“Are you in love with him?”
I jerked my gaze back to her. “I’ve known him all of four days.” An intense four days, but still . . .
“But you like him?”
“Yes.”
“So, what happens now?”
“I don’t know, Celeste. I don’t know what to do.”
She slid her hands into her skinny jeans’ pockets, her oversized blue plaid shirt flapping like a piece of tarp.
“What should I do?”
“Don’t ask my advice, Leigh.” Her attention was on the dust billowing around her black combat boots, which she wore come rain or shine, winter and summer alike. “Because I’m biased.”
I nodded, then went right back to brooding silently as I followed Celeste out of the park, across the river, and all the way back to the guild. Even though I wanted to lose myself in the maze of twisted streets for a few more hours, I entered our celestial sanctum.
The air was alive with the twittered arias of the rainbow-winged sparrows perched on the quartz fountains and the tinkle of feminine voices. Three Fletchings were moving on the other side of the Atrium, laughing about something one of them had said. How I envied their carefree manner.
Their laughter faded, replaced by a series of rapid-fire whispers, “C’est elle, non?” “Je n’arrive pas à croire qu’elle a réussi.” “Incroyable.” It’s her? I can’t believe she succeeded. Incredible.
They were talking about me.
About my startling exploit.
News traveled fast.
One of the girls—the blue-eyed, pixie-haired blonde I remembered from the Ranking Room the night after my disastrous dinner with Jarod—looked straight at me. “How did you do it?”
Respectful of the archangel who surely didn’t want the news of a wrongful score traveling the halls of the guild, I said, “I didn’t give up.”
Celeste glanced at me, then back at the girls, who seemed to be waiting for me to add something more.
When I didn’t, the blue-eyed girl said, “Your friend Eve was looking for you. I think she’s in the cafeteria.”
The scent of the heavy pink blooms blanketing the quartz walls became stifling.
Eve was here? I gaped at Celeste, wondering if she’d known, but her eyes were as wide as my own.
For several heartbeats, I barely moved. Only my fingers twitched, creasing the hammered purple silk fabric of my dress. There were only two reasons Eve would have come—either she’d completed her wings and had traveled to Paris to say goodbye like she’d promised or she’d heard I’d earned a hundred feathers and had come to . . . what? Congratulate me? Check that I hadn’t cheated?
Whatever her reasons for using the Channel for a visit, I realized I didn’t want to see her. I was afraid of what I might say to her. Sure, her plan had backfired, and I’d won, but what was it I’d won?
Awareness that angels weren’t virtuous, me included?
Doubt as to whether I wanted to spend an eternity in Elysium or a single lifetime on Earth?
Lucidity that I couldn’t marry a man for status?
A broken heart, because I cared too deeply for an emotional cripple?
I started to back out of the Atrium, suffocating on the smell of petals, when my name echoed against every single slab of translucent quartz. Jaw clenched, I looked over my shoulder at the girl with the heavy black hair and sharp hazel gaze who’d been the bearing wall of my childhood. Where had she been when my house crumbled? When I was left in the rubble?
“Congratulations,” she said. “I just heard the news.”
I searched for a glint of genuine happiness but found only uncertainty. Which was new for Eve.
“I trusted you,” I said tonelessly. “And you played me for a fool, Eve.”
“The engagement was my dream, Leigh, not yours.”
I bottled up my desire to shout, because we had an audience, and they weren’t aware of the finer details of my mission. “And what? That was reason enough to throw away fifteen years of friendship?”
Eve’s lashes flapped like the wings of the sparrow swooping around one of the statues.
“You could’ve talked to me,” I said. “We could’ve discussed it. You didn’t have to—to set me up to fail.”
“But you didn’t fail. You never fail.”
Celeste wrapped a hand around my forearm as though to remind me I wasn’t alone. “You really have no shame.”
“Stay out of it, winglet,” Eve barked.
“Don’t speak to Celeste like that,” I answered so sharply that Eve’s entire body jerked.
