31

Yeah, looks like the Luminata don’t believe in a fair transaction. Elena’s own anger was a cold pulse inside her—immortals had so much, had centuries upon centuries to gather wealth. These people weren’t dirt poor, but they weren’t rich, either. Not by any calculation. They were just ordinary citizens trying to eke out a life.

With Lumia so close, they should’ve had a thriving economy supported by custom from the stronghold. Instead, it appeared Lumia preferred to bleed them dry. Though . . . They have to pay enough for the goods they take that the town doesn’t go under—because Lumia needed the town—but I bet you it’s nothing close to market value.

Having finished their first snack, Raphael bought them juices made fresh by another roadside seller working from what looked like a semipermanent cart. He paid with a coin that had the juice man’s throat moving convulsively as he swallowed. “What was that coin?” she asked after taking a drink of the cold, refreshing liquid.

“Angelic currency, accepted worldwide. He can exchange it for his local currency at any exchange house or bank—and the coin I used will equal triple the cost of the drinks.” A brush of his wing over her own. “I’m afraid, Guild Hunter, that I assumed you knew about it and just preferred to use local coin.”

Frowning, Elena said, “You know, I have noticed those coins over the years but I guess I had no reason to pay attention.” A pause, before she lowered her voice and leaned closer to him. “You think it’s a good idea to pay with that here? I’m not sure he’s going to get fair value from whoever it is that does the exchange.”

“Angels do not handle the exchange,” Raphael told her. “Mortal financial institutions are kept apprised of the exact value of the coins—and they understand what will happen if they short anyone. Each coin is linked to a particular archangelic territory, and all transactions are monitored via a computer network that, in my case, connects back to the Tower.”

“I should’ve known.” Raphael had always been one of the archangels most in step with the world. A lot of that was because of Illium—the blue-winged angel was fascinated by technology.

Having finished their juices, they put the disposable cups in a nearby trash receptacle, then walked deeper into the market, taking in the reactions all around them while maintaining their impassive fronts. It was about ten minutes later that they discovered a hole-in-the-wall operation that was selling what looked like fresh-made tagine, each creation in its own tiny clay pot with the characteristic conical lid.

The kitchen, busy with two fast-moving bodies, was behind the large square window from which a smiling, dark-eyed woman passed out the food, prettily painted chairs and tables set out on either side of the restaurant window.

“Do you think your mom and Tasha would like some?” Elena asked, standing in line behind the stooped shoulders of an elderly couple who’d clearly not noticed the angelic pair behind them.

The counter clerk, meanwhile, was trying frantically to mouth at the couple to move away—at least until Raphael shook his head at the hyperventilating woman. “I will ask.” A pause before he said, “Mother tells me she convinced Tasha to go a short distance and bring them back mint tea and a plate of sweetmeats. They don’t need anything else for the moment.”

In front of them, the elderly man’s age-spotted hand held a tremor as he tried to pay for the food he’d purchased. It was the tremor of a life long lived, not fear, and when the money slipped from his grasp to flutter to the ground, Elena thought nothing of bending down and picking it up.

Turning, the man went to smile . . . and caught sight of her wings, of Raphael. His face turned sheet white under the sun-dark brown of his skin. Scared he’d have a heart attack, Elena smiled as gently as she could, touched him on the upper arm in silent reassurance, then placed the money on the counter.

By this time, the man’s wife was staring at them, too.

Eyes a little bleary, the elderly woman suddenly smiled a smile so dazzling it was breathtaking and stepped toward Elena. Tears rolled down her cheek, her water-logged but joyous outpouring incomprehensible to Elena but for a single word: “Majda.”

I’m asking Tasha to translate, Raphael said, while the woman went as if to throw her arms around Elena.

Jerking to life, her husband started to pull her back, but Elena was having none of that. She closed her arms and her wings around the woman’s fragile body with care, the elder’s bones like a bird’s under her touch. The woman cried and continued to talk, and her hands, they patted at Elena as if she was a daughter long lost come home.

When Elena drew back after a long moment, folding her wings once more to her back, the woman’s face was incandescent with joy and wet with tears. Elena wiped those tears away with gentle fingers.

Tasha says this woman is calling you Majda’s blood. Madja was her friend’s child, and when she was lost, it broke her parents’ hearts. They died far too young. Raphael paused as the woman spoke again. She is so happy the child survived.

