by Kyra Quinn
“And? How does that make me a servant to you? I fought as a soldier in the most prestigious division of the Garden’s garrison. I have reduced villages to ash with a snap of my fingers. I served the gods, not some quick-tongued girl in a baker’s uniform.”
Heat rose from my neck into my face, his words stinging more than I’d like to admit. I snorted and spit, “So where are your gods now? Have they abandoned you? I saw the Temple. No one in Mulgrave gives a damn about the old traditions or paying tribute.” I folded my arms over my chest and tilted my chin. “Do they approve of you rubbing elbows with the humans as you get sloshed on ambrosia every night?”
Remiel’s face hardened. “You know not of what you speak.”
“Perhaps not, but I know what I saw, and I know what I’ve heard. You said it yourself, my father saved your life. Why are you so reluctant to help save mine? Is it because I’m a woman?”
Remiel snorted. “Such a foolish assumption. Only humanity is ignorant enough to reduce the status of half their population based on anatomy alone. Angels are more evolved.”
Lucky them. “Then why?”
“As I’ve stated, it is not my problem,” he said. “It is nothing personal. Your father is—sorry, was—a great man, and I am sure he raised you to be a wonderful young lady. Like it or not, though, you are a beacon for trouble. The last thing I need is demons at my door.”
“Demons didn’t kill my father,” I said, my voice low. “I didn’t know what they were, not until you showed up. They carried the same sword as you. Your kind murdered my father. Why?”
Remiel folded his arms over his chest, his expression dark. “I’ve no idea what he might have done to put his name on the angels’ hit list, but they never attack unprovoked.”
I slammed my fist against the table. “He did nothing. They killed him to find me.”
“Well then, I suppose that is your answer.” He raised his empty glass over his head to signal for another drink, the finality in his tone an attempt to dismiss the conversation.
Not yet, you winged bastard. My voice shook as I pointed an accusatory finger at his face. “You’ve answered nothing. Nothing you’ve said has been helpful in the slightest. All you’ve done is give me excuses on why it’s not your problem.”
“Which it isn’t.”
“So you’ve said. If you’re too much of a coward to help me, would you at least be so kind as to point me toward someone who can? Contrary to popular belief, ending up demon chow doesn’t sound like the most fun way to go.”
Remiel pressed his lips into a thin line. “You have a mouth on you. Not the most flattering trait for a young lady.”
“No one asked for your opinion on my character, you white-livered weakling. I asked you to be a man of your word, but it appears angels are no more reliable than men.”
Remiel rubbed his forehead. “I will take you home with me for the night. Give you a safe place to rest your head and something to eat, maybe a bath. Take it or leave it, but it is the most help I have to offer you, Trouble.”
Trouble. My eyes narrowed. I wanted to tell him where he could take his offer and shove it, but I bit my tongue. With Thalia still out there somewhere, returning to Maev’s tavern sounded like a suicide mission. The arrogant angel presented my only chance at surviving the night.
“Fine.” I clenched my teeth. “I appreciate your kindness.”
Remiel laughed, the sound bitter. “No need for false pleasantries here. Angels can sense dishonesty.”
“Good to know, I suppose.” I glanced down at the table as Father’s face drifted into my thoughts once more.
A woman in a ruby sequined dress appeared next to our table before Remiel could answer. She balanced a tray on her left hand, her right reaching for Remiel’s empty glass.
“Here you go, sir,” she said as she replaced his empty drink. Her eyes wandered to the space in front of me. “Can I fix you anything?”
I shook my head. I couldn’t afford to let intoxication muddle my thoughts. “I’m okay, thank you.”
The server shrugged and sashayed away to the next table, Remiel and I alone once again. He reached for his drink and consumed half in a single sip, a strange glint to his eyes as he studied the glass.
“Forgive me for asking, but what is it like? The afterlife, I mean.”
Remiel leaned back in his chair and drummed his fingers against the wooden table. “It is difficult for me to answer that question. The Elysian Gardens are my birthplace. Only humans see it as an afterlife. For my kind, the Gardens are...home.”
