“I don’t mind.” Neve must have seen her nervous trembles. “Are you feeling okay?”
Chloe squeezed her eyes closed. “I’m fine.”
I’m not crazy
, she almost added, though she wasn’t sure which of them she meant to convince. “I have an anxiety disorder.”
Her shoulders hunched as she prepared a defense against more questions, or worse, the sympathetic tone people used that all but screamed
there, there
with false compassion.
“Is that all?” Neve laughed as she took the prescription and added it to the pile. “These days, I can’t say I blame you.” She checked the wall clock. “I think I’ll grab something from the deli for lunch while I’m there. Would you like me to bring you back a plate so you don’t have to cook once I get back?”
“Yeah.” Chloe braved a smile. “I’d like that. I’ll have whatever you’re having.”
“Good deal.” Neve tucked the card and papers in her purse, then headed back to work.
And that was it. No sidelong glances. No uncomfortable silence.
Almost as if she were normal.
Nathaniel growled low in his throat as the overhead lights flipped on and seared his eyes.
He’d been sitting in the dark for a reason. Not that Saul had asked before blinding him.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Saul sniffed the air as he rounded the arm of the couch. “Holy hell, what have you done?”
He’d tried to numb his conscience with alcohol and failed. “I haven’t done anything.”
“So I heard.” Saul grimaced. “At length, from Delphi.” He waited for a response, but the best Nathaniel could give him was a bleary stare. “He’s got a quill up his ass because
someone
came in short last night.” He rubbed at the bridge of his nose. “Only two collections were issued. Word to the wise, it won’t take him long to connect the dots.”
Guilt churned Nathaniel’s stomach. Never had he failed in his duty to Delphi, and this first exception had potentially catastrophic consequences. One thing was for certain. No one could say he ever did a half-assed job. He raised a glass to his lips and swallowed. “I’ll take care of it tomorrow.”
“You won’t have time.” Saul perched on the arm of the couch and flexed his left wing. The dark fabric framed Nathaniel’s television almost perfectly, and the local forecast was visible through a gaping hole in the lowermost portion. “It’s the first of the month, and you, Weaver, have a job to do.”
He couldn’t argue. Last month’s work was already deteriorating, obviously.
Even fresh souls had a limited shelf life, and decaying wings posed a flight risk to the others. Soul cloth was thin and fragile; harvesters were not. There was nothing for it. Weaving couldn’t be postponed. Harvesters needed fresh wings, which meant Nathaniel needed to weave fresh cloth for those wings. That also meant sharing space with Delphi when that was the last thing he wanted to do. Thank Heaven, there could be no harvests made while he wove, which meant his greatest mistake would remain secret for a while longer.
“Then I’ll take care of it the day after.” Once he had formed a plan.
“Delphi would skin you alive if he caught you like this.” Saul’s voice took on a thoughtful tone. “We’ve all heard rumors you’re having some sort of breakdown.”
Saul’s face wavered in Nathaniel’s vision. “What rumors?”
“That you’re fraying around the edges.” Saul’s gaze raked over him. “You’re short-tempered and defensive when you’re usually a paragon of fallen virtue. Should I go on?” He stared at the sheath strapped to Nathaniel’s thigh. “If you were anyone else, I’d say you’d done something wrong and were afraid of getting caught.”
Nathaniel choked on his drink and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. This was no time for confessions. Not here, not now, and not with Saul. His brother had enough trouble staying on the right side of Delphi as it was. And, as much as it pained him to admit it, he didn’t trust his brother with his secrets. That realization shook him to his core, and he was grateful the alcohol numbed the worst of his shock.
After a moment’s careful pause, where he seemed to gauge Nathaniel’s reaction, Saul said, “I also heard you were taking some time off.”
“That much is true.” He cleared his stinging throat. “I’m burned out. I spoke with Bran about arranging a few weeks for recovery. He’s gone to Delphi for his approval. I’m waiting for Bran to return with an answer.”
“I doubt you’ll have to wait long for your answer.” He snorted. “You never do.”
“Look, I had a long night.” To occupy his hands, Nathaniel poured himself another round. “I’ll be better company after I’ve had a few hours’ sleep.” He swirled his glass and listened to the ice cubes clink.
