Angel Condemned

by Mary Stanton

  “I don’t understand what this has to do with the key and the Cross of Justinian,” Bree said. “Although I’m grateful to have this all explained more clearly to me than it has been in the past.” She couldn’t keep the acid from her voice.

  “You never had doubts this severe before this, child,” Lavinia said softly. “You just went ahead and did what you had to do. You got guts, that’s for sure.”

  “May I continue?” Petru said.

  “You can tell me about my mother’s key?”

  “Somewhat. Your patience, please.” Petru raised his forefinger in the classic lecturer’s pose. “There are gates along the way, to keep the Dark at bay. There are keys to these gates. Leah had one of the keys in her possession. It is not known how she obtained it. It is not known what form it took. What we do know is that she released it as she died and that it has not been found since.” He sat back. “It is certainly possible the key is in the form of the Cross of Justinian.”

  “Aha! That would explain a lot,” Ron said. “The Opposition’s after it.”

  “What happens if they get it?” Bree asked.

  “Oh, my,” Lavinia said. “It would let a bunch of folk out that shouldn’t be out. That Pendergast, for example. He slipped out of the gate, crossed the bridge, and goodness knows what he’s been up to since that grave went empty.”

  “Where does that leave us?” Bree said. “Are we supposed to get the key and what, return it? Use it? Destroy it?”

  “Matter cannot be destroyed,” Petru said. “It can only be formed into something else. But the energy it would take to transform such a key is considerable. Far better to get it and return to one of the gatekeepers. It would be safe there and subject to the laws of the Crystal Sphere. Much better for us all.”

  “And what does my mother, Leah, have to do with all this?”

  Armand raised his eyebrows. “Your father, Franklin, is involved, too, I think. We don’t know, my dear. The answers to those questions are up to you to discover. It is our job to help you do just that.”

  “Dangerous for her.” Gabriel sat with his arms folded, a slight frown on his face. “Something got at Beazley. A nephiliam, if I’m any judge. We never did catch who killed Franklin in that fire. Wouldn’t surprise me if that was a nephiliam, too. Had all the marks.”

  Bree looked at Petru, who nodded gravely. “A nephiliam is a failed Power, from the Fourth Sphere. The offspring of humans and angels—the results of rape in a long ago war. Very fierce. Very much out of our league, you might say. We have few defenses against it. Gabriel is our best hope if it comes to a battle. But even he may be tested beyond his strength.” He turned to Gabriel. “I do not mean to disparage you, my friend. You understand that an objective view of the enemy is itself powerful ammunition.”

  “It would be an interesting challenge,” Gabriel said. “But I’m ready for it. If Bree is.”

  Nobody said anything.

  Bree thought of Beazley’s body, of the dreams she’d had of the fire that had consumed her father, Franklin. She directed her question to Gabriel. “Do you think this nephiliam is behind my parents’ deaths?”

  “If the key is involved, almost certainly.”

  “Do you know who it is?”

  “I could hazard a guess. I won’t know for certain until I meet it. It would help to have a name. Each of the Powers has a specific character.”

  Everyone turned to Petru.

  “I do not know, at this point. A great deal is hidden from us, Bree, as you may surmise. But, just as Gabriel is ready to do battle with his sword, I am ready to fight with my scholarship.”

  “And I,” Armand said.

  Lavinia didn’t move from her chair, but Bree felt her caress on her cheek.

  “We’re all with you, Bree,” Ron said. “You haven’t had to call on it yet, but I’ve got some pretty impressive weather to field when we need it. And Lavinia, of course, has the birds of the air and the beasts of the field. What more could an army ask for?”

  Bree bit her lip. Not to fight at all? Was that an option? She met Armand’s grave gaze. She wanted to shout: “What do I have, against all these terrible things?”

  “More than you know,” Lavinia said. “Think about this, child. In the last four months, you never asked once: Why me? Why am I the advocate, and not some other poor soul? When I was laying there in the slave ship on my way to the auction house all those years ago, I never asked ‘Why me?’ either. It’s how it is. You play the cards you been dealt.

