“You’re the most powerful witch in the Americas.” She doubted that level of sarcasm had ever been directed at her gran before. “Surely such a feat would have been simple. Plus, he wasn’t dead when I came to you.”
“You don’t believe in magic.”
“You have yet to prove it’s real.” Rowan turned to the window, her eyes sliding over the Manhattan streetscape, as if it wasn’t there.
*
Rowan had always felt welcome at her future in-laws. But not today. Today it was as if she were a stranger, come to perch at their son’s funeral like a vulture ready to pick at the scraps.
The living room was packed with people, all dressed in black, some with drawn faces, others tear-stained and splotchy. Platters of food were passed around, while wine and liquor were at hand for those in need of something stronger.
She held a glass of water.
“Eric was such a lovely man.”
Rowan turned to his aunt, Edna, and nodded mutely. Edna grabbed her free hand and rubbed it, as if she could impart warmth into Rowan’s very being.
It was a kind gesture, but she didn’t want it. Rather than jerk her hand away, which would be rude, she tried a wan smile, but from the widening of Aunt Edna’s eyes, it wasn’t a pleasant expression.
She let go of Rowan. “You should go rest, dear.”
“Thank you.” She didn’t know what else to say.
Once she had moved on, Rowan took a sip of water, tasting nothing. A moment later, Eric’s mom appeared in front of her. Her brown hair was slicked back into a bun, her oval face taut. “We need to talk.”
“Okay.” Placing her glass on the nearest flat surface, Rowan followed Shannon Gunner into an empty sitting room. It was all very modern, from the sleek furniture to the large modernist paintings. What did she want to talk about? Rowan had already given back the items she thought Eric’s parents would cherish the most.
In the closed room, Shannon crossed her arms over her chest. Rage flared in her brown eyes. “You aren’t getting a cent.”
Shock rooted Rowan to the ground. “I’m sorry?”
“You should be, you conniving gold-digger.”
“Conniving what?”
The attack had come out of nowhere. A week ago, Eric’s mom had been teasing her son about proposing to Rowan, about the redhaired grandkids she was looking forward to having.
“I don’t understand.” Rowan shook her head, replaying the words in her mind, but they still didn’t make sense.
“You conned my son into changing his will!”
Through numb lips, she mumbled, “I didn’t even know he had a will.”
Eric hadn’t owned property, not even a car. Why would he have had a will?
“Don’t you lie to me.” She unfolded her arms to jab a finger at her. “You know he inherited a fortune from Edward’s father.”
“No, I didn’t.”
They had never talked finances, apart from their salaries, hadn’t even moved in together yet. Eric had wanted to be engaged first, and she’d been patiently waiting for him to propose.
“You’re nothing but a lying wh—” Shannon’s words cut off as the door opened.
“I wouldn’t finish that sentence if you wish to retain the powers of speech.” Rowan’s gran stepped into the room, closing the door behind her.
Eric’s mom scowled. “Don’t you threaten me.”
“Don’t call my granddaughter names.”
Rowan felt numb and stupid, standing between the two women. “Gran, did you know Eric was rich?”
Dark, intelligent eyes locked on Rowan. “Of course, I did. I had him investigated.”
“You what?” Shannon screeched.
“You think I’d let any old fool date my granddaughter? You run around accusing her of being a gold-digger, when Rowan’s worth is twice that of your son.”
How much was Eric worth? How much am I worth?
Shannon blanched. “What?”
“I own a chain of stores across America.” Gran thumped the floor with her cane. “You think I haven’t set my family up for success?”
Rowan had had no idea.
She’d worked for everything she’d gotten—even paid off her college debts on her own. She’d had no idea she’d had family money. Then again, she probably wouldn’t have wanted it, knowing how Gran had come by it.
“I didn’t know…” Shannon muttered, her expression shuttering.
Gran leaned forward, her face intense, scary almost. “Yes, well. That also means I can afford lawyers. Good ones. So, call my granddaughter a whore again. Do it. See your estate fall down around you.”
“I—I—you misheard—”
Gran leaned back. “It is hard being old. One’s hearing does fail from time to time.” She turned to Rowan. “Come, let us leave this place and its misery. You will be better off surrounded by people who love you.”
She nodded, then met Shannon’s gaze. There was coldness there. Coldness and fear.
How unlike her son.
Eric had been loving and warm and wonderful. At least, he could be. This coldness, she’d seen it in him from time to time, but it had been fleeting. Nothing like what she was seeing now.
Leaving the room, Rowan said to her Gran, “Yes, there is nothing left for me here.”
There was nothing left for her anywhere.
Chapter 3
Back in her small apartment, alone and dressed in her pajamas, Rowan stared down at her iPhone, and the smiling image of her and Eric on its lock screen. She couldn’t bring herself to touch it.
Shannon thought she was a gold-digging whore. Had she always hated her, and simply put on a friendly face for Eric’s sake? Or had she liked her, right up until the will had been read?
The thought made her heart hurt more.
All Rowan had wanted was to be part of a normal family. To have a loving husband, maybe a child or two, and to continue her career—all the while having a supportive group of in-laws, because her own family was nuts.
