Mists of Velvet (5 page)

“So, where have you been hiding?” Rhys inquired. “Bran has been looking for you.”

Suriel picked a speck of dirt off his coat and flung it onto the carpet. “Oh, here and there. Nothing permanent. I prefer to be nomadic. And if I wanted the crow to find me, I would have left a trail of bread crumbs.”

Rhys could just imagine what his arrogant great-uncle would think if he heard himself being referred to as a crow. Still, Bran wasn’t here, and Rhys could use Suriel’s unexpected appearance to learn more. Not that Bran would thank him for the assistance.

“So, while you have been . . . nomadic, what have you been doing?”

“Facilitating a few mortal souls to their maker. Nothing too exciting. You?”

Rhys did not feel a moment of ease at Suriel’s flippant attitude. “Just trying to keep my club going. That business with Trinity caused a huge problem with the cops.”

“They’re not going to solve the case, MacDonald. It’s beyond them. It’s up to Bran and his merry men to do that. Speaking of merry men, where
is
the Shadow Wraith?”

What the hell did Suriel want with Keir?

“I thought you were all-knowing, Suriel,” he muttered while he cleared the papers from his desk and placed them in a drawer. “Why don’t you tell me where he is?”

Suriel’s amused gaze flickered to his face. “You flatter me, MacDonald. But the truth is, upon occasion some facts elude me. I’m afraid this time is one of them.”

“Bullshit.”

Suriel shrugged. “Believe what you like.”

“I will. And I believe that you’re here to stir up shit—again.”

Suriel’s smile was a blend of cynical amusement and deviousness. “And why do you think that? I am fallen, not evil.”

“Doesn’t that mean the same thing? You sinned and lost your wings, didn’t you?”

“No, I still have those. They’re just black now.”

Rhys leaned back in his chair and regarded the angel sitting before him. Tall. Well built. Hair that was thick and shoulder length, the color a dark brown—almost black. His eyes were dark, too, fathomless. Rhys didn’t like to look too long into Suriel’s eyes. It was the one thing in the world he feared—what he would find in Suriel’s black eyes. No doubt there was nothing but death and terror to be found inside this particular fallen angel.

What had been his sin? Rhys wondered, not for the first time. What powers had God gifted Suriel? And what made him take them away?

Suriel pressed forward, his eyes growing darker with hatred. “You want to know what I did? I got laid.” Suriel waited for a reaction, and the bastard smiled when he perceived the tremor of trepidation that flickered down Rhys’ spine. “You flesh bags get your dicks wet whenever you feel like it and are spared his wrath. The one time I do it, I’m banished for eternity. Hardly fair.” Suriel sat back and propped his booted feet on top of Rhys’ desk. “So now you know. I had sex. Tasted the flesh of a woman. And now I’m here, walking this hellhole till He decides that I’ve properly learned my lesson. But do you know what? I’ve already learned everything there is to know about your kind. And that ain’t saying much.”

“What do you want, Suriel?”

“Believe it or not, I’ve come to warn you.”

Rhys snorted. “About what?”

“Your stupid curiosity and macho hero tendencies. That’s right,” Suriel said with a chuckle, “I saw you trying to open the portal.”

“Big deal,” Rhys muttered, trying to act nonchalant. In truth, he was utterly unnerved. Where had Suriel been lurking?

“Eyes and ears, my friend,” Suriel reminded him as he rose from his chair and allowed his black wings to unfurl from beneath the long leather trench he always wore. “It’s the mark of a good guardian angel.”

“You’re not
my
guardian.”

Suriel shrugged. “Who the hell else would put up with you?”

“I don’t need a babysitter.”

“You’re not getting my subtlety, MacDonald.”

“And you’re not getting mine. So let me be clear. I don’t want anything from you. Stay the hell away from me.”

Two large hands slammed down on the desk. “Shut the fuck up and listen to me. I’m trying to help you, even though it goes against everything I feel. Now,” Suriel said quietly, “do not make another attempt to go beyond that door. What it leads to is a world you cannot be part of. There are dangers there you cannot begin to fathom.”