“Piece of cherub dung,” Celeste muttered under her breath, just loud enough for Eve to hear.
Scowling, Eve knotted her arms in front of her body. “Have the Ishim taken pity on you, or do you have no more feathers to lose?”
“Don’t be a bitch, Eve! Celeste’s never done anything to deserve—” The pinch to my wing bones reawakened their soreness.
As a feather fell from my invisible wings, the Atrium was plunged in the deepest of silences. Even the fountains seemed to have stopped gurgling and the sparrows to have stopped singing.
“How—I thought you’d earned a hundred feathers?” Eve sputtered.
I scrutinized the glittery feather. “I did.”
“But then . . . how?”
Whispers erupted among our audience.
“Being around Jarod cost me many.” I didn’t add that most had been molted by choice. It was none of her business. None of anyone’s business. “Aren’t you happy? I won’t be entering Elysium before you after all.”
She wet her lips. “How many do you have left to earn?”
“Why? You have another sinner to suggest?” My sarcasm made her flinch.
“I’m sorry, okay?” she mumbled.
And it struck me then that I wasn’t sorry. “I’m not.” I stared around the courtyard, first at the Fletchings amassed in the corners of the grand Atrium, then at Celeste whose forehead was scrunched in worry, then at the bright dome of elysian sky before returning my sun-stung gaze to Eve. “This mission has taught me so much. Has brought me so much.”
The awe and tenderness that had softened Jarod’s face last night and again this morning filled me with a single certainty—I wouldn’t leave Earth or sign off from him until he and I had a little chat.
I peeled Celeste’s fingers off my arm. “I need to go.”
“Leigh—” I thought Celeste was about to tell me it was a bad idea, but instead, she said, “Be safe.”
I sent her a quick smile.
“And call or message me this time. Please!”
I nodded as I exited the guild, leaving behind a whole bunch of little fires I hoped the Ophanim would manage to douse before the smoke reached Elysium and brought down the wrath of the Seven.
As though I’d downed an electrical charge, all of my muscles zinged as I raced down the stairs of the subway station and through the maze of tunnels. The train doors opened just as I reached the platform.
The carriage smelled rank, but it didn’t prevent me from inhaling great big gulps of air to slow my careening heart. A bead of sweat slid between my shoulder blades and made me shiver even though I was flushed from the heat of my run. As the train rattled in the city’s underbelly, I thought of Eve, of what seeing her had made me feel, and realized that my anger had turned entirely to disappointment, in her and in myself.
I was done being a feckless doormat, and ironically, it was all thanks to the girl who’d treated me like one.
Chapter 42
When the blood-red doors opened, my chest flamed with anticipation.
I stepped over the raised threshold, smacking right into a body.
“Whoa there.” The cigarette Tristan must’ve just taken out of a pack toppled from his fingers and rolled against my espadrilles.
“S-sorry.” I crouched to pick it up. As I handed it over, I couldn’t help but search his nails for the blood from the torture session he’d boasted abou
t last night.
“He’s not here, Feather.”
My nickname made my attention snap back to his face. “Where is he?”
“At the spa.” Tristan tapped the cigarette against his palm.
“The spa?”
“You know, that place people go to in order to relax?”
For some reason, I couldn’t picture Jarod at a spa.
“I was just heading out to see him. Want to hitch a ride?”
“He won’t mind?”
Tristan lit up and sucked on his cigarette before blowing the smoke out of the corner of his mouth. “Nah.” He tipped his head toward Jarod’s chauffeured car, which idled behind me. After opening the door for me, he slapped it shut, then went around the car and got in. Cranking his window down, he asked, “Did I ever tell you the story of how Jarod and I became friends?”
I set my bag at my feet and crossed my legs, smoothing the material of my dress. “No, you didn’t.”
“I met him at the playground. I was ten and waiting on a park bench for my mother to finish blowing one of her customers in the building across the street.”
My hands froze on the violet crepe, and I gasped.