But it seemed that the promise of a future with a white-picket fence was a lie, too.
What in my life is real?
Her fingers were clenched around the phone, and when it rang, she jumped. She looked down at the caller ID.
Luke M. Starre. The incredibly handsome, incredibly rich antiquities collector she’d met three months ago.
He’d been in intermittent contact ever since he’d flown her to his Miami mansion to review his collection. It had been amazing. He owned what he claimed to be the sarcophagus of Menes, the first pharaoh of the First Dynasty of Egypt. The pharaoh who united the lower and upper kingdoms, creating the vast empire that had captured her imagination since she was a young child. He’d even let her take photos of it, and she’d been studying them ever since.
He had also claimed he could take her to the place where it had been found.
She’d been sorely tempted to go, but she wasn’t sure she wanted to see the looted tomb. And she hadn’t been able to just drop everything and leave. She had responsibilities, and work, and it felt wrong to fly away on a holiday with another man, leaving Eric behind to worry. He’d been jealous enough of Luke, even though she hadn’t seen the wealthy man again.
She never told Eric that Luke had asked her on a date once, too.
Rowan had thought he was joking. When someone looked like he did—and was as rich as he was—what would he see in someone like her? Skinny, pale, redheaded and passably intelligent; not the kind of beauty queen he would be used to.
Even if she’d been single, she would have refused. She could never trust that his emotions were true, not when he had ‘playboy’ practically stamped on his forehead. He’d never shown romantic interest since, which had been a relief. She didn’t like hurting people’s feelings—or in this case, egos.
She answered the phone.
“Hi Rowan, this is Luke.” His deep, dark voice punctured her melancholy.
“I only have a few minutes, but I have a very interesting business proposition for you.”
Straight to the point, as normal.
“Hi Luke. Just a reminder—I am not Lara Croft, Tomb Raider. I won’t collect antiquities for you.”
A low chuckle reached her. It was a running joke they’d established—he collected antiquities and she lectured him on his ill-gotten gains. He seemed to enjoy the debate.
“No, nothing like that,” he replied. “I have sponsored an excavation in Egypt, in the Valley of the Kings. All very above-board. So above-board, in fact, that I’ve been drowning in paperwork for the past several months. I was wondering if you would be interested in working on it?”
The breath whooshed out of her.
The Valley of the Kings.
The. Valley. Of. The. Freaking. Kings.
To work there was a dream—but the permits alone were almost impossible to get.
Excitement warred with logic. “But I’d have to be approved by the authorities—”
“I may have already submitted documentation on your behalf, in the hope you would say yes.”
She closed her eyes and inhaled quickly.
Egypt. Her love, her passion…
The dig of a lifetime.
But Eric…
Her eyes snapped open. He’d want her to go. He knew it was her dream. In fact, he would have insisted, had he still been here. Not lying cold and neglected in the ground.
And what did she have left here, now?
Nothing, that’s what.
Eric’s mother thought the worst of her, and Rowan wasn’t in the right frame of mind to deal with her own crazy family right now.
Her free hand balled into a fist so tight, her nails bit into her palm. “Yes. I’ll go.”
A moment’s pause then Luke exhaled into the phone. “Excellent. I thought I would have to bribe you a little bit. I’ll send you some paperwork to get you started. When can you leave?”
“When does the dig start?”
“In two weeks.”
She gulped. “I’ll see what I can do.”
“Excellent.” He paused. “And I am really very sorry. I heard the news about your partner. Please accept my condolences. It is always difficult to lose one we love.”
“Thank you.” Rowan’s throat clogged, and she ended the call.
Opening her fist, she took in the angry red crescents left by her nails.
Sadness warred with elation.
Egypt. The Valley of the Kings. An excavation that could change her life—and would certainly be a great win for her career. And Eric, gone from this world for good.
Did I say yes for the right reasons?
She bit her lip.
I should call Gran, let her know.
She’d always shared major life events with her grandparent. But the anger that simmered within her wanted to deny Gran the news. To just pack up and go, leaving her none the wiser.
But she couldn’t do it, no matter how much she might have wanted to. Her gran had raised her, had taken her in, and given her the life she now had. It was selfish to keep her new project a secret. And knowing Gran the way she did, the woman would just hire someone to search for her.
With a sigh, she picked up her phone. For some reason, she didn’t think this conversation was going to go well.
Chapter 4
One week later
Yael threw a handful of glittering dust into the air, and muttered, “Halcyon Guild Headquarters, Tartarus.” A heartbeat later, the dust formed into a glowing Devilsgate, big enough for him to fit through. He peered into the center of the circle: a foyer crafted from Hell’s bedrock was visible—his destination.
Stepping through the portal, he exhaled as tingles of magic broke out over his skin. He doubted he’d ever get used to the sensation, and he hoped he wouldn’t have to. Devilsgates were of demonic origin and he planned on being back in Heaven sooner rather than later.
After all, the Darts had already found one piece of Heaven’s Heart; they only had two more to go. And Yael wasn’t going to give up, no matter that their captain, Dina, had abandoned them. They’d do it without her.
Even if they did have to use the assistance of demons.
How far the mighty have fallen.
