by Sarah Gilman
Ginger’s hands tightened around mug and her mouth went dry. Wren had wondered if Raphael knew her parents. She hadn’t dared hope. “Did you know them?”
Raphael set the tea aside and clasped his fingers on the table. “I never met your father. Your parents met after your mother went into hiding. We kept in contact, but she couldn’t risk being seen in the colonies. She wanted to pass herself off as human.”
Ginger swallowed. “Hiding? Who was she? Is there really archangel in her background?”
Raphael held her gaze, his eyebrows low over his inhuman silver eyes, a trait unique to the first generation of fallen archangels. “Your mother was Gabrielle, one of the original fallen, like me.”
Ginger stared at him as her mind turned his words over. She cleared her throat and shook her head. “No, that can’t be true. I’ve seen pictures of my mother. She certainly didn’t have wings. And she had blue eyes, like me.”
Raphael scoffed. “Blue contacts. You must have gotten your eye color from your father. Your mother was the only archangel to survive a poacher attack. The poachers always leave their victims to bleed to death after they severe the wings.” Raphael paused, swallowed. “Lark found her and killed the poachers. Every single one of them. I was able to reach her and heal her before her heart stopped.
“Gabrielle never fully recovered psychologically from losing her wings. Your father made her happy again for the first time since the attack. The day you were born, she called here. That was the first time I’d heard true joy in her voice in over a hundred years.”
Ginger stared at the counter, her vision going hazy as tears stung her eyes.
“You’re half archangel, just like Wren,” Raphael continued in a whisper. “Few half-breeds have ever been born. Such pregnancies only come to term when the child takes after their human parent, like you. Wren only survived because I healed him and Kora on a daily basis during the pregnancy.”
Ginger wiped at her eyes. “How…are you sure you’ve got the right person?”
“Of course,” Raphael said. “I knew Gabrielle well. We were friends. You inherited your psychic gift from her.” He paused. “Hmm. You said you’ve seen her picture?”
Ginger nodded.
“Come. I’ll show you something.” Raphael moved past her, covering her hand with his, briefly, before crossing the living area to the bookshelves. She followed, confused. She’d seen all the pictures, even the ones stuffed into the box.
Raphael bent and surveyed the leather-bound encyclopedia set on the bottom shelf. He selected a volume and opened it. Not a book at all, the hollow fake held a pile of photographs. He picked one up, glanced at it, and held it out to her.
“Does this look familiar?”
“Yes. This is my mother and me.” She held the photo in shaking hands, the exact same photo she’d seen before. Her mother’s waist-length auburn hair lifted behind her in a breeze as she stood in profile, holding a newborn wrapped in a pink blanket.
Raphael took another photo from the book. He lingered, staring at it. “Then you’ll recognize her here. This was taken in 1899.”
Ginger took the photo, a faded black and white. An archangel—her mother, there was no mistaking the face and the smile—sat on the branch of a tree, swinging her legs. Wings framed her body, an apparent wind blowing her flight feathers in the same sideways direction as her braided hair. Ginger sunk onto the couch, her body numb.
“Her feathers were the same color as your hair,” Raphael mused. “Reddish-brown. Like a fox.”
“She survived the attack.” Ginger swallowed and wiped at her eyes. “But what happened when I was an infant?”
Raphael rubbed his forehead. “The group who attacked your parents were after your father for his cooperation with the demons. They didn’t know who Gabrielle really was, as far as we know. The Guardians covered up your identity to keep you safe from being targeted again.”
“But Devin must know.” The realization stung. She lifted her gaze to Wren’s father. “Why didn’t he tell me? Who else knows and kept this from me?”
Raphael shook his head. “Devin doesn’t know. And that’s my doing.”
“You?”
