Phoenix Contract: Part Five (Fallen Angel Watchers)

by Melissa Thomas

  Jaw dropping, Aiden immediately sat forward. “Excuse me, did you say second?”

  Niall regarded her with irritation over the interruption. “She had a son born out of wedlock. I don’t remember the boy’s name, but it caused quite a scandal in the day. Almost as much as a black priest and a married white woman, but not quite.” He snorted and ran one finger over his furry eyebrows, stroking first one and then the other. Storytelling seemed to have mellowed his mood.

  “I have a brother?” Aiden repeated, mentally circling the idea, the latest revelation which was harder to wrap her mind around than the whole Phoenix thing had been. She was shocked to the core. How? Why? How could Matthew not have told her?!

  “I really don’t know anything about the boy, but I’m sure you can locate him if you wish. Just contact your real father. You’re of age now. He cannot deny such a request according to our laws,” Niall supplied brusquely. “And no need to worry. I’m confident the boy’s been taken care of. Shemyaza genes are far too valuable to waste because of minor matters like legitimacy. Like I said, talk to your father.”

  “I’ll do that,” Aiden responded softly.

  “Moving on,” Niall said, apparently eager to continue with his story. “Matthew fell instantly and deeply in love with Sarah. And even though he always insisted that their relationship was purely platonic, I always wondered.”

  Finally, something that didn’t leave Aiden shocked. She blinked but nodded, able to accept the idea that there had been something more going on between her mother and the priest than propriety permitted. After all, Matthew had always shown Aiden the love and devotion he’d have showered upon his own flesh-and-blood child.

  “Inevitably, Jonathan became suspicious and a confrontation occurred, the details of which I wasn’t privy to, but the end result led to Sarah entering premature labor.

  “At this point the story goes from pedestrian, and takes a turn for the strange. Matthew claims to have received a vision of an angel, one of the Grigori no less, who came to him in a dream. The Grigori told him that the child, you, would be the Phoenix reborn.”

  “You know all this?” Aiden said, gazing at him with a degree of suspicion. “I’ll admit, Matthew told me the exact same thing right before he died. That’s why I’m here. But you know about Shemyaza and the Phoenix thing, and you knew my mother and even about my older brother who I never knew existed until today. So I’m having trouble dealing with the fact that everyone seems to know everything there is to know about me, but me!”

  “How does that make you feel?” Niall asked, simulating the detached air of a psychologist, but beneath it Aiden detected an eager greed for her pain.

  “Betrayed,” she admitted grudgingly.

  “That’d fit Matthew’s profile,” Niall said with a faint smirk. “There’s a reason the man died without a single friend.”

  It was conjecture on the old man’s part, but he appeared confident in his conclusion. Aiden bit her tongue and held back a retaliatory retort. She settled for being inwardly smug that Niall Talcott was wrong. Matthew Bunson had died with one friend, the only person who accepted the priest’s lies and omissions, because he just didn’t care. Magnus dwelled in a darker place than Matthew had ever gone, and suddenly the pair’s bizarre friendship started to make sense to Aiden.

  “If it’s any comfort, Matthew told me all this while he was falling down drunk, just following Sarah’s funeral. He didn’t remember our conversation the next morning, and I’m positive that he never told Daniel.

  “A week after Sarah’s funeral, Matthew betrayed us,” Niall continued. “He renounced a lifetime’s worth of work. Three, really, because Daniel and I both had decades invested in the project. He destroyed our notes and several irreplaceable documents, and then he denounced our work as nothing but lies and falsehoods to the Congress of the Houses.”

  “Why? Why would he do such a thing?” Aiden asked softly, respectful of Niall Talcott’s agitation. The man remained visibly upset over the betrayal that had taken place many years before.

  “He made a deal with the devil,” Niall murmured. “Jonathan McLachlan. The man claimed he was too distressed by his wife’s death to even look upon his daughter, but the reality of it is that you were a tool, a bartering chip. We had information that several powerful members of various houses didn’t want coming out, so Jonathan found Matthew’s price, and then he made a deal. You were given to Matthew to be raised, and in exchange, Matthew sold out.”