His parents would have been horrified that Yael lived with a Mortus demon—well, a half-Mortus demon, half-human cambion. Not that he was the idiot who’d shacked up with her. No, that honor had gone to Azrael, who Yael had once considered the coldest, most brutal of them all.
Now the fallen angel was in love, and the target of an Egyptian god of chaos.
Yael shook his head. He was still annoyed that Azrael had prevented him from killing Dru at first sight, but that was love for you. It turned people into idiots.
Glancing around the Halcyon Guild’s foyer, he realized it was completely devoid of demons. Was he just meant to stand here all night? Seraphina had asked him to meet her here; and it wasn’t like Yael enjoyed visiting Hell.
“Mmm, new flesh.”
Yael whipped his head toward the speaker, frowning at the sight of a gray-skinned Reynard’s Imp. Dru had mentioned this one before. Metcalf. He was a former colleague of hers and loved to eat the targets he was assigned. Sometimes he killed them first, sometimes he didn’t.
And apparently, he had a hankering for angel-flesh.
“Try and take a bite out of me, and you’ll lose your head.” Yael didn’t believe in giving warnings to demons, but Seraphina was now the master of the Halcyon Guild, and he didn’t think she’d be happy about his killing her employees.
No matter how disgusting they were.
“Metcalf! What did I say about greeting guests?” The lilting voice filled the chamber, and, keeping most of his focus on the Imp, Yael spotted Seraphina from the corner of his eye.
He did a double take.
Seraphina’s hair was gone. For close to a century, she’d worn long braids, the mass often swept up in a fancy bun or knot. But now, it had been trimmed so close to her scalp it couldn’t even be classified as a pixie cut.
If anything, though, it made her even more harshly beautiful.
She raised a hand to her head. “Yes. Trick is equally horrified, amused, and in love with ‘the new me’.”
Trick.
Yael fought to keep the distaste from his expression. The former boss of the Halcyon Guild, Trick was now one of the most powerful beings in all three circles of Hell. Rumor had it that Lucifer and Satan were trying to work out how to assassinate him, but so far had been out of luck. No mercenary guild was willing to take on the former head of an assassin den.
At least there are some demons out there who have a brain.
Trick had signed his guild over to Seraphina, tying her to Tartarus for the foreseeable future. It was a dick move: if the Darts found the next two pieces of Heaven’s Heart, then she may not be able to return to Heaven with them.
But that wasn’t the worst part.
She’d become a true fallen angel.
Seraphina had been the one person he truly admired in Heaven, Hell, he may have even had a crush on her back then. And now she was ruined. Because of Trick.
Then again, Zadkiel and Azrael may also not be able to return, because they were mated to two of the most vicious Mortus demons in all the Hell realms.
It might just be Raze and me going back, now that Dina has abandoned us.
And wasn’t it funny, that before falling from Heaven, he wouldn’t have cared what the other Darts decided to do with their lives. Aside from Seraphina, they had been professional colleagues, nothing more, nothing less. He had admired them for their skills and intelligence, but that had been about it. Now…now he considered them friends.
A breath of air moved against his thigh, and Yael kicked out, barely missing Metcalf, who’d snuck up on him.
Damned Imp.
“Metcalf!”
The gray-skinned de
mon glared at Seraphina. “What?”
“Don’t eat the guests. You agreed to that, remember?”
He narrowed shark-like eyes. “That doesn’t sound like something I’d do.”
“I have it in blood.” Seraphina stared at the Imp, and power built in the room until the fine hairs on the back of Yael’s forearms stood on end.
That’s new.
Metcalf grumbled under his breath, then slunk from the foyer, smacking his lips and muttering about annoying snacks.
Yael rubbed his arms. “You’re packing some juice now.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Yes. There are some perks to being head of a guild.”
He winced.
“Come now. It’s not so bad.” She walked away from the foyer.
He hurried to catch up. “You gave up the chance to get back into Heaven.” His brow furrowed. “Anytime soon, anyway.”
“It’s less about the guild than what I am. I became a true fallen by accident: I drank Lucifer’s blood when I tried to decapitate him. Unless I earn my way back into Heaven through an unspecific heroic act, I’m going to stay a true fallen.”
Horror seeped through him, worming into his blood and pounding through his body. She can’t get back into Heaven without completing another quest?
They were already working on one almost-impossible task.
This is my fault.
Seraphina was here now because she’d decided that they needed to save Zadkiel from Trick, and Yael hadn’t wanted to follow the path she’d drawn. Instead, she’d stepped up when he had refused to do so.
This could have been me.
Seraphina stopped walking, as if sensing his inner turmoil. “It’s okay, Yael. I’m okay.”
Yeah, but I’m not.
She was telling the truth, too. There was nothing false in her words—he’d have sensed it.
He cleared his throat. “All good.”
She narrowed her eyes at his lie, but let it pass. “Thank you for coming here so quickly.”
They arrived at an office, where she ushered him inside and shut the door. It was sparsely furnished, but had the appearance of someone moving in, rather than someone simply not having much stuff.
He shoved his hands in his pockets, fingers coming up against the wire of a garrote he had stashed there. “What do you need?”
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