Archangel's Prophecy

by Nalini Singh

  Maggie kissed Elena on the cheek, even though all she’d found today were a couple of crumpled energy bar wrappers. The foil backing of the wrappers caught the snow-amplified sunlight when Elena passed her niece to Jeffrey. Then she gave Beth a hug and tugged her sister with her as she walked into their grandparents’ home.

  Majda and Jean-Baptiste sat in front of the fire, cakes made from the colorful clay children used to form their dreams spread out in front of them. A plastic tea set sat nearby. Heartbreakingly young in appearance, Majda and Jean-Baptiste could’ve been two twentysomethings who might have a three- or four-year-old of their own, but Majda was more than eighty years old and had been trapped in hell for much of that time. Jean-Baptiste, muscular and golden blond with a square jaw and eyes of silvery blue, was older than his wife by a hundred and forty-five years.

  Majda’s face was solemn when she looked at Elena. Her eyes, a hauntingly clear turquoise identical to Beth’s, spoke to Elena without saying a word. Jean-Baptiste had told his wife of the threat alert.

  Elena gave a small, barely perceptible nod.

  Rising in a graceful move, Majda held out a hand. “Maggie, azeeztee. Would you like to help me ice the cookies we made?”

  Over the years since she’d found her grandparents, Elena had become used to hearing the affectionate word from Majda’s lips, the same word Marguerite had once used with Elena and Beth, Ari and Belle. But she sensed more than saw Jeffrey go rigid, as, across from them, Jean-Baptiste got to his feet.

  None of them spoke until Maggie was in the kitchen, safely behind the closed door. Then, aware Beth had to be imagining all sorts of horrible things, Elena cupped her sister’s face in her hands. “Harrison is alive.”

  Beth’s pupils flared.

  Elena didn’t give her a chance to panic. “He was hurt, but Father and Eve found him in time,” she said in a voice as calm as Jeffrey’s had been at Beth’s house. “By now, he’s at the Tower under the care of a team of experienced healers.”

  Beth lifted her hands to clamp them over Elena’s wrists. “How badly is he hurt?”

  Elena didn’t lie to her sister. She had once, softening the edges of reality because she’d thought Beth couldn’t accept the harsh truth, but she knew better now. Though Beth lived in a world of sparkles and pink coats and a little girl who was her starlight, there remained inside her a Beth who understood death and loss and having to stand at gravesides while the people you loved were put in the cold ground.

  Elena wished she didn’t, but life had stolen that choice from them.

  “Bad,” Elena said. “But one of Raphael’s Seven donated blood to help him heal. You know that blood is powerful, Bethie.”

  Her sister’s trembling lips firmed. “Oh. That’s good.” She took a shuddering breath. “Raphael’s angels and vampires are scary and tough.” She turned toward Jeffrey, and, to Elena’s surprise, their father held out an arm.

  Beth fell against his chest, let him wrap his arms around her. “Harrison got the best possible help at the right time. Barring any unforeseen complications, he’ll be fine,” he told Beth with curt practicality. “Your house, however, is a mess—you should stay with your grandparents for the time being. We’ll make sure you and Maggie have what you need from the house.”

  “I need to see him.”

  Elena had expected as much. “I’ll organize it.” As her sister, Beth was always welcome at the Tower, but Beth was intimidated by the vampires and angels who called it home.

  “We’ll take care of Maggie while you’re with your husband.” Jean-Baptiste touched his hand to Beth’s shoulder after she stepped out of Jeffrey’s embrace.

  Another deep breath. “How was he hurt?”

  “Someone attacked him,” Elena said, because Beth couldn’t protect herself in ignorance. “Harrison was afraid you and Maggie might be targets, too—you’ll have guards until we figure out what’s going on.” She’d talk to Dmitri, get Jean-Baptiste some help.

  Beth didn’t dispute the order, her pupils hugely dilated. But even after the shock passed, Elena had no doubts that Beth would acquiesce to the protection—her sister was agreeable and gentle, and she’d do anything to keep Maggie safe.