“I know a brush-off when I hear one.” Saul ruffled his wings. “Whatever you’ve gotten yourself into, there are ways around it.” A small smile teased his lips. “Delphi’s power is not absolute.”
Nathaniel’s glass slipped in his hand. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“It means we were cast out of Heaven. Did you never wonder if he hadn’t been as well? I mean, who volunteers to leave paradise for purgatory? No one, that’s who.” His smugness irritated Nathaniel. “He fought in both the holy wars, and it’s been said his loyalty to Aeristitia might have finally cost him the ultimate price—his very existence. It’s said a holy sword impaled him, which would have fatally wounded his immortal soul.”
“You must be joking. You can’t believe Reuel’s tall tales.” Nathaniel gave his brother an incredulous glance. “His version of the battle for Hell is as reliable as a compass without a needle. He’d lost so much blood by the time he was found in the borderlands, he was delirious.”
Saul remained emphatic. “Seraphs are twins, always. It’s said one can’t survive without the other. If one brother fell, then Heaven would lose her greatest champion and her greatest politician in one fell swoop.” He wet his lips. “Reuel saw Delphi mortally wounded and he saw Gavriel claim the body, but they didn’t return to Heaven. Ask yourself why that is.”
“No.” Nathaniel fixed him with a measured stare. “He saw Delphi injured and his brother carry him to one of the nearby triage camps, where he was healed.” He sighed. “Gavriel was always the studious one and Delphi the more proactive twin. It made sense to give control of Dis to someone with the drive to hold it.”
“Think about it.” Saul warmed to his topic. “Delphi couldn’t retain rank if he were fallen. Yet he can’t enter Aeristitia. If he could, he wouldn’t need Bran to deliver those idiotic journals to Gavriel. He would meet and discuss things with his brother himself. For that matter, he can leave Dis for only short periods of time.” He paused. “I think Reuel’s memory is better than you give him credit for. I think Delphi was killed and Gavriel brought him back somehow.”
An inkling of foreboding wormed its way through Nathaniel. “Resurrection is forbidden.”
“But it is possible,” he countered. “Someone in Gavriel’s position would have access to the very spark of creation. Even Delphi retains his divine talents. You’re wearing the proof of that now.” His attention returned to Nathaniel’s shears. “Delphi gave you an extraordinary gift. Those shears mean you’re the only fallen who can slice a rift and stroll down the streets of Aeristitia. You could go home.” His eyes lifted. They were dark with deep thoughts and hungry with a pain Nathaniel almost tasted. “Think of what you could do.”
“No,” Nathaniel snapped. “We’re not having this discussion. I don’t want to hear any more speculation about Delphi. The shears are a tool, not a gift, and it’s my life if they’re misused.” He tried to soften his tone, but still his voice rang sharp in his ears. “I know you’re not homesick for the landscape. You have something in mind. Something I won’t even say aloud for fear someone would hear it and think for a second I was fool enough to help you.”
As Nathaniel’s temper flared, the shears sparked to life and reached hungrily for his essence to fuel their awakening. For once, he was grateful Delphi had the forethought to create them with a fail-safe. Forged with Nathaniel in mind, they were nothing but sharp blades with handles until they siphoned energy from his particular soul.
His brother leaned closer, his gaze lowered to the shears. “Mairi is there,” he said. “I know she is.”
So were innumerable other souls. “It’s where she belongs.”
Saul’s mutinous expression said he disagreed.
Nathaniel dreaded Saul’s reaction if he ever learned of his indiscretion. His actions with the mortal woman skirted the line, but she had been alive when he saved her, though her grip on life had been slipping. What Saul proposed, after Mairi’s centuries of insubstantiality, would mean finding a new host to accept her soul. He would either scavenge a body or, worse yet, harvest a fresh one for her. How Saul thought to conjoin the two, Nathaniel couldn’t begin to imagine.
While Saul continued to glare at him, Nathaniel’s patience wore thin. “Say I took you there—and make no mistake, I won’t—you’d have to find her, one soul in millions. Then you’d have to tether her, revive her, and unless you’ve been hiding a halo in your pocket, you don’t have the power or the knowledge to do either. Or access to anyone who does.”
Otherwise, Saul would have completed this fool’s errand by now. “So, if by some miracle you made it that far, when you failed to tether Mairi, her soul would evaporate over time. She would be reabsorbed into the heavens and would cease to exist in any recognizable form.” Nathaniel sighed. “You can’t want that for her.”
