A Temptation of Angels (7 page)

The lack of mockery in his voice sobered her like none of Darius’s snide commentary. This was someone who wanted to see her safe, and it seemed there were very few of those people left. She would have to trust him.

They crossed the road at an even quicker pace than the
one they had used in the alley. The brothers’ eyes moved constantly, roaming the streets for danger as they headed toward the darkness on the other side of the street.

Stepping onto the cobblestone walk, Darius ducked into the shadows along the edge of a crumbling building as Griffin ushered Helen in the same direction.

They were only feet from the darkness when she heard the sound.

It reminded her of the time a bat had found its way into her room through the firebox. The poor creature had flown around her chamber, desperately seeking escape while she opened window after window, trying to coax it out-of-doors. She was not frightened, but later, she would remember the deep, slightly ominous sound of its wings beating the air.

It was this that made her stop, looking above her for the spread of something dark and in flight.

But Griffin was not looking upward. His gaze was pulled to the streetlamp closest to them.

A moment later, she understood why.

There was a man standing within the circle of its illumination. She did not immediately register that he seemed to appear out of nowhere. That she had not heard boot steps and
that neither Griffin nor Darius seemed to have suspected they were being followed.

She did, however, register the bloodred of his eyes, piercing the smoky light of the streetlamps.

The man stepped out of the light, his dark clothes making his pale face seem like an apparition floating above his body. A low growl sounded from his throat in the moment before he smiled, flashing teeth capped almost entirely in silver.

“I told you the light was dangerous.” It was all Griffin had time to say in the moment before he shoved her back into the shadows. “Now, don’t move until we say so.”

S
he pressed her body against the crumbling building just as Darius stepped forward. An irrational satisfaction blanketed her fear. This stranger obviously intended her, and the brothers, harm. But there were two brothers and only one snarling… whatever it was.

Then she saw the other man stepping from the pool of light cast by another streetlight.

“I’m tired, brother, let’s make this quick.” Darius almost sounded bored, something that made Helen doubt her earlier faith in the brothers’ ability to fend off the strange men now advancing. Perhaps Darius and Griffin were mad rather than competent.

“Fine with me,” Griffin said. “I’ll take this one. Did you bring your glaive?”

“No. You?”

Griffin shook his head with a sigh. “The sickle it is, then.”

The silver-toothed fiend snarled as Griffin took a step forward. He pulled loose the strangely shaped object hanging from his belt. It opened with a clanging hum, and Helen saw that it
was
a kind of sickle, small enough to hold in the hand and shaped like a boomerang. But this was no boomerang. Forming a kind of open V, the light reflected off the honed blade on one side and caught the tips of metal teeth jutting from the other. It would rip a man apart.

“Keeper scum.” The insult was hurled from the second man as he pulled a sickle from his belt.

His companion advanced on Griffin, his own weapon in hand. The two pairs circled each other as Darius replied, as casually as if they were having tea and talking about the weather.

“That’s offensive coming from a wraith. I think I’m going to have to defend my honor.”

There was a breathless pause before Darius raised his sickle against that of his opponent. The clang that followed was earsplitting, and Helen, cowering in the shadows, looked around, expecting someone to emerge from one of the dingy flats and rail about the noise.

But no one came. As she watched the brothers, raising their
sickles, hooking those of the other men and making it difficult to free them and continue the battle, she had the feeling that their very existence was a dream. That she and the brothers and the two beings that fought them existed in another world—one that was separated by the finest of veils from the one in which she had lived all her life. That the sound of the battle in front of her was muffled and shielded from the sleeping world around her.

She clutched the long wooden box tighter as Griffin’s sickle locked with that of the being that fought him. The other man growled, pulling on Griffin’s sickle until Griffin was far too close to the man’s body. Helen cringed, trying to watch the battle while she also planned her escape, should the brothers not make it out alive.

Find the Way Out was a game that died hard.

