Chapter 51
Phoenix Zakriel, son of Elena, Angel-Made, who is the daughter of Marguerite and Jeffrey Deveraux, both mortals lost to time, and Archangel Raphael, who is the son of Archangel Nadiel, now fallen, and Archangel Caliane.
—The Naming Book (Archives of the Angelic Library, Refuge)
“Well, it is confirmed,” Keir said to them five days later, while Elena and the baby were yet in the Medica—the healers didn’t like to release any newborns or their mothers until at least two weeks after birth. “You are an annoyingly inexplicable creature.”
Elena grinned, hands on her hips. She wore comfortable black sweatpants paired with a dark gray T-shirt emblazoned with the Hunter Angel emblem first created by her mortal friends.
It was Eve who’d gifted her this one—as she did periodically. “It’s my job as your little sister to carry the mantle of annoying you through the ages,” she’d said the first time around.
It didn’t annoy Elena any longer; it was a treasured memory of people who’d loved her, laughed with her, joked with her.
So many of them had been part of the making of her.
As for Eve, she’d already been by to snuggle her nephew and make him all kinds of extravagant promises. She was also sitting in on the baby swaddling and other baby care lessons because she—along with Majda and Jean-Baptiste—would be staying in the Refuge for the year Elena intended to remain here.
Right now, however, it was only Elena and Raphael and the baby in the room with Keir. “Why do you look surprised?” she teased the healer. “I’ve always been weird.”
“How you continue to have human cells in your bloodstream and particularly in your heart is confounding.” The healer scowled—the first time Elena thought she’d ever seen that particular disgruntled expression on his face.
“I cannot explain it. I thought perhaps I’d made a mistake after all, and they just took on the appearance of mortal cells while being immortal, but no, these cells die at a mortal rate. I’ve had my results checked by five of my fellow healers.”
Raphael leaned against the wall. “They have to be regenerating; otherwise Elena’s heart, at the very least, would have issues.”
“Yes. The cells renew themselves like immortal cells—but they are not immortal. They are mortal.” Keir shoved his hands through the fine silk of his hair and pulled—and yes, that was definitely the first time Elena had seen him do that. “Every indicator comes back as mortal.”
He pointed at Elena. “Thanks to you, I will now be kept awake for endless nights over the mystery of it.”
“Per Marduk, such mysteries keep immortality interesting.” Raphael’s drawled comment didn’t seem to amuse Keir.
“But given the example of the mother,” Keir said, “the child should be a perfectly healthy immortal.” He walked over to touch his finger to the sleeping babe’s, his voice gentle as he said, “No doubt you will confound me as you grow, too.”
* * *
Two days after that, Elena did a few light stretches while Majda sat with her. The baby was asleep—he’d actually begun to sleep for longer stretches after that first day. As if, now that he’d satisfied his curiosity about the world, he was content to rest.
Today, he did so in Majda’s arms. His great-grandmother had rocked him to his rest, and now cuddled him close. Elena had the feeling that when the time came, she’d have to work to ensure their baby wasn’t so used to being carried that he didn’t want to walk.
Our kid is going to grow up in countless pairs of loving arms, she said mind to mind to her archangel, who’d stepped out for the morning to catch up with matters in New York.
Dmitri had left only an hour earlier, wouldn’t be home yet.
Last night the vampire had taken Raphael out for a celebratory drink, and her archangel had returned to the Medica happy and relaxed in a way that made her grin.
She, meanwhile, had been having a little party of her own with Hannah and baby Aanisa, Majda, Eve, Hannah’s mother, and their closest girlfriends in the Refuge.
It had been a thing of feminine energy, the men giving it a wide berth.
“Eli is with Cristiano,” Hannah had shared with a deep smile. “Kidnapped for a celebration—and I tell you, only Cristiano could get away with that. He is as languid as a cat. To see him, you’d think he spends his days sunning himself, never moving, and yet, he is a man who gets things done.”
Elena had laughed at the description. “I’ll admit it—first time I saw him, I thought he prowled like a puma.”
There had been more laughter—and cake.
“There’ll always be cake if I’m organizing a party,” Eve had declared. “I even baked the pineapple upside-down cake, I’ll have you know. From our sister Beth’s recipe.”
Elena had smiled at the sound of Beth’s name, loving that her Bethie was part of this celebration, too.
Hannah’s mother, a soft-spoken woman who radiated kindness, had declared that she and Eve would ever be friends. “Cake,” she’d said, her dimples peeking out, “is the foundation of a good relationship.”
Zoe, who’d managed to sneak away from Illium’s territory for a single day’s visit—she was his weapons-master, an elemental part of his territorial armor—had pointed a cake fork at the two women. “Facts.” Then she’d eaten another big bite of the chocolate fudge cake on her plate.
It had been a lovely afternoon of warmth and friendship.
Jessamy was the last to leave, having wanted an extra cuddle with Phoenix. “What a name you and Raphael have given him, Ellie,” she’d murmured as she cradled him in her arms. “Born of wildfire and rebellion. Yes, that sounds exactly right.” A delicate kiss on the baby’s nose.
“Thank you for helping us track down the legends about Marduk and Tiamat.” It had been in those scattered records that they’d found the name Zakriel. It wasn’t a common angelic name these days, but once, long ago, it might’ve belonged to one of Marduk and Tiamat’s sons.
While Elena and Raphael’s more recent history carried too much emotional baggage to put on a child’s fragile shoulders, it had felt right to give Phoenix that connection to the depth of his lineage.
“It was nothing, truly. You know I was—and continue to be—obsessed with those two,” Jessamy had admitted. “If only we hadn’t lost so many archives over the millennia.”
“Marduk said—”
“I know.” A scowl. “But I am a librarian, Ellie. I don’t want life to be interesting. I want my archives to be complete and in order.”
