Making a low sound in her throat, she grabbed a gown at random and threw it on the bed. Perhaps she could borrow more suitable clothing before night fell and the fight against the reborn began in earnest once more. Pulling on a robe for now, she decided to eat something before she dressed. She’d noticed a small jug and a covered platter of food in the living area when she’d first returned to her room.
The jug was still there but the platter had been changed, with the earlier food hopefully utilized by others. All of that was peripheral, however; what caught her eye was the pile of neatly folded clothing that sat on the settee in front of the low table that held the food and drink.
She walked over on curious feet to pick up the first item.
It fell open to reveal a sleeveless tunic in dark green with black embroidery around the rounded collar as well as on the hems. Modest slits at the sides meant the tunic would fit easily over her hips. While clean, it was obviously used, but she didn’t care in the least.
Smile wide, she picked up the next item. It was another tunic, this one with three-quarter sleeves—the shade was a mauve that probably wouldn’t suit her complexion, but she didn’t care about that, either. This was about practicality and being an asset rather than a liability.
The pants in the pile were a prosaic black and brown respectively. She hugged them close, not too proud to accept gifts given. Even if it was Titus who must’ve arranged those gifts.
Scowling, she nonetheless took the clothing back into her bedroom and found fresh underwear. At least she’d packed extra there. Deciding to wear the black pants with the dark green top, she left her hair down so that it would dry more easily, but pulled a hair tie around her wrist for later use.
The woman who looked back at her from the mirror was fresh-faced, no artifice or age to her. “Foolishness,” she said with a laugh and walked out onto the balcony that flowed off her bedroom.
Activity buzzed in the courtyard and in the skies, Titus’s people using the final hour of light to prepare for the night. She searched the courtyard . . . and realized she was looking for one particular warrior with wide shoulders, skin of ebony, and a smile that knocked the breath out of her.
30
Sire, I write to you from the home of my eldest. You and I, we have spoken our good-byes, but I wouldn’t go without this final message: It is my time to Sleep, but my children will forever be your allies. Call them if you ever have need, and they will come.
Until soon, sire.
—Letter from First General Avelina to Archangel Alexander
31
Flushing as she realized she was looking for Titus, Sharine nonetheless didn’t step back inside. She needed to speak to Tanae or a senior vampiric commander, find out how best to assist.
That was when her eye caught on the wings of an angel who’d just landed, his feathers brown but for small splashes of a familiar wild blue. She looked at the sky again; she had time. Taking out her phone, she pressed the number that would link her to Illium.
It rang multiple times before he picked up. “I’ve been hefting debris,” he said, his voice a touch breathless, and his sweat-damp hair pushed off his face. “Galen says I’ve become soft, but I’d like to see him lift the wall I just did.”
Sharine smiled, well used to the byplay between Tanae’s son and her own. She had the faint idea that it was the weapons-master who’d given her son the nickname of Bluebell. “Galen’s in New York?” She knew he was based in Raphael’s Refuge territory.
“Raphael’s recalled all of us but for Aodhan.” He looked to the right. “Barbarian! My mother asks after you—though I don’t know why!”
Pale green eyes set in a square-jawed face entered the frame; Galen’s dark red hair hung shaggy and thick around his features. “Lady Sharine,” he said with a smile, “it’s good to see you.” He frowned before she could answer and then was gone in a sudden flurry of gray-and-white wings.
“An angel lost his grip on a big piece of wreckage,” Illium said, his gaze upward. “Galen has it.”
“Your city is grievously wounded.” Sharine had glimpsed a little of it when Illium moved the phone.
“Yes.” A bleak confirmation. “We’re finding that some of the areas Raphael had to scorch are reading as poisonous—it looks like there was something special about the insects Lijuan loosed in that direction, and their poison burned itself into the soil.”
The sheer scale of Lijuan’s and Charisemnon’s power-hungry evil continued to shock her. “Is there a solution?”
“Our scientists are working on it,” he said. “But for now, the entire area’s under quarantine. We’re also having to constantly monitor the situation to make sure that nothing from that sector is seeping into the groundwater or into the river. Even dead, Her Batshitness continues to haunt us.”
She had no idea what “Batshitness” meant but, from context, guessed it must refer to Lijuan. Listening as he filled her in on his other news, she noticed one omission. “Are you still feuding with Aodhan?” It would not do. “You know now that life isn’t guaranteed, even for an immortal. Don’t be so stubborn.”
“I’m not the stubborn one.” He sounded so like the little boy she’d propped on her hip as a babe that she smiled.
“I’m quite aware Aodhan is your equal in stubbornness.” Her memories from her lost years continued to be problematic, but she remembered sitting and painting with Aodhan for hours at a time when Aodhan had been swathed in broken darkness. Even in the fog, she’d known that the small, quiet, loyal boy she loved was hurting and she’d gone to him.
“But regardless of his mood,” she said to Illium, “he’s in a very dangerous situation—and he’s far from home and those he loves most. Tell me you’re looking out for him.”
“Of course I am,” Illium muttered. “I even sent him a package from home, full of his favorite things—including a horror movie Elena says he loves. But will he thank me? Hmph. He’s probably sharing everything with Suyin.”
Sharine frowned, unused to hearing such a lack of generosity in her son’s voice. “Do you not like her?”
An intense silence, followed by, “It has nothing to do with her.” Another quiet, so taut it hurt. “Mother—”
Her hand clenched on the phone as he broke off; she wanted to go to her knees and beg for him to confide in her. Beg for him to tell her what strained his voice and hurt his soul. All those years when she’d been lost, he’d been forced to rely on others and then to rely only on himself. She wanted him to know that she was here now and that she’d never again let him down.
“You can say anything to me.” Her voice came out rough, husky. “I won’t be shocked or dismayed. I will love you to the end of time.”
“He has always been my best friend,” Illium said at last, something in his voice that she couldn’t read and the aged gold of his eyes looking to some distant point. “I waited so long for him to emerge from his self-imposed exile, but now that he’s done so, he spreads his wings and leaves me behind.”
Placing one hand on the wall outside her suite, Sharine staggered under the unknowing blow Illium had just struck. Did Aodhan understand that Illium had lost not one but both of the most important people in his life to their own demons?
Her eyes stung, her mind cascading with images of two small boys who’d been as thick as thieves, one taking the blame for the other no matter what the situation, no matter what the other had done. “I know my son,” she said when she could speak again, glad that Illium was distracted enough not to notice the pause. “He isn’t small-hearted, and he wouldn’t begrudge his friend finding happiness, so tell me what it is that truly pains you.”