“I got bored, so I went into the playground. Maman would always spend the money she made whoring herself on booze, so I’d learned to make my own way. Playgrounds were great hunting grounds for cash and food, what with mothers and nannies so distracted by their kids. Plus I was small for ten, so I didn’t attract suspicion.
“Muriel was there. I didn’t know who she was then, of course. Just saw that she wore a very shiny watch with lots of diamonds. I thought she was Jarod’s mom, ’cause nannies didn’t own Cartier watches. I debated whether to steal it from her. I was getting pretty good at pickpocketing at that point. I was going to go for it when I saw that the kid she was watching like a hawk wore an equally blingy timepiece. Even though I doubted such a young boy would sport something of value, I approached him to check. Lo and behold, it was an Audemars-Piguet.”
I wasn’t sure what that was but imagined it was expensive.
“So, I hung around and befriended him, and he seemed plenty happy for the company. Anyway, I filched the watch. He didn’t notice a thing; Muriel didn’t either, and she was right there.” He sucked on his cigarette, then flicked it out of the moving car. “I should’ve left then. Actually, I tried, but the little twerp begged me to play one more game, and I didn’t have the heart to turn him down. During that last game, the watch slipped and fell into the sand, right at Muriel’s feet.”
He smiled.
“You should’ve seen her face. She went purple and lobbed words at me I’d never even heard, and I had a very flowery vocabulary. Of course, it called attention to us, and soon we had an audience. Jarod’s bodyguard—Amir—and a cop even joined the fray. I thought for sure my days as a street urchin were over, that I’d be sent into juvie or placed in the system.”
He powered his window up.
“Jarod handed the fucking watch to me. I thought he was trying to frame me, not that I needed framing . . . I was the biggest attraction outside of the Mona Lisa that day. The cop started to move toward me when Jarod said, ‘He didn’t steal it; I gave it to him.’” Tristan’s smile increased. “When Muriel asked him why, he said I looked hungry.” He shook his head, letting out a short snort.
“Did you take the watch?”
“Of course I took it. I was hungry. And I needed clothes that weren’t two sizes too small and shoes in which my toes could lay flat.”
“So, how did you become friends?”
“He saved my ass that day, so I came back and saved his, first from boredom, and then from one of his uncle’s dealings that had gone wrong.”
The sedan glided to a stop and the locks retracted.
“You can leave your bag in the car.” He hopped out, then came around to my side. As he opened my door, he said, “Can I give you a word of advice?”
Scooting out, I nodded tentatively.
“Don’t get attached. Leeches don’t encounter a pleasant fate in La Cour des Démons.”
Shock sank into my veins. “Are you calling me a leech?”
“Are women anything else? You suck our money, our energy, and, if we’re lucky, our cocks.” He slammed the door shut, and the sound made me jump.
Seventy-eight . . . His number, which had probably increased since Layla’s, swam across his tanned face and glacial blue eyes. Suddenly, I could picture him injuring one of my peers.
“You had a bad example, I get that. But it doesn’t give you the right to badmouth me or my gender.”
“I’m just telling it like it is, Feather.”
“Stop calling me that!”
“Doesn’t bother you when Jarod says it.”
“You’re not Jarod.” You’re the watch thief who got off scot-free and just called me a leech.
He cranked up his chin. “I think I misjudged you.”
My heart thumped. Was he going to apologize? Not that his apology would erase his insult. I waited, but all he did was flash me another grin before gesturing toward a set of porte-cochère decorated with metal grommets.
I trailed him inside a courtyard that smelled of burning oil and orange blossom, toward outsized white lattice doors. Sitar music echoed off the sapphire tiles that lined every wall in the spa’s entryway.
A woman dressed in a midriff-baring gauzy outfit greeted Tristan with a kiss on both cheeks. “You’re a little late . . .”
Did he have an appointment too?
