Chapter 34
THIRTY-FOUR
Excerpt from the Veydran Code of Conduct:
Mimicry without flaw is the only calling.
RIVEN
The portal spits us out near the gateway.
I reach out to steady Celine, but she lands without flinching, feet planted wide even while balancing Malach’s limp body over her shoulders.
Eyes hard and strangely blank, she marches straight for the SUV we left behind.
The doors open, and Ciprian, Alistair, and Luca rush toward us.
“Gods, fuck. Fuck.” Luca covers his mouth as he stares at the amputated wings in my arms. “Are those his—”
“I-I’ll call for help,” Ciprian sputters, yanking his phone from his pocket. It rings, but his fingers are shaking so badly that he drops it. Alistair bends—his movement blurring as he catches it before it can hit the ground and presses it to Ciprian’s ear.
Sheena answers, and Ciprian gulps. “It’s bad, shit, it’s really bad.” His wide black eyes stand out against his pale skin. “Send Idris and wait for us in the wing.”
The air crackles a second later, and a purple vortex appears beside the SUV.
Silent as the grave, Celine steps toward it. Her fingers are curled around Malach with a focused intensity that makes my hair stand on end.
Luca rubs his chest with the heel of his hand. “Is he—?”
“Alive? Yes.” I don’t bother to say barely. That’s obvious.
A gust of wind whips against us. It rustles the feathers of Malach’s detached wings, making them brush against my arms. I shudder.
It unnatural, the once living part of Malach reanimated temporarily by the breeze.
I want to drop the bloody wings, but Celine asked me to carry them, and I’m not going to let her down. Not after what I witnessed.
Gingerly adjusting my grip, I follow the others through the portal in time to hear Celine break her silence. “Do you have any healing potions?” she asks Idris.
He shakes his head. “No. Our relationship with the witches remains tenuous. With the alliance so new . . .”
Celine turns to Alistair, frowning when she notices the silent conversation happening between him, Ciprian, and Sheena.
“I’ll do it,” Sheena says. “Of course, I’ll do it. You don’t have to ask.”
Idris stiffens, and a muscle in his cheek flexes as he closes the portal. “Be careful, little djinn.”
Sheena pulls a jeweled dagger from the sheath strapped to her leg, wincing as she looks from Malach’s bloody body to his severed wings. “Let’s do this in stages,” she says. “I’ll do the life-threatening injuries first.” She nods at Ciprian, and his throat bobs.
“I wish Malach’s injuries were healed,” he whispers.
Sheena’s spine bows. Her feet leave the floor; her hair floats; and my skin pebbles as her eyes turn purple, glowing unnaturally. She’s otherworldly, and I stifle the primal urge to run.
All magic has a presence. Witches, angels, demons—you can sense them if you know what to look for, but Sheena’s magic is different. It’s sentient. I can feel it examining the wings in my arms before moving on.
“His injuries are severe,” Idris says. “She’ll be depleted.”
“Of course.” Ciprian curses. “I should have thought of that.” He grabs Sheena’s ankle, and black smoke spews from his mouth.
“What’s wrong with him?” Luca’s eyes flicker yellow as he reaches for Ciprian.
Alistair wraps both arms around his waist to hold him back. “It’s okay,” he hisses. “Ciprian is fine; he’s lending her his magic.”
Idris reaches up and links his fingers with Sheena’s, stiffening as soon as their skin touches. “It is worse than I feared,” he groans. “The fact that he’s alive is astounding.”
Frozen in place, Celine clings to Malach, her stare never leaving his face. It’s swollen beyond recognition, mottled by bruising and dried blood.
My muscles bunch, static rolling over me. I want to help him. Gods, the urge is unmistakable, but I don’t understand why. I have no issue with Malach. He’s good in a fight, selfless in a way I find foolish, and utterly irrelevant to me.
Why do I feel as though I’ll lose something irreplaceable if he doesn’t recover?
I watch, frozen in place, as the others rush to Sheena’s side, volunteering without hesitation to become her magical batteries. Alistair’s eyes turn red. A drop of blood drips from Ciprian’s nose. And Luca’s mouth falls open to reveal thick fangs as long as my finger.
Do something. My mind is screaming at me, and I stumble forward.
Unable to reach Sheena while holding the wings, I press my bare wrist to Ciprian’s forearm.
