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His name was Icarus for a reason.
“He left this for me.”
Gabriel looked up and found Mary close with another note she held out to him.
Protect him.
The notes slipped from his fingers, and he curled over his knees, fighting back fear, tears, and fire that licked across his skin, that raged in his core.
“Stop fighting it.” Her voice was close, her presence washing over him as she laid a hand on his knee. “Use it. Use the fire. Help me protecthim.”
Gabriel lifted his head but continued to keep the core of him buried, the fire scorching his throat as he croaked, “How?”
She crouched in front of him. “Icarus has gone inside. He’ll do the job the DA wouldn’t. Put Vincent in a place where we—you—can end him. We have to be ready.”
“Vincent will see right through him.”
“Give my brother more credit.” She smirked. “Sure, the plan will go sideways because he’s Icarus, but he’ll get us ninety percent of the way there.”
“I can’t let anything happen to him. I just...” He gulped, floundering helplessly in this sea of emotions. “I lo—”
“Nope,” she cut him off. “Save it for him. SaveGabrielfor him. I need Adam. I need the Devil. I need the phoenix.”
Gabriel closed his eyes once more and rested his head on his knees. One breath, two breaths. He let the memories of Icarus in his arms wash over him and tucked Gabriel into a warm safe space with them. Then he let the phoenix inside him stretch its wings, harnessed the fire, and honed it into an arrow.
The Devil straightened and opened his eyes. “Let’s end this. Once and for all.”
PARTTHREE
ICARUS
THIRTY-SIX
Icarus stoodbeside the same bench where he’d waited for Paris last week, tugging at the sleeves of his too-small suit jacket. The whole damn suit was too small, the Italian threads snug across his biceps, back, and thighs, and good fucking luck buttoning the jacket, even wearing Adam’s favorite slinky top underneath. But at two in the morning, Icarus’s only option had been Cormac’s closet, and he hadn’t had time for sartorial debate. He’d zipped in, grabbed a laundry bag, and zipped out before the raven woke.
If he was going to get past the porter of the glitzy high-rise across the street, he needed to look the part. Sure, the pink hair might give him away, but it was all about confidence, right? And he had that.
Confidence that he’d done the right thing, leaving Gabriel sleeping peacefully in his bed.
Confidence that he had the love of a good man he’d do anything to protect and keep in this world with him.
Confidence that this was the only way to do that.
Was he confident this would go as planned? Hell no, but he was confident it would buy time for her and Adam, because the Devil was who he needed right now. Enough time for them, together with Cormac and Robin, to secure Paris and to be ready for when Icarus delivered them Vincent on a silver platter.
Granted, it was tempting to scale the high-rise’s facade, sneak in a window, and rip Vincent’s head off himself, but there were three problems with that plan: one, Icarus didn’t know which window; two, he doubted he could get past who knew how many guards; and three, it wouldn’t give the people he loved the closure they needed. Also, information. Vincent had it; they could always use more of it.
He glanced up and judged the location of the constellations. He had two or so hours left before sunup, before she and Adam would wake, read his notes, and realize he was gone. He didn’t have time to waste.
He crossed the street and made it as far as the sidewalk before running into an invisible wall. A magical shield. “Fuck!” He contemplated vamping out and trying to slice through it, but that would stop this party before it even started.
The willowy woman beside the door glared his direction. “May I help you?”
Snotty with a side of static, as if the wall of magic acted like a speaker. Lovely. Icarus barely resisted rolling his eyes. “I have a meeting with Atlas.” He doubted saying Vincent would get him anywhere. Vincent would put his guests on the books, and as a human, no matter how criminal, he was less likely to have visitors at four in the morning. But the kinky warlock, Vincent’s right hand—that tracked. And if Cormac was correct, if Atlas had missed landing kill strikes at the Canyon Lands, if he’d really turned her over yesterday without caveats and conditions, said kinky warlock was their best bet.
“Your name?”
“Icarus.”