  Aiden experienced a deep, stabbing pain in her chest. She tried to pretend that it didn’t matter that her own father had been willing to sell her, but the bitterness of rejection brought tears to her eyes. “Why?” she whispered. “What was so important that he would do that?”

  “No, nuh-uh, no,” Niall said, shaking his head vigorously. “I won’t tell you that. Not today and maybe never. I’ll tell you what. I’ll offer you a deal. When and if you become the Phoenix, then return to me, and I’ll tell you then.” He was cynical and skeptical and obviously didn’t believe that she’d ever achieve the station.

  “How am I supposed to do that?” Aiden asked, spreading her hands. “Supposing for a second that I even want to become the next Phoenix, I have no idea how to go about it.”

  “That damn fool and his secrets,” Niall muttered darkly. “Matthew really screwed the pooch this time, didn’t he?”

  The question required no answer, so Aiden sat stone cold still and glared at Niall Talcott. Finally, the old man blinked.

  “Fine,” he said with a sigh. “What the hell? Why not? It’s not like it’d make a difference even if you did succeed.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Aiden asked, but Niall continued to talk, oblivious to or ignoring her question.

  “To become the Phoenix you’ll need to A) be Shemyaza’s scion and of pure blood, and B) you’ll need to find the Heart and the Blood of Shemyaza. On the One Night that comes every five hundred years, the appropriate rituals must be performed, and the heir must eat the Heart and consume the Blood. Then, and only then, could a new Phoenix rise.”

  “Those would have belonged to Cassio? Cassio’s heart, Cassio’s blood?” Aiden asked, hiding her squeamish reaction as the discussion took a turn toward chowing down on viscera. Cannibalism, ugh! Not her thing!

  “Yes, they would have been in Cassio’s possession,” Niall agreed. “Up until his death. Presumably, whoever was responsible took them but was unable to use them. I suspect this party must be biding his time until the next celestial convergence that would permit a new Phoenix to rise from the ashes.”

  “What makes you think that his heart and blood still exist?” Aiden asked. “It’s just as reasonable to conclude that they were destroyed along with Cassio.”

  “No, the Heart and the Blood belonged to Shemyaza. They are indestructible,” Niall replied with one part reverence and another part unquestioning faith—startling in a man so cynical about everything else.

  “Okay.” Aiden sighed. She’d begun to suspect the old man of deliberate obtuseness. No doubt he delighted in leading her on a merry chase.

  “Then how do I find this lost heart and O-positive?” she asked. “Or the guy that has them, anyway?” She’d worry about other minor problems later, like how to get the stolen items back from the thief who’d been powerful enough to destroy Cassio.

  Niall scowled, his bushy eyebrows drawing together to form a hedge. Obviously, he didn’t know the answer. “I know a woman,” he finally volunteered. “A seer. She will be able to help you.”

  He tore the corner off the cover of a periodical and scribbled something, then pressed it into Aiden’s hand. “I’ll call her and let her know that you’re coming.”

  “Thank you, thank you so much.”

  As he escorted her to the door, she wondered if it was just a ploy to be rid of her. However, the more trusting aspect of her nature was grateful for the help he’d offered. It was more than she’d expected, especially given Matthew’s betrayal.<
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  She stepped onto the porch.

  “Good luck,” Niall said. “Oh, and remember our deal! If you make it, then return and we’ll have a talk.” He started to close the door.

  “Wait!” Aiden exclaimed. “How long do I have? How much longer till this One Night?”

  “The One Night is tomorrow,” Niall supplied with a cynical, tired smile. “Like I said, good luck!” Then he shut the door in her face.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  With the Phoenix due to rise in less than eight hours, Aiden experienced the pressure of a serious time crunch. If she couldn’t unravel the mystery, then Father Matthew’s and Katsue’s deaths would be in vain. The specter of failure haunted her. She couldn’t allow that to happen.