The tug on my magic is immediately. A drain pulling directly from my core, it siphons power from me, passing through Ciprian into the pocket-sized djinn.
My entire body glitches, electric ripples running from the top of my head to the balls of my feet. Celine curls into me. Malach’s limp arm bumps my hip, and she tucks her face into the curve of my neck.
Someone roars. No, that sound is coming from inside me—blood pounding against my eardrums. Will I survive this? Will any of us? I’ve barely processed my fears when the pull cuts off all at once.
The djinn hits the floor.
I blink frantically, trying to clear the glassy blur from my vision and make sense of what happened. Pale faces stare back at me, but everyone remains standing. I’m tired, but otherwise fine. At least, I think I am. My ability to shift sits dormant inside me as always.
If it was gone, would there be anything left of me?
Sheena leans against Idris. Her eyelids droop as she fights to stay awake.
“I healed all his injuries,” she says. “He may not wake up for a while, but he will wake up. I promise. There’s nothing wrong with his body.
” She doesn’t mention his mind. Pain scars in many ways that can’t be seen, and we all know it.
“The wings,” Ciprian croaks. “What about his wings?”
Sheena winces. “I tried to reattach them, but I think they’ve been separated too long. My magic didn’t view them as an injury. I can try to regrow them, but I’m too weak to do it right now. I’m sorry.”
Celine’s head whips up, her brown eyes fierce. “Don’t be sorry. I’ll never be able to repay you for all you’ve done.”
“You owe me nothing.” Sheena’s smile is tired but understanding. “Friends help each other, right?”
Celine’s eyes fill with tears. She glances at Malach’s face. It’s still splattered with blood, but the cuts and bruises are gone.
I imagine him waking up and realizing he doesn’t have wings anymore. My face glitches.
“I can carry him to the bedroom, baby.” Luca reaches for Malach.
Celine glances at me before meeting his eyes. “I’ve got to go back, Luca,” she says. “Rescuing Malach put fifty innocent staff members at risk. I won’t let them pay for what I did. I’m going to lock my father out of the house and destroy everything he’s built.”
Her declaration is met with silence.
I step forward. “I’m coming with you.”
Our night in the hotel might not have changed things for her, but it did for me. After years with no one to fight for but myself, I’m ready to stand for something.
Luca’s chest rises and falls slowly, then he nods. “Okay,” he says. “I’ll go pack our bags.”
“Wait, Luca—”
“Baby, if you say I’m not coming with you, I’m going to lose it. I’m yours, you’re mine, and this fight is personal for me, too.” He backs away slowly. “Don’t move. I’ll be right back.”
His broad shoulders are stiff as he jogs away.
Ciprian looks at Sheena.
She nods. “I know, bestie. Be safe.”
“Tell Callum . . .” Ciprian gulps. “Tell my asshole brother I love him.”
Celine’s wings flutter anxiously. “Ciprian, you can’t—”
“I can,” he insists. “You need Idris to make a portal back to the gateway. He won’t do it unless you let me come.” Ciprian tosses Idris an imploring look, and the fae rolls his eyes.
“Why not?” he drawls. “Use me as a pawn; I do not mind.”
The air ripples, and I look for Alistair, but he’s already gone, melting into the shadows.
He returns shortly, weaving around the tree roots pushing through the floor, two bags looped over his shoulders. “I packed some things for you,” he tells me.
I nod, my hold on Malach’s limp wings weirder by the second.
Luca runs around the corner less than a minute later, struggling beneath the awkward weight of three bags, one of which is huge.
Ciprian perks up. “Did you get—?”
“Your hair products, that lotion that smells like nectarines, and two pairs of shoes? Yes, I raked everything I saw into this comically huge duffle bag. It should be everything you and Celine need.”
“Thanks, babe.” Ciprian smirks and takes the massive duffle bag from Luca, hoisting it over his shoulder.
“You’re all coming?” Celine’s voice is shrill. It doesn’t match her slack expression.
Alistair kisses her cheek. “Obviously, angel. Am I correct in assuming we’re in a rush?”
She nods, the movement jerky and wooden.
Idris lifts his hands, his jaw clenching as he creates a portal. “Hurry,” he says. “I am too depleted to hold it for long.”
Since no one wants to be inside the fae’s portal when it collapses, we file into the light quickly.
The Colorado compound disappears in a blink, replaced by the shiny black and chrome SUV and the dull, abandoned construction site dirt.