  Now, she took Elena’s hand again, holding on as she had as a bewildered little girl. “I’ll be able to think properly after I see him.”

  “Do you wish to say good-bye to little Marguerite so she doesn’t worry?” Jean-Baptiste asked, and Elena felt her father go impossibly stiffer. They all knew Maggie’s full name, but neither Jeffrey nor Elena ever used it. It was too hard.

  Beth straightened her shoulders. “Yes.” A determined smile on her face. “No stressing out in front of my baby.”

  Jean-Baptiste’s eyes narrowed after Beth was gone, his hands on his hips. “You have the details of the assault on Harrison?”

  “The assailant attempted to decapitate him.” Elena took care to keep her voice low. “Harrison couldn’t speak, but he was desperate to warn me that Beth and Maggie were in danger.”

  “No one will take another child from us,” Jean-Baptiste said grimly. “I promise you this.” Then he turned to look at Eve and, though she was no blood relation of his, leaned in to press a kiss to her forehead. “And how are you, Evelyn? Such a fierce look you have on your face.”

  “It was horrible.” Eve gave him a hug, was warmly hugged in turn. “But I stood watch with my long blade while Father tried to help Harrison.”

  Meeting Jeffrey’s gaze once Eve broke the embrace, Jean-Baptiste held out a hand. “It is good to meet the man who loved my child and was loved by her.”

  Perhaps because this was Jean-Baptiste, who didn’t remind Jeffrey so terribly of Marguerite, he shook the proffered hand. “If you’ll excuse me,” he said afterward. “I need to organize a cleaning crew for Beth’s home.”

  “I’m going to steal a cookie,” Eve said after Jeffrey stepped outside to make the call.

  Alone with Elena, Jean-Baptiste sighed. “Majda wants so much to know the man who was our child’s husband and who spent so many years with her, but your father is . . . difficult.”

  A very diplomatic word. “She reminds him too much of Mama.” Her grandparents could have no idea of the staggering resonance of the resemblance—photographs didn’t capture her mother’s spirit or her innate gentleness. Majda had the same gentleness, though her spirit was wilder than Marguerite’s. “Father loved Mama more than he’s loved anyone else his entire life. He broke inside after he lost her.”

  “I understand, child of my child.” Her grandfather’s tone was bleak. “But we will keep trying. You and Beth are living pieces of our Marguerite, but Jeffrey has memories you cannot know.”

  Eyes threatening to burn, Elena nodded.

  Beth returned from the kitchen a couple of seconds later. She had her coat with her, was already shrugging into the deep purple of it. “Maggie’s more than happy to stay here while I go out for a little bit.” She pulled out a set of keys. “My car’s parked on the street.”

  Jeffrey confiscated Beth’s keys the instant they got outside. “I’ll drive you.”

  Beth, being Beth, agreed.

  Elena didn’t veto the arrangement either; Jeffrey’s car was bulletproof and the distance to the Tower short. To be safe, however, she made a call to Dmitri so he could alert angels in the air to keep track of the vehicle. That done, she waved Jeffrey, Beth, and Eve off . . . and tried not to flinch when two huge white owls appeared out of the snow to fly past within inches of her on either side. Her hair lifted in the wind created by their wings, a soft brush against her cheek from the very edge of a feather.

  But when she swiveled to follow their flight, the owls were gone.

  Ghosts.

  Her own wings dropped to drag along the cold stone of the path.

  15

  Heart chilled, Elena pulled them back up and tried to
decide what to do. A vertical takeoff wasn’t a realistic possibility, but she didn’t want to ground herself without reason. She had to test the status of her wings, see if they could hold her aloft.

  At the same time, it’d be foolish to run the test alone.

  Raphael was out on the water, and so was Illium. There was no point asking either one of them to come in when she was simply running a controlled test. She still needed a spotter—someone loyal enough not to say a word about the problems with her wings but strong enough to ease her fall if her wing did collapse.

  “Izzy,” she murmured with a smile.

  She made the call, then went in to ice cookies with Maggie and Majda while she waited.

