Conspiracy of Angels

by Michelle Belanger

  Kessiel’s threat resounded in my mind—that they would bind Lailah even without the Stylus. I didn’t want to think about that, but with the secrets Sal had me keeping, I couldn’t hold onto more.

  “Uh, Lil,” I started, trying to figure out how to broach the subject.

  “What?” She picked up on the change in my body language.

  I hesitated. “She’s immortal, right? Like my people?”

  “We’re nothing at all like your people,” she responded, and I was suddenly thankful the lioness had remained on shore. Given how responsive the spirit-beast was to Lil’s moods, she might have taken a chunk out of me right then and there.

  I took a deep breath, and met her steely gaze.

  “At the museum, before I killed him, Kessiel said something about binding Lailah.”

  Lil’s eyes widened for an instant and then she lost it. With a roar to rival the lioness, she threw herself on me, landing blow after blow. My leather biker jacket took the brunt of it, but she jammed the Beretta painfully into my ribs a few times. Still howling wordlessly, she tore her purse from my hands, began beating me with that—and the damned thing weighed a ton.

  I threw my arms up, protecting myself half-heartedly.

  “I could be wrong,” I cried. “He was doing that whole monologue thing. You know the Nephilim.”

  That did nothing to placate her.

  “Why didn’t you say anything, you asshole!” she snarled. She had me up against the railing, my back arching uncomfortably over the dark waters. One push and I’d be in the lake. Terror welled up at the thought, and I twisted away.

  She let me go.

  “I wouldn’t be able to sense her if they bound her,” she huffed, “but you better hope they didn’t take things that far.” Her eyes were fierce as a hurricane.

  Saliriel chose that moment to come down from the wheel room.

  “And this is why I shall do all the talking, once we board the Scylla,” she called. “Diplomacy isn’t a strong suit for any of you.”

  Remy scowled a little, but didn’t raise an objection.

  “You seriously expect us to believe you’re going to just parley him into a surrender?” Lil growled, still fuming. She pushed wind-blown strands of her wild hair back from her face, and glared defiantly at my towering sibling.

  “Of course not,” Saliriel snapped. “I’m going to keep him talking until we can determine what’s really going on.”

  “There’s one problem, Sal,” I said. “If I’m right about any of this, these people aren’t going to be interested in talking. They want my fucking head on a platter—dissected for easy consumption.”

  “I have it under control,” she responded. Yellow eyes flicking to mine, she added, “Just follow my lead.”

  “What the hell’s that supposed to mean?” Lil demanded.

  Instead of answering, Sal turned on her heel and strode over to where Asif and Caleb lashed the final rope between the two vessels, effectively mooring the Cantius to the anchored gunboat. The Scylla sat low on the water, but her deck still rose higher than that of the Daisy Fay. When the small party of workers on board the Scylla tossed down a walkway, I balked.

  “We’re crossing on that?”

  It didn’t look like much more than sections of wood and knotted rope. Caleb and Asif began fixing it to points on the Cantius without so much as a glance my way. I drew back with mounting dread.

  “Marching order,” Sal called. “Zaquiel, behind me. Remiel, stick close to him and be ready to restrain him should he attempt anything foolish.”

  “I—I would prefer not to, Decimus,” Remiel replied.

  “If I give you an order, Remiel,” she said, biting off the end of each word, “you will follow it—as we’ve discussed.”

  “Discussed?” Lil asked suspiciously.

  Saliriel talked right over her. “It’s bad enough we’ve brought along a daughter of Lilith. I’ll not risk further insults through the actions of one hot-headed Anakim. Stay behind him, Remiel, and be ready. You know how he gets.”

  Remy clenched his jaw, but lowered his head. His strained, “Yes, Decimus,” barely carried over the shushing sounds of wind and water. While he glared unhappily at the tips of his shoes, Sal flicked her yellow-eyed gaze to me. Her look didn’t linger, but it was enough. I felt the prickling power of the oath, and it was too late to back out. Too late for a lot of things.

  “Where do I fit in your marching order?” Lil growled.

  “You, my dear,” Sal answered wryly. “Will bring up the rear.”

