Chapter Thirty-Two - Lucifer #3
The underground garage was all concrete, shadow, and fluorescent light, the kind of ugliness I usually paid people very well to keep guests from seeing. Tonight, it felt useful.
Topher was still slumped against the window, unconscious again, his face turned toward the glass as if even sleep had left him looking for a door. I leaned across the seat and touched two fingers to the side of his throat. His pulse was unsteady, but there.
“Topher,” I said.
But there was no response. Even his lashes didn’t stir. And the rage in me shifted again, becoming something quieter and more dangerous because it had nowhere immediate to go.
Damien watched from the opposite seat, wrists still chained, the bruises still visible on his throat, but visibly lightening.
“You’ll need to be careful moving him,” he said.
I glared at him, and he had the decency to stop speaking.
Vespera opened her door and stepped out, looking profoundly offended by everything.
“Come along, Damien,” she said. “Apparently, I get to chain you to something.”
Damien’s mouth twisted. “Always nice to be wanted.”
“You’re definitely not wanted. You’re retained.”
She took hold of the chain at his wrists and pulled him out of the car with a little too much satisfaction. He stumbled, caught himself, and gave her a look.
She smiled. “Careful. I’m in a nostalgic mood.”
“Don’t make me regret leaving you with him,” I said.
Vespera glanced back at me. “Darling, you already regret most things. Go take care of your angel.”
“He is not my angel.”
“No,” she said, softer than expected. “But he is yours.”
Then she dragged Damien toward the service corridor. I hated that she was right.
Rafi stood beside the open door, hands at his sides, face carefully neutral. “Sir?”
“I have him.”
“You shouldn’t carry him alone.”
I looked at him.
Rafi looked back with the doomed courage of an excellent employee who had decided today was the day he wanted to irritate the Devil for practical reasons.
“He may convulse,” Rafi said. “Or stop breathing. Or wake disoriented.”
“Rafi,” I said, “if you’re trying to reassure me, you’ve chosen a fascinating route.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Before I could answer, the private elevator opened, and Azazael stepped out.
He took in the scene in one glance. Me standing beside the car. Topher still unconscious in the back seat. Rafi pale but steady. Vespera disappearing with Damien in chains down the far corridor.
Az’s expression didn’t change. That was one of the things I respected about him. He knew how to look at ruin without flinching.
“Evie?” I asked.
“With Liora and the nurse,” he said. “Awake and restless. But pretending otherwise.”
“Good.”
His eyes shifted to Topher. For half a breath, something moved across his face.
Worry, maybe. Or recognition. Topher had once been the archangel Sariel, and Az had been his friend.
They had served the Scala for millennia together, but Fallen things had a way of recognizing similar wounds in different skin.
“How bad?” Az asked.
“Bad.”
He stepped closer. Together, we reached into the car. Topher was lighter than he should have been. That was the first thing I hated. He had always been lean, but this was different. This was the lightness of someone who had burned through too much of himself too quickly.
Az slid one arm behind Topher’s shoulders. I took his legs first, then thought better of it and shifted, gathering him fully against me instead. Az gave me one brief look, but I ignored it.
Topher’s head fell against my shoulder. His skin was too warm. His breath brushed unevenly against my collar. One hand hung limp, fingers curled slightly inward like he was still trying to hold onto something. Or keep something from slipping away.
I tightened my grip.
“Easy,” Az said.
I grumbled, “I know how to carry someone.”
“That is not what I meant.”
I looked down. Topher’s mouth was moving, barely. His brows drew together, and for a moment, his body went rigid in my arms.
Az’s hand came to his chest immediately. “Topher,” he said, low.
Topher made a sound, and then the lights above us flickered. Rafi’s gaze snapped upward.
Az’s eyes didn’t leave Topher. “Pathway reflex?” he asked.
“What?”
“Do you think he’s trying to move pathways while unconscious?”
“Can he?”
Az’s mouth tightened. “In this state? Possibly. Badly.”
“Define badly.”
“He could tear open a partial passage through the elevator wall and leave half of himself behind.”
“Comforting.”
“I thought you preferred honesty.”
I ignored him and said, “Let’s just go.”
We moved, and Rafi stayed half a step ahead, clearing doors, keying us through private locks before I had to ask.
The garage seemed longer than it had ever been.
The private elevator stood open, bright gold and obscenely polished, waiting patiently.
I carried Topher inside. Az followed, one hand hovering near Topher’s chest, not touching unless he needed to.
Rafi stepped in last and hit the penthouse access as the doors closed. It was silent as our reflections showed in the mirrored walls. I saw myself holding Topher, but I wasn’t cradling him. I refused that word.
His face looked worse in the elevator light. It was too hollow and somehow, too young, which was absurd. Topher wasn’t young. None of us were, but his grief had stripped something from him. Now he looked like a man who had run out of ways to survive.
The elevator hummed upward.
Az watched the numbers climb. “Where’s Damien?”
“He’s currently being taken to the Reliquary by Vespera, so he is either answering questions or losing circulation in his wrists. Possibly both.”
Az’s mouth twitched once as the elevator climbed. I stared at the golden doors. Topher shifted again. His fingers caught weakly in my jacket, and I looked down.
His lips parted. “Door,” he whispered.
Az went very still.
I lowered my voice. “There’s no door.”
Topher’s brows pinched. “Wrong one.”
The elevator lights flickered again. This time, one panel went dark. Rafi swore under his breath, very quietly.