A moment later, Griffin seemed to loose his grip on the sickle. It brought him still closer to the other man, and for a split second, Helen thought Griffin was giving up. She realized his strategy when the fiend’s grip loosened with their sudden proximity. Griffin, taking advantage of the momentary slack, drew his sickle down and away from the other man’s in one effortless swing. Then, he brought it up in a graceful arc, slicing the razor edge of it across the fiend’s belly.

She stifled a gasp, expecting the man to cry out. Or at least to bleed. But he did neither. He simply continued fighting even as Griffin, now with the upper hand, pummeled him with repeated kicks and slices of his sickle until the man’s flesh was torn in places.

And still, Helen didn’t see a drop of blood.

When she was finally able to tear her eyes away to Darius, she found much the same sight. Darius’s opponent was on the ground, Darius bringing the sickle down again and again, slicing with one edge, ripping and tearing with the other. Yet even as the man on the ground seemed to give up, he, too, did not bleed.

Finally, Griffin’s opponent toppled over, crashing to the ground like the man now under Darius’s boot.

Darius spoke calmly. “I thought we were going to make it quick.”

“You’ve had more experience than I have,” Griffin said, his voice wounded.

Helen wanted to look away as they brought down their sickles. Now there would be blood, and they would have to leave these souls, however evil, in the middle of the walk to be pulled apart by the starving dogs that roamed the slums.

Yet, as the brothers brought down their weapons, she could
not look away. She watched in rapt attention as their blades swung through the smoky light, wincing as the blades crossed the necks of the men lying on the ground. She mentally prepared herself for the severing of their heads, but a moment later, their bodies disappeared in a rush of wind and a flash of hot blue light.

Helen stood motionless and stunned in the silence that followed. The world seemed to come back, little by little, until she could feel the wind lift her hair, smell the oil in the lamps lighting the street.

Griffin walked over to her, closing his sickle with a quiet clang, and hanging it back on his belt.

He wiped his brow. “Are you all right?”

She nodded, clutching the wooden box like a lifeline.

He reached for her arm. She was surprised to find his grip gentle.

“Come on,” he said. “You’ve had a long night.”

Darius did not speak on the way home. He walked in front of her and Griffin as he had before, only this time, she did not question their choice of the smallest, darkest streets.

When at last they walked through the back door of the house, Darius headed straight for the stairs.

“Get as much sleep as you can, Helen.” He did not turn to her as he spoke. “Tomorrow we’ll have to make decisions regarding your safety.”

By the time she and Griffin reached the grand staircase, Darius had already disappeared into the halls above it.

“You shouldn’t have followed us.” Griffin’s voice was soft as they climbed the stairs.

Had Darius made the same observation, she would have fired off a smart retort before she could stop herself. But there was no accusation or annoyance in Griffin’s voice.

“I’m sorry, but I remembered something my mother said. Something about you and Darius taking me to Galizur. And then I remembered you and Darius saying you were going to see him.” They reached the top of the stairs and headed toward the first hall. “I didn’t want to wait here alone.”

“Helen.”

She did not realize Griffin had stopped walking until she followed his voice, finding it two feet behind her. She stepped back to where he stood.

“Yes?”

His eyes glistened in the dark. “I don’t want to discourage your strong will—”

“But?” She could not help interrupting him, already sensing his desire to keep her in check.

“There’s still a lot you don’t understand. A lot that can bring you harm. If you want to survive, you must listen to us until you’re capable of defending yourself.”

She wanted to deny the kindness in his voice. But she could not. Instead of the heated reply for which she searched, she found, to her horror, the sting of tears. She looked away, not wanting him to see their shine in the light of the candles along the wall.

“Yes, well, perhaps I’m not concerned about remaining alive at the moment.”

She expected him to protest, but he simply nodded in the periphery of her vision.

“What about retribution?” he asked. “Is that something that concerns you?”

She turned back to him, meeting his eyes. “That’s of more interest to me, yes.”

“Then you might like to consider staying alive to exact it.”

He started walking once again, leaving her no choice but to follow. The halls were long and winding. She paid attention to the turns as they went—left, left, right—wanting a surer method of finding her way around than the instinct she’d used
to find the staircase earlier that night. Finally, Griffin stopped at a door that looked like all the others.