“Gabrielle took a human identity after she lost her wings. To keep her new identity secret, she only maintained contact with two individuals, myself and Dante, Sanctuary’s leader before Vin. After your parents’ deaths, Devin found you in the snow and saved you from the elements, as you know. He’d been in Sanctuary on Guardian business, and already on the road back to Alaska, so he was closest to the scene near the Canadian border. Dante, Lark, and I went to get you. Archangels never give up their young to be raised by others, even demons. Orphans are always taken in by other archangels, period. Devin never saw me; I watched the two of you from the nearby trees. He was enthralled with you and only in his arms would you stop crying and sleep. I had an infant myself at the time and knew the look in Devin’s eyes too well.
“I didn’t want the two of you separated. I requested your heritage be kept secret from Devin, because I believed he would have done the ‘right thing’ and given you up if he’d been told. Dante and I planned to explain it all to you both when you came of age.”
Ginger grimaced. “Dante was killed during the attack Thornton led against Sanctuary.”
“Yes. And I was kidnapped two months later.”
Ginger wiped her eyes and nodded. “Thank you. Thank you for telling me, and for leaving me with Dev. I couldn’t have asked for a better childhood.”
“Then my instincts were correct. I’m glad.”
Ginger pulled her knees to her chest. “Can you tell me more about my mother?”
Raphael settled on the nearest backless chair. “Of course—”
The security monitor chimed. Ginger went to the wall and examined the screen. A Goth demon with black hair and light skin stood outside the door.
Raphael frowned. “Let’s not tempt a repeat of history. This way.”
Ginger followed Raphael out onto the flight deck. They were high off the ground, but not so high to prevent a conversation.
“Yes?” Raphael called out.
“Raphael.” The Guardian stared up at them. “Ginger. I’m Gentry, and I’ve been with Devin for the last hour. I have good news.”
Ginger had to stop herself from leaning too far over the edge. “And?”
“Devin woke up a few minutes ago,” Gentry continued. “He seems to be himself again. We don’t think it’s a ploy. The human scent is gone, and we doubt that’s something Thornton can fake.”
Ginger leaned forward again, her hands on her knees. Raphael touched her arm. Shaky, relieved laughter escaped her lips. “Can I see him?”
Gentry nodded. “Soon. He’s being interviewed about Thornton right now, while everything is fresh in his mind. You’ll be able to see him when they’re done.”
Raphael visibly tensed. “Is that safe? And what about Wren, who’s looking for Lark right now? How can you be sure Thornton cannot come and go as he pleases?”
Gentry grimaced. “We hope Lark, if he’s found alive, can shed further light on Thornton’s abilities and limitations, but Devin says he died and left his body before Thornton was able to take possession of it. We doubt Thornton can jump into a living person. If he could, he’d have wreaked much more havoc than this.”
Raphael didn’t relax, but nodded.
“We’ve formed mandatory groups of three or more.” Gentry indicated two demons standing a few feet away. “No exceptions. If Thornton is able to possess one of us, we’ll scent him when he does. Also, each group has other groups to report to, so there is no way Thornton can infiltrate the Guardians undetected again.”
Raphael sighed. “All right. Thank you, Guardian.”
Gentry nodded. “I’m going back to Devin’s interview. I’ll let you know when he can see you.” He turned away, and the three demons disappeared into the woods.
Chapter Twenty
Wren skimmed the treetops until h
e reached the river at the north end of the colony, where Vin had said they’d last scented Lark. The trees obstructed his view, so Wren dove and flew above the rushing water. Despite the clear path provided by the river, flying in the woods was dangerous. In flight, he’d cover twice as much ground as the demons, despite their lithe footing in the woods, but he needed to watch his surroundings, lest he fly into a fallen tree or reaching branch.
White ice rimmed the rocks and driftwood that broke the surface of the shallow water. Wren approached the first fork in the river and followed the path that would pass closest to the location where he’d found Ginger and Thornton. Thornton must have been taking her somewhere specific. Maybe that’s where he’d find Lark, too.
Or find Thornton, Wren acknowledged to himself. For all he knew, Thornton could jump back and forth between bodies with little trouble, and this was a trap.
His wings ate up several miles and Wren pushed faster. Thornton would have left Lark in the water before Ginger’s kidnapping, over forty-five minutes ago. Demons possessed extreme resiliency against the elements, but even they would succumb to hypothermia, in time.
