She nods to Kat and the other Omen, and the shadow around me dissolves.
I hurl the ball of blue flames growing in my palm in their direction. It hits the wall across from my door, and cracks spread snakelike through the plaster. There’s an explosion of dust and tattered wallpaper.
Then it clears.
Adalind is gone.
Jonathon grabs my arm before I can run after them. “No, Rach.”
I don’t have time to argue because Gabriel skids into the apartment, pink sweater ripped and half-hanging off his chest as his wings disappear into his shoulder blades. There’s a black cat with bloody paws in his arms.
The color drains from his face when he catches sight of Crow. “Ewan! What on earth is going on?”
PART THREE: JUDGEMENT DAY
APPEAL NOTICE AGAINST DISCIPLINARY ACTION:
In line with rules and regulations set out across all Ethereal organizations, I am writing to formally appeal the disciplinary action taken against myself following the incident that took place in the Garden of Eden during the Genesis period. New evidence has come to light that must be presented to a judicial party posthaste.
Yours Devilishly,
Adalind Gardiner
Chapter Thirty-Six
Gabriel drops the cat and strides past us to fall beside Crow’s body. I feel frozen in place, unable to move closer for fear of knowing one way or the other.
“Ewan? Ewan. Wake up. Wake up, you intolerable, good-for-nothing—”
Crow wheezes, eyes slowly opening, and Gabriel’s stiff shoulders slump with relief. As I release the breath I was holding, Jonathon puts an arm around my shoulders, pulling me close.
Crow’s eyes are glazed, but he manages to give Gabriel a clumsy pat on the cheek, leaving a smear of blood across the Angel’s pale skin. “Gabe . . . mate . . . you’re here.”
Gabriel shifts, hurriedly pulling his hand from Crow’s face and wiping it on his jeans, his ragged sweater still hanging in shreds around his shoulders. He glances at the dagger in Crow’s chest and makes a tsk sound.
“You’re lucky you’re not dead. This is not going to be easy to heal. I can’t fake the paperwork for a Miracle again.”
Crow mumbles something, eyelids drifting shut. In a swift movement, Gabriel grabs the hilt of the dagger and wrenches the weapon out. Crow’s body jerks upward, eyes jolting open.
“MOTHER FUC—”
“Calm down,” says Gabriel over Crow’s cursing, dropping the dagger with a loud clang. More blood seeps through the front of Crow’s hoodie, and Crow slams his hand against it as if to somehow staunch it, but Gabriel grasps his wrist and pins it to his side.
Crow grunts. “Get off me!”
“No.” Gabriel unzips Crow’s hoodie with one hand, then peels the sticky material from the wound. “Stop being a baby.”
Crow continues to mumble atrocities, but the Angel pays him no regard. When he deems it safe to release Crow’s wrist, he puts both his slender hands on Crow’s chest before his lips start to move. I can’t hear what he’s saying over the Omen’s continued stream of cussing.
“Will you be quiet?” Gabriel snaps. “I can’t do this if I’m stressed.”
“If you’re stressed?” Crow says through gritted teeth, his bare chest moving up and down quickly with ragged breaths. “I’m the one who’s just had a big bastard dagger wrenched out of my heart!”
“It didn’t touch your heart. Now, shut up.”
“Aye. I’ll shut up. If you—”
“Do you want to die and get sent down to Hell?” Gabriel says testily. “Because there’s a very high possibility that’s where you’re headed, Ewan. Especially after the stunt at Halo Corp.”
Crow looks furious, but he shuts his mouth. After one final glare, Gabriel inclines his head and closes his eyes, looking for all the world like he’s praying. Soon, a white light flows from his hands, and Crow’s torn skin starts to knit back together. The tension leaves his face, and he sighs, eyes shutting.
Gabriel looks at him for a second, something unreadable crossing his face. Then he jerks back, removing his bloody hands.
“Is he okay?” I say.
“Yes. Though, he probably still has a concussion,” he says. “He’ll need keeping an eye on.”