“I’m two doors down on the right if you need anything, or you can ring the bell by your bed.”

She nodded, stepping into the room. “Thank you.”

He had already turned to leave when she found the courage to voice the question that had been nagging since the two men had appeared in the alley.

“What were those… things? On the street?”

Griffin turned, hesitating. She could feel him trying to find the right words. “They were wraiths.”

“Wraiths?”

He nodded. “Lesser demons.”

“
Lesser
demons?” She felt like an idiot repeating everything, but her brain was working as fast as it could, trying to process everything he was saying. “Is there such a thing?”

“Yes,” Griffin said. “The Dictata heads up our side, the Alliance of Lesser Angels, and there is caste system within the ranks of the Legion, too.”

“What is the Legion?”

He considered his words. “The Alliance is made up of the descendants of the original Lesser Angels, right?”

She nodded.

“Well, the Legion is made up of the
fallen
angels.”

“Otherwise known as demons,” she murmured, finally understanding.

“Exactly,” he said. “There’s a treaty that keeps order with the more powerful demons, but wraiths are just a nuisance. They don’t have the intellectual capacity for real strategy, which is why Darius and I were able to defeat them so easily.”

“It didn’t look easy,” she said.

His smile was small. “It comes with practice, and we have been taking care of ourselves for some time now.”

She felt a pang of sadness—for him, and for herself, too—for all they had lost.

“Were they the ones responsible for…” She could hardly manage the words, though there had been no opportunity for grief since Galizur confirmed her parents’ death. She forced herself to say aloud the thing that was true, whether or not she voiced it. “Did they kill my parents?”

Griffin shook his head, a lock of hair falling into his eyes. “They weren’t knowledgeable enough for such a task. Whoever killed your parents—and ours—was much, much more dangerous.”

He was already out the door when the next question came to mind.

“Griffin?”

He turned to meet her eyes. “Yes?”

“Why kill our families if it’s us they want? If we’re the ones who have the key?”

He shrugged. “Isn’t it obvious?” She couldn’t tell if it was sadness or anger that lit his eyes. “They have us right where they want us. On the run and unprotected.”

O
nce alone in the bedchamber, Helen stripped off her clothes, leaving her chemise on as a nightdress. Her eyes, still gritty with smoke and soot, burned with exhaustion.

But she couldn’t sleep.

Not yet.

She propped herself against the large wooden frame of the bed, the box from Galizur in her lap. Fingering its rough-hewn edges, she tried convincing herself that it would be better, wiser, to wait until tomorrow to look more closely at its contents. To read the letter that had been left for her by father.

It was a useless argument. Dawn was already lightening the world beyond the curtained windows, and there were some things that simply could not wait.

She pushed back the lid, watching the contents of the box become visible as the flat-paneled top slid to reveal them.

She first removed her grandmother’s cameo. It twirled at the end of the chain, and she held it up for inspection, wondering if the key Galizur spoke of could be hidden inside the locket. She opened and closed it, turning it over in her hand and looking at it every which way. But no. It was simply a family heirloom, and she set it carefully on the bed.

She did not count the money or inspect it as she lifted it from the box, though in the back of her mind, she was grateful. Having money meant she wouldn’t have to rely on Griffin and Darius forever. But right now, while she was still trying to grasp the losses of the past hours, the currency was a vulgar reminder.

Peering into the box, it seemed there was only the letter, but when she lifted the thick envelope from the box, she saw that there was something underneath it. She set the letter down, reaching back into the box. When she withdrew her hand, it held a photograph. She recognized it immediately. It had been taken on holiday at the country house. Father had surprised them with the photographer’s visit, and she and mother had dressed in their summer best to sit with him on the lawn, as the photographer had disappeared beneath a curtain of velvet attached to his machine. The photograph had sat in the parlor ever since. Helen had not been aware that a duplicate had been
made, but now, staring at her father’s vivid smile, the light in her mother’s eyes, visible even in the black-and-white tones of the photograph, Helen was glad for it. She set it next to the cameo and lifted the letter from the bed.