How long have we been gone? Fifteen minutes? It can’t be more than half an hour.
The tiny, golden pocket portal is still active.
With both portals visible at once, the differences are obvious. The celestial one is more mechanics than magic, filled with sparks and zig-zagging currents that are desperate to latch on to something. In comparison, Idris’s magic is living watercolor.
“None of you have to do this,” Celine says. “This is my fight. And Malach’s, but neither of us expect—”
“Shut up and take me to your childhood home, already, hot wings. I’m dying to go.” Ciprian’s tone is a combination of warning and teasing.
Celine nods. Her eyes are glassy. Dazed. She’s going to crash hard, but there’s no time for that yet. We’re invading a mega mansion in a foreign realm, and we need to turn it into a fortress before S’lach realizes his daughter forcibly evicted him.
There’s nothing left to say; it’s time to move. Gritting my teeth, I step into the golden portal and let it take me away. My stomach churns. I close my eyes, only opening them again when there’s solid ground beneath my feet.
Raised white patterns stuck to a whiter wall. It gives me the creeps. Shaking off my disquiet, I move out of the way as the others come through.
“Is he alive?” Lyklan demands, staring at Malach’s unconscious form.
Celine sighs. “He’s healed.”
“But his wings?” Can he not see I’m still holding the damned things?
Celine shakes her head.
Lyklan’s throat bobs, then he twists the orb and closes the portal. “What are your orders?”
“What?” Celine’s eyes bulge.
“What are your orders?” Lyklan repeats himself slowly enough to be offensive. “We’re taking a stand, and if you hope to be successful, I’ll need orders.”
“Gather the staff.” Celine lays Malach down on a spindly couch which won’t remain white for long and plants her hands on her hips. “They deserve to know what’s going on.”
The next half hour passes in a blur.
I’m given a place to stow Malach’s wings, and I’ve never been more grateful to be finished with a task. There’s not much I can do about the bloodstains on my shirt, but I can handle that. It’s hardly the first time.
Celine addresses the angels in a large, empty room. A ballroom, perhaps? Golden truth runes dot her skin, and she speaks in the common tongue while Lyklan translates for us, muttering her words to Alistair, Ciprian, Luca, and I on a slight delay.
She asks if any of them know where their contracts with her father are.
None of them come forward, and she winces.
“You can’t leave yet, and for that I’m sorry,” she says.
“But I promise not to hurt anyone unless they try to help S’lach.
Lie low until the dust settles, and I’ll do my best to find and destroy your contracts. ”
An old woman steps forward. Shoulders curled with age; her silver hair is twisted into a tight bun at the nape of her neck. Her wings are shabby. I’m not sure if she’s from a different nish or simply the oldest angel I’ve ever seen.
She speaks in a raspy but powerful voice, and I glance at Lyklan as he translates. “She says she will stand with Celine and fight until this house is restored to its former glory.”
The crowd rumbles, then one by one, they step forward.
A tear rolls down Celine’s cheek—the first to fall since we set foot on this realm.
She brushes it away and holds her hand up, thumb turned in.
The angels murmur, surprised expressions appearing on almost every face.
One hand shoots shakily into the air, mirroring her gesture.
Dozens more follow until the room is full of raised hands.
The old woman speaks again, her wrinkled hand held high. It never wavers.
“She says we must secure the perimeter,” Lyklan says. “Branthe is head housekeeper here. She’s lived on this estate since before Celine’s mother was born.”
Branthe drops her hand and snaps her fingers twice, speaking in a loud, sharp voice.
Dozens of angels rush to follow her orders, streaming from the room in droves.
Celine turns to face us, her eyes glittering with tears. “I need to connect with the estate’s magic. The gates won’t hold forever, but there are other protections I can try.”
Branthe comes forward and speaks again. “She’s having rooms prepared for you,” Lyklan says.
“Room,” Ciprian adds, smiling widely at the older woman. “Please tell her one room is perfectly fine as long as the bed is huge.”
Branthe eyes him with suspicion that gradually shifts to amusement as she listens to Lyklan’s translation. She smirks at Celine and nods at Ciprian, disappearing after a quick bow.
“They expect my father to return from the summit tomorrow,” Celine says. “If no one tips him off, he’ll be blindsided.”
“And when he arrives and figures it out?” Luca’s voice is soft.
“Expect blood. Lots of it.” She turns and leaves the room before anyone can respond.