THIRTY-ONE
Layla spent the rest of the day alternating between body-rocking sex and sweet phone calls home, and it managed to calm her busy brain until they sat down to a meal of shrimp scampi.
The silence that consumed the cottage while they ate gave her clearance to think, and Quin was quick to recognize the distraction, but rather than give her hell for it, he took her hand and joined in. “Tell me what’s on your mind.”
She glanced at his aura to make sure he wasn’t upset. Then she took a drink of wine and came clean. “Angels.”
“What about them?”
“Do you think they exist?”
He grinned while squeezing her hand. “I know they do.”
“Be serious, Quin. I know I’m your angel, but I’m talking about angels from heaven. All the witness accounts I’ve read talk about ethereal beings that are described more like auras than flesh and blood people. They appear in times of stress or danger, and even the hexless report seeing them. They could be chalked up to hallucinations, dreams or concealed magicians. There’s no proof guardian angels exist, and there hasn’t been a single passage about an angel taking the form of a human.”
He digested her rant then calmly replied. “It’s pretty common knowledge among magicians that spirits can affect our realm from the afterlife. That’s how we receive soothsayer visions. They’re granted to us by spirits, sometimes the deities themselves. As long as the veil stays open, it’s not inconceivable for a spirit or heavenly being to cross over. I doubt it’s a simple process achievable by everyone, so it’s uncommon, but if a spirit is willing to risk the wrath of a goddess, it can be done. That could explain a lot of the guardian angel sightings.”
“So Ava will punish those who reach through the veil?”
“If they break the rules and meddle in our realm without her permission, yes, she’d probably punish them.”
“Do you think she ever sends them?”
“It’s possible.”
“Do you know why I have yet to find a reference to an earth angel taking the form of a human?”
“No, but if I had to guess, I’d say you’re the first to receive the title. If not for the Crusader’s prophecy, you wouldn’t be called an earth angel.”
“That’s true. If previous angels didn’t need a prophecy, they would have just been considered heroes or warriors.”
“Maybe you should try a different key word.”
“Maybe. I could look into bonded children, see if there are reports of magicians descending from three pairs of bonded mates.”
“Good idea.”
She picked at her food while watching him out of the corner of her eye. “But that’s by no means proof. Finley fit the profile.”
Quin grimaced and laboriously swallowed a bite. “I guess he did.”
He looked over as someone knocked on the entryway. Then he glanced under the table to make sure Layla had donned pants when she put on a shirt.
“Come in,” he called, unsealing the curtain.
Aradia swept into the cottage by herself, a thick book in hand. “Hey,” she greeted, joining them at the table. “I didn’t mean to interrupt your dinner. Want me to come back later?”
“Now’s fine,” Layla assured. “Are you hungry?”
“No, thanks. I’ve eaten.”
“How about tea?”
“Sure.”
Layla summoned a steaming mug of water and passed it over. “What’s up?”
“I’ve been studying Wolfstanus, right?” Aradia finished brewing her tea then pushed it aside to make room for the book. “Well, that biography I read was unauthorized and infuriatingly vague. It didn’t even mention the armor, so I disregarded it and moved on, but when I hit a dead end, I remembered a tiny passage from the biography about Wolfstanus’ early years. It mentioned a two-year gap in the timeline, during which it was rumored he’d been under the spell of a woman named Oliviara, who supposedly put him through so much hell, he emerged a warrior. It sounded like a bunch of misogynistic crap to me, so I didn’t think much of it. Until I researched her name.”