His final word sent a dull pain through my chest. Home. I didn’t have one of those, not anymore. Something about the sober expression on Remiel’s face told me he could relate.
“If the Gardens are as wonderful as you say, why are you here?”
Remiel’s jaw tightened. “We don’t ask questions where I come from. We follow orders.”
“Sounds miserable.” I reached for the glass in front of him and slid it towards myself. I finished what was left of his drink in a single gulp, the burn almost refreshing. “Wouldn‘t you prefer to live by your own morals?”
His nose wrinkled. “You share his temperament, you know. Your father. He had the same take-what-he-wanted attitude and that same arrogant look in his eye. You may not resemble him much in looks, but I can tell you are cut from the same cloth. Come, we should take leave.”
I didn’t want to leave. Not yet. I wanted to continue to press Remiel until the truth spilled from the cracks in his teeth. He’d still offered no useful information or explanations, nothing that might help against the creatures after me. How could the conversation end?
But Remiel rose to his feet, the decision made. He didn’t wait to see if I’d follow, his head high as he marched through the sea of people and out of the gin house. I scurried after him with my head ducked, still afraid to run into another demon in disguise. Fortune had favored me this far, but everyone’s luck had to run out at some point.
*
The trek to Remiel’s dwelling took longer than I’d anticipated. My head swam with ambrosia as we walked. The alcohol reduced my thoughts to a kaleidoscope of colors and mush. I staggered along a few steps behind the angel. My legs ached as I struggled to match his pace.
“How far away do you live?” I grumbled as I fought back the urge to rest. The street around us was empty, the bustle of the ginhouse far behind. Barren fields surrounded us on either side. With the harvest months over for the year, only dried yellow grass and a pair of alder trees remained. “This place is creepy at night.”
“Close enough. Mulgrave suffered more than most towns in the War of the Ancestors. They’ve come a long way towards recovery after all the damage done.”
I pursed my lips but said nothing, afraid to trust my drunken tongue. Little of my studies as a girl focused on history; Father always said history only mattered to historians and the dead. I bit the skin from my lips as I realized I knew as little of Mulgrave’s past as I did of my own.
We walked for an eternity, until we approached a small bungalow built into the side of a mountain on top of a hill. After a quick hello to his hired help, Remiel led me through the arched doorway and into the quaint bungalow He held his arms out and said, “This is it. My humble abode.”
A small fire burned in a cast-iron chimenea against the back wall, an old recliner and a worn leather sofa in a circling the small brick platform. Mold and man-odor lingered in the air, overpowering the aroma of the fire. A closed wooden door sat beside the stove, the hardwood floors covered in a beige area rug. A half-kitchen sat off to the right, a round table and two chairs next to the door.
How did two men share such little space in peace? I’d only been inside for two minutes and claustrophobia already threatened to choke me. Though they owned a minimalistic number of objects or furniture, the space still appeared too cozy for comfort compared to Father’s manor.
“Not what I expected,” I confessed.
“I can imagine.” A small smir
k graced his lips. “You expected an angel’s home to be a paradise, right?”
“Something like that.”
“I have been in Astryae enough centuries to say with great certainty there is no such thing as paradise, not here. The grandest of homes pales compared to the majesty of the Gardens, so why bother?”
I shrugged. It made sense, in a way. Those of us born in Astryae had no way to miss a place we’d never seen, let alone lives we’d never lived. For Remiel, I imagined the human experience held less intrigue and wonder.
“Do you ever think about going back?”
“To the Gardens?” Remiel arched a brow. “Every day. But my work here is important, too. Great things are never accomplished without sacrifice.”
I glanced around at our menial surroundings but bit my tongue. There had to be more to the story than he’d told me, some detail he’d left out. He’d sacrificed his home in paradise to accomplish something on Astryae, something more important than helping me. Yet no one in town had seen him for months. Who’d consider that a hero?