She has to be talking about my mother. Elena knew she’d been reaching from the start when it came to Majda, but it simply didn’t make sense to her that the two of them would share such similarities without being related. And now, another piece that fit. A child. “I want to tell her the child was my mother, that her name was Marguerite.”

Tasha came through, giving Raphael the words Elena needed to say. When she spoke them, the elderly woman sobbed again and hugged her, while repeating Marguerite’s name over and over. It was at least a minute later when she drew back and began to speak to her husband.

Patting Elena’s hand afterward, she beamed and stepped back.

Elena wanted so much to ask her more questions, but the fear in the husband’s eyes stopped her. She wouldn’t hurt this sweet couple, wouldn’t repay the woman’s affectionate welcome by terrorizing her husband.

Letting the white-haired pair take a seat at a nearby table with their food in front of them, Elena and Raphael placed an order of their own. When the food came, she glanced at the couple and felt relief kiss her skin like a cool rain. The man no longer appeared full of terror. Instead, he was looking at her with thoughtful eyes, as if seeing what his wife already had.

Lighting up as she caught Elena’s gaze, the man’s wife waved her and Raphael to the two spare chairs at the table.

“Elena!”

She’d just taken a seat, glanced over her shoulder at the call to see Riad . . . whose eyes bugged out of his head at seeing Raphael in the chair beside her. But when she angled her head in welcome, he came over nonetheless.

The elderly woman chattered at him, making hand motions.

“My great-grandmother says I am to sit and speak English to you.” It came out a squeak.

Elena noticed every hair on his arm was standing up. “Grab something to eat first.” She put some money into his hand. “Get what you want, then come join us. I want to talk to your great-grandmother and I need a translator.”

The teenager nodded jerkily before running back toward the bun seller.

“This family has courage,” Raphael murmured, his eyes on Riad’s great-grandmother. “And I think it comes from this woman.”

“Yes,” Elena said, “I think so, too.” She wasn’t really interested in the food but she ate a few bites to make everything appear normal while waiting for Riad to return.

The teenager returned within minutes, his chest heaving.

Dragging over another chair, those hairs on his arms still up and his hair starting to crackle, too, he gulped from a bottle of water. His great-grandmother seemed to chide him for his manners.

Raphael, all their hair is beginning to crackle.

I’m afraid my power is surging. A Cascade effect, I believe. It has an impact on mortals in close proximity, but it should do them no harm.

Having been speaking to his great-grandmother between bites of his first bun, Riad now told them what Tasha had already translated about Majda having been the daughter of a cherished friend. “She says Majda’s baby had the same hair but lighter skin. Like the other lady said to you, my great-grandmother also says light hair was very strong in the girls in the family, but still it was . . . I don’t know the word.” He bit down on his lower lip.

“Unpredictable?” Elena suggested. “Sometimes the coloring appeared and sometimes it didn’t?”

“Yes! Unpredictable. But Great-grandmother says Majda’s husband—who she loved like he was the stars and the moon—had golden hair and pale skin like milk with just a little honey, so the baby had a good chance of moonlight hair like yours.”

Elena’s blood ran hot. “Was Majda’s husband mortal?”

A rapid-fire transfer of information before a white-faced Riad whispered, “We’re not supposed to talk about this. I told—”

It was his great-grandfather who spoke now, his voice unexpectedly strong.

Riad’s lower lip shook, the second bun he’d bought forgotten. “He says that they are old anyway, about to head out on the final journey. What can the angels do to them now? They take only the young—the prettiest women and the most beautiful men.” Eyes wet, his distress unhidden.

Touching his shoulder even as fury tore through her, Elena said, “You love them both very much, don’t you?”

A quick nod. “I don’t want the angels to hurt them.”

The angels. The Luminata.

“No one will.” Raphael’s voice silenced everyone at the table. “Tell them this: they are under my protection. I will make certain no one dares lay a finger on them.”

Won’t Charisemnon be an obstacle? Elena asked as a breathless Riad translated.

Charisemnon doesn’t care about a small town. This is Luminata business and that’s who we have to deal with. His jaw set. If need be, I’ll leave Aodhan here to watch over these people until we can return and dig out the rot at the heart of the Luminata.

Elena hadn’t thought she could love Raphael more, but at that instant, her heart overflowed with love and pride both. For this archangel who had compassion enough to treat such fragile mortals with care. Thank you for being you.

