Warrior's Angel (The Lost Angels Book 4) (18 page)

Chapter Twenty-One

Getting rid of the gold had been easy. He’d simply changed it into a different stone. When magic was involved, alchemy worked both ways.

As
soon as he did, the stone crumbled to sand, leaving a dune in the alley.

Now Michael
stood at the base of the Willis Tower and casually looked up. Chicago was a long way from New York, the way American Airlines flew. But not so far for someone who could travel through the shadows.

In all honesty, h
e’d expected someone to meet him the moment he’d come out of the shadows across the street. This was the edifice that housed the Fallen One’s secret abode, a sprawling, magical mansion in its own right, not unlike the one the Four Favored shared. He was in there somewhere, Samael. So, why hadn’t he tried to stop Michael by now? There wasn’t a person on Earth Samael hated more.

Michael was just deciding that he was going to have to actually go inside
, like a fly wandering into a massive web, when he heard the sound of leather-soled shoes coming calmly toward him.

He turned to see Samael walking casually in his direction, his hands in the pockets of his expensive charcoal gray suit. The suit matched his eyes, whic
h were filled with untold tempests.

“Michael,” Samael greeted
as he stopped a few feet away.

“Sam,” Michael returned.

Sam regarded him a moment, and the cop in Michael did the same. As usual, Samael’s white-blond hair was perfect, every single strand in place and unaffected by the wind. His stature was tall and broad-shouldered, as ever very obviously strong. However, where there was normally a hard keen awareness in the depths of his gaze and the corners of his unreadable expression, tonight there were shadows across Sam’s features, and even dark circles under his eyes.

But that had to be Michael’s imagination. Such a thing couldn’t even be possible, not with Sam. The Fallen One, for all the fairness it represented in the universe, was one of the few archangels capable of healing himself if he was sick. And right now, because of the way he’d cursed Michael, he was the
only
archangel who could do it aside from the archesses.

Still, there they were. Those d
ark circles. Haunted shadows.
I’m not imagining anything
, Michael thought. This, right here, was the closest Samael would probably ever come to looking like shit.

“
Are you sleeping okay?” he asked.

Sam sighed.
“To be honest, not really.” He allowed his gaze to drift from Michael to the road beyond. It was late at night, and traffic was a light dusting of economy cars, buses on final rounds, and the yellow blur of taxis.

The answer threw Michael harder than it would have thrown him if Samael had actually picked him up and hurled him
across the street. Since when, since
when
, did the Fallen One ever admit to something like that? Since when was he forthcoming about a weakness of any kind whatsoever?

“To what do I owe this pleasure, Michael?” Sam asked without looking at him.

Michael
frowned for a moment, then straightened. Whatever was going on with Sam, it was probably none of his business, and if it was going to weaken Sam, then it could only work in Michael’s favor. “You informed the gargoyles about Rhiannon’s ability to heal.”

Sam blinked and finally met his gaze. “I’m sorry?”

Michael narrowed his gaze. “Your insomnia seems to have damaged your memory. You don’t recall very recently speaking directly with the male members of a rogue horde of gargoyles in order to feed the final archess to them?”

Sam’s brow arched.

“By filling them in on Rhiannon’s little gift?” Michael continued.

Sam
cocked his head to one side and looked at him for some time. His expression was unscrupulous, but the clouds in his eyes began to move and gather, growing darker and deeper. “I believe New York may finally have gotten to you, Favored One. Or maybe it’s the scum you’ve decided to make your vampiric meals; wife beaters, bullies, and drug pushers. You are what you eat, after all. Because for the first time in eternity, I actually have no idea what the hell you’re talking about.”

He took a deep breath, pulled his hands out of his pockets, and pushed his sleeve up to check his
very expensive gold watch. Then he slid his hands back into his pockets and said, “I’m a little surprised it took this long, in truth. Two thousand years, you’ve come to the rescue of humans, and what do they do? They procreate like cockroaches until there are seven billion more possible problems on the planet, and after all you’ve done for them, not a single one even knows who you really are.”

Michael remained silent. He knew what Sam was doing. He’d been
on these rodeo grounds plenty of times before. But he had to admit, the Fallen One’s words held a weight all their own. They always did. There was always an ounce of truth to everything Samael said; that was what made it all the more compelling.

Sam stopped and pinned him with a gaze as gray as doom. “
Since you’re so obviously tipping the bird’s nest, Michael, I’ll let you off with a warning this time. Be wary of where you drop your accusations. Some of us possess neither the time nor the patience to diffuse your archangel tantrums.”