The black cat struts past, tail curling around my leg before it climbs onto Crow’s stomach and curls up on his torso as if it’s taken on that job.
Crow absently pats it on the head with a big hand. “Thanks, buddy.”
“Oh, that’s right, thank the cat. It’s not like I was the one who just saved your life,” mutters Gabriel, prompting a smile from Crow.
“I can look after him,” I say, going to sit on one of the breakfast stools.
“Aye. You can give me a sponge bath, little Demon,” Crow mumbles, smile widening.
Gabriel narrows his eyes. As does Jonathon.
Before I can figure out the best way to change the subject, Gabriel rises in a fluid motion. Blood soaks the knees of his jeans. His feet crunch over the broken plates as he moves to the sink to wash his hands.
“So are you going to tell me what on earth happened here?” he says over the sound of running water. “It’s lucky I was already halfway here when his friend’s cat came to get me. The alert has finally gone out that the scrolls are missing. Halo Corp. and Devils Inc. are in chaos.”
“So Kat didn’t betray Crow then?” I say, studying the purring cat on Crow’s stomach.
“Who knows with Omens,” says Gabriel.
Crow opens his eyes at that. “I know. Kat’s with Adalind now. She follows the money. But that doesn’t mean she wanted me dead.”
“Just everyone else dead,” I bite back.
Gabriel seems to want to ask more questions, but Jonathon taps me on the shoulder.
“Rach, I need to go now,” he says.
“What? No!” I say. “We need to figure this out together. The damage is done now.”
Jonathon looks at his sneakers, shame flickering across his tanned face. “I know,” he says. “That’s why I need to go. I need to get to Adam before Adalind does. Warn him she’s coming. Hide the apple.”
Gabriel whips around at that, spraying water from the tap onto the cat on Crow’s chest. It hisses then resettles, tail swishing.
“It’s a long story,” I say. “But Adalind is looking for Adam, and if she finds him, it’ll mean the end of the world.”
Gabriel opens his mouth.
“You have blood on your cheek,” I say to prevent an “I told you so” speech.
He spins back to the sink and starts vigorously scrubbing his face.
“Can’t you just message him or something?” I ask Jonathon.
“He’s been off the grid all year. No phone. No Afterlife. I have to go find him. It’s the only way.”
“Aye,” says Crow, wincing as he pushes himself up to his elbows. The cat hisses again and this time jumps off his exposed chest. “He’s right. We need to warn Adam. Jonathon’s our best shot.”
I curse under my breath. “You know how to find him?”
Jonathon nods, putting his hood back up. “He’s currently hiding out in Cambodia. I think it’ll take me a couple of days to track him, but I can get a private plane from LAX in the next hour. Adalind won’t be able to get there much faster.”
“I should come. She has two Omens with her. And you—”
“Don’t have any powers. Yeah, I know. But. . .” He produces his cell phone and waves it in front of me. “Founder of Afterlife, remember?”
“Show-off,” I grumble.
“I can get a couple of Good Omens to accompany me with a few clicks of a button. Speaking of which . . .” He taps at his screen. “There. The hit on you has been removed.”
“You couldn’t have done that before?” says Gabriel, who’s scrubbed his cheeks enough that they are rosy.
“I haven’t logged in much this year,” admits Jonathon. “But even if I saw it sooner, it wouldn’t have been sa
fe to take it down. Adalind would have known I’d seen it. She might have escalated. Sorry, sis.”
“I don’t care about that. But I want to come—”
“You’re more use here.” He puts his hands on my shoulders. “If I fail, Adalind will be coming back. And we need a plan B.”
I sigh. “Fine.” I punch his arm softly. “But you better come back.”
“As soon as I can.” He kisses me on the forehead, turns, then heads out into the wrecked hallway. With one last sad smile, he closes the door.
I swallow the tightness in my throat, blink a couple of times, then turn to Gabriel. I can’t wallow in self-pity when so much is at stake.
“Well?” he says, blue eyes sharp. “What’s going on?”
“Can I get some help?” Crow says, still on the ground.