  “What I did know is what you know deep inside you. I got the will. You got the will, too, Bree. You have the will. It should be enough.”

  “What do you wish to do?” Armand asked mildly. “Your initial question, I believe, was whether you had the option to turn down a prospective client. You do. You asked what protection is available to you and yours. Petru has just told you. Ron has told you. Gabriel has told you. You have the might of lightning and the power of the sea. You have the beasts of the field and the birds of the air. You have Gabriel’s sword and your own, considerable will. If that will has flagged in the face of all that a temporal life has to offer? That’s to be expected. This won’t be the last time.” His thin lips quirked upward. “Unless, of course, it is the last time, and you decide to renounce the position and choose a temporal life, with all the joys and sorrows that is heir to. That’s your choice, and yours alone.”

  Bree stared at him.

  Armand paused, as if waiting for an answer. When she said nothing, he went on. “You asked what connection your family has to this case. We don’t fully understand that yet. It appears that Schofield Martin once possessed the Cross. He was killed while handling it. Prosper White, too, is dead. And he had it in his possession to assess it, however briefly.”

  “But the relic White had was a fake,” Bree said. “Chambers gave it to me. He said it was a fake.”

  Petru tugged at his beard. “The artifact Chambers threw at you was a fake. Perhaps. The artifact that is missing from your bag was a fake. Perhaps. Beyond that, we know very little.”

  Bree closed her eyes, to shut out the sight of the Company. She folded herself into the chair and made herself as small as she could. She put her hands over her ears, the better to focus on what she should do. She imagined herself utterly, entirely alone. For a long while she sat there, waiting for an answer.

  Archie’s shriek pierced her isolation. “So,” Archie said. “Do you go home? Do you go home? Do you stay and fight? Stay and fight?”

  She blinked. The light of the angels’ spirits dazzled her, and she waited until her eyes adjusted to their shapes. “We need to find out. Don’t you all think so? So I’ll take Schofield Martin on as a client. And we’ll take it from there.”

  A crystalline light rose slowly in the corners of the room, spreading like a great, soundless rush of sparkling water. It spread across the walls, the books, the bodies of those in the chairs around the table. It spilled upward, bathing them in a serene and joyous peace. Bree’s bone-deep weariness faded. The ache in her chest ebbed. She breathed in the scent of sun and meadows starred with flowers.

  “Hola!” Archie screeched. “One for all!”

  “And all for one,” Lavinia said softly. “To the Company.”

  Bree swept her gaze around the table and nodded her agreement. “The Company.”

  Fourteen

  “You’re not very late, dear.” Francesca was curled into the rocking chair by the fireplace, a book open on her lap. “Did you accomplish what you set out to do?” She looked at Bree over her reading glasses. “You must have. You look rested, thank God, and not so . . . exhausted. Almost back to normal. What happened?”

  “I think I got a handle on the case.”

  “Your father frets until he sees the way, too. Well, I’m glad you’re feeling on top of things, honey. We were all a little worried about you.” She stroked Sasha, who had padded over to greet her. “Although I always feel that Sasha will look out for you. Even if he’s o
nly a dog.”

  Bree glanced at the clock on the living room wall. Less than an hour had passed since her trip out to Melrose. Lavinia’s voice echoed in her mind: What is time to an angel?

  “Were you dozing?” Bree gave her a hug.

  “I must have been.”

  “You didn’t stay for Antonia’s play?”

  “No. No. Shaw is such a talky playwright. But it’s an excellent production. And the technical staging is superb. Antonia’s very good at her job.” She rubbed her forehead. “If I could just feel a little settled about Cissy . . .”

  “Any word?”

  “Your father called. McCallen rustled up a judge. She’ll be released in a bit.”

  Bree raised her eyebrows. “So soon? I’m truly glad of that. But it’s going to raise a ruckus.”

  “Preferential treatment for the wealthy? You’re right. And what kind of good liberal am I, that I don’t give a damn? Not when it’s my own sister.”