She paused and pinpointed a piece of satin hanging from the top of the gilded pages. Then she used it to flip open the heavy tome. “In the early 1300s, one of the biggest conflicts magicians faced was the spreading philosophy that the superior breed, us, should actively control hexless civilizations and populations. The movement started in one of Maganthia’s sister cities, which has since been destroyed and buried, but it was in Egypt. Anyway, those who subscribed to the movement gave themselves a title that translates to The Hand of the First, so they probably deluded themselves into thinking they were doing Goddess Ava’s work. They infiltrated hexless politics with the sole purpose of manipulating them. They started wars and destroyed necessary harvests. Some suspect they were responsible for the Great Famine of 1315. Basically, they played puppeteer to the entire non-magical world while hiding in the shadows. They never outed themselves by congregating in public or revealing their real names, so opposing them required stealth rather than open battles. A resistance coalition was formed, but to fight fire with fire, they had to keep a low profile, which means much of their efforts were never recognized, let alone recorded for historical purposes. Every known account was exposed after The Hands of the First were purged from their positions, and most of them don’t provide names. However…” She slid her index finger to the middle of the page and began reading. “A journal kept by Constance Elseph, a rumored member of the resistance, was released posthumously by one of her grandchildren. Though the journal fails to track time, Constance appears to have joined the cause toward the end of the conflict, as evidenced by the first passage bearing mention of The Hands. Quote: ‘I have sworn my duty. I have broken mother’s heart and joined the resistance. The Hands’ reach continues to spread and suffocate the hexless powers. Now England has lost her queen.’ Unquote. Her queen is widely believed to reference Queen Isabella of France, who, in 1325, left England to negotiate a peace treaty, only to betray King Edward II and refuse to return. The Hands of the First were decimated shortly after King Edward II fled to Wales in 1326, placing Constance as a member of the resistance for approximately one year, during which she wrote only eleven passages. Of particular interest is the tenth entry, which, if translated correctly, provides insight into one of the biggest mysteries of the era – who, precisely, was responsible for the destruction of The Hands of the First? Perhaps Constance knew more than she ever revealed in life. Quote: ‘I saw her. No one ever sees her, but tonight, we all saw her. The resistance pushes inward, but The Hands push back. They are not afraid to shatter thousands of years of secrecy. If we refuse to let them manipulate the others, they will destroy us all. Some have given up. More have died. But we have found renewed hope and vigor. She crept into the resistance, moving pieces across the board without a ripple. Alone, she made a difference. With us, she will conquer them all, and they will never see her coming. She moves like the wind, energizes like lightning, and sweeps across the enemy like a wave. She will be our saving grace, this blindingly bright woman with the raven hair and heavenly armor, and we will serve her with the devotion of the Wolf. He is ever by her side, a silent and sturdy shield to match the mail upon her breast. They say she cast a spell on him, a subservient curse delivered through a poison kiss that stole his voice and bound him to her soul. I can attest the former is untrue. I have heard him speak. They did not know I lurked around the corner, or perhaps they did not care, as there was nothing scandalous to hear. She spoke to him as if they were old friends, and I will never forget the reverence in his voice when he whispered our saviors’ name – Oliviara.’”
Aradia looked up from the text, and Layla closed her gaping mouth while pushing away her plate. Pulling the book closer, she checked the title – 100 Magical Mysteries and the Theories Behind Them. “Did you take this from the Buried Library?”
“No. That’s where I found the passage, but you weren’t there, so I went to the Central Market and bought a copy.”
“You can do that?”
“Sure, if they have it in stock. Bann’s been talking to a few locals about expanding Enid’s magical selection, so he got a good deal on it for me.”
Layla glanced at Quin, curious about his reaction to the passage, and she found him as stoic and silent as the Wolf, but his aura exposed his busy brain and vulnerable heart.
“You think the Wolf refers to Wolfstanus?” Layla asked, returning her attention to the book.
“Yes,” Aradia answered, scooting closer. “The timeline matches the mention of Oliviara in Wolfstanus’ biography. By all appearances, he spent only two years with her. He ended up starting a family with a woman far removed from the conflict, and there isn’t one account of him or anyone else ever mentioning Oliviara again. She seems to have vanished following the decimation of The Hands of the First, and I’ve found nothing regarding her origins.”
Layla chewed her lip while absorbing the revelations and considering the parallels to her own situation. “Do you think she died?”
“I think it’s a strong possibility.”
“Constance mentions heavenly armor.”
“Yes,” Aradia exclaimed, poking the page as if fingering a guilty suspect. “That’s the only explanation I can find for Wolfstanus owning the armor that the refugees gave you. It’s not proof by any means, but so far, it’s all we’ve got.”
