Corporal punishment for sarcasm?
The Mortus were as bad as she’d feared.
That chill gaze settled on her. “So, one more time. What is your name?”
“Peony.”
He gave her a gracious nod. “Please show Peony to her room. Further instructions regarding her duties will be forthcoming.”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
Godric turned to leave, then paused. “If you cause these women any harm, my uncle will have you killed, and I won’t stop him.”
Peony felt like she’d been slapped again. “I am a doctor.”
“You will have to forgive my skeptical nature. I met your sister, after all.”
Then he was gone, and Peony was left with her suitcase, and the female Mortus’ curious attention.
Chapter 22
Z sat in the mansion’s library, the scent of old books comforting in a way he hadn’t thought possible. He was upright, seated on a stool, with his damaged wings descending to just above floor level. In a brightly lit corner of the library, Raze was quietly going through papers scattered over a walnut desk.
He didn’t know where Yael, Seraphina, Azrael and Dru were. Actually, he preferred not to think about what Azrael and Dru were up to; Dru looked too much like Peony, even if she did have a hard edge Peony lacked.
For the better.
As his eyes wandered around the library while his gut throbbed dully: worry for Peony trapped in the Mortus den; concern that his wings may still have to be removed; guilt that he still had wings when the others had lost theirs.
At least I don’t have to worry about Trick.
Well, not right now.
Trick would come for him eventually, since he still considered Z to be his blood-bound slave. Despite the magical handprint that had appeared on Z’s torso that afternoon—Trick’s, no doubt—his slave master would remain clueless as to Z’s whereabouts. Yael had explained that the mansion was warded to the eaves, so provided Z stayed inside the grounds, he would be invisible to most magical enquiries.
The other Darts had been so solicitous that Z had gone to bed early, unable to deal with their care. He’d spent the night asleep on the carpeted floor of an immense bedroom. Near waking, he had dreamed of endless clear gray.
Peony.
He had to get well so he could rescue her from the Mortus, then help find Dina and the Heart.
“You really believe this healer will be able to repair my wings?” Z asked Raze.
“I don’t know,” Raze replied. “Seraphina seems to think there is a chance, and she is usually quite cautious about these things.”
Truth.
Z’s eyes traced his fellow Dart’s wingless outline.
Raze is fallen. Because of me.
“Don’t pity me.”
Z jerked at the dark-skinned angel’s voice.
“Everything happens for a reason. I don’t feel sorry for myself.”
Truth.
“No?” Z would, if they were to trade places.
Skies, he had. And his wings had simply been injured.
A chuckle escaped Raze as he placed his paperwork on the desk and stood up. He came over to sit next to Z, eyes settling on the view over the library and the lush rose garden outside. The tall angel crossed an ankle over a knee. “Well, I don’t feel sorry for myself anymore. The first few months were...hard.”
This was the most candid Z had ever seen Raze; he was normally quiet as a tomb.
“You honestly think this is for the best?” Z asked, disbelieving.
“The archangels want us to find all three parts of Heaven’s Heart. Heaven only held one previously. Perhaps this is our destiny, to restore the Heart to its former glory.” Raze’s expression was bland as he spoke, so Z couldn’t determine his sincerity. There was no lie there, however.
The Darts had spent centuries serving Heaven, only to be stripped of their wings and discarded like broken toys. Even Z felt betrayed, and he had been the one responsible for their punishment. How can Raze not hate me?
Would he hate one of them, if their roles had been reversed?
He wasn’t sure he could answer that.
Ever since he was a small child, he’d wanted to be a warrior angel. To have lost that chance because of someone else’s mistake...it would be devastating.
But it wasn’t your fault. No one even noticed the Infernus had broken into the Celestial City until they were in the Inner Sanctum.
But then Z had been useless in the fight, getting knocked out and kidnapped early into the altercation.
He was an embarrassment.
The door to the library swung open on silent hinges. Seraphina stepped into the room and then shut the door behind her. Her brown eyes were solemn, her face expressionless. “I have help with me.”
Z nodded, not sure what else to say.
Raze studied her expression. “What is your concern?”
“They are human.”
“What can a human do to help me?” Z wondered.
“Well,” she elaborated, “they are witches.”
“Witches.”
Technically human, the magic-users were largely ignored by angels and demons alike, because they rarely interfered with Heaven’s or Hell’s business. They were often nothing more than basic spell-casters, with limited powers.
“I don’t see how a witch can help me,” Z said. Peony had tried numerous medical approaches, and Sylvester had even used demon magic. A witch could surely do no more than that.
“This isn’t just any witch,” Seraphina said softly. “She is a Crone.”
Z pondered the significance of that statement. “She’s old?” he asked finally.
Seraphina looked nonplussed.
Raze chuckled. “In the witch hierarchy, you have Maiden, Mother and Crone. Or Master, Father and Crone. Not everyone progresses from one level to another, and there are only a handful of Crones in the country.” Raze tilted his head to the side. “And you managed to find one?”
“Yes, she runs a store in Manhattan.”
