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“So,” I said, maybe in some vain attempt to defuse the tension. “You guys discover anything yet?”
“That’s an understatement,” Sterling croaked.
“This isn’t good, Dustin,” Carver said, tugging on the collar of his dress shirt. “Not good at all.” He always looked so comfortable in a suit and tie – what he seemed to wear twenty-four hours in a day – and I’d never seen him so much as sweat.
“I came to my own conclusions with the blood,” Carver continued. “But Sterling experimented the best way he knows how: by tasting it.”
I shrugged. I didn’t see what was so unusual about that. “And what did you find?”
Sterling pressed his lips together, like he didn’t think I was going to like the answer. “It hurt. I’m okay now, but the blood hurt going down. Burned my tongue and my throat. And the pain was familiar. Really familiar. You know how you can tell the difference between toothache pain and stomach pain? One’s dull, the other’s sharp? I remembered the pain.” Sterling rubbed the underside of his chin, his mouth twisting with distaste. “It was a lot like how it felt when the silver light attacked us, and when it wiped out the warehouse.”
I frowned. “So you’re saying that this creature’s blood has similar properties to the magic it was using? I don’t get it. That doesn’t make sense.”
“Think of it as an allergy,” Carver said, his voice unusually measured. “If you’re allergic to peanuts, the source is immaterial. Doesn’t matter if it’s in a cake or a cracker. Your body will react accordingly. All this to say that the light and the blood triggered a reaction in Sterling because of his own particular vulnerabilities as a member of the undead.”
I frowned even harder. What the hell were they driving at?
Sterling crossed his arms, gripping at his elbows as he stared at a spot on the floor. “It wasn’t like sunlight, either. That burns. This was deliberate, and slow.” He looked up at me, his eyes serious, and hard. “If that silver light had gone on for much longer it would have destroyed me. Not burned me, not incinerated my body. It would have completely obliterated me.”
Carver walked over to his desk. “And I’m supposing that as a lich, I’ll be exposed to the same weaknesses. This is an enemy that we can’t fight.”
“I’m technically human,” I said. “And so is Asher. Whatever it is, we’ve got the skills and the resources to deal with it.”
“Don’t be so sure.” Carver regarded me grimly, then lifted one of the feathers, twirling it between his fingers. “This feather is translucent, which accounts for why you had difficulties spotting it on the ground. But that aside, the being it belongs to also has certain, shall we say, unearthly qualities. Would you care to guess what kind of creature it is?”
I shook my head. “No idea. Um. A griffin? A harpy?”
“Guess again.” Carver gritted his teeth, holding the feather in my face like a totem. “What has two wings, celestial blood, and a fervent distaste for the undead?”
It all clicked. Fuck, no. It wasn’t possible. I looked at my hands, then back up into Carver’s deathly still face.
“Are you saying it’s an angel?”
Chapter 10
“An angel? Are you kidding me?”
My dad’s eyebrows knitted together, his face screwing up, his eyes bright with concern and, well, indignation. We sat a table apart in the kitchen of his new little home, but I could feel the worry radiating off him in waves.
“That’s what they said, dad. And honestly, Carver’s never been wrong before.”
And
Carver had most definitely put two and two together. He already knew about Mammon, and combined with the fact that an angel was hunting me down – well, it doesn’t take a genius to figure that one out. Sooner or later, he was going to find out about the Tome, too. I tried not to sigh.
In the back of my mind I couldn’t help wondering why all these otherworldly classes of entities, the ones that were clearly not of this earth, were suddenly crawling out of the woodwork. Gods and mythical creatures I could deal with, but demon princes, and angels? Could they feel the rumbling of the cosmos, too? Did they know that the Eldest were coming? I shuddered to think.
Norman Graves looked at me, squinted at the lip of his beer bottle, then back at me again, like he was trying to find some answer.
“And why would an angel be after you? What could an angel possibly want with you, of all people?”
“Haha. No idea.”
I took a long, substantial pull of my beer, hearing the bubbles and the furious pounding of my heart in my ears. Oh it was pretty clear, all right. I was in bed with a demon, and now the heavenly host was after my ass. Who the hell knew they even existed? But if demons walked the earth, then I guess it only made sense. Cosmic balance, I suppose, the universe righting itself, or something like it.
“Look,” he said. “I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about. Your mom and I never raised you to be religious, but they’re supposed to be the good guys, aren’t they? As long as your conscience is clean, you’re going to be fine.”
“Yeah,” I said, keeping the smile glued firmly to my face. “Totally.”