“Do you think Oliviara was an angel?”
Aradia shrugged. “It seems Constance believed she was heaven-sent, but she never got the recognition you’d expect an angel to get. I guess that makes sense if the resistance was a covert operation. Once The Hands were destroyed, Maganthian officials teamed up with council members in sister cities to regulate the influence we have on hexless societies, but Oliviara isn’t mentioned in any of the transcripts.”
“Hmm… This was good work, Aradia. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Do you want to keep the book?”
“I don’t think that’s necessary. Just let me know if you come across more information about Wolfstanus or Oliviara.”
Aradia gathered the book and got to her feet. “I’m afraid the well has run dry on that front. Wolfstanus’ biography was written fifty years after his death, and at the time, everything he owned remained with his heirs. It doesn’t say if that included the armor, but I’ll try to track his estate anyway. If I find something useful, I’ll let you know.”
“Thanks again, Aradia. You’re a huge help.”
“That’s why I’m here.”
She suddenly halted. Then she and Layla tilted their heads while listening to the rise of distant voices.
Quin shot from his chair and held out a hand, summoning a gold cloak. Then he flipped it on as he swept by Aradia to the curtained door. He stopped to listen, giving Layla time to catch up, but he insisted she stay behind him as they stepped outside.
Others emerged from cottages and treehouses, their gazes turned toward the voices. Then Quin’s family rushed to his side as he cautiously approached the cliff’s edge. Layla struggled to stay behind the wall of wizards, and she couldn’t resist the temptation to hover high enough to peek over their shoulders.
A long line of Crusaders formed a human barrier along the southern edge of the property, where around three dozen magicians had gathered, their intrusive gazes locked on Quin as their voices pitched. “Look! It’s them! I see her lights!”
Diamond and Drexel stood a few yards from the tumult, probably debating how to handle it, but when they noticed Quin, they flew to the top of the cliff and filled him in. “They’ve been trickling in for days,” Drexel explained. “There are more coming than leaving. It’s getting out of hand.”
Layla wasn’t surprised by the attention. She dealt with it everywhere she went. Sometimes Quin and Drexel changed their routes to ensure safe travel, but as soon as word spread that Layla spent her days training, the Arena saw a surge in visitors, who weren’t even allowed to tour the ancient structure while Layla was inside, so they lingered outside, waiting for a short glimpse of her arrival or departure.
“I could call the city guards,” Diamond offered.
“No,” Layla objected, squeezing between Quin and Banning, and the crowd below gasped and grew louder. “What exactly do they want? Are they angry or violent?”
“No,” Drexel answered. “As far as we can tell, they’re curious and starstruck. You’re giving them exactly what they want.”
“Then perhaps they’ll go away.”
“More will come.”
Layla glanced between the intruders and Diamond’s flustered face. Then she instructed everyone to wait there while she headed for her cottage. When she emerged, she wore a breezy, yellow dress instead of Quin’s t-shirt and pajama pants, and she’d tamed her unruly curls enough to look presentable.
“Let’s go talk to them,” she suggested, leading the way off the cliff.
The others rushed to float down around her, and she attempted to ease Quin’s nerves by linking her arm in his.
A hush fell over the onlookers as Layla landed and walked forward, stopping a few yards behind the wall of Crusaders. Then she instructed them to move aside before addressing the strangers with a smile. “You’re very kind to think me worthy of a trip out here. Maganthia is a beautiful city, and its citizens have been so welcoming. Thank you.”
A girl around twelve had squeezed to the front and held out a flower that had bright-yellow petals with purple tips, so Layla took Quin with her as she drew closer.
“That flower is almost as lovely as you,” Layla commended, summoning a pink stargazer lily. “Trade you.”
The girl beamed while doing just that. Then Layla backed away and walked down the line of observers. “I’m flattered by your interest, and I understand your curiosity, but out of respect for the owner of this property, I must ask you to leave.” Having reached a Crusader, she handed him a stack of folded notes. “If everyone will honor my request and refrain from gathering here, I’ll attend thirty-minute meet and greets at the butterfly sanctuary three days a week until my departure. The first will be held tomorrow afternoon, assuming we’ll get some peace and quiet tonight.” She motioned toward the notecards. “I’ve written enough invitations for all of you. You may take one on your way out.”