“
So, what is it that you’re dreaming about, Sam?” Michael asked, changing the subject. The question surprised even himself. Normally, he would have allowed Sam’s saber rattling to roll right over him. He’d developed a thick skin over the years.

However, something had clearly changed within him, because for some reason
, at that very moment, all he wanted to do was push buttons.

“It would have to be a woman,” Mich
ael reasoned. “To make you look this bad.”

It was odd to think that as Samael became more honest and patient
, Michael was simultaneously becoming less so. It was as if they’d switched places when Sam had cursed him. Now the Fallen One was behaving like someone with an ounce of goodness in him – and Michael wasn’t.

“
Like I said,” Sam repeated while he turned away to leave. “I don’t have time for this.”

“Is she an angel too?” Michael asked
softly.

Sam had taken two steps down the sidewalk, but now he stopped, and the world seemed to freeze with him.

“What does she look like?”

Sam slowly turned.

“Or better yet, what powers does she have?” Michael moved toward him, all wariness gone, all sense of decorum having flown away right along with it. “Most importantly,” he asked, coming to stand toe to toe with his enemy. “Can she
heal
, Sam? Believe me, I’m not the only one who would be interested in knowing that.”

The attack came with mutual
acceptance. Neither of them felt like sparring any longer. It was like they’d unconsciously whispered, “Fuck it,” and they went for each other’s throats.

Chicago
moved on around them, oblivious to their struggle. Magic swathed the two lost angels, both dark and light, and shielded them from prying eyes as they shifted out of this world and into one unknown by human sight.

Michael
gripped Sam’s throat and arm, and Sam did the same as they spun through the air, swirling right through an alley shadow and into the intricate passageways of the shadow world beyond. It was a dark labyrinth here, filled with the varying stygian shades that made up night. No one who could not control these passages would ever find their way out of the shadows.

“You really are a waste of time and space, Michael,” Sam hissed as they exited a shadow portal and Sam slammed Michael’s back up against a brick wall with indelible force. Rubble trickled to the ground behind him. The wind was knocked from his lungs, and a ringing began in his ears, but he could still hear Sam loud and clear.

“I gave you everything you could possibly need to acquire your ar
chess. I gave you the strength, the magic, the
charm
of both vampire and Nightmare!” Sam’s grip tightened around his windpipe with the fury of his words. “And
still
you fail. All is wasted on you, Favored One!”

Reluctantly and through a haze of building pain, Michael realized Sam was right. He
had
given him everything he needed to obtain Rhiannon –
if
he had decided not to play fair with his archess. As he raised a knee for a kick, and somehow managed to tip the scales enough to get him off the wall and send them both spinning once more into the corridors of shadow, he wondered
why
Sam would do such a thing.

Michael had thought himself transformed into a monster, and he’d assumed it was Sam’s intent to scare Rhiannon away from
him. But, could he have been wrong? Could Sam have instead intended for Michael to win his archess right away and be done with this hunt once and for all?

I
f the latter was the case, then
why
?

“
Where is she now, Michael?” Sam continued. Magic swirled madly around them, like fireflies with rocket jet packs that created fireballs and transformed into acid spells or shimmering charms or transfiguration effects. The rampant magic left their flesh singed or partly turned to gold or half-frozen, and it was slowly whittling away at Michael’s strength. He could tell it was having the same effect on Sam. But Sam could heal himself.

Michael could not.

And they both knew it.

“I’ll tell
you where she is,” Sam continued. “She’s at home, in bed,
alone
.” He smiled a terrible, wicked, and beautiful smile, and lightning sliced through the dark of his eyes. “At least you hope she is.”

Michael
regained the upper hand, empowered by the anger of the monsters that Sam had so selflessly turned him into, and by their sheer joy at inflicting pain upon their enemy. But it was short-lived. The scales tipped, and the archangels exited an alley like cannonballs to soar across a Chicago street and land atop a parked car, crunching it beneath impact. Car alarms went off, real lightning struck nearby as a storm built overhead, and two very powerful men continued to battle.

Michael felt himself grow weaker with each passing minute of bloodshed, magical attacks, and
emotional derailment.

And the fight was just getting started.

