by Nalini Singh
He didn’t look happy but he didn’t shrug off Aodhan’s touch when the other angel closed his hand over Illium’s nape. His wings opened and closed restlessly, his jaw set in a rigid line.
“Care for him.” The Hummingbird’s voice was a melody of sorrow that tangled Elena’s heart in melancholy chains. “My boy’s heart loves too much and it hurts too much when it is broken.”
“I’ll keep an eye on him. Raphael’s ordered Aodhan home, too.” She returned her attention to the Hummingbird. “I never realized how strong you were, Lady Sharine, and I’m sorry for that. This week has taught me to never again underestimate you.”
“You are flattering me, but I will accept it.” A sparkle infiltrating the sadness, she dusted something off Elena’s shoulder. “Thank you for indulging my need to get my anger out with knives. I know I am no warrior. I am also not who I once was . . . and my son, he has had a ghost for a mother for too long. It is enough.”
The Hummingbird’s beautiful pale eyes, champagne held up to moonlight, yet had an ethereal quality, as if she saw beyond the veil, but in her voice was determination. “I never thought I would thank Aegaeon for anything, but I will thank him for the roar of rage that woke me up from my own long Sleep.”
While the Hummingbird went to speak to Illium and Aodhan, Elena looked out over the village and thought of how different it felt from when she’d last been here—people still flinched when they spotted wings, but they recovered quickly and many offered hesitant smiles.
If she walked with the Hummingbird, there was no flinch, only joy and adoration. Children ran to Lady Sharine with flowers clutched in their tiny, pudgy hands, while adults bowed down low when she passed, though she was not an angel to demand such things. She would take the children’s sticky hands in hers and walk with them as she spoke to their parents. At times, she would touch the shoulder of a villager who had bowed, and ask them about their day.
The people of this village bowed not because they feared her, but because they loved her.
The Hummingbird’s warrior squadrons were treated with respect and awe. She had chosen each warrior herself, from among the armies of the Cadre, and not one angel or vampire chosen had demurred at serving for a time in what was considered an unexciting post devoid of risk or danger.
Fear hadn’t yet totally evaporated from the village, but it was no longer a noxious miasma in the air and she thought if she returned in another six months, it might be to clear air. These people were learning that they could trust angelkind not to be cruel and capricious and ugly of heart.
Such cruel angels existed in the world, always would, but not here. Not anymore.
“Ellie, it’s time.” Illium’s face was sullen, an expression she’d never before seen on him.
The Hummingbird cupped his face in her hands. “Will you not smile at your mother before you go?” When Illium continued to look surly, his mother leaned in close. “I promise you I will not be a ghost again—you do not need to worry. Do not forget that despite all his power, I won the race.”
Illium’s eyes widened. “You remember?” A rough question.
“I am waking, my sweet boy.” Tugging down his head, she kissed him on the forehead before rolling something off her wrist. “Wear this and remember who I once was. I will become her again.”
Illium held out his hand on a hard swallow, and his mother got the stretchy bracelet over his larger hand and onto his wrist. The wooden beads were far more separated out on his wrist, but it looked like the strap was strong and would hold.
Illium hugged his mother, wrapping her up in his wings and holding on for a long time, his face tight in a paroxysm of hope. Afterward, he said, “You’ll call if you need me?”
“I will call you,” the Hummingbird promised. “But if Aegaeon dares come here, I will deal with him. This is a matter between me and your father.” She stepped back—but not before she turned to Aodhan and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Go home now, fledglings. I hear enough to understand that a terrible darkness threatens the world. And I know that Raphael needs his Seven and his consort around him at such a time.”
Illium looked at Elena, nodded.
The three of them took off as one, with Aodhan going high as he preferred—that high in the sky, he was a shooting star or a spark of sunlight caught on an unknown object. Closer to earth, mortals and vampires gathered underneath, pointing and gasping. Drivers had been known to stop their cars without warning, distracted by the shattered light that was his body in flight under the sun or the moon.
Illium looked back one last time after they’d flown some distance. Following his gaze, Elena saw the Hummingbird’s small figure on the distant rooftop, the creamy orange of her gown fluttering in the morning breeze. Elena raised a hand and the Hummingbird raised one back. Illium’s mother became too small to see a wingbeat later, her home fading into a backdrop of desert and sky.
* * *
• • •
Raphael watched the jet come in from his vantage point on a nearby rooftop, the afternoon light hazy. Dougal was bringing the craft in smooth and steady, despite the high winds that had begun to buffet the area over the past hours. The weather scientists were forecasting hurricane-force winds and rains.
New York wasn’t the only city affected; the entire Eastern seaboard was under threat. It was also snowing in Florida. Eli had returned home to find half his territory in the grip of a massive snowstorm. Michaela had contacted Raphael in a panic because she was having trouble fighting the winds in her own territory to get to her child, but it had eased enough that she’d been able to break through.
He hadn’t heard from the other archangels, but he knew they were all apt to be dealing with things deadly and dangerous and unexpected, the Earth in chaos. Neha had the worst of it, her entire army on constant watch to ensure the fog didn’t drift across her border.
