Doc caught Fi’s gaze. His eyes were full of questions. She gave him a small nod, then returned to Pete. “It’s beautiful. It looks very old.”

He dropped it, not bothering to hide it beneath his shirt again. “It is. Passed down to me from my grandfather, the last of us to manifest the change before me.”

She leaned in. “Pete, what are you?”

He moved like he might get up. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

Doc snorted. “You realize whom you’re talking to, right? This is your chance to get this off your chest, bro. You’re among friends. I swear it on the life of this pride.”

Pete seemed to consider Doc’s words. He nodded. “Okay. It would be nice not to keep this secret any longer. Maybe you could even help me.” He shrugged. “Not that there’s much use for someone like me.”

He leaned over and stuck his hand under the table lamp. “What do you see beneath my hand?”

Fi looked closely. “Nothing.”

“Exactly,” he said. “I cast no shadow.” He inhaled and lifted his chin, his gaze flitting between them. “I’m a doppelganger.”

Chapter Forty-three

Once Tatiana had agreed to Mal’s proposed deal, he’d put Lilith down and told her to hold Chrysabelle’s hand. Now the little girl walked with her as she led the way back to the gates of the Garden. Mal followed behind, acting as a buffer between them and Tatiana in case she changed her mind about their strange truce. If she was able to leave with the fruit, their only other hope was that she’d be killable, permanently, once they got her outside the Garden. She glanced back, meeting Mal’s eyes, trying to let him know with a look that she understood his plan.

He gave her a quick nod in return.

Lilith tugged on Chrysabelle’s hand. “Birdy!” She pointed as a scarlet macaw sailed overhead.

Chrysabelle smiled and nodded. “That’s right.” The little girl’s small hand clutched hers tighter and her own child kicked in her belly. Soon, the hand she was holding would belong to her own flesh and blood. The child that she and Mal had created. She looked back again, this time at Tatiana. Chrysabelle could not allow that evil to harm her family. Tatiana could not return to Corvinestri and her power-hungry, blood-spilling ambitions.

At some point, she would find out about the baby Chrysabelle was carrying and that information would shift Tatiana’s full attention onto her. Just as Tatiana had stolen Lilith, she would throw her weight into stealing Chrysabelle’s child.

It would not happen. It could not. Lilith had been put through hell, stripped of her childhood to be used as a pawn and turned into a monster. Chrysabelle studied the child at her side. She seemed so innocent now, as if the fruit had somehow cleaned the evil from her soul, but looks could be deceiving. What if darkness still lingered in her heart? Would it manifest someday? Would this child become a threat to Chrysabelle’s own?

She knew Mal wanted to take Lilith back to the mayor so she could be raised by family, but that might not be the right decision. Chrysabelle didn’t want to turn her over only to have to kill her someday when her true nature resurfaced.

The gates loomed ahead and, as they approached, began to open. The moon still gleamed from the same place in the sky as when night had first fallen while she was hiding in the tree. Had it moved at all? Did it move? Who knew how this place worked?

A new glow beckoned from the open gate. Eae maybe? She squinted, trying to see through the halo of light, but then a second figure appeared, one that was easily recognizable as Eae.

She slowed and Mal came up beside her. He spoke softly. “Is that a second guard?”

“Maybe.” She shook her head. “I don’t know.”

“Go cautiously.”

She nodded and started forward again. With each step, the face of the second guard became more readable. She inhaled as recognition hit her and the scene of her mother’s death flashed before her eyes. “Michael.” The name came out on a breath and as she averted her eyes, a sudden wave of inadequacy struck her. The glory that surrounded the archangel pressed on her, showing her in a flash of memories how she’d fallen short in her duties as a comarré since she’d last seen him at the breaking of the covenant.

She fell to her knees as he approached, overwhelmed by such deep emotion that standing seemed impossible.

“Get up, child,” he said.

She shook her head. “I don’t think I can.” Not yet. Not while this inexplicable guilt pushed her to the verge of tears. Once again, her pregnancy emotions were besting her. Her pregnancy. Holy mother, what would he think of that? As if he didn’t already know.

He crouched down before her. “Look at me, Chrysabelle.”

Reluctantly, she raised her head. The suffusion of light faded enough for her to see him clearly. His face still glowed, but this time, with kindness.

He smiled. “Everything you’re feeling belongs to you and you alone. I am proud of what you’ve accomplished. Nadira should have offered you help when you went to her.”

“S-she did. In a way.” Why Chrysabelle felt the need to protect the Aurelian, she had no idea.

Michael shook his head. “Not enough help. Not the right help. You were correct. The time for the comarré to rise up had come.”

“Then why didn’t Nadira do more?”

He stood. “She is a stubborn woman, too old to bend with pressure, too full of her own importance. But she—and Rennata—are mine to deal with now. Nadira I can only chastise, but Rennata I can, and will, replace. Something I should have done years ago.” He shook his head ominously. “But know that by your actions, you have averted the crisis.” He held his hand out to her.