heart. She would not allow herself to cry in front of him. This whole situation was impossible and unacceptable.
The sun had traveled west on its journey, and Patrick no longer sat
basking in its warmth. His face, so recently golden in the warmth of the sunshine, was now pallid and worn.
"Come, child. Help an old man to his bed." Patrick held out his hand and Evie assisted the frail, almost skeletal man across the floor. The sunshine had warmed the wood and she could almost feel the heat rise up as she crossed the stream of rays. She performed a task which the old man had done for her countless times in the years of her childhood. She couldn't bear the thought that soon she would no longer have him around to comfort and advise her.
Coming to see him had just reminded her how close she was to losing him forever.
Chapter 4
Dejected, Evie left Patrick to rest and headed to her first class of the morning.
The sun was high, spilling warm and bright into the hallways of the Learning Wing. Along the wood-paneled passages, students loitered around, ambled along or rushed headlong toward their classes. Not every Nephilim Warrior cared for learning about the history of mortals. It was uncanny how many Nephilim bore a certain inbred arrogance toward humans despite their role of protectors. But Patrick had insisted they obtain the knowledge in order to better understand the creatures they protected.
Slowly the halls emptied and Evie breathed easier. She disliked crowds and usually avoided the rush, slipping into her classes at the last minute. Next was Ancient Human History. Brother Remus would be introducing Ancient Rome and its first Emperors. Ancient History had always fascinated her, especially anything which predated her own birth year, 1003 AD. Nephilim received longevity, almost immortality, through the blood of their angelic fathers. Or Angelic mothers, Evie thought with a wry twist to her lips. The Heavenly Army may just have had a preference for male warriors as Evie had heard of so few female angels in her lifetime.
Although she didn't want to think such blasphemous thoughts, the words "sexist" and "chauvinistic" crawled into her brain. Her eyes darted around before she remembered the Estate was a no-mind-reading-zone as of Marcellus' take-over. She shivered. Not a thing she should forget if she wanted to stay out of trouble.
She grabbed a seat at the back of the class. In spite of her location, Brother Remus would surely throw any number of questions at her. She didn't mind the stares of the other Nephilim as long as they returned their attention to the front of the class and left her alone once she'd given her answers. Most of the Warriors steered clear of Evie, were intimidated by her. By her power, if not by her guardian.
Evie was different. A breed apart from the rest of the Nephilim. Stronger, smarter, more powerful. With the uncomfortable tendency of winning every sparring match and shooting every target, she wasn't the most popular angel on the block. It made for a lonely childhood, spent mostly in the company and friendship of humans. An angel relegated to walk the steps of childhood while watching her friends grow old and wither within the clutches of an inevitable death.
Lately, Evie had begun to question her solitary lifestyle. If Ling and Ash had not joined the Brotherhood, she may have left Patrick's care. She'd had no real friends until the two Nephilim had arrived.
Usually the lesson absorbed all of Evie's attention, but her conversation with Patrick echoed in her ears. She alternated between simmering anger and aching pain, knowing the only father she had ever known was at death's ddoor-somewhere he should never have been. She heard the names Augustus Caesar and Brutus and her head shot up. Just in time too, as Brother Remus began his usual barrage of questions, sending them randomly at the class.
This time, Evie sat back deflated, as Brother Remus passed her over. She suppressed a sigh. How she would have loved to live in Ancient Rome. Even Patrick had such romantic things to say about that time in history. The thought sobered her, bringing her thudding back to the reality of not having Patrick around to regale her with tales from his long, long ago youth.
Patrick had taken on Evangeline as a favor to a friend. But he had treated the task with immense attention and care, showering Evie with everything from education to friendship to genuine affection. Evie could clearly recall a monastery from her childhood. She was perhaps six years old, and the fragrant scent of thyme and rosemary on a warm summer night still teased her nose. She'd been chasing a butterfly around the courtyard, and followed the shimmering insect right into the air as it rose to escape her fat little fingers. Horrified, Patrick had grabbed hold of her feet, almost choking on his scolds as she strained to fly off on tiny, weak wings, wings which had sprouted from her back without any warning, surprising both herself and especially Patrick. That was the day he fully realized his little charge Evangeline was an angel.
