Archangel's Heart (38 page)

Elena nodded.
Right. It's all about easy access
. Exhaling quietly, she twisted the handle with care and stepped inside, going low so Raphael could see over her.

Her mouth fell open.

She—Raphael, too, when he came in behind her—stood in
a lush living area. It was nice and spacious, the carpet beneath their feet a thick, velvety gray, while what looked to be priceless paintings hung on the walls on either side. The settees—definitely not sofas—were an exquisite, deep burgundy with curved wooden arms and legs.

The furniture was clearly meant to accommodate wings.

A waiting area,
Raphael said.

Or one where the sick bastards hang out.
Scanning the three doors to their left and seeing no differences between them, Elena decided to go from closest to farthest. She walked in silence to the first door while Raphael stayed slightly back so he could cover her from threats from the other two doors or the one through which they'd entered.

This time when Elena opened the door—after turning the key in the lock—she scented the opulent perfume . . . and came face to face with a small and curvy young woman dressed only in a towel, her hair damp. Her mouth opened, as if to cry out in shock, but Elena was already moving, her hand clamped over the woman's mouth before the sound could escape.

The mirror in front of them reflected their images, Elena's golden-skinned hand covering the woman's mouth—a woman who had her own hands, her skin a rich cream, holding on tight to her towel. Her eyes were huge amber orbs.

Shaking her head in the mirror, Elena lifted her free hand and pressed a finger to her lips. “
Shh.
” A sound and an action understandable in any language.

The woman gave a jerky nod. Releasing her but ready to react at any hint she might scream, Elena watched as the brunette spun around to face her.

“H
unter angel.” It was an awed statement.

“You speak English.”

Another jerky nod. “Do you want . . .” She waved hesitantly at the bed on her right, the sheets still tumbled.

Relieved not to see any bruises or other signs of mistreatment on the woman, Elena put her hands on her hips. “You think you can compete with Raphael?”

The brunette smiled with firefly suddenness, dimples appearing in both cheeks. She was beautiful, Elena realized, but it wasn't the kind of beauty that was intimidating. No, her beauty was soft and sensual and welcoming. “I am glad you do not stray,” she whispered. “You and your archangel, it is a storybook come to life.” A long sigh. “
C'est tellement romantique.
”

That had definitely not been Moroccan, and this woman's English was accented in a way that wasn't local . . . and that made an ache form in the center of Elena's chest. “You're French?”

“
Oui
.” Still smiling, the woman pointed to a small vanity that held the usual accoutrements—well, usual for most women. Potions and pots and cosmetics. “I will brush my hair, yes?”

“Go ahead. I just wanted to talk to you, promise. Nothing to fear.”

“But it is . . .” The woman lifted a finger to her lips.

“Yeah.” Arms folded, Elena leaned against the wall after letting Raphael know everything was fine. “How did you come to be here?”

“I came with an angel down the long tunnel.” She shivered. “I had to close my eyes or I would've screamed.”

“No, not physically. How did you come to be . . .” Elena fought to find words that wouldn't be an insult.

“Providing joy to the Luminata?” A mischievous smile. “I was traveling through this area and I was made an offer.” A liquid shrug. “It is a wild thing to do, but they are angels and I have not made promises to any man yet. When I am old and gray, I will have scandalous stories to tell my children,
non
?”

Elena felt her lips curve at that utterly unrepentant and happy statement. “What's your name?”

“Josette.”

“Josette, I got to agree with you about angels—though I'm only partial to one particular angel.”

The other woman's laugh was half giggle and all delight. “If I had Raphael, I would not look at any other pair of wings, either.” Having combed her damp hair smooth, the dark strands showing signs that they might curl as they dried, Josette turned and went to her wardrobe to pull out underwear. Unself-consciously shrugging off her towel to slip on white lace panties, she then picked up a nightshirt she'd already hung on a chair and pulled it on. “You worry for me?” Josette asked.

At Elena's nod, the other woman smiled again. “I am happy here, and though it is a thing that is a little naughty, I will leave here with many delicious memories.”

A hint of wickedness, those dimples just the icing on the cake. “I have asked for nothing, no money, no gifts. Just memories. So I do not think of it as a transaction, more a . . . mutual pleasure, yes? An adventure before I go back to my normal life as a woman who works in an office and who wants to one day have a small house with a husband and babies.”