“I will have Viktor find you something proper to wear by tomorrow. In the meantime, let me find you some of my old clothes to sleep in.” Remiel disappeared behind the door next to the chimenea. The door shut swiftly behind him.
I took the time alone to study the house more carefully, curiosity getting the better of my common sense. I held my breath and circled the room. No portraits or artwork decorated the walls. No statues or knickknacks cluttered any of the surfaces. No crumbs littered the countertops, only a folded newspaper on the kitchen table. For two single men in one place, the small house was immaculately clean. Angels must’ve had impeccable hygiene habits to match their progressive views on gender. Lucky bastards.
“Locate anything of interest?” Remiel’s voice appeared behind me like a ghost.
I jumped. “I didn’t even hear the door open.”
“I can tell,” he said, his mouth twisted in amusement. “Here. See if you find this comfortable enough to sleep in. If not, I can find something else.”
He shoved a balled-up wad of clothes into my hands, a plaid flannel shirt and a dark pair of sleep trousers. I pressed the soft fabric between my fingers, the material warmer than the clothes Thalia had given me. Fit or not, I’d figure out a way to make it work.
“Do you have a washroom?”
“No, we go outside like hounds.” Remiel smirked. “It’s through the bedchamber.”
He led me into the room he’d just come from. The only furniture in the space was a three-drawer dresser and bed, no space left for anything else. He pointed me to the small connected washroom and said, “I will leave the door to the bedchamber open. Bathe. Try to relax some. Find me in the kitchen after you finish.”
The moment he left I locked the door. I turned on the hot water and filled the tub to the brim. The air thickened with steam and humidity as I slid into the tub. My first bath in days, I had no way of knowing when the next might come. The water scalded my skin, but I didn’t care. I scrubbed at my skin as if it might wash away my recent string of bad luck. I sat with my knees to my chest until the water turned cold, William and Father’s faces stuck in my mind.
I rose from the tub in a daze and pulled the drain. My chest tightened as my reflection shimmered in the murky water. Father’s reflection appeared next to mine. I jerked and whirled around, but the bathroom was empty. A dull ache spread through my chest as my eyes flooded with tears. My reflection was the closest I would ever come to seeing Father’s face.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Women Ruin Everything
Viktor sat at the small wooden table in the kitchen. A half-empty bottle of ambrosia sat in front of him. His hand clutched an empty glass as his mind swam with thoughts. Celia had meant well. She always did. She did not understand what sort of old wounds her comments rubbed salt into.
“What does she know about what’s natural?” he grumbled. He reached for the bottle and poured another glass to the brim. His cheeks burned, but he disregarded it and took a greedy gulp. If he could still hear her voice, he hadn’t consumed enough yet.
He couldn’t completely dismiss Celia’s concerns. He’d met a few shifters in his time, but none who lived most of their time in their human form the way he did. The rest of his people seemed as at home in their animal forms as they were on two legs. So why did his transformations still fill him with such dread?
Because they haven’t killed anyone yet. The answer floated to his mind without struggle. Viktor growled as he polished off his drink. Every great warrior had blood on his hands. What good did it do to sit around and dwell over ghosts?
He hadn’t asked to be born a monster. The memories of his parents and life before Remiel had faded to flashes and blurs over the years. Unlike the other shifters he’d encountered over the years, Viktor felt no connection to the primal, beastly thing inside of him.
Voices appeared outside the window. Viktor tensed and bolted to his feet, but the liquor rendered his knees weak and clumsy. He held his breath and listened with clenched fists. How had anyone found their isolated property?
He recognized Remiel’s voice first. “...stay tonight...couch...morning.”
Viktor tensed. Company? Viktor couldn’t remember the last time Remiel invited anyone back to their humble dwellings. The last time they’d spoken on the matter, Remiel insisted their location was best left a secret.
A soft, feminine voice answered the angel. Viktor’s blood boiled. Since when did Remiel find himself tempted by sins of the flesh? He crept over to the window, eager for a peek at the trespasser.