  Lil muttered angrily in some dead language, no doubt spewing curses on the lot of us. She whirled away from the railing, her barely contained fury burning a hole between my wings. Saliriel strode forward and, mutely, I fell into step behind her. Remy, more subdued than ever, hovered near my elbow. Lil was right—something had passed between him and Sal below decks, and it wasn’t just some forty-year-old Scotch. How much had she told him of the plan? Not the Eye, that much was certain.

  Maybe enough to get him to play along.

  Can I even count on it being the same plan? The thought sped the staccato knocking of my pulse.

  The reluctant Nephilim trudged miserably behind me. When I turned to check in with him, I couldn’t find a single consoling word.

  We filed to the newly rigged walkway, Asif tightening a final knot as we approached. Although it had handrails, the walkway looked neither sturdy nor safe. Saliriel stopped me as I hesitated at the edge. Water sucked and slapped in the narrow gulf between the two vessels. The rest of our party clustered behind me, Lil jostling Remy to peer toward the Scylla’s higher deck.

  “Wait here while I deal with the greeting party,” Sal instructed. She pointed to the very lip of the Cantius where the dark waters roiled in the gap below.

  “Are you fucking kidding me?” I choked.

  “It’s not your place to argue,” she reminded with a flash of fangs.

  I seized the rails, white-knuckling as Saliriel pulled ahead with Caleb. The primly dressed Nephilim walked nimbly across the walkway, mincing in her heels. Rooted to the spot Sal had indicated, I effectively blocked the narrow passage between the vessels. Behind me, Lil shoved Remy till they both objected, but I couldn’t budge—the oath bound too tightly.

  Fucking hell.

  On the deck of the Scylla, another Nephilim approached Saliriel. Flanked by two burly henchman-types, he stood at least six foot five. His short-cropped hair screamed paramilitary, and his cheekbones looked sharp enough to slice paper.

  Saliriel glided toward him on her not-so-sensible shoes, launching into an elaborately rehearsed greeting. The other Nephilim dismissed the words impatiently, his hate-filled eyes lasering on me.

  “What the hell are you thinking?” he growled to her.

  The grin Sal offered him went as cheerful as a shark’s. “Jubiel—you forget yourself. I am a decimus. You do not speak to me that way. Where is your master?” She held herself stiffly, telegraphing affront with every line of her body. Caleb moved closer beside her, a wary expression deepening the lines of his face.

  Jubiel’s name stirred scraps of memory. The red-rimmed taste of old fury rose hot in my throat. I averted my face to hide my expression, but kept him at the edge of my vision. Behind me, Lil murmured, but the fickle wind stole her words from my ears.

  Jubiel ignored Sal’s question, stabbing an accusing finger toward me. “He’s dangerous. He should be wrapped in warded chains. Unconscious.” Tension thrummed across his muscled upper body. The lines of a shoulder holster shone against the light windbreaker he wore.

  “And yet here he is, delivered docile to your door—a feat which I doubt you could have accomplished yourself.” Her voice rang with eerie clarity on the damp night air. She folded her lightly muscled arms across her chest, skimming the faces of his greeting party with a look both haughty and bored. “Dorimiel is the one who should welcome me aboard this vessel, not some gaggle of underlings. Where is he?”

&
nbsp; “Busy,” Jubiel spat.

  Remy fidgeted anxiously at my shoulder, muttering, “He shouldn’t speak to her that way.”

  Lil smacked him.

  “She’s up there double-crossing us and you’re fretting over protocol?” Her next words were pitched for our ears alone. “This stinks, Zaquiel. If we start shooting now, I think we’ve got a chance. I know you’ve got a gun on you.”

  I didn’t respond. The oath gave me no option. I knew Sal was playing someone, and I hoped to hell it wasn’t me. A cold, hard knot clenched in the pit of my stomach. I had no way of knowing if I could trust the Nephilim in her latest gambit—the only oath I’d gotten from Sal involved not using the Eye on me.

  Too late now.

  “Why are you stalling?” Lil gritted.

  She shoved her way between Remy and me, elbowing me in the kidney in the process. My grip tightened convulsively on the railings. I wanted to shout or run or pull the Beretta for one last blaze of glory, but all I could do was stand there, rigid and waiting. My throat closed around all questions and objections.

