“Of course. Let me wrap your plate up.”
“You don’t need to. I can put it in my hammerspace.” She caught her mom on the way to the dining room, hugged her tight. “I’m so glad for you and Joe.”
“Oh, baby. I’m glad for us, too.”
Taylor drew back. “Good. Because I just want you happy. But listen. I don’t know if I’m going to be a Guardian this time next month. And even if I am, maybe I’ll die on the job. It’s not much different from being a cop. So if you make this choice, don’t do it because I might live forever or because I won’t. Don’t do it for Jason. It has to be for yourself. Immortality is too long to live it for anyone else.”
“That is true,” Michael said softly.
“See? And Michael knows because he’s a billion years old.” She’d probably learned it from him, too. “Okay?”
“Okay.” Her mother’s palms caught her cheeks. “But you don’t need to worry. Do I want you to live forever? Of course. But this is a decision that I made for myself. The only worry I struggled with was whether I was being selfish. And maybe I am, but I’m not hurting anyone. So I’m happy to live with that.”
“That’s good, too, because you’ll have to live with it for a very long time.” Taylor grinned, kissed her forehead. “I’m going to say good-bye to Jason, and then we’re going to go. If you need anything—”
“I’ve got my alarm.” She touched her pendant.
“Well, that, too. But I was going to tell you I had a new phone number. You have it, Joe?”
“I’ve got it. And I’ll keep you updated on those interviews tomorrow.”
“Thank you.” She looked to Michael. “Can you anchor to Khavi yet?”
“No.”
So no finding out whether Khavi knew about the demons attacking Colin and Savi, or even where they might be held. She’d seen into their futures before. Maybe she’d seen where they were.
It would also be really freaking nice if Khavi saw that they needed to talk to her and showed up soon. But maybe that was why she was shielding her mind now.
Taylor’s worry carried her the short trip to Jason’s room, where she intended to joke with him about being forced to listen to Joe and Mom work out their bloodlust in the next room, to push her fingers through his hair as she always did, but she only stood staring at him, her hands in her pockets.
“It’s safe to touch him,” Michael said, and he took up all the space in this room, too. Not even looking at him, and he did. “And it’s safe to touch your mother, your friends. Me.”
So he’d noticed how she’d balled up her fingers with every hug, every touch. But of course he had. He couldn’t tell her the color of her mother’s plates, but he probably knew how many breaths Taylor had taken.
Maybe he knew this, too. “If I used my Gift now, what do you think I’d see?”
He looked at Jason now, too. “I don’t know.”
She sighed. “I can’t really decide which is better—to see all those glowing threads, or to find out that they’re gone. And I can’t even bring myself to look.”
Strong fingers caught her chin, tilted her gaze up to his. “Then don’t.”
God, he made it sound so simple. Maybe it was.
She nodded against his hand, stepped away to kiss Jason’s brow. “I’ll stay longer next time,” she told him. “But we’ve got vampires to save and demon ass to kick. Hopefully. So be good.”
Because Taylor would know it. Like Santa. You’ve been naughty or nice. But instead of lumps of coal, she gave the gift of Hell.
Or Heaven. Michael slipped his arm around her, drew her in against his broad chest. They didn’t immediately jump. His dark gaze searched her face. His big hand cupped her jaw, thumb sliding across her cheekbone—as if wiping away tears.
Because he’d heard. On the balcony, with Joe. He’d heard her crying.
“Don’t,” she whispered.
He didn’t listen. His head dipped toward hers. Heart pounding, she closed her eyes. His warm breath feathered across her lashes. His lips brushed her eyelids. Left, right. Not even a kiss. Just a whisper of one.
The pain in her throat almost choked her. She couldn’t bear this tenderness now.
Then his arms surrounded her, tucking her cheek against his shoulder. He held her against his chest, his jaw against her temple. His harmonious voice wrapped her in an embrace as soft as his body was hard. “You’ll be all right, Andromeda Taylor. Whether human or Guardian.”