The stranger stood with her back to the window. Long honey curls cascaded down her narrow back. She stood a few inches beneath Remiel’s chin, taller and fairer than most of the women he’d encountered in Mulgrave. Where had Remiel found her? And why had he brought her home with him?
A dozen possibilities flashed through his mind. Had the angels sent her? It didn’t seem likely—he saw no wings on her back—but they’d used less conventional methods in the past. Or had she blackmailed him somehow? What did she want from Remiel?
He pressed his ear against the window. The glass muffled the sound of their conversation. Viktor swore under his breath. If he wanted answers, it appeared he had no choice but to find them.
He slipped his feet into his boots but didn’t bother bending to lace or tie them in his inebriated condition. He marched across the modest bungalow towards the front door with his head held high. Whatever the sneaky woman wanted, the business end of his sword would send her on her way.
The temperature outside had dropped since his earlier travels. The chilly evening breeze sent a shudder down his spine. He marched over to where Remiel and the stranger stood with his chest puffed. Remiel caught his eye and beamed as he approached.
“You’ve brought company?” Viktor asked, trying and failing to keep the edge out of his voice.
“Only for the night.” Remiel’s eyes narrowed as he shot him a look that dared him to protest. “She will sleep on the couch and disappear by morning.”
A bitter taste filled Viktor’s mouth. He swallowed back his arguments and mumbled, “Fine. You’re the boss.”
Cicadas chirped off in the distance. A frog croaked somewhere nearby. As the tense silence between the trio stretched, Viktor studied their unwelcome guest.
At first glance, Viktor didn’t see much to look at. Leaves and twigs clung to her thick locks of hair. An ill-fitted sweater hung from her birdlike frame. Beige trousers clung to bony hips, the bottoms of her ankles exposed. Dirt and dried blood covered her face and clothing.
Viktor sucked in a deep breath, but the only scent to waft off the girl was perspiration and iron. A human? He blinked as his gaze flickered from Remiel to the girl. The angel had to be out of his mind to bring a human girl home with him.
Remiel cleared his throat. “Forgive me, where are our manners? Miss Lilianna, this is Viktor. He is my personal attendant.”
Viktor’
s mouth quirked, but he said nothing. They’d told the same story to every person they’d met for as long as Viktor could remember. Why did it only now bother him to be referred to as Remiel’s inferior?
The girl held out her arm. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
Viktor arched a brow at the outstretched hand. What did she expect him to do with that? And why did she sound as if she were introducing herself to the King of Astryae instead of a footman?
“Charmed.” He turned his attention back to Remiel. “I need to check in on the horses. I’ll be in the stables if you need anything.”
“Very well,” Remiel said. “We can speak of next week’s plans in the morning after our guest leaves. Oh, and Viktor? Would you mind fixing something for Miss Lilianna in the kitchen when you finish with the horses?”
Viktor’s jaw clenched. “Sure thing, boss. I’ll be in as soon as I wrap everything up for the night.” Not like we have anything better to worry about.
Remiel wrapped an arm around the girl’s waist and ushered her towards the house. Viktor stomped down the hill to the stables as his blood boiled. His heart pounded like a drum as his fists balled at his sides. Leave it to Remiel to change the rules whenever it suited him to do so. Angels had no real concept of worldly traits like empathy and respect.
Hooves pounded against the dirt. Roscoe and Diego whined the moment they caught whiff of his scent. Despite his anger, a small chuckle escaped his lips. No one could stay angry around Roscoe.
Viktor approached the massive mare with open arms. Pitch black fur covered his body aside from a splotch of ivory on his chest. Roscoe let out a happy snort as Viktor wrapped his arms around the horse’s neck and rubbed his knuckles against his head.
“What’s that sound, hmm? Has someone missed me? Or is your belly empty?”
Roscoe nuzzled his head against Viktor’s chin. A small sigh of contentment left his lips as he pressed his face into Roscoe’s fur. For a single moment, every problem in the world melted away. The resentment and anxiety faded as he stroked the mare’s broad back.