Another mile passed. Wren banked and followed the river around a sharp bend. Gliding above a leaning spruce, he nearly missed the pair of legs sticking out from a tangle of bushy weeds in the middle of the river.
Wren doubled back and landed in the knee-deep water. The icy liquid soaked his pants and stung his skin. He held his wings up and trudged across the slippery riverbed to the bushes. The legs, weighed down in the water by black pants and boots, didn’t move as Wren approached. Parting the thick weeds, he recognized Lark’s red hair and metal ear piercing.
The demon lay half submerged in the water, his bound hands tied around a young pine tree. Sunlight glinted off the phone that lay among the submerged rocks near the demon’s hands. A blood-soaked cloth gag covered the lower half of his face. Eyes closed, he didn’t move, except where the current tugged at his hair.
“Lark?”
The demon started and coughed. Blood leaked out from around the gag and dripped into the water. The healing energy crawled over Wren’s skin, begging to be used, but he held back. This near to death from the hypothermia, Lark needed to stay conscious. Wren’s psychic talent only healed injuries. Cold, hunger, and the like never responded to his touch. Lark required warmth and dry clothing to recover.
Wren lifted his wings and got to his knees in the watery vegetation. He touched the demon’s shoulder and Lark lifted his eyelids.
Wren held his gaze, searching for any sign of Thornton’s mocking stare. Seeing only pain in the semi-conscious demon’s eyes, Wren relaxed.
“I’m going to get you out of here.”
Lark’s eyes widened for a moment and closed again.
Wren reached for the small tree. Unable to break it, he searched Lark for a blade. Nothing. Taking care to make sure the demon’s skin didn’t touch the tree, Wren gripped the sapling and focused. His death talent flowed from his hands and a second later the tree blackened and crumbled to ash in the water.
Wren lifted the seven-foot, easily two-hundred-and-fifty pound demon in his arms, the weight well beyond what Wren could carry in flight. Lark jerked and choked, blood dripping down his chin from the saturated gag. Moving as fast as the slippery riverbed allowed, Wren carried the demon to dry ground and set him on the forest floor.
Distant voices carried through the trees, calling Lark. Wren sucked in a breath and shouted to alert them.
Violent shivers shook the demon from head to toe and he took in shallow pulls of air through his nose. Wren went to work on the knot behind his head to release the gag. Lark twisted at the contact, a pain-filled groan escaping his throat. His bound hands formed tight fists.
Wren pulled the gag away as gently as he could manage. Blood ran from the demon’s mouth onto the ground.
Wren didn’t need to see past Lark’s lips to know what had been done. Lark opened his eyes. His blood-crusted lips parted, and when he spoke, the sound came out as a hoarse, wet whisper.
“Thornton…the blond demon…”
“We know.” Wren leaned forward and touched Lark’s shoulder, holding his dull gaze. “We know Thornton is our real enemy.”
Shaking, Lark shut his eyes. “I swear I never betrayed you…but I did fail you. I’m so sorry—” He coughed more blood onto the ground. His shivers lessened, a sign the hypothermia worsened.
“Lark?”
“Where…” Lark murmured. “Wren? Is that you?”
Wren lifted the demon again and ran as fast as he could with the burden in the direction of the approaching voices. He met Vin and several other Guardians after a few hundred feet.
“Wren!” Vin held a gun in one hand, his gaze narrowed as he focused on Lark.
“You have to get him back to the colony. I can’t fly him or run as fast as you.”
Vin leaned closer to Lark’s bloodied face and blanched before Wren’s eyes. Behind his lips, the demon ran his tongue over his own fangs and a shudder shook his body. He holstered the gun.
“Lark?” Vin sniffed the other demon’s shoulder. “Can you hear me?”
Lark stayed silent, his eyes closed. Without another word, Vin took him from Wren and his whole body ignited in demon fire. Wren stepped back, a reflex. The flames put off heat but caused no damage as Vin knelt on the ground with Lark. The other Guardians gathered around, also sporting crimson flames that licked up the length of their bodies.