Chapter Twenty-Two

The night turned
around Rhiannon like a carousel, its lights and sounds distant and muffled. Every ounce of her body tingled, so much so that she could almost hear it, like pixie dust chimes. Her feet felt as if they rested, not on the ground, but several inches above it. She hovered there, lost in the embrace that had already been broken, but that she could still feel around her. It felt like Michael had left a ghost there to hold her in his stead.

Somewhere in the distance, someone was calling her na
me, but it was as muffled as the rest of the spinning, blurred world, and she was happy here. Too happy to come out just yet.

It hadn’t made sense, that kiss.

She had no idea who Michael Salvatore was. Not really. He had powers that sent her head into cartwheels, and she had a feeling those fangs of his were only the tip of the iceberg. She had no clue what kind of being she was dealing with. And she didn’t know what his intentions were. Did she?

Someone said
her name again, off in the far away.

Absently, Rhiannon brushed her fingertips across her lips. They seemed to buzz beneath her touch, slightly swollen
. A rush of heat moved through her when she realized… she wanted more.

He’d been
strong and unyielding, demanding but gentle. His body radiated heat, his lips were cool, and he smelled like the night itself, like sandalwood and aftershave and leather and darkness. She’d never been kissed like that. Not in her entire life. Not even in her dreams.

“Rhee!” Someone pulled at her arm, and she stumbled a little,
finally turning around. The carousel stopped spinning, and everything came into focus.

She blinked. “Mimi, what is it?” she asked numbly.

Mimi looked stricken. Her face was pale, and her eyes were very large. “I saw him kissing you! Did he suck your soul out through your mouth or something?”

Rhiannon’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“I’ve only been trying to get your attention for
ever
.”

Rhiannon shook her head. “I’m fine. But what’s wrong?”

“It’s Strike. I can’t find him! He isn’t coming when I call him. I left him in your room before I went out to follow you, and now he’s not there!”

Rhiannon processed this. “You left him in
my
room?”

“Yeah, so that if anyone went looking for me, they could knock on your door and he could answer, you know, with a whine o
r a little bark or something. And then the person knocking would just think I was having a sleepover with you and they would go away.” Her voice was steadily rising in pitch as she became increasingly agitated. “But he’s gone, Rhee!”

“Mimi, listen to me, sweetie,” Rhiannon bent and took gentle but firm hold of her arms. She looked into Mimi’s eyes. “He’s probably in Alex’s room. You know how he likes to spend the night there because Alex gives him that premium dog food from that snooty little store across the street.”

Mimi seemed to consider this, and Rhiannon could feel a bit of the stiffness leave her little body. “That one that charges twelve dollars a can?”

“That’s the one.”

“But how did he get out of your room?”

“No doubt, s
omeone went looking for him after I called Mr. V, or maybe they heard him barking and let him out.”

Mimi consi
dered that as well, and finally she sighed. “Okay.”

“Now,
let’s go inside and get you in bed before your aunt wakes up, okay?”

Mimi nodded, if somewhat reluctantly.
The thought of meeting up with her aunt obviously didn’t sit well with her, because she paled a little and a few of her freckles got darker. Encountering her aunt would be admitting that she’d snuck out again, and that would be twice in the same day. No doubt, there would be grounding in the child’s future, perhaps the kind that meant a hiatus from Pokémon games on her Nintendo 3DS.

Rhiannon knew
that
would just about kill the girl.

She gently placed a comforting hand at Mimi’s back, and the two walked into the building together. Rather than attempt to go to any of the rooms, Rhiannon headed directly for the atrium. If anyone was worried about Mimi, or Rhiannon for that matter, they would gather there. It was not only the
meeting room for Mr. Verdigri, it was Crisis Central, a place of companionship, comforting tea, lemonade, butterflies, and things that otherwise calmed frayed nerves.

Just as they both feared
, Mimi’s aunt was amongst the people waiting at the tables in the gazebo when the two arrived on the walking path. Her face was white and drawn, and no doubt she’d awoken to find her suite empty and had flipped her proverbial lid.

Now, Mr. V had reassured and calmed her, but there was a
veritable steam cloud around Bess that told Rhiannon she’d been fuming.

“Oh no,” Mimi whispered.

Rhiannon felt for her.

“Take it like a girl,” Rhiannon told her. It was a joke of sorts between them. Rhiannon had once shown Mimi a video of two expert boxers who had gone up against each other in a
strength competition, one woman, one man. The girl had hit harder. Now any time either of them faced something that took a certain amount of constitution, they reminded each other to face it like a girl.