  “Elena”—Jean-Baptiste poked his head into the kitchen, a frown on his features—“your very young friend has just landed in the drive. You’re sure the boy is over a hundred? He looks ten.”

  Elena laughed and kissed Maggie’s cheek in good-bye then hugged a worried Majda before going to join her grandfather. “Izzy’s one of Galen’s protégés. Trust me, he knows what he’s doing.”

  Jean-Baptiste walked her to the front door. “Your wing,” he said quietly. “There is a problem? Young Izak is here to act as your escort?”

  No surprise that he’d figured it out; he was a senior vampire who’d worked with two archangels and was trusted enough to be on a first-name basis with both those archangels. “Yes. I’ll tell you more when I know.”

  Eyes solemn, he touched his hand to the side of her face. “Take care of yourself, Elena. My Majda’s heart cannot bear another loss.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead as he’d done with Eve. “If Majda reminds Jeffrey of his wife, you are the living embodiment of our daughter.”

  Elena made no promises as she walked out.

  “Izzy,” she said when she reached the baby-faced angel with a tumble of blond curls and a painfully earnest heart. “Thanks for coming.”

  “I’m part of your Guard, Ellie.” His brow wrinkled. “Of course I would come.”

  She smiled—it was difficult to do otherwise when with Izak. “Let’s walk around to the back of the property.” Majda and Jean-Baptiste had a private fenced-in garden there, and thanks to the tall trees that edged the garden, none of the neighboring houses looked down on it.

  Once there, she double-checked to confirm no neighbors would see what was about to happen. It didn’t matter if they saw her and Izzy linked—a lift from one angel to another wasn’t uncommon, especially among friends who might be playing games in the sky. But strangers couldn’t be permitted to see the initial lift in case the problem with her wings was obvious.

  Only when she was satisfied of their privacy did she turn to Izak and tell him what she needed and why. His face turning solemn, he nodded. Izzy, she knew, would do anything for her—even if what she asked would get him in trouble with Dmitri or Raphael himself. She just hoped she’d always be worthy of his devotion.

  Putting his hands on her waist, because he wasn’t yet strong enough to pull her off the ground using her hands, he waited for her to tighten her wings to her back then rose into the air. A small face pressed to the kitchen window waved excitedly at her as they left the ground.

  Elena waved back at Maggie . . . while the owls perched on the branches of a dormant tree watched on with eyes of luminous gold.

  Seconds later, they hit the gunmetal gray sky and Izzy said, “Shall I let go?”

  “Yes.” Elena spread out her wings the instant he released her, not snapping them out as she normally would, but unfurling with more care.

  She didn’t fall.

  Breath shuddering from her lungs, she was conscious of Izzy dropping slightly below her. The position would make it easier for him to halt her descent should she suffer a midair wing failure. But they made it across the snow-dusted landscape and over the jagged height of the skyscrapers to land on the balcony outside the infirmary.

  She waved Izzy off to his other duties, then escorted Beth—who’d just arrived—to Harrison’s side. Her next stop was Nisia’s office. The healer’s expression darkened when Elena described her inability to hold her wings off the ground without conscious effort. “How did your wings feel once you were in the air?” the healer asked, going around to Elena’s back to examine her wings.

  Elena stood still for the slow and thorough inspection. “I had all the normal controls, but I felt . . . weaker.” She frowned, trying to narrow down the reason for the feeling. “As if each wingbeat took more effort than usual.”

  “We will go into an empty training room,” Nisia announced. “I need to take you through some tests.”

  Urgency pounded at her, the need to eliminate the threat to Beth and Maggie overwhelming, but she’d be no use to her sister and niece if she fell out of the sky to splatter onto the streets of Manhattan.

  The tests took two hours.

  Somewhere in the midst of it, Elena took off her jacket and shoved up the sleeves of her long-sleeved thermal T-shirt. Nisia’s eyes went immediately to the Band-Aid on her forearm. “Elena?”

  “Shit. I forgot about that.” Hard to keep a scratch in mind when Beth’s lounge looked like the site of a massacre. “The cut broke open again.” Holding her breath, she peeled off the Band-Aid. “Hey, it’s looking much better.”