  The panic of my thoughts flew to the precise wording of the oath.

  Half this shit drops away once we get on the damned boat.

  Cold comfort—Sal rooted me in place on the very lip of that transition. I shuddered at her reasons.

  “That’s not helping, Lilianna,” Remy said.

  “Screw this,” she spat.

  She snapped the charm at her throat. I felt more than heard the sound as it broke. A sudden backwash of power surged against my wings. I twisted to gawk behind me.

  Lil was nowhere to be seen.

  Sal’s voice cut imperiously over the waters, triumphant in her argument with Jubiel. The other Nephilim nodded grudgingly, then leered in my direction. The smile he flashed was all fangs.

  Fuck me running. Here it comes.

  “Remiel!” Sal cried with thunderous authority. “Incapacitate the Anakim and bring him to me.”

  “What?” I choked, amazed the oath allowed me that much. “No!” Behind me, Remy loosed a stricken breath.

  “I am so sorry, Zaquiel,” he whispered.

  He was still apologizing as he knocked me unconscious, the blur of his fist too swift to track.

  43

  The world returned in stages, each punctuated by the ache in my head. Rough hands seized my jaw, tilting my face till my neck kinked. Someone pried my right eye open, peering so closely that all I could see was an indistinct smear of shadow.

  Everything swam.

  They did the same with the other eye then released my jaw with a dissatisfied grunt. My chin dropped forward bonelessly, and only part of that was an act. The world spun, its axis fixed to a throbbing lump at the base of my skull. I’d been dumped into a chair. It had a hard back, all metal. Bolted to the floor. Loops of rope coiled from my ankles to my knees. The deep throb of machinery vibrated through the floor.

  “I’d be happier if you took him below decks. We have cells where we keep the Anakim. Warded.”

  Jubiel. From the way his voice resounded, we were in a relatively small room. Both his voice and the mention of warded cells stirred unpleasant memories—bright stabs of guilt and desperate fury. His naming of my tribe incensed me, as well. I wasn’t the first Anakim they’d held on this vessel.

  Lailah’s down there, too. I knew it with jangling certainty. With any luck, Lil had figured it out, as well.

  “And I tell you again, he is my prisoner.” Sal flung her words like ice chips. “I will not budge from this room until I speak with my fellow decimus. My bargain is for his ears, not yours.”

  Gentler fingers tested the ropes that bound my arms behind me. Remiel, most likely. Despite the dead-fish stink of Erie, I caught a whiff of his cologne.

  I played possum and listened.

  “Then you’d better get comfortable,” Jubiel said. “My decimus will be a while. His work cannot be hurried.”

  There was a sudden change in the pitch of the machinery.

  “What’s he doing, exactly?” Saliriel sighed the words, as if she were bored. Her heels tapped a slow circuit through the room.

  Jubiel snorted. He wasn’t fooled.

  “You can ask him yourself, once he’s topside.” With simpering sarcasm, he added, “I wouldn’t want to speak above my rank.”

  “Far too late for that,” Sal snapped.

  A tense silence followed, the stretching seconds punctuated by that constant, rhythmic hum. I cracked a gummy eyelid. Sal stood with her spine straight, vibrating with pent-up fury. Her head came close to brushing the low ceiling. Jubiel lingered a few feet away, a defiant sneer twisting his lips. Caleb hulked against a corner, clenching and unclenching his fists. He liked this situation less than I did.

  Jubiel’s head swiveled to me.

  “The bastard’s awake. Can’t you feel the change in his pulse?” Before anyone responded, he shot forward and struck me. Stars exploded and the world tumbled end over end. “Keep him unconscious,” he snarled. “I need to check on something.”

  I was just getting my eyes to open when he popped me again.

  * * *

  “I don’t think he broke anything.” Remiel’s voice was hushed.

  “Let me take a look.” Cool fingers touched the side of my face, testing bruises along my cheekbone and my jaw. It took me a moment to realize that delicate touch belonged to Sal. I jerked my head away with a snarl.

  “Don’t.” The shape of the word opened my split lip. Spittle or blood traced a slow line down my chin, but at least I could talk. So much for the “follow-Sal’s-lead” part of the oath. But we were on the damned boat.