“A shop?” Raze shook his head. “It takes all types, I guess.”
“Shall I bring her in?” Seraphina asked. “I will have her swear a blood oath for secrecy.”
Both angels turned to Z.
They’re waiting for me to decide.
He doubted that a human could do much for him, but this wasn’t just about him anymore.
“Do it.”
Seraphina turned on her heel and left, returning with an elderly woman by her side. Through the open door, Z spotted another human, this one with hair the color of fire. She peered inside, only to have the door swing shut on her.
A door no one had touched...
He turned curious eyes on the Crone.
“My granddaughter does not need to see this,” the human said, her dark eyes serious as they took in Z’s broken form. The witch turned to Seraphina, her mouth pursed in distaste. “You didn’t say you had an unfallen angel here.”
“No.”
“You had me swear a blood oath without the full information. That’s cheating.” But something about the woman’s expression said she admired the trickery.
Humans.
They had never made much sense to him, but he’d never questioned God’s will—humans were his children just as much as the angels were, and thus deserved protection from evil, AKA demons.
He was coming to understand, however, that not all demons were evil. And that humans were...complicated.
A thin smile graced Seraphina’s lips. “You wanted to work with a fallen angel—that was a risk you took.”
The Crone gave a low laugh, then rubbed her hands together. “I assume you want me to look at this young one’s wings?”
“Young one?” Z croaked. He was probably four times older than the witch.
“I’ve been around the block more than once, angel-boy. I know age when I sense it.” She nodded at
Raze. “He’s old. You’re not.”
Raze’s storm-gray eyes widened slightly, before he settled back in his chair with a half-smile on his face.
Maybe he really does think losing his wings is for the best.
Was it selfish of Z to want his fixed? Maybe he shouldn’t have agreed to see the witch.
The woman approached Z on surprisingly agile limbs. “May I touch them?”
He took a deep breath and nodded.
Careful fingertips brushed over the wing’s radius bone, before gliding down over the fine dusting of pin feathers. Instead of pain—which was the usual accompaniment to having his wings treated—she left nothing but a sense of coolness in her wake.
She tsked a few times before eventually stopping.
“His wings will eventually heal on their own,” she said, stepping away.
Z half-turned in his chair to look at her. “How long?”
She tilted her head to the side, sizing him up. “Months for full recovery.”
Truth.
“Months?”
“There is extensive damage, and your natural healing ability is hampered.” Her dark eyes glittered with an emotion he couldn’t decipher.
The Infernus had a lot to answer for. Whatever poison they’d dosed him with needed to be catalogued and destroyed, if it could cause this much damage to an angel.
“Can you fix them?” Raze asked, his voice calm as an undisturbed lake.
“Of course.” The Crone grinned. “Although, it will cost you a pretty penny.”
Z’s gut clenched. “How much?”
Could the others afford his healing? The house was spectacular, with extensive grounds and expensive furnishings, but what if all the Darts’ money was tied up in the property?
“We will pay the cost, as discussed,” Seraphina interjected.
Z opened his mouth to interrupt, but the Crone slapped a hand on his shoulder.
“Let’s get started, then,” she said. “My name is Theodora. But you can call me Dora.” Then she winked at him.
He froze, unsure what to do. Was the human flirting with him?
She rolled up her sleeves, revealing finely wrinkled deep-brown arms. “Hmph. Did you lose your sense of humor along with your wings?”
A choking sound emerged from Raze, and Seraphina covered a smirk with a hand.
Z regarded her seriously. “I’m not sure I had one to begin with...Dora.”
The Crone cackled. “Well, there’s a lot magic can do, but making you funny is beyond even my considerable abilities.”
Chapter 23
The room assigned to Peony was tiny—it had a single bed, desk, chair, naked lightbulb, and a standalone closet. There was just enough room for her to walk around the bed without bashing her shins against the wooden furniture. It was depressing; even her dorm room at college had been bigger than this.
Peony stared at the bare stone walls, feeling like they were closing in on her: that she was trapped deep beneath the earth with no way out.
You are. You’re in Hell.
She placed her suitcase on the desk and removed her computer, hugging it briefly to her chest. She turned it on and waited impatiently for it to load, then tried to connect to the Internet. Nothing. Peony checked her cell phone, but it didn’t have reception either.
You shouldn’t be surprised.
If there was Internet here, it probably wasn’t available to the women. It would give them a way out, and it seemed the Mortus males liked their women trapped in a harem.
Somehow, she’d try to work out how to email. If she didn’t get in touch with her mom soon, Selene would descend on the guild, and it would end badly—mostly for the guild. She closed the laptop and rubbed her forehead. Not only did she need to reach her mother, she also wanted to check in with Dru; to find out what had happened when she’d been here.
Why Dru had been here.
Tucking the laptop back into her suitcase, she sighed. A new life stretched in front of her, one that didn’t appeal—trapped in a harem to an abusive king. She tapped her fingers on the lid of her case while she thought. Peony was most likely safe from rape, since her skin was toxic, but how was she to stand by and watch the other women get used?