  “No, this is not good.” Nisia’s cheekbones jutted sharply against her skin as she stared at the small wound. “Such a cut should’ve been nothing for your body to repair. Your current level of healing is close to a mortal’s.”

  Okay, yeah, put that way, they had a problem—but her wings were the bigger one, so she and Nisia returned to the tests.

  Elena, I’m almost home. Dmitri informed me about Harrison—have there been further developments?

  Archangel. A hot rush of blood through her veins. I haven’t had much of a chance to follow up—I’m with Nisia in the internal sparring ring. It had been free when Nisia enquired, and was the better space for testing the range of her wings. More issues with my wings.

  I am on my way.

  He walked into the ring only a few minutes later, an archangel dressed once again in the worn softness of warrior’s leathers, with his hair tumbled by the wind and his expression dangerously calm. And his wings . . . they were rippling white fire. Wings of pure silence that he could summon at will but that appeared most often when his emotions were running high.

  “What has happened?” Liquid blue flame danced in his irises.

  A stab of fear deep in Elena’s heart; she couldn’t help it when he got like this. So very other that she feared he’d evolve into a level of existence where she wasn’t welcome, where she couldn’t follow.

  “Elena’s wings show evidence of further degeneration,” Nisia said without stopping her most recent examination of Elena’s flexed left wing. “You can continue to fly,” she said directly to Elena, “but I’ll need to keep a close eye on things.” The healer came around to face her. “We’ll begin with an examination each morning and night.”

  Stomach dropping, Elena didn’t even try to stop herself from shifting so that Raphael’s wing overlapped her own. Though the white fire felt like him, she was glad when his wings solidified, the warm weight of bone and tendon and feathers pressing against her wounded wing.

  “Is this damage a result of the original strain?”

  “It doesn’t matter if it is.” Nisia unfurled then folded in her own wings. “You should be healing.” A thoughtful pause. “Have you been eating enough? We know from previous growth spurts that you require a prodigious amount of energy at such times.”

  “You saw me inhale the food we had sent down here.” Elena shoved a hand through her hair, remembering too late that it was in a braid. Pale strands of near-white fell around her face when she pulled her fingers out. “Do I need even more fuel? I might as well just get a stomach tube and pour things in.”

  Ignoring
her muttered aside with the ease of an angel who dealt with warriors all day, many of them snarly, Nisia said, “It’s highly possible if this growth spurt is a larger one than the others. I’ll speak with your household staff about increasing your energy intake.” The healer considered things for a moment. “I’ll also personally prepare a liquid supplement for you that you need to drink every hour. One full glass.”

  Elena thought of the owls and the voice in her head that predicted death—and told both otherworldly manifestations to stuff it. “Full glass every hour,” she promised.

  After Nisia bustled off to prepare her supplement, Raphael turned and lifted up the arm with the cut.

  “I had another heart attack, I’m healing at the rate of a mortal, and I keep seeing the owls,” Elena said, because keeping secrets from her archangel was a no-go zone.

  Raphael’s jaw worked. “We’ve beaten far more dangerous foes than this.”

  “Yeah—but this enemy isn’t playing fair. How can we fight what we can’t see?” Frowning, she said, “Ashwini told me not to be afraid of the owls, that they’re just messengers of a messenger.”

  A chill whisper across her skin, an old, old voice on the far edge of her hearing.

  “What do you hear, hbeebti?” Raphael’s voice was cold with power, his eyes liquid flame again. “Lijuan could be unseen, and we brought her down. An invisible enemy cannot conquer us.”

  Elena scowled. “You’re right.” But no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t capture the words spoken . . . then they faded altogether. “It’s gone. Like . . . someone moving in a dream.”

  * * *

  • • •

  Elena and Raphael met with Dmitri, Ashwini, and Janvier later that afternoon, when the winter sky was already giving up its fight against the dark. Added to which, a thick fog-colored blanket made the world smaller and more claustrophobic, and dampened even New York’s vibrant spirit. People were picking grocery store shelves bare in anticipation of deadly blizzards.