  Aiden hurried through Chinatown, negotiating the busy streets automatically. Reaching into her pocket, she removed the crumpled scrap of the magazine cover. She crushed it between her fingers, worrying the sharp folds and the torn edges. Following the crowd, she entered a crosswalk without glancing at the sign to see if it was still clear to walk.

  Brakes squealed. Her heart hit her throat.

  The yellow cab veered sharply to the left as it rounded the corner. Simultaneously, Aiden leapt from the street to the sidewalk. The driver shouted something in Arabic through his open window, but she didn’t catch the words. Spinning, she shot a dirty look after the speeding taxi and almost walked into a fellow pedestrian.

  “Sorry!” Hands outstretched, she spun on her heel to avoid colliding with the businessman. He offered no reply, only a flat stare before he continued on his way. She took a step and then realized she’d dropped the paper. Swooping, she turned back and recovered the scrap from the sidewalk.

  “Get it together, girl,” she muttered to herself and resumed walking. The last thing she wanted or needed was to attract unnecessary attention. The double deaths hadn’t made the newspapers yet, but that didn’t mean that the police weren’t seeking her for questioning. Aiden had no plausible explanation to offer if and when the bodies were discovered, and so far, the only reasonable alibi she’d been able to come up with involved pleading complete and total ignorance.

  Aiden scanned the tightly packed storefronts for an address number and quickly located the shop she sought on the corner of Mott Street next to Joe’s Shanghai. Delicious smells wafted from the restaurant, causing her stomach to rumble. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d eaten, and she spent a minute paused in front of the eatery, waging a battle of willpower versus temptation. In the end, her will won out, because she simply didn’t have time for any delays.

  The sign in the shop’s front window was printed in Kanji with the English translation written beneath. It read:

  Herb Medicine

  Shaman

  A twinge of anxiety struck Aiden when she noticed the closed sign on the door. No “Out to Lunch” or “Be Back Soon,” the store was simply closed during the posted hours of operation without any explanation.

  “Weird,” she muttered.

  Niall Talcott had promised to call ahead and arrange an audience with the seer for her. Had he failed? Forgotten maybe?

  Aiden peered through the glass and saw no one inside. The interior of the store was dark, but a light emanated from the far back of the shop. She supposed it was possible that the seer lived behind or above the store.

  Frowning faintly, Aiden tapped lightly on the glass. No answer. She waited and then knocked again. She’d decided that no one would answer when the store’s lights came on.

  A young ethnically Chinese man, appeared from the back. He had short dark hair, brown eyes, and he stood around six feet tall with a slim, lanky frame. The spread and length of his limbs were out of proportion to his torso which reminded Aiden of a daddy long-legs. The young man moved with the gangly awkwardness of an adolescent in his mid-teens, and she guessed him to be no more than seventeen. She couldn’t immediately place his House. Most likely, he was a member of Arakiba, Baraqijal, or Ananel, those three that were primarily Asian in descent.

  The teen peered at her suspiciously through the glass, and Aiden offered up a friendly smile, doing her best to appear harmless. Apparently, it worked, because he eventually unlocked and opened the door in order to speak with her.

  “Yes?”

  “Is Madame Ah-Loi available? My name is Aiden McLachlan. Mr. Talcott sent me.”

  “Please come in.” He wore an unwelcoming expression that said that he clearly did not approve of or like Aiden. However, he stood aside and allowed her entry.

  Aiden swiftly stepped inside and waited while the teenager relocked the door. Dim illumination cloaked the apothecary shop’s interior. A board counter supported an old-fashioned brass cash register. Bins and bottles lined tall, rickety shelves all of the way to the ceiling. A potent, overpowering odor hung in the air, an olfactory punch that overwhelmed her other senses. Gradually it faded to a more bearable, earthier flavor as her nose adapted to the aura.

  “My name is Michael. I’ll show you where to wait while I fetch my grandmother.”

  “Thank you. I’m sorry for the inconvenience if any is being imposed.”

  “It is a problem that is not great,” he said with a slight, formal bow of his head and a dismissive hand flutter. The entire motion was an artful demonstration of fluidity and gentility but didn’t appear natural.

