Authors: Christina Henry

Tags: #Fiction, #Fantasy, #General, #Contemporary

Black Wings (21 page)

BOOK: Black Wings

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Nathaniel held out his hand for me to take. I stared at him until his hand dropped to his side. Two bright spots of color appeared on Nathaniel’s cheekbones and I heard Gabriel sigh softly next to me.

I didn’t care if I offended Nathaniel. Something about him struck me as shifty. And I didn’t like the way he talked to Gabriel at all. I didn’t want that creep touching me. What I did want was to take Gabriel’s hand and hold on tight, because at that moment I was terrified and unsure. What was happening to Ms. Greenwitch? What would my father think of me?

“If you will follow me,” Nathaniel said abruptly and turned on his heel. I noted his pricey black leather boots as they rang out on the marble floor.

We crossed into the room, which seemed to be a kind of parlor. I didn’t think much of the decorations, which leaned toward the Baroque. Gold leaf and heavy velvets everywhere, dark carved woods, silk wallpaper. There was a doorway at the far end of the room that led to a hallway, and at the end of the hallway was a wide marble staircase that swept upward in a long curl, so that the top of the stairs faced the direction opposite the bottom step.

Nathaniel said nothing further. He led us past several more carved doors in the hallway, all closed, and I wondered what was behind them. Kitchen, dining room, guest room? Torture chambers? My father’s harem? Armies of the undead?

We followed Nathaniel up the stairs in silence, my trepidation growing with every moment. The stairs opened to an enormous room flanked by white columns. The ceiling was at least thirty feet high and the room was about a hundred yards long. It was like entering a cathedral.

Jewel-toned rugs were scattered all over the floor, and there were more pieces of uncomfortable-looking Baroque furniture artfully arranged throughout the room. Several dozen more of the fallen were here, and I got the impression that they had artfully arranged themselves as well. Whether this show was for my viewing pleasure or Azazel’s, I didn’t know.

At the far end of the room a small crowd was gathered, blocking my view. Nathaniel walked forward, and as he walked every person in the room turned to look at us, and there were whispers as we passed.

“That’s her.”

“Who?”

“Lord Azazel’s daughter.”

“
That’s
Madeline?”

“Awfully small, isn’t she?”

“Where are her wings?”

“That can’t be her. She’s too puny.”

“She’s supposed to be half human.”

I ignored the whispers, which were surely meant to reach my ears. So what if this bunch of beautiful poseurs didn’t think I looked like much? I knew the content of my own character, and I didn’t need their approval.

But they,
I thought with sudden amusement,
probably need mine. After all, Gabriel said I was something like a princess here.

The thought brought a mischievous smile. Gabriel, ever attuned to my changes of mood, looked at me with a question in his eyes.

Later,
I mouthed.

The crowd around us parted as quietly as water, and the tableau before me wiped the smile from my face.

Ms. Greenwitch knelt on the floor, her back to me, her hands clasped in front of her. A guard stood beside her, also turned away from me. Facing Ms. Greenwitch was the man who could only be my father. I had a little start when I realized he didn’t look that much older than I did. I supposed I had forgotten he was an angel and, though he’d lived thousands of millennia, would not have aged. I guess I had always kept a vision of him as looking, well, fatherly.

Instead, he looked like a well-heeled businessman in his thirties, but I could see muscles bulging beneath his tailored blue shirt. He was the first person at the court that I had seen with dark hair besides Gabriel and myself. It was jet-black and cut short on the sides, longer on the top. I saw with a jolt of recognition that his nose was the same as mine, straight and defined, and his ears were also the same shape as my own. He did not have the same sunshiny aura as the rest of the angels, but there was a sense of controlled power around him that the others did not have. He frowned thunderously down at Ms. Greenwitch, and his anger was so palpable that I shuddered.

Then my father looked up, and I had another shock when I saw my eyes, my own dark eyes, burning with the fury of the stars.

I might have run to him, embraced him. I might have had a moment of embarrassed tears, overwhelmed by my feelings for this man who had fathered me, this man whom I had never seen before this moment. But none of those things happened.

Lord Azazel looked at me, and he said, “Daughter, is it true that this woman harmed you?”

Every eye was on me with laser intensity, including Ms. Greenwitch’s. There was blood on her mouth and a scrape across her cheek. Her strange gray eyes overflowed with tears.

I realized that her well-being depended on my answer. She had already admitted to harming me in front of witnesses, but perhaps I could downplay what had happened.

“It was a misunderstanding,” I said firmly. “No harm done.”

“Did she physically harm you? Did she draw your blood?” Azazel demanded.

I thought about smashing against her living room wall, being shocked by bolts of power. “It was really nothing.”

I felt stupid, pinned by the intensity of his eyes and the lash of power in his voice. I should be doing more to help her.

“But you were harmed at her hand?” Azazel pressed.

“Um ...”

“Yes or no?” he said, and the command in his voice put my back up.

“No harm done,” I said again, meeting his eyes boldly.

Azazel narrowed his eyes at me. “A truth of a kind, but not all of it. Gabriel?”

“Don’t you dare,” I hissed under my breath.

“I cannot refuse my lord, Madeline,” he said in a whisper so low that I barely heard him. “I am sorry.”

Then he stepped forward and said, “By her own word and before a witness, Lady Greenwitch physically harmed your daughter, the Lady Madeline.”

Ms. Greenwitch dropped her head to her chest and let out a sob. I looked at Gabriel, whose face was white.

My father nodded at the guard standing beside Ms. Greenwitch. Before I could speak, he pulled a sword that looked like it was made of lightning from a sheath at his side. The sword swung to her neck as I stood frozen in horror, and her head rolled and came to a stop at my feet.

