Archangel's Enigma
Page 105
His friends were safe again.
And he had the Grimoire.
* * *
Andromeda didn’t know how she’d survived the past five days. Her parents were exactly as she’d left them, their excesses changed only in the specifics. Lailah and Cato still indulged in vicious sexual torture with “willing” playmates who may simply have been too scared to protest, and every so often, they meted out violence just because it was a “fun” way to break the ennui that colored their every action.
Even today, a hapless young angel screamed in her mother’s quarters while her father sat in the great living area dressed only in pants of red silk while two naked vampires danced for him. He’d invited her to sit with him, watch the show—Cato was so jaded that he’d forgotten what it was to be a father.
Andromeda had been barely beyond a toddler the first time she’d seen her father having sex with a woman not her mother. He’d been strangling the whipped and bleeding woman at the time. Shocked, she’d cried. That day, her father had stopped and carried her out of the room. He hadn’t bothered the times afterward, and she’d learned not to come unannounced into any room in the stronghold.
As for Lailah, Andromeda’s mother had met her on arrival, and told her she’d placed a special triptych in Andromeda’s room. Immediately nauseous, Andromeda had hoped she was wrong. She wasn’t. She’d found three naked men waiting in her bed.
An angel. A vampire. A mortal.
A triptych. Her mother’s little joke.
Andromeda had ordered the three out on the point of a blade.
This noon, the sixth since her arrival and the seventh since she’d left the Refuge, she fisted her hands, her spine rigid at the idea of another five hundred years of an existence mired in bone-numbing fear, brutal violence, and empty indulgence. Unlike her parents, her grandfather would not accept defiance. And as Andromeda wouldn’t mete out torture on his orders, he’d turn the violence on her, brutalize her until she was nothing but an empty doll.
“Let it go, Andi.” She forced her fists to open, shoved aside her frustration and anger, and smiled, grimly determined not to allow the dark future to steal this day from her. “Today, you’re Andi, and today, you’ll be happy.”
Picking up the basket of food she’d prepared, a picnic blanket already over her arm, she exited into the back courtyard and rose into the sky.
Her lungs expanded, clean air rushing into her body.
47
Not long afterward, she sat under the dusky, midday sun on a picnic blanket she’d spread under the distinctive umbrella-shaped canopy of a tree that had as many names as Africa had languages. Aqba, nyoswa, samor, umbrella thorn acacia . . . the name or the dialect didn’t matter. What mattered was that these trees provided welcome shade on the rolling grasslands of the savanna.
From her position, she could see the herons fly over the old watering hole, their wings flashes of white. Now that the reeds around the water were no longer regularly trampled under the ponderous feet of elephants, they grew lush and green when, elsewhere, the savanna was the golden green color of a season when the rains had come.
Much as Andromeda liked the herons and the lush foliage around the watering hole, she missed the elephants. There was something so very wise and steady about the magnificent creatures. And the way they cared for their young? As a babe herself, she’d been so envious of those awkward elephant babies who’d splashed in the water, certain their parents would protect them from the lions who liked to prowl around here.
But the elephants had moved on for reasons of their own, and though Andromeda knew their new favorite place, she didn’t go there. She didn’t want to inadvertently betray them to her parents’ guests. She’d done that once, accidentally shown a group of guests where the black rhino walked.
The three monsters had butchered two of the majestic creatures in front of her as she screamed and begged and tried to stop them. They’d done it for fun.
For fun.
That horrific day marked the only time she had ever been proud of her parents. Livid at discovering the slaughter, Lailah and Cato had meted out near-lethal punishments on the spot. Andromeda’s parents might torture and mutilate mortals and immortals without compunction, but they did not allow the abuse or senseless killing of animals.
Andromeda had asked once, why protect one and not the other? Her mother’s answer had been simple: Animals have no choice in whether or not to play the game.
Do all your playmates? Andromeda had dared ask.
Enough to not be innocent as an animal is innocent.
As a result of their stance, Lailah and Cato’s territory teemed with wildlife, was considered one of the most rich and diverse places on the continent when it came to fauna.
Yet despite the fact the aftermath of the rhino slaughter was well known to all who came here, Andromeda didn’t take risks when it came to the animals. The herons could fly away if anyone came here, and they weren’t usually targets in any case.
Where was Naasir?
She stood and walked up the slight rise behind the tree for the tenth time. It gave her an uninterrupted view of the savanna in every direction, but she saw no familiar feline stride, no glint of glittering silver.
Refusing to give up, she returned to the picnic blanket and checked the food she’d prepared by hand and with all of the love in her heart. She’d packed the meat in ice to protect it from the heat, then placed it in an insulated container, but it wouldn’t last more than two hours, given the warm temperature. She loved that warmth against her skin, loved the dusty scents in the air, loved hearing the far-off roar of a lion, had missed it all desperately when she was in the Refuge.