And with that, she squared her shoulders and offered a cordial smile, but her expectant and unwavering gaze sent a clear message. She wasn’t about to budge, so the onlookers had two options. Leave now and meet the angel later, or stay and see just how dangerous a pissed off witch could be.
The girl holding the lily was the first to come forward for an invitation, accepting the notecard with a grin while curtsying for Layla. Then the others followed suit, anxious to get their hands on an invite.
Once the surrounding land and sky had cleared of strangers, Layla relaxed, but Drexel remained uptight. “A meet and greet, huh?”
Layla sighed and headed for the cliff. “Make it happen.”
“It will only fuel their curiosity.”
“But it might keep them from coming here.”
“A night in the dungeons would also deter them. You’re not a celebrity. You have better things to do than cater to fans.”
Layla halted and turned back, breathing through her nose as she checked her temper. “Are you saying you’d see that little girl locked up?”
“No, but those who are old enough to know better could use a lesson in respect.”
“They’re merely giving you what you want, Drexel. You brought me here with the intention of turning heads. You made me a celebrity, now we’re all dealing with the consequences, and I’m going to deal with them on my terms. You want to give these people an angel, not a tyrant. Why is it so difficult for you to differentiate between the two?”
“I’m well aware of the differences,” Drexel argued, “but you seem blind to the similarities. Both hold immense power, and neither cater to the whims of the people. You can be an angel without bending over backward for those beneath you. You serve the Heavens, not mortal men.”
“I don’t believe it’s that simple, Commander. It wasn’t faith in the deities that brought me here. I can name a million reasons to run a deadly gauntlet, and not one of them has to do with the Heavens. I fight for flesh and blood men and women. I am the earth angel. Not the Heavens. Earth. And the very people you believe are beneath me are the people I’m risking my life for. Now go plan the damn meeting and stop questioning everything I do.”
She spun away before he could respond. Then she flew to the cottage while clutching Quin’s hand to her chest, hoping like hell she was making the right decisions.
~***~
Despite Drexel’s objections, he spent part of the night organizing the first meet and greet, so following Layla’s Tuesday workout, she cleaned up at the Arena then flew to the butterfly sanctuary.
Over a hundred strangers awaited, but the Crusaders were strict in their handling of the event, keeping everything organized and calm. Fallen logs provided seating for the guests, who were separated from the sanctuary by scalloped vines. Snacks and drinks had been served, and everyone was smiling when Layla landed on the stairs and waved. As soon as she dropped her hand, Drexel rushed her into the lobby, where nature’s invasion had been cleared for a flower-draped throne, which sat next to a stool made of raw wood.
“Get that out of here,” Layla demanded, pointing out the throne. “Bring another stool, and a bench for the guests. Put it across from me.”
Drexel rolled his eyes, but he kept his mouth shut while doing as he was told.
Once Layla sat with Quin to her left and a cup of coffee on a table to her right, she took a few deep breaths and looked at the commander. “One family at a time. Give those who don’t make it through a pass that will move them to the front of the line the next time I’m here.”
Drexel turned to relay the instructions to his soldiers, and Layla cleared her throat while squeezing Quin’s hand. “Are you nervous?”
He let go of her hand and rubbed her back. “I was more concerned when you stood before the council.”
“Yeah. Compared to that, this is easy.”
“I doubt it will be easy, but it’s only thirty minutes. We’ll get through it.”
“Do you know what they want from me? Did they really come here just to see me and say hi?”
“Some of them, but don’t be surprised if they offer you gifts or ask for favors. And don’t feel like you have to give them anything. The only thing you’ve promised is a meeting, and you’re making good on that. It’s one thing to be sweet and kind. It’s another to let people take advantage of you.”
“You won’t let that happen.”
“Damn straight.”
They both fell silent as Drexel escorted a young couple forward. Then Layla made sure her smile stayed in place as she learned their names and let the male kiss her hand.