AZAZEL LOOKED IMPASSIVELY AT THE BODY OF HIS lover, now slumped and headless on the ground. The lightning sword had cauterized the wound immediately, so there was no blood leaking on the fancy rug.

Pretty handy. You know, for when you’ve just got to have that execution in your living room,
I thought a little hysterically.

Despite all of Gabriel’s warnings, somehow I had never really considered that it would come to this. I hadn’t believed that a person could be killed so easily, so blithely, for nothing at all.

And it was my fault. I hadn’t done enough, said enough, to prevent Greenwitch’s death. My own fear was not an excuse. Her murder was on my soul, even if I hadn’t been the one holding the sword.

“Your forgiveness, my lady,” the guard said as he bent before me to scoop up Greenwitch’s head. I noticed, in a distant part of my brain, that he looked completely human save for the large fangs that jutted over his lower lip.

Azazel raised his eyes to the assemblage. I turned my head slightly to look at them, and I noted that not one of them seemed shocked by the suddenness of death in their midst. I also realized that I hadn’t seen an Agent come to take Greenwitch’s soul. What did that mean?

“Lady Greenwitch has been tried and executed according to the law. Let this be a warning to all those who would doubt my word. If you harm my daughter, you will pay the same price.” My father turned his burning gaze upon me and held out his hand.

Something inside me froze, like a small mammal hiding from a predator. But I knew what was expected of me. I walked to him, coolly stepping around the body that lay between us, and placed my icy hand in his outstretched one. His skin was hot, hotter than Gabriel’s, so hot that it hurt me a little to touch him.

Spontaneous applause broke out as Azazel kissed my hand.

“Daughter,” he murmured, and his eyes surveyed me keenly, as if assessing my value.

“Father,” I said, and gave him a little nod of acknowledgment.

“Walk with me,” he commanded, and I didn’t dare disobey.

The assembled crowd fell back, breaking into small groups. Cocktails and hors d’oeuvres appeared on trays that floated around the room. Murmured conversation filled the air.

Azazel tucked my arm through his and walked toward the front of the room, away from the crowd. The proximity was uncomfortable. The power that radiated from him was much more potent up close, strong enough to make me feel a tinge of nausea. The heat coming off him was also too much in close quarters. Finally, I didn’t know him, for all that he was my father. I have never been comfortable touching strangers.

Nathaniel and Gabriel followed us, hanging back far enough not to eavesdrop. My father led me to one of the many windows that ran along each side of the chamber. Each one started at the ceiling and fell to about three feet above the floor. On a sunny day, with all the windows open, the angels would have sparkled like jewels in the light. But the day that we faced as we came to the window was overcast and gray. I wondered what it was like at home, and what Beezle was doing while I was gone. Eating popcorn and pacing, probably.

Azazel released my arm and turned to me. I was relieved that he had let me go and hoped that it didn’t show on my face.

His eyes flicked over me again, penetrating. I said nothing. Gone was all of the bravado that I had spat at Gabriel in my living room only an hour earlier. I was afraid of this man. I had seen his ruthlessness, and I had no doubt that he would kill me as easily as he had killed Greenwitch if I displeased him.

After several discomfiting moments he spoke. “You look very like me.”

“You could have found that out anytime in the last thirty-two years,” I said, and immediately regretted it. What had happened to my caution, my self-preservation?

I expected him to hit me, or blast me with magic, but instead he threw his head back and laughed.

“Gabriel told me that you had spirit. I am glad. It will aid you in the future.”

“Aid me in what?” I asked, my usual truculent personality emerging despite my best efforts. “My snappy wit hasn’t prevented Ramuell from trying to kill me several times over.”

Azazel sobered immediately. “Yes, Ramuell. I am sorry, Daughter, that I have not done a better job of protecting you.”

“Are you sorry that you weren’t there, or that you didn’t send Gabriel sooner?” I watched him carefully. This answer was important to me.

He seemed to know what I was asking. “I could not live with you and your mother, Madeline. I swore fealty to Lord Lucifer long ago, long before you or Katherine were a glint in the universe. If your mother could have lived here, perhaps it would have been possible. But she had her own master to serve, and chose to stay in Chicago.”

“Did that mean you couldn’t visit? Those portals are faster than the commuter jet,” I said, and felt the familiar little sparks of anger rising. “And, you know, it might have made a difference when I was thirteen and alone except for Beezle.”

“Who do you think ensured your safety and independence until adulthood? Who made sure that you had funds for food, and that the authorities did not examine you too closely?”

That made me pause for a moment, but I was too wound up to stop now. “You couldn’t just come and get me? Why the cloak-and-dagger routine?”

“I do not have to explain my actions to you, Daughter,” Azazel said icily.

I heard a little voice in the back of my head, and it sounded like Gabriel.
Careful,
it whispered.

The air around us smelled like cinnamon rolls in the oven. How come every creature that came from an angelic bloodline smelled like they just came out of a bakery? Even Ramuell smelled like burnt cinnamon and sulfur. I wondered if I smelled cinnamony when my power manifested. I would have to ask Gabriel.

I saw that thunderclouds had risen in Azazel’s eyes. He was, consciously or not, responding to my hostility. I realized that any display of power would be interpreted as a threat, whether it was intended that way or not.

I tamped down my anger. I’d seen ample proof to know it wasn’t wise to provoke him. “Whatever. You couldn’t visit. I don’t really want to talk about the past now, anyway. What I want to discuss is how Gabriel and I can find Ramuell and destroy him.”

Sensing I had backed down, Azazel relaxed visibly. I vowed again to be more cautious.

“Gabriel has told you of his history with Ramuell?” he asked.

I nodded, and he went on.

BOOK: Black Wings

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