Wren stepped further back, even though he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the spectacle. The Guardians, every one of them appearing more suited to heavy combat than to nurturing of any kind, sat shoulder to shoulder around Lark in a tight bonfire. Vin murmured in Lark’s ear while another demon supported his head and another wiped the blood away.
Vin frowned, his fingers pressed over the pulse point on Lark’s wrist. He shook his head. “Wren, you should go back to the house and get warm. This is going to take a while.”
Wren had expected worse news. He let out the breath he’d been holding, nodded, and turned to the river. The split in the forest revealed the brilliant, inviting blue overhead. He took flight, Lark’s and Devin’s fates weighing heavily on his mind.
How would he ever keep Ginger safe from an intangible enemy?
§
When the flurry of wings beyond the window caught her eye, Ginger jumped up from her chair and ran to the door. She sucked in a breath at the sight of blood on Wren’s shoulder and his soaked clothes.
“Are you all right?”
His started to pull her close, but stopped, glancing down at himself. “I’m fine, Gin-love. I just need to change.”
Raphael reached them. “What happened?”
“Lark’s alive, and he’s with the Guardians. But he was in the river, and his hypothermia is severe.”
Raphael shut his eyes for a moment, glanced back at Wren, and cocked his head. “The blood? You’re not hurt.”
“His fangs…”
Raphael cursed under his breath. “Thornton.”
“Yeah,” Wren said, his voice thin. He shivered, his smaller feathers standing on end. “I’m sure Vin will call the moment he has news.”
Raphael nodded. “They’ll certainly take him to the town hall. I’m going over there.”
“I’ll come with—”
“You get dry first, son. I’ll be fine.”
“But Thornton—”
“The Guardians have formed groups to monitor each other for Thornton’s scent. The bastard won’t be able to sneak up on us so easily again, my son.”
Wren sighed. “All right. See you in a few minutes.”
Ginger wrapped an arm around his waist, wet clothes be damned. His lips twitched and he led her toward the stairs, touching his father’s arm as they passed.
“Devin’s awake,” she said, squeezing his arm as they climbed. “Thornton’s scent is gone! The Guardians are going to let me see him soon.”
Wren paused at the t
op step and kissed her, his eyes bright. “I’m so glad to hear that, Gin,” he said emphatically. He paused, assuming the same suspicious expression Raphael had worn at the news. “I’m going with you to see him. I hope you don’t mind, but even if you do, I need to judge for myself that Thornton is indeed gone from him.”
She narrowed her eyes, but kept her voice light. “Giving me orders?”
Wren turned away without answering. She followed him into the bedroom. He stripped in silence, eyebrows pressed together, and quickly rinsed off in the shower. Ginger didn’t join him, leaving him to his thoughts. He usually spoke what was on his mind; his silence unnerved her.
The room filled with warm steam and the scent of eucalyptus soap. She stayed out of range as he flicked excess water from his wings, then handed him a towel for his skin.
His eyes focused somewhere past her as he pulled on jeans and a black shirt before heading for the door, but she touched his arm and stopped him. She preened his wings and massaged his muscles, pleased when he relaxed under her touch.
She leaned into his back and rested the side of her face between his wings. “Talk to me.”
Wren shoved a hand through his hair. He turned around and met her gaze for a long moment. “I’m wondering if I’ll ever find a way to keep those I love safe. Thornton…how the hell can a spirit be overcome? And the poachers? They’ll never stop. Kill them all, and new ones will take their place as long as our feathers are wanted by the highest bidder. It’ll never end, Gin.”
Ginger bit her lip as he pulled away from her. He extended a wing and ran the tips of his flight feathers along the window as he paced, leaving streaks on the steam-covered glass. She stepped toward him, but his intense gaze froze her in place.
“I want to assure your safety,” he went on. “I want you to be happy with me, not always looking over your shoulder, suspicious of every sound, every stranger. I’m scared, Gin. I’m afraid I won’t be able to protect you, at least not from the constant fear. I can’t imagine what it must be like to sleep through the night without waking at every sound, ready to fight for your life. I love you, and I don’t want this life for you. You deserve—”