Chapter 2 #2
I spent many nights in that bar, often much drunker than I should have been, with Shaw and a few others in the Order. We became regulars in our early twenties, and even though we are a tad tamer in our thirties, there are many nights I end up having a few too many.
“We should go soon,” he says again. “After you shower, of course, and maybe have a meal.”
I chuckle but remain silent.
He’s trying to keep things normal—I know he is—but everything is far from it.
I feel like I’m in a fever dream, and at any moment I’ll wake back up on the cold floor of my cell.
I feel an even greater separation from the Order than before I left.
I know when I return, they will look at me differently—as if I’m stained by prison.
I glance down, half expecting to see the shackles around my ankles, but my legs are free.
I grip my wrists and feel the pain of the handcuffs that chained me daily.
The light turns green, and the car moves forward with a loud purr. We continue down the busy street for a few more miles before Shaw begins to slow the car again, turning left into a dimly lit parking garage.
A large man walks up to the side of the car as Shaw lowers the window, showing him a badge that indicates who he is and what he has with him.
Me.
The large man leans into the window, giving me a look and whispering something to Shaw’s ear.
Even with our heightened hearing, I can't make it out. Shaw nods, and the man steps aside, allowing the car to move deeper into the parking garage where the Lyre Order sits. There is no sign of life anywhere, and that’s exactly how we intend for it to stay—completely invisible to the outside world and hidden from the other Orders and humans who would never suspect that we reside here, right in the heart of the city.
“It looks the same,” I finally say.
Shaw smiles and puts the car in park. “You would be right. It's funny that you’d think Lowell would change something in only a year. He hasn’t redecorated in over a century.”
He hops out of the car and quickly shuffles to my side, opening the door for me.
“You don’t have to keep doing that,” I say, stepping out of the car.
“Oh, babe, chivalry may be dead for mortal men, but I will keep it alive in us angels for as long as possible.”
“You are fucking annoying.”
He shuts the car door behind me, and I walk forward, the steps forever ingrained in my mind. I could make this walk blind and still end up in the office I dread entering. We barely made it within the hour to see Lowell, leaving no time for pleasantries with anyone else I may unfortunately run into.
Lucky me.
“He asked me to join you, so you don’t have to do this alone.” Shaw catches up to me. “It’s going to be fine. He’ll give you time to reacclimate.”
I push against the large door after the beep from Shaw’s badge sounds again.
If I know Lowell—and I do—he won’t.
I glance at Shaw, and just like every time before, he's smiling.
I've known Shaw since before I joined the Order.
We were friends long before I understood what that truly meant.
He's been a constant in my life, whether I wanted him to be or not.
He joined the Order before I did and played a big part in my decision—he begged, and I can't say no to him.
Shaw means everything to me, even though I do a shit job showing that most days.
The space transforms from a worn-down parking garage into a stunning entryway that takes you back in time. Shaw wasn’t kidding when he said Lowell hadn’t redecorated in a century.
Dark cherry hardwood floors are paired with dark velvet rugs, vintage paintings, and books older than some of the angels here.
It’s pristine. A large staircase stands in the middle of the room, leading to the building’s many meeting rooms and bedrooms. A massive fireplace is positioned to the right, where angels of the Order sit in chairs, reading books and keeping to themselves.
No one lifts an eye as we enter, and I hope it stays that way.
Shaw places his hand on the small of my back and guides me toward the staircase.
Up the stairs, down the hall, and to the left, I remind myself.
That’s where Lowell’s office is. With each step upward, a flash of anxiety fills my core, but I swallow it down.
I can’t show even an ounce of fear, or Lowell will be able to tell.
He has a way of dissecting his assassins, and I want to keep this as surface-level as possible.
It’s been almost a year since I last saw Lowell, and that time hasn’t dulled the anger I feel toward him. He sent me on that mission, fully aware of what could happen to me, but he didn’t care. He never does. He only cares about his image and successful outcomes.
For Lowell, failure isn’t an option.
Our footsteps echo on the hard stairs, resonating in unison with my thundering heart.
Shaw keeps his hand firmly on my back. He does this for my comfort, but I know he’s also using it to steady himself.
I glance up at him, and for the first time since greeting him outside the prison, he isn’t smiling.
His handsome face has turned to stone, and his brow is tense.
When facing Lowell, it’s best to be prepared and focused, or he will exploit any weakness he senses—as if he can draw your soul from your body. He’s an angel, yes, but nothing about this man is holy.
Not many of us are.
We stop before the grand double doors of Lowell’s office, and I take a deep breath.
Ornate depictions of old battles and massive angels are carved into the ancient wood.
Shaw slowly raises his fist and drives it into the door with a thud.
Silence greets us initially, and I close my eyes, trying to calm my own pounding heart.
A sense of my own power washes over me, and I feel my chest steady.
Shaw looks at me, but I stare straight ahead—as if I can see through the thick wooden door. I wish I had time to take a damn shower, but Lowell doesn’t wait.
“Come in,” a deep, angelic voice calls.
I smile and twist the doorknob, opening the door to Lowell Lyre’s office.