“If you heard all that, you know I’m not.”
“You will be.” He lifted his head to look down at her, his gaze inescapable. “You are too strong for anything else.”
No. She wasn’t even strong enough to stop this. She wasn’t strong enough to step out of his arms—or to look away.
But that was okay. This was where she needed to be right now. She’d figure out how to do the rest later.
“I just want to find Savi,” she said.
Without a word, Michael formed his wings and they jumped.
* * *
The world tilted and spun into cold wind, the steady vibration of metal, the rumble of traffic far below, the scent of the sea—and nothing but air beneath her feet.
Michael’s pectoral formed a hard pillow for Taylor’s cheek. She opened her eyes. The ocean stretched out ahead, the orange sun shimmering above the horizon. She glanced down and closed her eyes, suddenly dizzy again.
She swallowed and made herself look. “We’re above the Golden Gate Bridge.”
“Yes.” His wings beat at the same slow, steady pace as his heart. “My sweeps have more range up here. In the city and on level with the sea, I’m blocked to the north.”
Because of the Marin Hills. “Too much stone? That’s why you couldn’t anchor to Irena in the caverns, even though her shields were open.”
“Yes.”
She looked to the west. The sun hadn’t yet touched the horizon. “How much time before it sets?”
“About eight minutes. But it could be more or less for Savi, depending upon her location.”
God. And now it was just waiting, hoping that when Savi woke up, she might surprise the demons, get through the shields, call for help. If Taylor didn’t distract herself until then, she might go mad.
She looked down. The orange bridge was just a ribbon, the Presidio a patch of green edged by concrete. “You know, there are always tourists with telephoto lenses down there. Someone might see you hovering.”
“I’ve been photographed before. The pictures are always called fakes.”
“I’m not thinking of that. I’m thinking that they might get a look up your toga. And maybe a picture of your junk is going to be splashed across the cover of a supermarket tabloid. Like angel porn.”
“You’re obsessed with porn.”
Taylor snorted. “True. That doesn’t change the fact that you’re dangling your bits over the bridge.”
Amusement curved his mouth. “Nothing is dangling. I wrap linens beneath.”
“Really?” She tried to picture that, came up with an image straight out of a gladiator movie, complete with gleaming muscles, blood, and dirt.
Thumbs-up to that.
“Look if you don’t believe me.” His gaze challenged her to.
“That’s okay.” But now she wanted to. “I know there has to be a reason, though. Something to do with fighting and not making yourself vulnerable. Even though you can’t get hurt down there.”
“Yes, I can.”
“When we were in Hell, I kneed you hard enough to smash through rock. You didn’t even flinch.”
“Because I instantly healed myself with my Gift. Though if a human kicked me, it wouldn’t hurt. A Guardian or demon could damage me.”
“So you tuck it away before you fight.”
“Of course. If it’s swinging around, there’s a greater chance that my opponent’s sword will cut it off. Then I have to track down the severed pieces to heal myself properly—and if I can’t find the missing par
t, wait until it grows again.”
She choked, then buried her face against his chest and howled her laughter, felt the answering shake of his.
“Oh, my God.” She wiped her eyes. “Really?”
“Unfortunately, yes.”
Unfortunately? “It’s happened before?”
He nodded, his smile fading. “A few times when I have been tortured, or after giving myself up to save another Guardian. Demons assume that I care more about my penis than my head or my heart—or that it hurts more than removing something else—so they always cut it off first. And in battle, I can’t think of any part of my body that hasn’t needed to be healed or replaced. I’m fortunate that I can heal myself very quickly.”
Yes, he was. And that wasn’t so funny, now. Taylor shifted, lifting herself up against him so that she wouldn’t have to crane her head back so much to see him. Face-to-face, her arm curled around his neck, her thighs lightly squeezing the sides of his ribs to steady her position. He braced his forearm beneath her bottom, giving her a seat.