Mimi took a deep breath, rolled back her shoulders, and nodded.

When Mimi’s aunt saw her approaching, she leapt out of her chair and stormed the child on quick little feet. The woman was tiny; at the age of nine, Mimi had less than an inch to go before she’d be as tall as Bess.

Rhiannon
moved away, giving them space. She tried not to listen to the exchange between guardian and child, knowing anything she did would only make the situation more difficult.

She turned her attention to the gazebo and its other occupants.
Mr. Verdigri was there, along with Alex and a few individuals that Rhiannon had seen here and there; employees of Mr. V’s. They were all dressed in suits, they all wore unreadable but serious expressions, and they were all watching Rhiannon.

She approached them, and Mr. V rose slightly from his seat
to gesture to the chair across from him. Rhiannon sat down as Mimi and her aunt made their way back down the path and away from the gazebo. Rhiannon could have been wrong, but she was pretty sure she caught the word “Pokémon” as they were leaving, briefly followed by a groan from Mimi, and a reprimand from Bess.

“What’s going on?” Rhiannon asked, directing her attention to her employer.

“I’m assuming young Mimi surprised you again tonight?” Mr. V asked first, a twinkle of mischief in his eyes. He would never admit it to Mimi’s aunt, but there was a part of him that admired the girl’s shenanigans, perhaps because they were always further evidence of the child’s precocious intelligence.

“Yes. But I think you need to know the reason for her escape the second time. She came to see me because she saw a gargoyle. She said she mentioned it to you and you brushed it off.”

Mr. V sighed heavily. “I did. I was hoping she’d imagined it. But even as I was hoping so, I knew I was wrong. She is a special child, Rhiannon. She notices things.” He was quiet for a moment, introspective. “I’m going to have to keep a closer eye on her, I think.”

Rhiannon let that go in silence. He was probably right. And with what Rhiannon faced on a day-to-day basis, it couldn’t hurt to give the kid extra protection
, too.

After a moment, Mr. V looked back up, and raised his hand to signal to one of the men behind him. “I’m afraid
we aren’t gathered here solely due to Mimi.”

“I figured,” Rhiannon answered softly.

The man behind him placed a manila folder on the table before Rhiannon. “This is the information you’ll need for a priority one assignment. I’m afraid you’ll have to head out tonight,” the man told her.

Rhiannon stared at the folder, and then up at
her employer. “Mr. Verdigri, I’m afraid I can’t go out tonight. I need to….” She drifted off as she glanced at the other employees. Mr. V understood at once. He signaled for the others to leave.

When the two of them were alone, Mr. V leaned forward over the table. “What Mimi said about the gargoyles was only part of the story, wasn’t it?”

“Yes,” Rhiannon confirmed. Then she told him about the fight in the studio that afternoon. She left a little detail out. Mainly the stuff about Michael Salvatore and the kiss. But she shared enough that Mr. V understood the reason she didn’t want to go out on a job this important right away was because she needed enough sleep to regain the bulk of her abilities.

“I understand,”
Mr. V said when she’d finished. Then he sat back in his seat once more and absently scruffed his beard. “This brings new information to the table, most certainly.” He thought things over for a while in silence, and finally sighed. “The targets in this assignment are set to catch a flight at 10 a.m. tomorrow morning. They are a family consisting of a single mother and four little girls who are scheduled for female genital mutilation against their wishes and the wishes of their mother. If we’re to help them, we must prevent them from arriving at the airport, to say nothing of getting on the plane.” He paused, allowing her to digest the information. “Will this give you enough time to recuperate?”

She had been doing the math, and now she nodded. “I think so.” She stood, not wanting to waste any time. She’d eaten, so she was good there. She just needed a few hours of sleep.
Anyone else, knowing what they would face upon waking, would never have been able to fall asleep in the first place. But this was old work for Rhiannon. She’d been doing it for years. She’d adjusted.

Mr. Verdigri raised his glass of iced lemonade in a kind of toast. “Sweet dreams, Rhiannon. Perhaps they will feature our Detective Salvatore.”

Rhiannon blushed, but turned away, hoping to hide most of it. She didn’t want her boss to see her reaction to the detective’s mention. It wouldn’t do. There would be questions, and that
kiss
would come up, for sure. Which would only lead to more questions.

“Perhaps,
” she said casually, as if to make light of his comment.

She began to walk off when she heard him chuckle softly behind her. “After a kiss like that,
Miss Dante, I would imagine so.”