  I tested my freedom by thrashing in the ropes. Nothing bound my movements save the tight coils of hemp. Remy took a halting step back. The fabric of his neatly pressed slacks brushed my bound hands as he drew away.

  “I’m so sorry, brother,” he said miserably.

  I didn’t dignify it with a response. I’d heard it all before. Blearily, I forced my eyes to focus.

  We were in a chart room. Streamers and swaths of orange and black drapery had been tacked to all the walls with patterned duct tape. Crepe bats and toothy jack-o’-lanterns dangled from the ceiling. I blinked again, and Sal read the incredulity spreading across my battered features.

  “I wasn’t joking about the Halloween party,” she said. Conveniently, that put them near Cleveland just days before the break-in. Like that was a coincidence.

  “I guess this time they decided not to take any chances,” I said. “Or do I have Remy to thank for the ropes along with the lump on the back of my head?”

  His silence was answer enough.

  Saliriel dropped her voice to a whisper. “To sell this kind of deception, Zaquiel, certain performances must be convincing.” She stood, smoothing her skirts. “You’ve always needed a little help.”

  “Yeah?” I replied. I spat blood, aiming for her fashionable beige pumps. “Your boy Jubiel nearly ‘helped’ me into a concussion.”

  “He’s not mine,” she replied tersely. “He’d have more manners if he were mine.” She sniffed, and with grandiose dignity found a crumpled napkin on a counter, using it to wipe away the blood.

  “How shall we proceed?” Remy asked. He framed the words with barely any breath.

  “Damn you, Remy,” I growled, “when did you switch sides?”

  “I haven’t,” he responded.

  “It’s hard to believe you when I’m tied to a chair,” I said. “Let me up already.” I twisted my wrists against the ropes. They wouldn’t budge.

  “Where do you plan to go? Both Jubiel and Dorimiel have anchors and agents all over this vessel,” Sal responded. Without waiting for an answer, she strode to one of the windows—portholes—and peered out. With the edge of one sleeve, she wiped away a film of moisture, then cupped her hands for a better view of what lay beyond. “The man they had at the door isn’t there any more,” she observed. “We should get our stories straight before Jubiel comes
back. We have a little time, I think. He appears to be occupied with something aft—they all are.”

  “We’re missing Lilianna,” Remiel reminded.

  “She had the right idea,” I grumbled. I tried the ropes again, cursing when no one lifted a finger to help me. Straining forward, I felt an angular weight pressed against my ribs.

  No one had taken the gun.

  As I tried to process that puzzling bit of information, the persistent, mechanical hum that had underscored all other sounds dropped away. My ears rang dully in its absence.

  Immediately it was replaced by shrill and desperate keening. No one but me reacted. I pitched forward and only the ropes around my torso kept me from hitting floor. The horrid sound rose in volume, till the inside of my skull felt shredded by it.

  “What the hell is that?” I managed.

  Sal, Remy, and even Caleb regarded me with varying degrees of astonishment and confusion. I writhed, certain my ears were bleeding. Remy knelt to loosen some of the knots that were biting into me. Sal stopped him, motioning further for him to step away. She backed away herself, her calm mask crackling around the edges.

  A concussion of power rushed abruptly from beneath the ship. It slammed me in a cold and oily wave. My cowl shredded away, and my vision bled to darkness. All the breath rushed from my lungs as thoroughly as if I’d been thrust face-first into a vacuum.

  The effects lasted only an instant, then the power—whatever it was—sucked back upon itself. It threatened to pull me under with it. I slumped within my bonds, blinking a scrim of shadow from my vision. The shrill wail left a crushing silence in its wake. I couldn’t even hear Remy as he bent and took me by the shoulders. Urgently, he shook me.

  A shadow passed between us, close enough to touch. A man in faded jungle greens. I twitched my face away, but he passed through us with barely a whisper of his presence. Another phantom soldier bent at the table to my right. Ghosts? I opened my vision further to my otherworldly perceptions, and was startled at what I found.

  The ship had seen some action—enough to leave a solid imprint on the Shadowside—and at the moment it felt like a single, gigantic crossing.