Evie's memories of history from that point on were hazy at best. Patrick had vowed to keep her safe. The vow had translated to being cooped up and hidden away from everything important that had ever happened in the world's history. Evie had missed centuries of important events like the Crusades and the Renaissance. Now she suppressed a sigh. Too many important historical events to dwell on. But Patrick had often said he'd rather give up his mortality than ever allow anything to happen to her, and Evie had conceded that if he were willing to sacrifice that much for her, then she could make him happy by being careful and minding him.
Evie settled into the lesson and tuned everyone and everything out, now focusing her thoughts on a world she'd been born too late to experience. Too soon she would have to face her reality, but for the moment, she enjoyed losing herself in the all-too intangible past.
The history lesson passed without a hitch, followed closely by Religion Studies.
At lunch, Evie headed to the Warriors' common room, which doubled as a dining room for the forty-odd Nephilim living on the grounds of Greylock Estate. The last of the morning sun poured through the floor-to-ceiling windows at a steep, slowly-disappearing slant. Evie found her two friends dozing in the lazy sunshine. They'd all had late nights, charging around the Eastern seaboard, eliminating each of their targets on Marcellus' orders. Evie knew exactly how they were feeling, especially since training never stopped in spite of the recent increase in nightly missions.
Ash looked up as Evie clomped to the nest of couches near the open glass doors. A weak breeze floated inside, doing nothing to relieve the blanket of lethargy that lay upon the two girls.
"Hey girl!" Ash grinned and wriggled over to clear some space just in time as Evie plonked herself into the soft cushion and closed her eyes. She tilted her face so she got the full brunt of the sun's warmth while she was still in its path. "What's with the long face, Eves?"
"Humph!" Evie just grunted, not wanting to spoil the luxury of the sun's warm fingers on her skin.
Ash wriggled beside her, enough to force Evie to crack her eyes open a tiny bit to see what she was up to. Ash turned beside her on the couch and wagged an accusing finger at her.
"You've been to see Patrick, haven't you?" Ash pinned Evie with a stare that spoke volumes. Evie just got distracted by her friend's eyes. Glossy, black flecks gleamed deep within green and hazel eyes. Ashika Deva was an Apsara, beautiful and powerful, and super smart. And sometimes super bossy. She continued to glare at Evie, then turned out of her accusatory twist to sit straight-backed on the lumpy couch. Not a position easily maintained when in the throes of lethargy. "Well? That face is gonna sour the milk in my latte, so spill. Now!"
"I don't get it. How does an Immortal die of a mystery illness without someone being able to find out what is going on?" Evangeline's sigh was frustration and desperation all wrapped up in one gigantic shiny layer of suspicion. "Nothing is supposed to be powerful enough to fell an Immortal. He's fading away."
"Should I even bother to ask if Marcellus has called anyone for help?"
"He claims he has. He's been required by the council to advise the details of each practitioner who sees Patrick. And maybe there have been a few specialists who have seen him, but really, if Marcellus wants to block the Council from knowing anything, he sure as hell can!" Evie shook her head, anger-filled tears brimming over. "I do know Castor's been to see him for his p
ains."
"That lunatic? He'll kill poor Patrick faster than whatever illness the poor man has." Ash's eyebrows teased her unruly bangs. Her dark hair was caught at the back of her head, leaving just those bangs to soften the edge of her perfect, oval face, almond eyes fringed heavily with to-die-for lashes would have been the perfect finish were they not filled with an expression of utter disgust. "Why do you let him get near the old guy?"
"Because he'd never harm him. And because I couldn't stop him even if I tried. Castor's been with Patrick all his life." Evie threw Ash a disapproving stare. Ash knew Castor's tale as well as anyone else. But it made no impression on her opinion of his talent as a Healer.
The offspring of a demon and a human, Castor had been cast aside by his horrified mother. Patrick had taken him in, cared for him. Today, he lurked around the estate, acting as healer and shaman to those who dared to call for him, though many of his patients shivered with fear under his ministrations. The poor fellow wasn't unaware of his effect on the general public, so he was always careful to remain hidden within the folds of his hooded garb while he administered his treatment.
Many were given to wonder what sort of demon magic he infused in the salves or oils he used. But Evie never gave it a second thought. She had the utmost trust in Castor because she knew his heart. None knew better than Evie the gratitude the half-demon felt toward Patrick, and the grief the poor Halfling felt for Patrick's impending demise.
"Doesn't change the fact that he creeps me out!" Ash affected a delicate shiver, then fell back into the cushions, all pretense of straight-backed primness gone.