“We just wanted to meet you,” the female revealed, “and we thought… well, we were hoping you’d bless our union. We’re getting married this weekend.”
Layla sat as still as a statue, her brain running through inadequate responses. Then Quin’s voice invaded her head as he summoned a deep-red flower with heart-shaped petals that seemed to swell when hit with his breath. ‘It’s called a beating heart. It’s common for Maganthians to give them to couples on their wedding day.’
Layla breathed her relief as she took the flower. ‘Thank you.’ Then she offered it to the engaged couple while wishing them a lifelong marriage full of love and happiness.
Ecstatic with the gesture, the couple giddily made their exit, and the next visitor approached.
Most of the interactions were as cheerful and low maintenance as the first, but a few of the guests brought stories about loved ones lost to Agro, and a handful made requests that Layla couldn’t possibly promise to fulfill. One woman wanted her to save her sister, who’d been a Dark Guild member for years, and another had a son go missing during a trip to America. Layla had them both provide written statements, as well as photographs of the lost family members. Then she offered to pass them on to people who might be able to help. That was the best she could do, and it seemed to satisfy them enough that they left with light in their eyes and smiles on their faces.
After thirty minutes of nonstop meetings, Drexel cut off the line, and the final magician, a man around fifty, approached and offered Layla a bow. “Good afternoon, my lady. My name’s Artrenity Percineous. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“Likewise,” Layla returned, eyeing the tiny vial of dark-red liquid hanging around his neck. “I’m Layla.”
He took a seat across from her and leaned closer. “That’s one of your titles, but I also hear them call you an angel.”
“The validity of that is up for debate.”
“Tell that to the people you’ve buried. So why does Maganthia need an angel?”
This was the first interview she’d gotten, and it threw her off. “Why does anyone need an angel?”
“Inspiration.”
Layla liked the answer, but she stayed leery of the man who gave it. “Do you believe Maganthia needs to be inspired?”
“Perhaps. Living in a literal bubble has its disadvantages. We tend to get so comfortable we’re oblivious to the outside world and blind to the powers running our city. As long as the streets stay safe and there’s air to breathe, Maganthians believe life’s grand.”
“Do you believe otherwise?”
“I don’t believe shells are necessarily indicative of what lies beneath them. City officials don’t have to be transparent if they’re painting a pretty picture.”
“Are you implying you’ve seen beneath the shell?”
“Let’s just say I see deeper than most.” He held up a business card. “I run a blood exchange in Low-Tier. I hear things, all sorts of things, and business has been booming. Why don’t you come by so we can talk about it?”
He floated the card toward Layla, but Quin snatched it out of the air. “Don’t hold your breath.”
Layla had dozens of questions, but she didn’t want to appear ignorant in front of the local, who innocently raised his hands while rising from his seat. “Very well. I won’t count on your visit, but you have my card if you change your mind.” He offered Layla an easy smile and another bow. “It was wonderful to meet you. Enjoy the rest of your day.” Then he strolled away.
Once he’d left the sanctuary, Layla stood and drained her coffee, glad she’d set a thirty-minute limit. “I assume Low-Tier is the bottom level of the business district?”
“Yes,” Quin confirmed, prepping for flight.
“And a blood exchange?” Layla pressed. “What’s that?”
“Exactly what it sounds like.”
“Blood magic is legal here?”
“It’s regulated, but, yes, voluntary bloodshed is allowed under certain circumstances.”
“Do you think that was blood around his neck?”
“Probably.”
“If he deals in blood magic, he might have valuable information about the Dark Guild.”
“You’re right. If the guild is here, there’s a good chance they’ve dropped into the blood exchange, which means he’s known them longer than he’s known us, and they help keep him in business. Why would he sell them out for us?”
“Maybe he’s a decent guy. He made a few good points.”
“Maybe,” Quin conceded, leading her outside. “Or maybe he’s luring tourist to his exchange so he can feed the guild’s appetite. We don’t need him badly enough to take that risk.”
Layla’s curiosity had been piqued, but she could tell Quin had no intention of changing his stance, and she didn’t feel like arguing, so she pushed the subject to the background. For now.