“It’s from Luca, Ciprian, and Alistair. They say theyunderstand why I left, and they want to help.” She turns to me, her brown eyes wide. “I don’t understand. If they knew we were coming, why would they leave before we got here?”
“What’s on the other side?” Gently, I flip the paper over.
Her mouth drops open. “Gateway locations. They’ve been researching.”
“How romantic,” I mutter, although I am impressed. I suspected it would take them longer to see reason. Searching the bag, I curse under my breath. “There’s cash and plane tickets here, too.”
“What?” Celine demands.
I hand them to her and shuffle through a handful of driver's licenses tucked inside a zipped compartment. Half of them have Celine’s picture, and the other half are an assortment of men, each one uglier than the last. “Alistair has a unique sense of humor.”
I fan them out to show her, and she chuckles before pointing to the card at the bottom of the stack. “What’s that? It’s not an ID.”
I hold it up, and we both stare at the room key. It’s thick, with embossed lettering. When I flip it over, there’s an address clearly printed on the back. My stomach twists. It appears our time alone is coming to an end.
“You don’t have to come with me,” she whispers. “We agreed to stay together until we chased down the gateway rumor. You’re free to go.”
Her words hurt. My first inclination is to take her at her word and leave, but when I focus on Celine’s face, there’s something in her expression that I can’t place. Hope, maybe? Would I even recognize it if I saw it?
“Free to go,” I murmur. “That’s a novel concept for me. Tell me, darling, am I free to stay as well?”
Her brown eyes meet mine, and she nods without hesitation.
We hike back to the van without exchanging another word.
SEVENTEEN
Unsent correspondence, translated to English, and addressed only to My Truth:
I expanded the scope of my mission and became a sharper weapon. In the process, I warped myself until I no longer recognized my own reflection.
MALACH
Stomach churning, heart racing, I try not to let the tight space get to me. From my spot inside the hidden panel in the wall, I peer through the two small holes drilled in the plaster. This is it. My first opportunity to prove my usefulness to S’lach. And I’ll be hidden the entire time.
It’s smart on his part.
I’m known on sight by most of the angels in our echelon, a side effect of being part of the smallest celestial tier. It would bring up questions for S’lach if I were spotted on his estate. Especially given the magnitude of the speculation that followed Celine’s disappearance.
Doing this for him makes me nauseous, like I’mbetraying my magic and Celine’s at the same time. But if it brings me one step closer to ending her father and his reign of terror, it will be worth it.
Keep telling yourself that. Eventually, you might believe it.
Sweat trickles down my cheek. I know it’s not hot in here, but the space is too tight. It reminds me of being locked up in S’lach’s dungeon. The pressure of the hollow wall against my back is impossible to ignore. There’s nowhere for me to go. My nose grazes the plaster, and I can’t get enough air.
Don’t panic. Don’t panic. Don’t panic.
The urge to tear the wall down with my bare hands is hard to resist, but I know why I’m here.My truth.I won’t let her down.
“It’s about time.” S’lach’s oily voice is muffled but clear as he speaks to his guest in the traditionalthatshadialect.
His visitor scoffs, but there’s an undercurrent of nerves he can’t fully hide. Deep brown leather blocks my view as the angel steps in front of my hiding spot. His shirt is stitched together with golden thread, and the surge of claustrophobia from losing my view steals the air from my lungs.
Sweat drips off my palm, and I press it against the wall.
Ballind’s voice is familiar to me, although I haven’t seen him in years. A greedy angel with a mean streak, somewhere between my age and S’lach’s. He took his seat on thethatshacouncil after the sudden deaths of his parents. I don’t typically lend credence to gossip, but I’m not the only one who wonders if their deaths were as accidental as he portrayed them to be.
Through shallow breaths, I activate my word.