“I already know about Annwyn and Cailleach and all the other fairy tales that have been passed down.”

“But you don’t know this one.” Suriel turned his hands over. Angelic script appeared tattooed on his palms. The ink was blue and vibrant, and Rhys felt his gaze latch on to the strange symbols. “Life, with the left hand,” Suriel murmured. “Death with the right. If you go beyond that door, this”—Suriel held up his left hand—“cannot save you.”

“What makes you think I’ll need saving?”

Suriel reached out, and it took everything in Rhys not to flinch as the angel touched him. Suriel’s fingers were hot as they swept beneath the neck of his shirt. “Do you believe in this symbol, MacDonald?”

Rhys looked down to see his necklace lying in Suriel’s hand. The ornate Celtic cross glistened against the script tattoos.

The cross had been a baptismal gift, bequeathed to each firstborn male of the MacDonald line. Daegan had brought the cross with him from Scotland. The story went that Daegan had the cross blessed with the waters from a sacred pool in Annwyn.

It was a protection talisman; one Rhys had never taken off.

“Do you believe in it?” Suriel snarled. The look in his eyes was rabid.

“I believe.”

Although he wasn’t a churchgoing type of guy, he believed, and what was more, he had immense faith in the power of the cross he wore around his neck.

Seemingly satisfied with his answer, Suriel lifted away from him and stepped back. Rhys heard the silky sound of Suriel’s wings scraping against the hardwood floor. “Good. Use that faith. Never let it waver. You’ll need it.”

“What is your purpose here, Suriel? The truth.”

“Use your head, MacDonald,” Suriel snapped. “What do I care if you go into that forsaken tunnel and get yourself butchered in Annwyn? I don’t give a shit. But He does, apparently.”

“How did you know I planned to go into the tunnel? Maybe I just wanted to open the door and have a look.”

Suriel snorted. “You don’t lie well. Besides, how do you think I know? He told me.”

Rhys’ gaze dropped to Suriel’s palms. The markings were gone; erased.

“Erased, just as you will be if you venture beyond the door. Remember that. I’ve done my duty,” Suriel growled. “Now it’s up to you, stupid human, to do what you want with the knowledge I’ve given you.”

And then the angel was gone, disappearing before Rhys’ eyes. As he shook off the unease he felt, Rhys’ gaze was drawn to the wooden box that sat on the corner of his desk. Engraved on the lid was a Celtic cross. He’d been raised Presbyterian—the Church of Scotland—and he believed. As strange as that sounded, as fucked-up as his life was, he still believed in God and the angels, in heaven and hell. A little piece of him even believed that Suriel was telling him the truth. Annwyn didn’t want him, and if he ventured into the Cave of Cruachan, God couldn’t—or wouldn’t—help him.

The warning was clear. But then, he’d have Keir . . .

“You needed me?”

Rhys looked up from the wooden box to see the wraith standing in his office.

“How long have you been here?”

“Long enough to hear Suriel warn you away from the cave.”

Rhys shrugged and glanced away. “Suriel’s a fallen angel. Why would you or I believe anything he had to say?”

“Because your God speaks through him.”

Rhys snorted. “Yeah, right. If God spoke to Suriel, he wouldn’t be fallen, would he?”

“The Dark Times have come to Annwyn. They’ve also come to the mortal realm. Perhaps your God is in need of Suriel’s knowledge of the seedier side of the human race. Maybe Suriel is God’s hope for humanity.”

Rhys met Keir’s electric gaze. He had looked into his eyes a million times; yet somehow tonight they looked different. Gone were the silver eyes rimmed with violet. Now they were white like ice, edged in a darker purple that looked almost black in this light. Keir was different. He was worried about something—or someone.

“Don’t go near the door again,” Keir commanded him. “It’s off-limits.”