Elena had no problem believing Josette—but she'd heard how Gervais and his friend had spoken about those hidden in this clandestine space. Josette might see this as a little
harmless adventure in a life that would be ordinary enough otherwise, but Elena wasn't so sure about her safety. “The other men and women here,” she said. “You know them?”

The first hint of trepidation colored Josette's features, the shorter woman twisting her fingers together in front of Elena. “I can't open the door from this side. Only the angels have the key.”

Elena looked at the door, saw it had a keyed lock on this side, too. But there was no key in it at present. “Are you sure you're not a prisoner, Josette?”

“I have been here six days,” the woman answered. “One more and I am meant to be returned to the town so I can find my way to the nearest big city and fly home.” She swallowed. “They said they had to bring me here deep in the night, and that I had to stay in this room, because not all of the angels in this place accept the needs of the flesh. It felt like a fun secret.”

Amber eyes stark, she stared at Elena. “Was I wrong to trust them?”

“I'm not sure yet,” Elena murmured, wondering exactly how the Luminata had kept this secret for so long if they were picking up not only men and women from the town—people they could control and intimidate—but travelers like Josette who
would
speak of her adventures. The only answer was a deadly one. “I need you to enter the other two rooms so those inside aren't scared as you were when I came in. I want to check if they're here voluntarily, too.”

Nodding, Josette padded forward.

“Wait,” Elena said, suddenly realizing a rather big fact. “Raphael's outside. Don't scream.”

Face paling, Josette swayed on her feet. Elena caught her, held her until the other woman's eyes focused again. “You good?”

“Yes.” It was a breathy whisper. “He's here? Really?”

Elena nodded and stepped out first. “Remember, no squeals or sounds.”

Peeking out, Josette stared at Raphael for a long moment, seemed to stop breathing for nearly a minute before she pressed both hands to her mouth and sighed. “
Il est magnifique
,” she whispered to Elena, then, at her nod, walked out to go to the door next to hers. She turned the key, entered—and returned almost at once. “It's empty.”

Elena checked, tasted the scent of disuse in the air. “How many angels come regularly to you?”

Blushing, Josette leaned in close to whisper, “Three come almost every day. Two others have come once each.”

Five angels, Elena thought, even as the scent of the sea surrounded her.

There have to be more involved
, Raphael said.
The sense of wrongness in Lumia is too deep for it to be only five angels who are breaching the core values on which Lumia is built.

Agreeing, Elena spoke to Josette again. “I don't think the third room will be empty.”

Taking a deep breath, the other woman walked over. She turned the key, stepped in. Elena heard a gasp almost at once, but there was no scream.

Staying out of sight of whoever was in that room, Elena listened as Josette said, “It is all right. I am Josette. I am in the other room.”

The response was in broken English, the voice feminine. “Key? You have?”

Elena's heart thudded. The only reason the woman within would ask that question was if she needed that key. Shifting into view, she raised a finger to her lips as the woman sitting on the bed stared at her. Her hair was as black as night, her skin a light brown that looked pale and lifeless, as if it had been deprived of the sun. She was taller than Josette, but more slender. A willow dressed in a gown of pale yellow.

Seeing Elena, she began to hunch into herself, tears pooling in her eyes.

Josette rushed forward, hugged her. “Don't cry. Elena will help us. She is a good angel.”

It didn't look like the woman believed her, but she let Josette tug her up to her feet and told them her name was Sahar. Making a command decision, Elena didn't immediately allow Sahar out of the room—things were apt to disintegrate the instant she saw Raphael. “Were you forced here?” she asked point blank.

Sahar went white under the pale brown of her skin. “Family I have,” she said. “Baby son. Husband.”

“No one will hurt them,” Elena promised, her skin hot with an anger that kept growing bigger. “Please answer my question.”

Josette murmured encouragement until, finally, the other woman nodded. “They come always,” she whispered. “No go, they hurt family.” She swallowed. “If go, don't scream, maybe come home.”

“Maybe?”

A ragged nod. “Not always. My cousin . . . my neighbor . . . never come home.”

The slowly dawning fear in Josette's eyes turned darkly potent. “Will you help us?” she asked, a tremor in her tone.

“Yes.” Elena looked at the Frenchwoman. “Explain to her about Raphael.”

Leaving the two alone in the room, Josette murmuring to Sahar, she went to Raphael, told him what she'd found. The ice in his eyes was so cold it frosted the air.

“We need to go deeper into this level, find the ‘he' Gervais was talking about,” she said, “but I'm not leaving them here.”