With a low growl, Saul rose. “I will save her, with or without your help.” His wings snapped out behind him as he opened them.
“This is your grief talking,” Nathaniel said.
“No,” he replied softly. “I’m talking; you’re just not listening.” Saul sliced a portal and launched himself through it with a thrust of his wings. A rush of air scattered newspaper sheaves and empty food boxes onto the floor.
Lacking energy to much care at this point, Nathaniel let his head fall back against the couch cushions while he considered his own woman troubles.
His plan had backfired, and his mark’s extension on life had run out before she could choose a different path. It made no sense, even all these months later, that she had no loving relationship with another living person. For whatever reason, she chose emotional isolation rather than involvement with her fellow mortals. A mistake she would pay for if some compromise couldn’t be reached.
He’d seen her soul, held it. She deserved the gift he had given her, but she had still failed to make use of it. Her waste of his good intentions tempted him to go back. He wanted to shake her shoulders until she woke up to the truth. He wanted to demand her reason for squandering her second and final chance at ensuring her soul’s salvation.
A mental picture of her sprung to his mind. She wasn’t flawed in any obvious way, but his time harvesting had taught him well that beauty was skin deep and a pretty face sometimes masked hideous intentions.
Not that he thought she was beautiful, exactly. Her soul was, certainly. Her person… recalling her tumbled curls and the warmth of her skin made his cheeks flush. He set his drink aside and blamed the alcohol for the rush of heat spreading low through his gut.
Chloe was such a simple name for such a complex problem.
There was no choice. If he backed out now, she would pay a harsher price for his interference. More than his earlier impulse to help, he owed her now. Besides, how much time could it take to assess her situation and his risk? Not long at all. A day or so of observation would tell him what he needed to know.
So he would watch her. Find an excuse to talk to her.
He spoke with Nephilim often. How much harder could it be to talk to a full human? His hand went for his drink. Not hard. He could do it. Lifting the glass to his lips and draining the liquid, Nathaniel found himself recalling the room where he had found Chloe.
She lived above a store carrying her last name, McCrea Books. Nathaniel searched his memory for clues about the building from the last time he’d walked through downtown Piedmont. The front steps had seen better days. One of the windows had been boarded over, but how long ago? He couldn’t recall. It could have been last week, last year, or ten years ago. He hadn’t passed through that section of Georgia much since Reuel moved out of Atlanta.
Nathaniel’s trade had been carpentry for centuries before the modern era made living on his investments a simpler matter. He had once labored among mortals, earned whatever currency they dealt in, and hoarded his shares until he proved to Delphi he could afford to live in their midst. After all, Dis had been no place to raise a child with Bran’s fragile health. Later, he’d discovered he enjoyed his taste of freedom, his view of the sky too much to return to Dis.
Nathaniel sat up, braced his forearms on his knees, and stared into his glass. All the stores downtown were old. Only a handful had been renovated and none of them recently, though he couldn’t remember the particulars. Maybe Chloe was in the market for a handyman. Lucky for her, Nathaniel knew someone perfect for the job.
Fury made Saul soar as he glided over the crumbling ruins of a forgotten castle. The turret jutted proudly amid scattered stones. He circled it, his nerves winding tighter the higher he flew.
The base of his skull tingled. Another mind brushed against his in warning.
“Keep your shirt on,” he muttered.
Around him, the air charged and crackled. Lightning flashed spiderwebs across the sky.
Saul took the hint and descended.
Below him, a golden cherub sat perched on a rock at the base of their master’s feet. Zared. He didn’t lift his electric-blue eyes or bat his white-blond lashes. His full, red lips parted, but the rich words rolling from him belonged to the angel at his shoulder. “How fares your brother?”
Saul lit at the base of the stone and knelt. He tried not to stare at the angel, but the chains glinted and drew Saul’s eye time and again.
Focus
. He cleared his throat. “He is well.”
“Has he been swayed to our cause?”
“No.” Saul modulated his tone. “He is, as you said, showing signs of stress. It is my belief he will join us soon. If he continues on as he is, his mind will break, and he won’t risk that.” His fists tightened. “Bran means too much to him. He would never risk leaving the boy in my care.”