The wraith’s tone made him bristle. Both of them were angry and tense, and they needed an outlet for the rage. They didn’t typically use each other this way, but it was different now. They both needed to let off steam, and they were each other’s convenient whipping post. “I’m not five anymore!”

Keir crossed his thick forearms over his chest. The divination symbols that ran up his hands and arms began to glow softly.

“Do not think of putting any sort of magical spell on me,” Rhys snarled. “I mean it, Keir. You think I’m pissed now . . .”

The symbols faded to a blue-black color. They now resembled ordinary tribal tats. But they were far from ordinary, or innocuous.

“It’s my duty to protect you, Rhys.”

“I know that.”

“There is no place in Annwyn for you.”

“I know that, too. But this mortal gig is pretty damned boring. Especially when I know for a fact you’re involved in something and are deliberately leaving me out.”

“For your own safety.”

“You make me sound like a weakling.”

“No. Just a mortal.”

Rhys bit back his thoughts. He really hated to be reminded of his mortality. When you spent your life with magical and powerful creatures, being human was a disappointing vocation.

He knew he wouldn’t win this argument with Keir, so he tried another tack. “So what’s going on in Annwyn that has you going there every day?”

“I want to see Rowan.”

That was the truth. Rhys felt Keir’s honesty, and his despair. But there was another reason for going. Rhys sensed it. And he didn’t like that Keir was able to keep something from him—not when Rhys’ life was an open book to the wraith.

But pummeling Keir wouldn’t work. And neither would pestering him into spilling what the hell was going on in Annwyn.

“Suriel does not lie about what will happen to you, Rhys.”

“How do you know?”

Keir winced, glanced away, and dragged his hands through his black hair. “I have seen it.”

Tarot cards. Keir’s special kind of magic was divination. He used scrying and detection spells, and sometimes fire. But mostly he used the tarot. And some of the shit Keir saw was downright terrifying.

“You believe me. I sense that.” Keir stepped into the office, closing the door behind him. “You know I would never lie to you about these things.”

Rhys watched as the wraith paced the width of the room. The heavy soles of his Doc Martens pounded the floor. It was the only sound in the room, and Rhys suddenly felt unnerved—oppressed—by the quiet.

“The woman in the alley,” Keir began. “I have seen more like her. The killings will not stop. They will continue on both mortals and immortals. The torture worse than before. The rituals will become more complicated, and through these sacrifices, the mage and his apprentice, the Destroyer, will become stronger in their power.”

Keir stopped before his desk, his eyes now a muted silver, a sign he was in an altered divination state. “The greater the sacrifice, the stronger the powers. Do you understand?”

“I understand the bastard needs to be caught before he kills again.”

“No. You’re not listening. The greater the sacrifice—”

“Why don’t you explain it—plainly?” Rhys demanded, exasperated. “I’m just a mortal, remember? I don’t get all this magical stuff.”

“If you forfeit your safety to look for me in Annwyn, you’ll have more than Cailleach to worry about. The mage will see you as a wondrous offering. Your struggles to save yourself will empower him. And what if,” Keir said quietly, “I cannot get to you in time? Do you really want your soul stolen and given up to the Dark Arts?”

Keir watched Rhys carefully as he continued. “Your courage is admirable. Your worry for me appreciated but not warranted. Your mortality makes you—”

“Weak?” Rhys snarled. “Inconvenient? A general pain in the ass?”

“Vulnerable,” Keir finished for him.

It always came down to this—how ineffectual he was, trapped between two worlds and belonging to neither.

“I gotta go,” Rhys snapped. “It’s opening time, and I have a full night to put in.”

“Do not worry, Rhys. Soon the mage will be caught, and this chapter will be over. We’ll be able to return to normal.”

Rhys stopped and glared at his friend. “What the fuck makes you think anything about you and me is normal?”

“You could have been a tad more forceful.”

Keir watched as Suriel emerged from the shadows. “I’ve already aroused his suspicions. He’s like a damned pit bull with a bone. His jaws are locked, and he’s not going to let go. He won’t give up until he wins.”