  Bree moved restlessly around the room. She felt keenly alive. She was ready to take on the world, and if the world wasn’t ready, she’d settle for the Chatham County judicial system. “I feel the same way, Mamma. It’d be different if she’d had a hand in all this, but she didn’t.”

  “I was just waiting to hear that she’s on her way home.” She patted her cell phone, which sat on the end table. “Soon as your father calls, I’m going to head on over there. I’m glad you got back before I had to go.”

  “Would you like me to drive you over? You can pick up your car tomorrow.”

  “No, no, thank you, darlin’. God knows what we’ll all be doing tomorrow. Although you and your father ought to get together at some point. Why don’t we plan on breakfast at Cissy’s about eight?” The gentle tones of her cell phone ring sounded. “And there he is.” She picked it up.

  Bree stared at the mirror over the mantel, thinking of the horned thing. Was there a way to summon it up? Could she confront it, send one of the Third Sphere demons back to Hell, and leave her home a refuge, the way it used to be?

  Sasha barked. She brought her attention back to her mother.

  “I’m on my way.” Francesca had her lambs’ wool coat over one arm and her umbrella in the other. “Daddy says he’d like us all to meet at Cissy’s house, eight o’clock tomorrow, if that suits you. She’s got one of those ankle bracelets, poor thing. So distressing. We’ll have breakfast ready. Bring Antonia if you can. She can distract Cissy while you and the other lawyers talk.”

  “I’ll ask EB to come, too. It’d be good to have someone to take notes.”

  “Now I do like that secretary of yours. How is she getting along with that GED?”

  Bree realized that her whole family—her whole temporal family—had accepted EB’s presence without one question about Ron and the Angelus Street office. “She’s doing really well. As soon as she gets that diploma, she’s going to start at one of the community colleges. She’s bound and determined to become a paralegal.”

  “Isn’t that a wonderful thing.”

  “Yes.” Bree eyed Francesca a little mischievously. “You’re not going to ask about Petru? Do you think I should ask him to give EB pointers?”

  “Who, dear?”

  “Petru. Petru Lechta. You met him at the party you gave me at 700 Forsythe three months ago. He didn’t stay very long. He fades early at cocktail parties.”

  “Who would that be? One of your older lawyer friends here? Is he married?”

  “He has a sister. Rose.”

  “A single gentleman, then.” Francesca slung her handbag over her shoulder with an absentminded air. “EB’s a widow, isn’t she? I hope he’s nice and older than fifty. Walk me out to the car, dear.”

  Bree walked her mother out to her car. It was turning colder. Rain clouds hung heavy and swollen over the river. But it felt safe—unlike the threat of the night before. She looked for the flash of silver that meant Gabriel was nearby but didn’t see it. The Cross was gone—and the lack of it cheered her up enormously.

  Francesca belted herself in and held her cheek up for a kiss. “Sleep well. See you in the morning. Now look at that. Who’s coming to visit at this time of night?”

  Bree recognized the Crown Victoria. Suddenly, it was a little harder to breathe. “It’s Lieutenant Hunter. You drive on, Mamma. I’ll talk to him.”

  “Sam Hunter, huh? Well. Tell him I say hey-howdy.” Francesca looked up at her mischievously. “You get to bed early, now. Nothing like a good night to make you feel terrific in the morning.”

  “Mamma!”

  “Bree!” she mimicked. She pulled the driver’s door closed and drove off into the humid night.

  Bree waited for Hunter by the front door. He had only a sport coat on to protect himself against the cool air. “Come on in where it’s warm.” She held her hand out and tucked it under his arm and drew him into the front hall. “Thank you for coming by. You’ve heard that Cissy’s been released on house arrest.”

  “I heard.”

  Bree shut the front door and went ahead of him into the house. He didn’t follow. She turned to him. “Sam? Are you coming in? I can open a bottle of wine, and we can maybe send out for something to eat. Mamma made me an omelet, but I’m starving.”

  “I can’t stay.”

  “You can’t . . . Oh.” She examined his face. She should have known immediately why he had come. She walked slowly back to him where he stood by the door. “Oh, damn.”