“I think, Consort, we must rely on our friends.”

Realizing what he planned to do, Elena went to Josette. “Get dressed,” she said. “You'll have to travel through the hallways to a safe room.”

Josette didn't delay, Sahar going with her.

It was only a few minutes later that Raphael went back down the corridor and to the paving stones, asking the women to follow. When he told them to come close enough for him to hold them around the waist, they hesitated until Elena said, “Go. He's taking you to freedom.”

It was a powerful motivator.

Eyes of mountain sky blue met hers just before Raphael took off, the women clinging to him.
Do not get hurt while I'm gone.

I'll stay right here.
No matter her furious desire to discover the truth, she wasn't going to be stupid. All the Luminata were over ten centuries old; Elena was smart and she was fast, but she was still a whole lot mortal. Going in half assed would get her killed, break Raphael's heart, and not help any other man or woman who might still be a captive.

So she'd wait for her archangel.

He returned in a matter of minutes. “Eli was waiting on the other side of the door, is spiriting the women to his and Hannah's suite under glamour, so we have more time to unearth what lies here.”

Cupping his face in her hands, she kissed him hard. “I
love
you.” She had to say that, had to get it out before it overwhelmed her.

He touched his hand to her cheek, a warm, possessive caress. “Let's go end this.”

Pulling the door shut behind them, he used his angelfire to fuse the iron of it to the walls. “No one will be coming in behind us.”

Elena smiled grimly and went on down the corridor ahead of him, her crossbow out. She'd decided the gun was too dangerous in close quarters, could lead to a ricochet. And a bolt embedded in the face would give even a powerful angel pause.

She could feel Raphael gritting his teeth at having her in the line of fire, but he didn't try to push her behind him. In return, and because she knew how damn hard it was to let the person you loved walk into danger in front of you, she hunched down a little so he had a clearer view over her head.

Only there was nothing to see: the corridor came to a dead end on a smooth wall.

This time it was Elena who dropped to the ground and checked the air at the bottom using the feather she'd saved from before. The movement was again, very slight, but it existed. She searched all over for a mechanism to open it, could find nothing. “We can't wait,” she whispered, urgency pounding at her.

 . . . special chamber to see his pet.

Someone was trapped beyond this wall and awful things were being done to that person. And it was being done by a Luminata who held enough power or control over the others that they obeyed his every word.

“Step back, Guild Hunter.”

As she squeezed past him, Raphael pulled one of her thin throwing blades from a wrist sheath. She didn't react except with a confused scowl—he was one of the few people she'd let get that close, do what he'd just done.

Taking her knife, he stared at the wall for a few seconds before reaching up and pushing the tip of the blade into a spot that looked like any other.

The door cracked open in smooth silence.

So did Elena's mouth. “Care to explain?”

“My mother has been around a long time,” he said, returning the knife to her. “I asked her if she'd seen such invisible doors before, with no indentations that could be pressure sensors.”
Now we go silent.

Thank your mom for me.

Already done, Elena-mine.

And funny how you're in the front all of a sudden.

A small smile over his shoulder but, to her surprise, he turned to back himself up against the wall. She squeezed past—and stole a kiss on the way.
Thank you.
For understanding that she needed to confront this evil head-on.

This is important to you.

Yes.
Elena couldn't tell him why it was so important—maybe because it was near certain that underneath Lumia lay the bones of her grandmother and grandfather. In a strange way, it was a connection to her mother, a chance for Elena to fight another piece of the evil that had destroyed Marguerite's life.

This passageway was clean enough, but nowhere near as pristine as the other section. Cobwebs hung in the corners and the footprints on the floor had been created in new dust that sat over old, pressed-in dust.
Only one set going and coming from what I can see.
She bent down to examine the prints more closely.
Soft shoes with boot soles like what so many of the Luminata wear. Large-ish but not huge.

Getting up, she followed the footsteps—not that there were any side passages to misdirect or distract her. The deeper they went, the less “finished” the passageway became. Exposed beams, the floor going from stone to wood that was rotten in places and had been inexpertly replaced in other areas. As if someone just patched up the holes when they got too bad.

The person who comes here
, Raphael said,
does not permit anyone else within, even to do cleanup and repairs.

Elena nodded as the passage began to slope downhill.
Whoever he has trapped down here, he must've brought that person in long enough ago that the footprints have faded or been stood over.