The wind caught her hair, blew the tangled strands across her cheek and into her eyes. She dragged it back. “Was healing your first Gift?”
“Along with teleporting. But that was the same for all of the grigori.”
Lucky them. “And Khavi received foresight, and Anaria truth. Why did you get healing? Do you know what part of your life it reflected?”
“It’s impossible to know for certain,” he said. “But I can guess.”
He lifted her slightly higher—and he’d turned, she realized. The wind was in her face now, instead of blowing her hair into her eyes. She caught a glimpse of the setting sun on every downward sweep of his black wings, the bottom of the disk flattening against the horizon.
Four minutes left. “Tell me.”
“I was young. It was perhaps my eighth or ninth summer. My father was still himself; my mother was still alive—and there were ten of us, the grigori. All of us with wings, all of us strong. All of them my friends. But the human children in the nearby villages were terrified of us.”
“Why? Were you cruel to them?”
“Not intentionally. But I was often thoughtless. We were taught to be kind, but, except for Anaria, we weren’t always careful. Me in particular. Even when I wasn’t a Guardian, my body wasn’t easily damaged—and when it was, I didn’t feel much pain. So when I was told to be careful with those weaker than me, knowing that I might hurt them didn’t mean anything.”
Oh. Her gaze searched his face, saw the regret there. “But you hurt someone.”
“I pushed a boy aside as I was walking through a crowd near the temple. Not in anger, or even haste. Just careless with my strength. I didn’t kill him, but I hurt him—and I still didn’t understand what I’d done. What were broken bones? I’d felt that pain before, but it was nothing. I didn’t know why he was screaming.” He broke off, his throat working. “So when Michael arrived, I asked him. And he showed me.”
“Michael, the archangel?” Who had been friends with his father. “The one you were named after?”
“Yes. He healed the boy, then he lifted his hand”—Michael raised his, fingers spread before snapping them into a fist—“and crushed every bone in my body. And I learned what it meant to hurt.”
Stunned, she stared at him.
He grinned. “I’ve surprised you again.”
“I just . . . aren’t angels supposed to be merciful and kind?”
“All of those that I knew were. But they are also warriors, and sometimes ruthless—and I was a boy with the soul of a dragon in a body that was already stronger than a demon’s, and who didn’t have to follow the Rules. For someone with such strength, thoughtlessness was cruelty. So Michael taught me what I couldn’t have learned easily on my own—and that was a mercy and kindness to the humans around us, because I wasn’t careless again.”
“I guess. Maybe.”
“You doubt, because you are thinking of me as a nine-year-old human boy. I was never that.” Expression gentle, he traced the line of her jaw with his thumb. “And Michael didn’t leave me to heal on my own. He took away the pain, and he told me that it is easy to hurt someone else. Anyone with a muscle and a stick could do that. But to take away pain, to ease suffering, to protect—those take effort, and anyone with any power should dedicate himself to those instead.”
“And that made all the difference?”
“Not all at once. But it pointed me in the right direction. And I loved Michael, so I didn’t want to disappoint him.” His faint smile seemed poignant, full of long-ago memories. “Now I would disappoint myself if I used my strength to cause pain.”
“Except when you’re smashing demons.”
“Except for them,” he agreed.
“Then your Gift was like a reward. Lesson learned; we’re so proud of you. Here’s your gold medal.”
“I don’t know.” Now his smile was rueful. “Perhaps they just thought I would need a constant reminder.”
“Then they shouldn’t have given you a Gift to erase memories, too.”
His short laugh quickly ended, replaced by a sigh. “I’m going to sweep now. It might be less painful if you lower your shields.”
Because his mind was going to slam against hers as he searched for Savi. She closed her eyes, braced herself.
“I’ll practice holding them.” She cringed as the first hit like an ax against her skull, and she dropped her forehead to his broad shoulder. His grip tightened. “I’m okay. Keep going. You said that was when your mother was still alive. What happened to her?”