  “The case against your aunt is a good one.”

  “So there’s no fraternizing with the suspect’s family?” She leaned against the wall, her arms folded under her breasts. “She didn’t do it, Sam.”

  “I don’t think she did.”

  “But there’s a ton of media attention.”

  “Yeah.” His face was a little stern. “It might have been better if your father’s high-powered attorney hadn’t pulled as many strings as he did to get her out so quickly. But there you are. I suppose if it were my mother’s sister, I’d try the same thing. You don’t make a big deal of it, Bree, so I forget how influential your family is.”

  “I don’t make a big deal of it because it doesn’t matter, day to day.”

  “Except under exceptional circumstances. Like your aunt being arrested for murder.”

  “You aren’t going to go all . . .” She waved her hands in the air. “I don’t know. Huffy on me? I can’t help who I’m related to.”

  “There’s not a good feeling in the department about this.”

  “I don’t expect there would be. This is just a temporary thing, right? This not seeing each other? Especially,” she added, feeling rather pitiful, “since we just started seeing each other.”

  “I don’t know,” he said.

  “You don’t know?”

  “I don’t have to tell you how long things like this can drag on. You’re a witness. I’m the arresting officer . . .”

  “Stop.”

  “Okay.”

  They stared at each other.

  “We’re going to handle this just fine,” he said.

  Bree said suddenly, “What this is, is a big-time motive to find out who really killed Prosper White.”

  “For me, it certainly is. And before you challenge me to a race to see who can find the real murderer first, I have to remind you that you’re an officer of the court and not a member of the Chatham County Police Department.”

  “I know that.”

  “So you’ll keep your head down and let the department do its job.”

  “I hear you loud and clear.”

  “Which is not, as I hear it, a promise to leave it alone.”

  “No,” Bree admitted, “it isn’t.” She slid her arms around him, underneath his sports coat. “Maybe I can divert your attention?”

  “Maybe not. That sounds like a key in the front door.”

  Bree grabbed his wrist and looked at his watch. “Damn. It’s too early for Antonia.” She scowled as her sister let herself in. “But it’s
Antonia, after all. What are you doing back from the theater so early? It’s not even ten thirty.”

  “Exigent circumstances, my director said. I had to Google ‘exigent’ on my Blackberry. It means extreme or perilous.” Antonia began to divest herself of her hoodie, her scarf, her boots, and her various parcels, which she left in a heap by the front door. “I think he doesn’t like all the attention coming my way because of Cissy. I don’t like it myself.”

  “Don’t leave all that stuff there. Somebody will fall over it. And I know what ‘exigent’ means.”

  “Then you’ll know that Tony’s right. It’s better that I’m home during a perilous emergency. How’s our aunt? And you . . .” She directed a glare at Hunter. “You’re the jerk who arrested her. What are you doing here?”

  “I was just leaving.”

  “Good!”

  “Not good,” Bree said. “Leave us alone for a minute, Antonia.”

  “If I don’t, will he arrest me, too?” Antonia tossed her head and sidled by them both. Bree waited until she heard her sister clattering in the kitchen.

  “So, Hunter.” She slid her arms around him once more and kissed him. It was a long kiss but not long enough. She buried her face in his shoulder. He smelled like cold air and damp wool. “You won’t forgot me, Hunter, while all this is going on?”

  “I can’t forget you. Sometimes I wish I could.”

  Antonia was at the kitchen table with Bree’s morning yogurt in front of her when Bree came in some minutes later. “Fraternizing with the enemy.”

  “Don’t joke about it, okay?”

  Antonia darted a shrewd glance at her. “You look awful.” She made a face and said, apologetically, “Couldn’t help but overhear. But things are like, temporarily off?”

  “That’s right.”

  “That sucks, Bree.”

  “It sure does.”

  “Sorry. It’s a mess, isn’t it?”

  “Couldn’t be messier.”

  “You and Daddy going to fix this?”

  “We’re going to try.”

  “Can’t ask for better than that.” Antonia yawned, suddenly. “Gosh. I’m pooped. What’s on for tomorrow?”