Stomach aching as she held back her laughter, Elena had hugged the other woman as they both gazed down at Phoenix. Not for the first time, Elena thought how lucky Gavriel had been to have Jessamy as his foster mother. “Has Michaela been in touch?”
“By a letter penned in her exquisite hand. She thanked me for loving her son, for making sure he grew up knowing a mother’s tender care.” Tears, quiet and heavy. “I do not blame her, Ellie, that she isn’t ready to meet me yet. I am but a memory of all she didn’t get to experience.”
A butterfly brush of Phoenix’s cheek. “I held Gavi just so many a night while Keir was in surgery. I rocked him out of his tears. I sang lullabies to him. I cuddled him as a toddler and had him underfoot in the library and at home. I put him to bed night after night. All of this, she didn’t get to experience except for a fragment of a heartbeat. ”
“Yeah.” It came out raw with emotion. “But she’s doing something right. Raphael told me that Gavi is still in Australia.”
“He calls me or Keir every week. I see that he is happy.” No jealousy in Jessamy’s tone, only the relief of a mother who wanted the best for the boy who was her son in every way but blood. “I hope it heals Michaela to see that her adult son respects and likes her.”
They’d ended up speaking about Gavriel and other subjects for an hour afterward, while Jessamy continued to cuddle Phoenix.
The entire day had felt good, felt like home.
Elena missed Greta, Honor, and the rest of her New York crew, but they would all visit one by one as Dmitri staggered their duties to allow it.
The visitors wouldn’t be limited to the Tower team, either—Lady Sharine, for one, had already declared that she’d be arriving within the week. Elena couldn’t wait to see her.
This morning, however—“I’m so glad you’re here,” she said to Majda. “It feels like a piece of Mama is here.”
Her grandmother’s eyes shone wet. “Was she a good mother, Ellie? My Marguerite?”
“The best.” Elena came to sit on the floor next to the rocking chair, her back against the window and her legs stretched out. “Even though there were four of us, I never felt as if I didn’t get enough time with her—she was so good about loving us. She had so much love to give.”
Though her heart ached, it was a dull ache. She could speak about her mother and her sisters with love now, and without pain.
“I remember going grocery shopping with her when I was small enough not to be in school. She’d leave baby Beth with Papa for that time, and we’d have our own ‘Mama-Ellie’ time—that’s how she always put it.
We’d go through all the rows, and she’d always let me pick a special treat to have in the car on the way home. ”
Majda’s voice was thick as she said, “It fills my heart to hear such stories.”
Elena realized she’d never before spoken this one aloud—and Majda had never asked for any more than Elena gave on her own, too aware of Elena’s scars.
But today, she was ready to speak. “She did things like that with all of us. She took Belle to her dance classes, just the two of them in the car, so they could talk and catch up alone—and afterward they’d stop for chocolate or coffee. ”
“What about Beth and Ari?” Majda made no effort to hide her hunger to know more of the beloved child she’d been forced to abandon to keep her safe from a vicious narcissist clothed in the robes of power and civilization.
“Beth was Mama’s baking assistant—remember how I told you about that time she got the mix all over her face?
” Elena laughed. “But she kept on learning, determined to be just like Mama.
I can still see her seated on the counter, her tongue sticking out of the corner of her mouth as she stirred the cake batter.
“They had their time together while we were in school. If they weren’t making something, they’d go to the baking supplies store to choose cake decorations, or to a fancy bakery to eat miniature cupcakes and get ideas.” How Bethie had glowed as she organized her plastic container of supplies.
“Ari was the most academic of us—she loved museums and libraries, so Mama would get tickets to shows and exhibitions, and they’d go to those together. Other times, they’d walk to the library to browse the shelves, and get an ice cream on the way home.”
“She knew her daughters.”
“Yes.” Bending one leg at the knee, Elena braced her forearm on it. “Our father knew us, too. He didn’t have as much time to spend with us one to one, but we never minded because what free time he did have, he spent it with the family.”
An unexpected flash of memory that brought with it a smile.
“When Belle hit that rebellious age, there were a lot of slammed doors—she was full of a wild energy, my big sister. But Mama would just throw up her hands and say, ‘She gets it from my side of the family, so what shall I do, azeeztee, but love her through the storms.’ ”
Startled laughter from Majda, her tears wet streaks on her cheeks. “I can imagine my own mother saying just that. We’ve always had a tempestuous element to our nature.”
Elena had never seen that side of Majda—but then, she only knew the other woman as her grandmother, had never known her as a young woman. She also didn’t have any idea of Majda’s relationship with Jean-Baptiste except that it was as solid as the stone of the Refuge.
“Did you slam doors?”
“Ah, but that is my secret.” Dancing eyes when she looked down at Elena. “But perhaps you should ask your grandfather about my temper. He has been known to say that I tricked him into believing I was a maiden meek and mild.”
Elena snorted. “Oh, that’s a definite lie.” Her grandmother’s steel spine had been obvious from their first meeting; no one would’ve survived what she had without having a great big streak of “fuck you” in them.
Laughing, Majda wiped away her tears, and then, as they sat there in a room drenched in bright winter light, they shared stories of family. Not just the people Elena had known, but those who’d been part of Majda’s childhood. An entirely different generation.
Phoenix, Elena thought, would grow up with a strong sense of his history.
And if the universe decided to grant them another gift, then he’d also know his paternal grandmother. I hope you’re healing, Caliane, she thought, knowing that Raphael remained wounded by the loss of his mother. The threat of madness would hang over him until she woke sane and herself once more.
Elena hated that for her archangel, but she knew that as the terror of her childhood had forever altered her, so had Nadiel and Caliane’s descent into murderous insanity marked him.
All they could do was lean on each other—and love their son.