Another blast against her shields, and it carried anger, grief. “She was killed by Lucifer’s dragon.”
“The dragon you destroyed when you first became a Guardian?” Taylor had seen his memories of the devastation. Half of the world had burned. Forests, animals . . . people. Thousands of bodies lying in tangles of charred flesh and bone.
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry,” she said softly against his skin. His next sweep was just as powerful, but the touch of his mind seemed almost tender against her shields. “Had your father returned to Lucifer’s army by then? Or had he already rebelled?”
“In that battle, Belial fought at Lucifer’s side,” Michael said. “And he was pleased when my mother died. He loved her, but Lucifer had called him back to Hell. He intended to free her from the Pit, keep her with him.” Now his fierce satisfaction rolled across her mind. “But she wasn’t there.”
“She didn’t go to Hell?”
“No. But I’m not surprised. She was a good woman.”
“You loved her.” Taylor could feel that, too, warm and sweet.
“Very much.”
“Do you still miss her?”
“Yes. Though not as acutely as I once did. And I see her, always.”
“What do you mean?”
“In other people. A gesture, a look. It will be the same as hers.”
Because that was how he saw people. She lifted her head from his shoulder, face-to-face again. “And others that you knew and lost? Do you see them in others, too?”
He nodded, and his expression was solemn when he met her gaze. His psychic sweeps had stopped, she realized.
“Did you sense anything?” But knew he hadn’t, because they would have already been teleporting there. “What of the other Guardians?”
“We will know soon.”
“God.” She pulled out her phone. No messages yet. “I keep hoping that Savi will surprise them. The demons might know she can turn into a wolf because so many vampires saw her do that before. But maybe they don’t know she can become a hellhound now, too. I just keep hoping that she’ll bite them, and her venom will paralyze them, and a few seconds later she’ll have rescued Colin from whatever hell they’ve been in.”
“I hope for the same.” His eyes suddenly darkened to obsidian. “Jacob?”
Taylor looked. Jake hovered next to them, shaking his head.
“I’ve checked in with al
l the others,” he said. “Nothing. You?”
Nothing. Despair squeezed Taylor’s chest, pushed a small, shuddering breath from her throat.
“No,” Michael said, his arm tightening around her. “Did they find any demons?”
“Three. Rosalia’s already got one wrapped up in her shadows. Irena and Alejandro are hunting another down. I’m about to join Alice and do the same to the third.”
“Go on, then.”
Jake disappeared. Michael’s eyes met hers, his warm hand rubbing up and down her back.
“I intend to discover what Rosalia’s demon knows. Then I will help the others hunt theirs. Do you wish to come?”
Yes. But she needed anger, not despair. “Just give me a second to get my head in the right spot.”
It didn’t even take a second. She just had to think of those severed hands, Savi’s terror now, and anger instantly burned through her—then burned out, leaving cold, flat determination.
“I’m ready,” she said.
CHAPTER 10
Rosalia’s demon knew nothing. The demon that Jake and Alice tracked down knew nothing. By the time Michael swept Taylor up and teleported to Irena and Alejandro’s location, hard determination still formed a cold foundation for her emotions, but the worry and despair had begun to creep back in.
Taylor had a spinning glimpse of a desert highway and a roadside diner, the parking lot half-filled—then her feet were on the ground and Michael was in his EMT uniform again. A Nevada Highway Patrol cruiser sat in the lot. Through the plate-glass windows, Taylor could see Alejandro speaking to one of the troopers, a sergeant with a few years under his belt and a few pounds over it. A couple seconds of listening gave her Alejandro’s smooth explanation that he and his companion had only come into the diner for an early morning meal, and that they hadn’t been threatening anyone. Clean-cut and still wet behind the ears, another trooper was warily watching Irena, who sat at a table eating through a stack of pancakes. After every bite, she grinned at a frail old woman huddled in the seat of a nearby booth.
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