The woman’s gaze slid over to me. Was she going to ask me if I wanted a massage? Even though I’d had some in the past, having accompanied my spa-addicted ex-best friend repeatedly back in New York, I was in absolutely no mood to relax at that moment. At least, not until I spoke with Jarod.
Bodies moved in the shadows. I knew Jarod had bodyguards, but I couldn’t get used to their constant presence. Without meaning to, I backed into Tristan, who snuck out his arm and laced it around my waist.
“Don’t worry about them,” he said.
He was right. The person I needed to worry about was him.
As I extricated myself from his grip, I wondered if Jarod was aware of his friend’s shady depths. Probably not if he kept him around . . .
I understood then, that to truly save Jarod’s soul, he would need to disentangle himself from Tristan and the toxic adoration his second vowed him. Unless I could help Tristan become a better man.
The glow of colored glass lanterns tinted his silvering hair pink and green and cast squares of light into the eyes he’d trained on me. Not enough, though, to read his mind.
Chapter 43
The dim hallway was lined with thick candles dripping wax over the sapphire tiles and casting dancing shadows across the walls.
When we arrived in front of a door crafted from pure bronze, I finally spoke up. “You should give women another chance, Tristan. They’re not all nefarious.”
He grunted.
“If you open your heart—”
“Then I give someone the power to destroy it. I’m touched by your concern, but not the least bit interested.” I was about to protest when he added, “Jarod and I, we like our lives just the way they are.” He raised his fist and rasped on the metal, and the clangor reverberated inside my chest. “I hope you understand what I’m saying.”
We were greeted by a man with the smoothest head and the densest beard.
“A latecomer,” Tristan told the guard blocking the doorway.
I’d been expecting silence and more relaxing string music. Instead, the cavernous space beyond the guard resonated with tinkling laughter, gruff tones, and splashing water.
Baldy gave me a once-over before stepping to the side and revealing a sight I wished to forget immediately.
Two naked women lounged next to a luminescent rectangular pool, their skin glistening with oil. Another one gyrated, half-submerged in the pool, over the lap of a middle-aged man. Dragging the girl’s wet hair
back, he canted his round head to the side to catch a clearer glimpse of me.
“You spoil me, Jarod,” he said.
Jarod, whose spine—or what I could see of it rising over the mosaic basin’s edge—was marred by a red scar I’d missed last night.
“Excuse me?” Jarod’s low timbre made goose bumps sprout all over me.
The girl in the pool stood and inched seductively toward Jarod, water sloshing around her submerged waist.
Horror struck my veins. “I-I shouldn’t be here.”
“Nonsense, Feather.” Tristan’s ashen breath was low and sultry in my ear. “The prime minister’s a huge fan of redheads. Your presence will give us some extra sway.”
I sucked in some air that hissed through my gritted molars. “I’m not a—”
“Tristan, why is the girl still clothed?” the politician asked.
Because I hadn’t come for the freaking orgy! I’d come for the man throwing it. What was it with Jarod and orgies anyway? Was this some kink of his or a French bartering tool?
Jarod turned around then, and although I was glad his eyes were no longer on the naked woman massaging her nipples, they were filled with so much fury that sweat dotted my brow. “What the—Tristan, get her out of here, now!”
“Non, non. Bring her closer,” the minister said.
Wisely, Tristan didn’t press me any closer. I would’ve broken his arm and each one of his fingers had he set a single one on me.
“Such a divine hair color. Is it real? Actually, don’t tell me. I’d love to uncover this on my own,” the politician added with a smile that made his already round cheeks puff up some more.
Jarod’s jaw hardened. Voice clattering against the perspiring tiles, he barked, “This one hasn’t been vetted for venereal diseases yet. She shouldn’t even be in here.”
The thick man tittered. “You know I like to live dangerously. Come closer, ma petite.”
“Tristan!” Jarod growled.
Tristan grabbed my arm. I tried to shake him off, perfectly capable of getting my own self out of this damn spa, but his grip hardened, denting my flesh.
Feather (Angels of Elysium Book 1) Page 26