“Though what I will do if it does encroach, I do not know,” she’d said to him and Caliane before they all parted after burying Antonicus; shadows under her eyes, she’d rubbed at her forehead.
Elena-mine, I have missed you. Such simple words for the raw ache inside him. He’d nearly lost her too recently to be easy with such a separation.
I can see you. Her happiness came through in a wash of molten steel against his mind. I plan to jump in your arms and kiss you stupid, so be ready.
Feeling his lips curve in a way only his hunter could engender, he took off and paralleled the plane’s descent from a short distance away. He could’ve gone much closer, but then Dougal might worry about catching him in the plane’s draw and he wanted the pilot’s focus to be on a safe descent. Because in that metal body was Raphael’s eternity.
Everything changed a third of the way through the descent. The strong winds began to twist into deadly funnels. One newborn twister spun into a small plane parked near a hangar; the plane flipped against the hangar wall, the force of it breaking the craft to pieces. A second twister hit a much larger jet that had just finished deplaning its passengers and crew—all of whom were Refuge-based soldiers Raphael had called home.
The jet was shoved halfway back down the runway where it slammed into another twister; the huge metal body groaned as it flipped over onto its back with a spark of metal on asphalt. Dougal, abort the landing! The pilot had a better chance of avoiding the twisters if he flew straight through and into clear air—the deadly funnels seemed focused in and around the airport.
It’s too late, sire! Dougal’s mental voice was faint—the vampire wasn’t as strong as any of Raphael’s Seven, but he’d gained enough power over the centuries that he could reply to Raphael instead of simply listening. The plane won’t have enough lift! It’s already shaking like it’s going to fall apart.
It was also too late for Elena, Aodhan, and Illium to fly out of the plane. The wind would pummel them onto the tarmac before they could gain the sky. The point was moot i
n any case—not one would abandon Dougal and his copilot.
What’s the plan, Archangel? Elena’s voice, calm and confident.
Let us test this Cascade power’s mettle. He reached for Dougal’s mind again. Cut all power. Release controls.
One second. Two. Then—It’s done. The plane is now a glider.
The wind whipping around his face and shards of debris slicing over his bare arms, Raphael flew to under the massive object. It was going fast, but he was an archangel. Matching its barreling pace, he put his hands on the undercarriage. Those hands looked ridiculously small in comparison to the vast metal structure, but this wasn’t about physical size. It was about power.
Raphael released his with a tightly focused intent that shaped its expression. Golden lightning kissed with a tendril of Elena’s warmth snaked across the undercarriage and along the underside of the wings. He’d never done this with such a large machine, but he’d once helped land a much smaller stricken craft. Then, he’d simply used his strength—a one-seater hopper was hardly a challenge.
But even an archangel couldn’t bear the weight of a full-sized jet. Which was why he’d created the network of energy. His muscles strained as he channeled his strength through that network, effectively turning it into a part of his body.
A twister headed right for them, angry and black. There was no way to avoid it. But he heard no cries of panic in his mind, no screams. His people and his consort were trusting him to get this done.
He reached for the Legion. As he did so, he felt a taste inside him that was Elena. Not paying it much mind for she was welcome anytime she wished, he wrenched power from the Legion in a way he’d never before done.
We are the repository, the ancient beings had said when they first emerged from the deep. We tried to pass it to the Sire, but the Sire is not yet ready.
Now that power flowed into him and it was different from the Cascade energy. It was painfully old and it tasted of the ocean’s cold embrace and time’s endless march. A reminder that the Legion had slept eons under the sea, and for much of that time, had been as the dead. But now, they were awake and they whispered in his mind.
Raphael. Aeclari. We see the mirror. We give.
The power sighed in his blood, then—under his command—spread outward along the frame he’d already constructed—only this time, it kept going until the entire plane was encased in a web of archangelic energy that repulsed any attempt at destruction.
They flew straight into the twister.
Muscles bunched, Raphael held the plane stable as the winds attempted to tear it from his grasp, even as they sought to collapse his wings. But his wings were rippling white fire and the wind could find no purchase.
Sudden calm, the very center of the angry funnel.
The rage of wind again in a matter of heartbeats, vicious and violent and demanding. His tunic was torn off his body. Something small and sharp slammed into his rib cage. He shrugged off the minor injury, his focus unflinching. Above him, the plane groaned but held together as they emerged out the other side.
Smaller twisters continued to lay waste to the airport around them. The one mercy was that this was a private airport for Tower use and this was the final flight coming in or going out today. All other planes were currently clear of crew and passengers. Andreja, guide me in. The swirling debris blinded and confused.
You’re right above the runway, sire. Andreja’s voice was crystalline; the angel was far more powerful than most people realized. I see the outline of the plane glowing gold. There’s light coming from inside, too. If you continue to come down on the current slope, you’ll have plenty of room.
Andreja kept him updated until Raphael was close enough to the ground to see the tarmac. Dougal had lowered the wheels when he began the landing process, and while the space underneath wasn’t enough for Raphael to stand to his full height, it’d be enough if he bent his knees.