I will help them.
How, she wasn’t sure yet.
Peony rose from the spindly chair and turned to the bed. She may as well get some sleep. She tugged at the fingers of her gloves, then stopped. No. It was better to leave her skin covered. Just in case. She didn’t need to be the cause of any more deaths.
She lay on the lumpy mattress, her body refusing to release the tension that had been riding her all afternoon. Tomorrow, she told herself; tomorrow she would work out what to do, how to fit into this new life.
*
Peony’s eyes snapped open in the darkness. She didn’t move, trying to catalogue every sound as her eyesight adjusted to the lack of light. She didn’t know what had triggered her alertness, perhaps just the strange new room, but fear was blooming in the pit of her stomach now, blood rushing through her veins.
There was a whisper of sound, cloth against cloth, and the gentle exhalations of barely suppressed breathing.
Her heartbeat spiked.
I’m not alone.
Without thinking, Peony rolled off the right-hand side of the narrow bed, taking the sheets with her. There was a whooshing sound as she slammed into the legs of someone next to the bed.
Wrong way!
Tangled, confused, she thrashed in the sheets, biting back a scream as hot pain scored her right arm, leaving wetness in its wake.
Peony screamed, as loud as she could.
Hands groped for her mouth. Peony struggled desperately, so the seeking palms didn’t touch the skin of her face.
“Damnit!”
“Hurry up!”
There were two of them?
The voices are female...
Hands jostled her through the sheets, and Peony fought harder than she ever had in her life. These Mortus were strong. Finally, she hooked a leg free from the sheets and kicked out, hearing a grunt in response.
“Just finish it!” one of the women hissed.
A second later, Peony’s arms were pinned to the stone floor; she flailed out with her free leg, but the other Mortus avoided her attack. A glint of light on metal caught her eye...
Then electric illumination burst to life, blinding her.
“Damnit, my eyes!”
“What is going on here?” a new voice demanded, sharp enough to slice the air.
Peony tried to focus on the tableau above her. A Mortus demon with jet-black hair, her classically beautiful features twisted with anger, held her down on the ground. Another stood poised over her with a knife, rubbing her eyes.
“We were just tucking the new recruit into bed,” the demon standing over her said, quickly shoving the blood-coated knife behind her back.
Craning her neck, Peony took in the newcomer. Taller than average, the female Mortus was a study in elegance. From the immaculately coiffed auburn hair, complete with thin strands of silver, to the stern gray eyes and slightly up-tilted chin, she radiated power and barely contained anger.
“With a knife?”
Peony’s captor’s hands tighten in response.
“What knife?” the brown-haired demon blurted.
Impatience coated each word. “The one behind your back.”
“We thought she needed a bit of a lesson in how things are done around here.”
“You do realize,” the older demon said, stepping into the room and closing the door behind her, packing the tiny space to capacity, “that if you had succeeded in killing this half-breed abomination, your lives would have been forfeit?”
Half-breed abomination?
At least Peony knew that the woman harbored no love for her.
This rescue wasn’t for her sake.
The brown-haired Mortus lowered the blade. “Th
e king cannot afford to lose any women in the harem.”
The older Mortus tsked. “Do not presume to think on behalf of the king. People have a way of dying young when they do.”
“Can I get up now?” Peony asked. She had the feeling she was going to survive the night, now that her attackers had been discovered.
Emotionless gray eyes focused on her. “Speak only when spoken to, abomination.”
She bit her lip.
Lovely.
But she stayed where she was.
Peony supposed she had been lucky; she had avoided much of the racism toward cambions in the Human World and Hell. Her mom had never tolerated it, and Peony’s abilities had been useful to the guild, so aside from the initial teething problems, the other Halcyon members had largely accepted her. It had probably helped that they’d already known Dru and Sylvester. You didn’t go calling them ‘abominations’ unless you were prepared to wear a brand-new smile across your neck.
“You two will leave, and you will not speak of this mistake to anyone else.”
The demon holding Peony loosened her grip. “But, Your Grace—”
“Do I make myself clear?”
The knife-wielding Mortus turned to the doorway. “She killed our brothers!”
“They volunteered their lives in order to establish whether or not the cambions were suitable breeding material.”
“Cambions?” Confusion and rage warred on the black-haired Mortus’ face, and she stood up from where she had Peony pinned.
The other attacker frowned thunderously. “Milly, what are you doing?”
“Why did you say ‘cambions’, plural?” Milly asked.
“Because this one is the twin to the first abomination, who killed your older brother.”
“But Jerald died today—”
“Yes, the king wished to have this cambion tested as well. It turns out that her skin is toxic to the touch. You are lucky you did not come into contact with her face.”
Both of the assailants turned a paler shade of green.
“Jewel, Millicent, I understand wanting to avenge your siblings.” Both Mortus women stood up straight, pride etched in their posture. “But there was no real loss there. Your brothers were nothing more than wastes of space.”
The girls’ expressions grew taut.
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