Eyes on me, Gabriel offers a hand. Then, seemingly realizing he’s helped Crow twice in the past ten minutes, he pulls his arm away. Crow simply looks amused. He touches the bloody scrap of ugly pink material still hanging like a sash across Gabriel’s shoulders.
“At least some good has come out of all this,” he says cheerfully. “You’ll finally have to throw away this god-awful sweater.”
Gabriel jerks away, stepping over a cracked plate to put some distance between them. Then he leans against the breakfast bar, folding his arms. Crow leans against the other corner, making a show of mimicking the posture.
“Remember what Eve said to you about the apple?” I say, trying to distract Gabriel from the regret he obviously feels about saving Crow’s life.
With some effort, Gabriel turns his attention back to me, and I tell him everything Jonathon told us. Meanwhile, Crow potters around the messy kitchen, grabbing a bottle of questionable milk from the fridge and pouring it into a dish for the cat. Then he heads into his bedroom, reappearing with one of his white T-shirts, which he tosses at Gabriel as I finish the story.
Gabriel’s face is pale as he snatches the shirt from the air, then he pulls the scrap of bloody pink material over his head and folds it neatly on the breakfast bar. “While Jonathon is tracking down Adam, I’ll take Evie into protective custody at Halo Corp. I’ll do it now.”
“Then what?” I say.
“If Adalind gets back to LA with the apple, she’ll need to file for a retrial at Halo Corp. Once she does that, by Ethereal law, it can’t be refused. But if I can intercept it. . .” He pulls Crow’s top over his head. It’s way too big for him.
Crow watches him, unusually serious. “Don’t get caught, mate.”
“I won’t. In the meantime, you two might want to start thinking about what an earth we’re going to do if the Serpent gets its powers back.”
He heads for the door, but Crow calls him back.
“Thanks,” says Crow. “For saving me. You didn’t have to.”
Gabriel glances over his shoulder, revealing a glimmer of raw emotion in his eyes. “You don’t get it, do you? Still, after all this time?” He takes a deep breath. “Yes. I did.”
Crow’s eyes linger on door long after Gabriel leaves. When he realizes I’m watching him, he gives me a sad half-smile, which I return. There’s no need to say it out loud: Gabriel has feelings for Crow that aren’t reciprocated.
Slowly, Crow walks over to stand in front of my stool, resting his hands on my thighs.
“You okay, little Demon?” he says.
“Yeah,” I say with a sigh.
“Seeing your brother again must have been weird,” he coaxes.
I stiffen, not really wanting to address the jumble of emotions writhing inside me right now.
“So . . . Ewan?” I say, deflecting away from the personal stuff. Or, at least, my personal stuff. “That’s your real name?”
He smiles, but it’s tight-lipped and doesn’t reach his eyes. “Aye. It’s been a while since anyone called me that.”
“Why did you change it?”
He shrugs. “That’s not me anymore.”
“Hmm.” I put my hands on his cheeks, forcing his eyes to meet mine. “You okay?”
He exhales. “Aye.”
“Liar.”
I look at his chest, covered in dried blood, and run my fingers over where the dagger protruded not even an hour ago. His breathing deepens at my touch, his heart thumping beneath my fingertips.
“I said I’d look after you,” I say.
“Aye. You did, didn’t you, little Demon?”
As he looks at my hand, a slow, wicked smile spreads across his face—genuine this time. My lips twitch at how simple it was to cheer him up.
“I think it’s time for my bath,” he says.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
A little while later, Crow sits in the tub while I kneel on the slightly damp black bath mat beside it. Halfway up his chest, the water has a rusty tint from all the blood, and there are a few stray bubbles leftover from my attempts to make a bubble bath using his Walmart-brand shower gel. As far as I can tell, the scent is called “Masculine.”
The bathroom is small—only big enough for the tub, a toilet, a sink, and a towel rack with a single ragged pink towel that looks neither clean nor like something Crow would actively choose. I wonder if it was left by the previous owner. I wonder if he’s ever washed it.