And he had the Grimoire.
* * *
Andromeda didn’t know how she’d survived the past five days. Her parents were exactly as she’d left them, their excesses changed only in the specifics. Lailah and Cato still indulged in vicious sexual torture with “willing” playmates who may simply have been too scared to protest, and every so often, they meted out violence just because it was a “fun” way to break the ennui that colored their every action.
Even today, a hapless young angel screamed in her mother’s quarters while her father sat in the great living area dressed only in pants of red silk while two naked vampires danced for him. He’d invited her to sit with him, watch the show—Cato was so jaded that he’d forgotten what it was to be a father.
Andromeda had been barely beyond a toddler the first time she’d seen her father having sex with a woman not her mother. He’d been strangling the whipped and bleeding woman at the time. Shocked, she’d cried. That day, her father had stopped and carried her out of the room. He hadn’t bothered the times afterward, and she’d learned not to come unannounced into any room in the stronghold.
As for Lailah, Andromeda’s mother had met her on arrival, and told her she’d placed a special triptych in Andromeda’s room. Immediately nauseous, Andromeda had hoped she was wrong. She wasn’t. She’d found three naked men waiting in her bed.
An angel. A vampire. A mortal.
A triptych. Her mother’s little joke.
Andromeda had ordered the three out on the point of a blade.
This noon, the sixth since her arrival and the seventh since she’d left the Refuge, she fisted her hands, her spine rigid at the idea of another five hundred years of an existence mired in bone-numbing fear, brutal violence, and empty indulgence. Unlike her parents, her grandfather would not accept defiance. And as Andromeda wouldn’t mete out torture on his orders, he’d turn the violence on her, brutalize her until she was nothing but an empty doll.
“Let it go, Andi.” She forced her fists to open, shoved aside her frustration and anger, and smiled, grimly determined not to allow the dark future to steal this day from her. “Today, you’re Andi, and today, you’ll be happy.”
Picking up the basket of food she’d prepared, a picnic blanket already over her arm, she exited into the back courtyard and rose into the sky.
Her lungs expanded, clean air rushing into her body.
47
Not long afterward, she sat under the dusky, midday sun on a picnic blanket she’d spread under the distinctive umbrella-shaped canopy of a tree that had as many names as Africa had languages. Aqba, nyoswa, samor, umbrella thorn acacia . . . the name or the dialect didn’t matter. What mattered was that these trees provided welcome shade on the rolling grasslands of the savanna.
From her position, she could see the herons fly over the old watering hole, their wings flashes of white. Now that the reeds around the water were no longer regularly trampled under the ponderous feet of elephants, they grew lush and green when, elsewhere, the savanna was the golden green color of a season when the rains had come.
Much as Andromeda liked the herons and the lush foliage around the watering hole, she missed the elephants. There was something so very wise and steady about the magnificent creatures. And the way they cared for their young? As a babe herself, she’d been so envious of those awkward elephant babies who’d splashed in the water, certain their parents would protect them from the lions who liked to prowl around here.
But the elephants had moved on for reasons of their own, and though Andromeda knew their new favorite place, she didn’t go there. She didn’t want to inadvertently betray them to her parents’ guests. She’d done that once, accidentally shown a group of guests where the black rhino walked.
The three monsters had butchered two of the majestic creatures in front of her as she screamed and begged and tried to stop them. They’d done it for fun.
For fun.
That horrific day marked the only time she had ever been proud of her parents. Livid at discovering the slaughter, Lailah and Cato had meted out near-lethal punishments on the spot. Andromeda’s parents might torture and mutilate mortals and immortals without compunction, but they did not allow the abuse or senseless killing of animals.
Andromeda had asked once, why protect one and not the other? Her mother’s answer had been simple: Animals have no choice in whether or not to play the game.
Do all your playmates? Andromeda had dared ask.
Enough to not be innocent as an animal is innocent.
As a result of their stance, Lailah and Cato’s territory teemed with wildlife, was considered one of the most rich and diverse places on the continent when it came to fauna.
Yet despite the fact the aftermath of the rhino slaughter was well known to all who came here, Andromeda didn’t take risks when it came to the animals. The herons could fly away if anyone came here, and they weren’t usually targets in any case.
Where was Naasir?
She stood and walked up the slight rise behind the tree for the tenth time. It gave her an uninterrupted view of the savanna in every direction, but she saw no familiar feline stride, no glint of glittering silver.
Refusing to give up, she returned to the picnic blanket and checked the food she’d prepared by hand and with all of the love in her heart. She’d packed the meat in ice to protect it from the heat, then placed it in an insulated container, but it wouldn’t last more than two hours, given the warm temperature. She loved that warmth against her skin, loved the dusty scents in the air, loved hearing the far-off roar of a lion, had missed it all desperately when she was in the Refuge.
