Until now, I didn’t think any other angel had the same featherless wings as Abaddon, but the only difference between the two is a reversal of color. Whereas Abaddon’s are black with red veins, this man has red wings with black veins.
If I didn’t know any better, I might think they’re brothers.
“You must be Kae,” the stranger says, giving me a slight bow. “I apologize for being so late. I was going to skip dinner, but then I ran into Abaddon, who told me you were awake and present tonight. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
I can’t seem to place where his accent is supposed to be from. Spain, maybe? Or Italy?
“Kae,” Abaddon calls, “I’d like you to meet Semyaza.”
I look at him, and puzzle pieces immediately start to snap together in my head.
Semyaza is the one who first led the angels from Heaven to Earth. He’s the one Abaddon tried to tell me he understood ‘why he did it’ when his feelings about being with ahumanstarted slipping out of him. I thought the Heavenly archangels couldn’t possibly have families, but I overlooked one key element.
The power of intentional creation.
It doesn’t matter if they were born from the same womb or not. Semyaza and Abaddonlooklike brothers because they werecreated to be. They’re as close to siblings as archangels can be.
No wonder Abaddon wouldn’t dare risk a relationship with me! This whole time, his ownbrotherwas being tortured for being with a human. I’m moderately upset that he didn’t try to explain their relationship to me. I would have understood. I don’t have siblings, but I do have Jackie,and that’s plenty close enough for me to relate.
Why didn’t Abaddon just talk to me?
Does he have survivor’s guilt?
How does this change things?
As a thousand questions fly through my head, I notice Semyaza is watching me closely, so I meet his eyes. They’re as angelic as any other, painted in a sparkling cerulean blue. Much like Abaddon’s, actually, if only his pigment hadn’t been completely drained out and replaced by a ghost.
His head tilts to the side, eyebrows knitting together, as he intently stares back into my eyes. For a second, I’m put off by it—and then I remember how mine are even more peculiar than his. He must be perplexed by the supernatural shade on a human.
“You seem to have questions,” Abaddon says slowly.
“Many.” As soon as I answer, I realize he could have meant that for Semyaza and not me, but I suppose it doesn’t matter. Either way, I’ve had enough questions for one day.
“I’d be happy to help answer them, Kae.”
“That’s very kind of you, Semyaza. But, uh, I’ve already had quite the day as it is.” I start to back away, clutching my pastry close to my chest. “And my head, it’s just—it’s killing me. Maybe tomorrow?”
“Of course. Anytime.”
I dart out of the room before anyone can catch me, almost tripping in my eagerness to get out.
30
ABADDON
Semyaza and I escape to my private study together, easing our nerves with glasses of the alcoholic beverage called anOld Fashioned. Alcohol, no matter how it is served, seems to be an enduring feature of human culture over the centuries.
We’ve just barely sat down in the club chairs when he unsheathes a knife, makes a small cut on his arm, and paints a rune on the table between us with his blood.
I scowl, eying the unfamiliar design.
“That was wholly unnecessary.” Since it’s a secret language of the Watchers, I can only guess its purpose. “I could have just as easily made a sound vacuum around us.”
Healing the cut on his arm, he leans back into his chair. “We need to talk about the girl—openly—and I’m not taking any chances with the Council. The runes were invented for this very reason.”
“How is it you still know them?”
“Believe it or not, Amezarak was once a follower of mine,” he answers with sarcastic distaste. “He invented the basic ones long before Azael’s faction split off.”