  Aiden’s eyebrows shot up. The boy sent out a mixture of contrasting signals, his body language distinctly at odds with his physical appearance. His manner struck her as tense and furtive.

  While she studied him, he did the same to her. “I don’t recognize your House. Are you even Of the Blood?” he burst out, wearing a look of consternation and annoyance. The brief air of grace he’d portrayed burst like a bubble.

  “Armaros,” Aiden supplied with an amused smile. She waited, and sure enough, his swift and transparent reaction flowed from surprise to disdain in an instant.

  “Your aura is powerful,” he muttered, once again speaking his mind with no regard for tact.

  “It is?” Aiden asked, bemused. She’d never heard that one before.

  “Yes,” he retorted, drawing his long frame erect with haughty indignation as if her surprise were intended as a personal insult.

  “I have the second sight just like my grandmother,” he continued defensively, leading Aiden to sudden understanding—Michael thought her astonishment reflected skepticism regarding his natural talent instead of his bald observation. The teen wasn’t relating to Aiden at all, except as a distorted mirror of his own insecurity and self-perception.

  “I’m sure you do,” Aiden retorted, her fine eyebrows rising with cynical amusement.

  “I am Baraqijal,” he declared, assuming a defiant stance as if he expected her to contradict him.

  “You’re tall,” Aiden replied, unable to resist needling the boy. Without coming out and directly calling him a liar, she’d called him a liar. Members of House Baraqijal were renowned for being physically petite. They never topped five and a half feet.

  Predictably, Michael bristled, glaring at Aiden with fiery eyes. “My father was of House Azazel,” he admitted, giving up his dirty little secret.

  “Ah,” Aiden intoned.

  Michael was a half-breed. A mongrel in a culture that was notorious for its emphasis on blood purity. House Azazel, the warriors, paired with House Baraqijal, the seers. It was no wonder that the boy’s dual nature was at war with itself.

  “One of House Armaros is hardly in a position to make comment,” Michael sneered, because even a cross of two noble Houses could look down upon Armaros.

  “That may be true,” Aiden agreed equitably.

  Aiden had heard all of the things that were said of Armaros: its members selected breeding partners without regard to merit or blood purity, and the genes of the founder had grown so thoroughly polluted that its constituents were barely Nephilim. Armaros was a House of Mongrels, Impure, or so its detractors maintained.

  In truth, Armaros was t
he House of All Bloodlines. The elders preached diversity and tolerance and fostered a culture that encouraged breeding for strength instead of tradition. Matches were based upon the worth of a potential partner instead of archaic arranged marriages that had more to do with one’s ancestors than individual merit.

  Armaros adopted members of other Houses into their ranks without hesitation, and even the occasional non-blooded human was accepted into their ranks. What mattered was worth, not heritage. As a result, Armaros was the most diverse of the Houses, having members from every ethnic group and nation on the earth. And some of its members called Armaros the strongest of the Houses, although such views were smarter kept private.

  It galled Aiden to acknowledge that she’d gone from being a member of the largest House to the smallest. That was if those trying to shape her destiny had their way. Abruptly, she was fed up with Michael and his obsession with racial purity.

  “You must consider yourself very lucky,” she said, astonishing Michael with the sudden change of topic.

  “What do you mean?” he demanded.

  “Your parents must have loved each other very much if they were willing to incur social censure to have you.”

  The boy wore a puzzled frown. He didn’t get it, didn’t comprehend a single thing she was saying to him which was doubly sad. She’d said it anyway, because maybe, just maybe, it’d give him something to think about.

  “Maybe you should learn to embrace your father’s warlike heritage instead of battling your own nature.” Without awaiting a reply, Aiden walked past him to the back of the store.

  At a fortunate loss for words, Michael sputtered and rushed to follow on her heels. He led her through a storage room, up a narrow flight of stairs, and into a spacious sitting room.

  “If you’ll wait in here, I will tell Madame Ah-Loi that you are here.” Obviously eager to escape her presence, Michael departed in a hurry and left the door open.