Even down and stable, he didn’t release the plane. Stay onboard. They remained within a howling gray swirl of dust and debris and fury.
Holy shit, Archangel. And I was impressed with Bluebell turning a helicopter upside down. Elena’s voice was pure life inside him, a burst of joyous light. I just said that to him and he’s pretending to sulk but his eyes are huge and he keeps staring out the window then rubbing those eyes only to stare again. Aodhan is flat out discombobulated.
Her words were so normal, so much a part of his life that his cheeks creased despite the winds that surged violently around them. An archangel must have some tricks up his sleeve, he said, just as Andreja’s voice came into his mind.
Sire. Massive twister building on the tail end of the plane.
46
Raphael glanced in that direction, was just able to see the bottom of the violent rotation of wind and dirt and pieces of plane wreckage. It’s going to get loud, he warned everyone on the plane as he sent even more power into the energy shield he’d created around the plane.
Light began to spear out above him and at first he thought he’d lost control. But no, the shell he’d erected was holding its pattern. Elena?
Yeah, I’m glowing big-time. Happened while we were landing, too. Partial battery kicking in?
I haven’t reached for your energy. He’d needed the massive amount held by the Legion. Do you feel ill or hurt?
No. I’m just a glowstick. A kiss he felt. We’ll figure it out later. Concentrate on keeping yourself alive so I don’t have to kick your ass.
Again, she worried about him when, of all of them, he was the one most likely to survive. Even if a twister picked him up and smashed him to the earth at terminal velocity, it would not be terminal for him. His body would knit itself back together sooner or later.
Illium would survive, too. His recovery would be far longer, but he was old and strong enough now to make it. Aodhan was the same. Dougal and his copilot, however, would not endure. Their heads would likely be torn from their bodies by the impact and, as vampires, that was it for them.
As for Elena . . . She was far less breakable than she’d been before the Cascade tried to steal her soul, but she remained a young angel. Her body would not last being battered into pieces.
So he’d ensure it didn’t come to that.
Staring down at the tarmac, he anchored himself. The tarmac cracked around him as his energy shoved into the earth and clawed itself into stone so far below it was part of the planet’s mantle. In concert with the shield, it kept the plane from moving as the twister hit.
Pieces of plane wreckage whacked hard against the sides of the craft, but nothing got through the shell of lightning fire. A bit of debris hit him in the leg, and it was only then that he realized he’d forgotten to create a shield around himself.
It took but a thought.
A roar of noise and dust and nothingness. Then . . . an abrupt silence. Andreja. Status.
I’m scanning the skies and the landscape. I don’t see any more twisters. All is calm.
Raphael sucked the energy that protected the plane into himself, pouring a vast amount of it back into the Legion, some of whom had fallen where they stood when he grabbed for their power. He had no desire or need to carry that much power in his own body—not when the Cascade lightning was already so violent. I thank you.
We are yours, whispered seven hundred and seventy-seven voices. This power is yours.
Inside him, the Cascade energy settled back in with a familiar coldness leavened only with a tendril of wildfire and steel. Deplane, he said to those inside.
Already out from under the plane, he rose into the air just as the clouds opened up. Pounding rain began to slice in from his right, hitting his skin in hundreds of sharp, cold shards.
The Legion mark on his temple flared.
The door of the plane opened at last, and Elena raced out. He was hovering right outside, hauled her off the top of the stairs
and into his arms. She clung to him with a laugh, the lightning storm of her wings brilliant against the gray heaviness of the rain-wet world. A second later, she thrust her hands into his hair, pulled his head down to her own, and kissed him stupid.
* * *
• • •
Later, they stood with Dmitri and watched the footage from the airport cameras and from a plane spotter who’d been parked at a “secret” location the enthusiasts shared only among themselves. The Tower let them be because they never tried to breach the airport boundaries and policed themselves into good behavior. This spotter had been recording the jet coming in, complete with commentary.
“Tower 1 is about to land,” he said cheerfully. “Like, that’s not the actual call sign because the Tower doesn’t advertise which of its planes are in the sky, but I can tell this is number 1 from that slight mark on the tail. Means one of the senior people must be onboard. Can’t wait—Fuck!”
The footage wobbled as he focused in on a tornado that had appeared out of nowhere. He whipped the camera back and forth as another appeared, then another.
“Oh cripes! How’s the pilot going to avoid those?” Fear rippled through his words. “That plane is going to go right into that twister. Oh man, oh man . . .” His words mumbled off into a chill terror they could almost feel, until his voice squeaked again. “Raphael! Fuck me! No one is going to believe this!”
He’d caught the instant Raphael’s energy crawled all over the plane and turned it into a glowing beacon in the heavy gray darkness. The plane was soon obscured by the twisters and the dirt and debris in the air, only to reappear in patches as Raphael brought it in to land.
Through it all was an awed silence that ended with, “That’s the fucking Archangel of fucking New York! Suck on that all you cretins who try to attack our city, especially you Zhou Lijuan!”