Eyes of endless blue met hers. You made me remember myself, Elena. Without you, I might’ve turned as cold as those who would prey on the weak.

Elena thought of the scar on his wing, of why she’d shot him, and felt a chill ripple through her. Never again, Archangel.

You live in me now, hbeebti. He touched his hand to her hair. I cannot ever return to who I once was, no matter what eternity brings.

Quiet words spoken in a feminine voice that quavered drew her attention back to the table. Riad’s great-grandmother was saying something as more tears rolled down her cheeks.

“She says Majda’s husband loved her, too, even though she was mortal and would die while he’d keep living.” Riad listened, then spoke, his eyes huge. “He didn’t want to live without her, but he couldn’t find any angels to make her a vampire like him.”

Another kick to Elena’s heart, another jolt in the bloodstream at the unambiguous statement that Majda’s lover had been a vampire. And he hadn’t simply been her lover. He’d been her husband.

“My great-grandmother says Majda’s husband was strong, but he was just a young soldier who didn’t know anyone so powerful like Raphael.” The last word came out an awed whisper, Riad only daring to look at Raphael through the corner of his eye.

“The angels in that place refused to help him.” The bitterness of his tone made it clear Riad was referring to Lumia. “They said he wasn’t old enough to ask to have his mortal turned into a vampire.”

“Do you have any idea what happened to Majda or her husband?” Elena asked the elderly woman who’d hugged her with such love.

Riad’s quick translation was followed by an answer for which Elena didn’t need a translator. It was a sad shake of the head, the words spoken melancholy.

“She says Majda’s husband went away first, soon after the baby was born.” Riad made “poofing” motions with his hands and Elena understood the vampire had vanished without a trace. “Majda searched and searched for her husband, but when she didn’t find him, she was afraid, so afraid; she said she had to run before she was made to go away, too.”

A deep frown as he listened to his great-grandmother. “They thought the baby was dead when they saw Majda’s ghost years later.”

“Wait.” Elena sat up, a chill running down her spine. “Her ghost?”

“My great-grandmother didn’t see her,” Riad translated. “But some of the other people in town said they saw her running down the hills from that place one night. Her hair, it was so bright under the moon.”

Another biting of his lip. “When the angels heard the whispers, they hurt the people who spoke them, and so no one speaks of it any longer. My great-grandmother didn’t see Majda’s ghost, but she says why would the angels be so angry if it was just stories?” A very teenage shrug.

“Indeed,” Raphael said, looking directly at the older couple. “You define bravery. Thank you for speaking the truth.”

Riad’s translation had the older couple sitting up a little straighter in open pride. They spoke more, but there was nothing else the couple could tell them except the name of the vampire who had been Majda’s husband.

“He came from a faraway land,” Riad’s great-grandmother said, the teenager translating. “He helped guard that place, but he lived in the town. All the vampires and angels who were guards lived in the town then.”

Riad’s great-grandfather nodded his agreement with those words. “They were part of our town and it wasn’t the first time a vampire fell in love with one of us.” Riad pointed to himself as he translated, to indicate he meant mortals. “The vampire’s name was Jean-Baptiste Etienne.”

A last name beginning with E. Another piece of the puzzle slotting into place.

The realization that she’d just heard her grandfather’s name reverberated in Elena’s soul. “When did the vampires and angels stop living here?”

“Soon after Jean-Baptiste went away.” That poof-disappearing motion again. “And those angels told the other vampires who lived here that they couldn’t stay anymore.” The elderly woman’s expression made it clear what kind of tactics the Luminata had employed to pass on that message. “Then later, the angels who were guards stopped living here, too. The angels from that place came and made the townspeople tear down the tall homes left behind, the ones that touched the sky.”

A fiefdom indeed, Raphael said in a tone gone ever colder.

Elena nodded. Selfish as it was, tearing down the angelic homes wasn’t just about ensuring the townspeople didn’t make use of them.

No, Raphael agreed. It was a message to the rest of angelkind that the Luminata prefer they do not settle their wings in this place.

A haunting sound cut through the air before Elena could reply, a sound so pure that it made her heart hurt. “Raphael, your mother is singing.” It came out a whisper touched with wonder and fear both.

The last time Caliane sang to mortals, thousands of them died.

And if Caliane had lost herself to madness again, it was Raphael who would have to stop her . . . who would have to attempt to kill his mother a second time around.