The mirror above the sink is cracked—an Omen casualty, I imagine—and the only light comes from the still-wrecked living room outside.
“I thought this was going to be a sponge bath, little Demon,” Crow says. “So where’s the sponge?”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” I say, patting down my sweatpants. “Let me just pull out my personal loofa.”
Crow laughs. “Well, if you’re not going to rub me down, at least get in with me,” he says. “Why have you still got clothes on?”
“I’m not getting in that tub,” I say. “I can’t believe you’re in it. Have you ever even washed it?”
“You don’t need to clean a bath, little Demon.” He rolls his eyes. “It gets washed every time I use the shower.”
I laugh, but really. “Seriously, don’t you ever clean this place?”
“You know, back in my day, cleaning was left to the women.”
I know him well enough by now to sense he’s trying to provoke a reaction, so I just pat his cheek. “Well, it’s not your day anymore, is it, sweetie?”
He chuckles, then slowly slides back and locks his hands behind his head, water sloshing over his torso. Despite the fact he’s an ass and his bath is gross, I have a strong urge to run my hands all over him.
“Don’t I know it,” he says, looking up at the ceiling. “I told you before, I don’t have people over, so I don’t care if it’s a mess.”
“You never have anyone over?” I ask, skeptical given his apparent fondness for anyone with a vagina.
“No,” he replies simply. “Never.”
There’s an awkward half-beat of silence as we both process what he’s just said: that despite his apparent discomfort at people being in his apartment, here I am.
“Do you think your brother likes me?” he asks.
I trail my fingers over the hard ridges of his torso. “I think you were doing okay until you mentioned the sponge bath.”
He grins. “Aye, it just slipped out. It’s not my fault! I was under duress. I can’t be held accountable for my actions.”
I wonder how often he thinks that.
“You still going to ask him for a favor?” I ask, bringing my hand back to grip the side of the bath.
“Aye.”
“Can I ask you a question?”
“You just did, little Demon.”
“You said you wanted my brother’s help to blackmail Angels or to get some money off him. And you’re always going on about doing jobs for money. But what do you want the money for?” I look around the dingy bathroom. “What are you spending it on?”
He acts offended. “You don’t like my place?”
“It’s not that I don’t like it. It’s bigger than the space I have, and you’re livi
ng on your own, which I’d love to be able to afford. But given how money-obsessed you seemed when we first met, this place isn’t what I expected. I thought you’d live in a big mansion or something.”
“Maybe I’m saving up for something.”
“I saw some letters from a charity on your counter.”
“Aye. I’m a charitable man.”
I scrunch up my face, wondering if he’s part of some kind of money laundering scheme or something. “Are you though?”
“I’m hurt, little Demon. I’d say I’m pretty generous.” He winks at me. “In certain respects.”
“Seriously though,” I say. “Are you in some kind of debt?”
He doesn’t respond, only looks back up at the ceiling. “In a way.”
His full lips are wet and hard with tension. The water ripples a little as he breathes, obscuring his thick thighs.
“In what way?” I ask.
“Doesn’t matter, little Demon.”
I stare at him a moment longer. I have to admit, I’m curious about him—more curious than I’d like to be, given that this is just a casual thing. But I hate it when people push me to talk about stuff I’d rather avoid. So I shrug.
“Okay.”
The tension in his face relaxes.
“So,” he says. “If we haven’t got a sponge, I guess you’ll just have to use your hands.”
“Yeah?”
“Uh-huh.” He nods down to his body. “Go on then. I’m ready.”
Holding his gaze, I dip my hand into the water by his waist. He closes his eyes, a smile spreading across his lips.
Then I splash him in the face.
His knee jerks up, sloshing water over both of us.
“You’re the worst,” he says.
“I prefer diabolical,” I tell him.
Then we both start to laugh.
“You learned from the master, little Demon.”
The smile lingers in his eyes even after the laughter fades, but there’s something else there too. Vulnerability? Sadness? Pain, maybe?
“What?” I say.
“Nothing. I just . . . I like spending time with you, little Demon,” he says.
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