Archangel's Heart
Page 84
Tasha took off after Caliane, but Elena walked into Raphael’s arms and let him lift off for both of them. She’d already proven her skill at vertical takeoffs; there was no need to be stupid and waste energy when she had a much better option. And while she was at it, she decided to take advantage of her position and kiss her archangel’s gorgeous, sexy mouth.
Life was for living.
You are distracting me, hbeebti. Despite the stern words, Raphael kissed her back with a passion that curled her toes, all power and heat and love. So much love. It nearly hurt, to know she was that deeply loved.
“I could kiss you forever,” she said against his lips . . . and he dropped her.
Sweeping around with a laughing “Whoop!” of sound, she flew to line up wingtip to wingtip with him. “You know how to court a girl!”
A dangerous smile. “I aspire never to bore my consort.”
They kept to a steady pace, arriving at the township as the sky glowed a dark orange streaked with pink, sunset a long process in this land. More people were out in the cooler weather—though “cooler” was a relative term.
Their landing had a predictable effect: people froze, then they began to pull away as unobtrusively as possible, ducking inside shops or hunching their shoulders to make themselves smaller targets. The four of them had come down near the edge of the canopy of the sitting tree, and within seconds, everyone on the bench that circled the trunk had somewhere else to be.
Glancing at Caliane, Elena saw Raphael’s mother take in the fearful—and deeply if quietly angry—response with no visible reaction. As she watched, Caliane went to sit on the bench that circled the tree trunk, her wings draped gracefully on either side; her ebony hair, jeweled eyes, and gown of white brushed with green turned her into a goddess at rest.
“I will stay here,” she said to them with an enigmatic smile. “I miss my people when I am far from them. Listening to this town’s heartbeat settles the ache.” Her eyes met Tasha’s. “Explore, my dear.”
Shaking her head, Tasha remained standing by her side. “I am with you, my lady.”
“There’s not much anyone can do to me, child.”
“I’m sure Father will be very understanding when I explain why I left you alone in an unfamiliar marketplace.”
Caliane’s laughter was pure music, her voice holding a piercing beauty even when she was doing nothing to amplify it. “Ah, Avi, he taught his daughter well.” A nod. “Then stay, listen, and perhaps we will come to understand why this town is haunted by a malignant fear.”
Extending a hand to Raphael, she said, “You and your hunter will do much the same?”
Raphael closed his fingers gently around Caliane’s. “Yes. Tell me if you sense anything we should know.”
The two were focused on each other so they missed what Elena saw: the way people’s eyes lingered on their handclasp, and on how Caliane smiled at Raphael. Though she was an ageless beauty, that smile was a mother’s. No one could mistake that. As no one could mistake that they were mother and son.
Leaving Caliane and Tasha seconds later, Elena and Raphael stepped out into the amber and red of day transitioning to night. Had the streets been full, they might’ve had trouble navigating through them with their wings, but with people so wary, there were no obstructions.
At first, all they did was walk through the market, looking at various things.
When Elena spotted a short, skinny man cooking some type of filled bun, she wandered over to the cart he’d parked in front of a closed shopfront. Hot and with a touch of spice, the scent had her stomach rumbling, her mouth watering. “Two,” she said to the cook, who’d gone as motionless as a deer who’d spotted a wolf.
Nodding jerkily, he prepared two buns with expert hands, then half wrapped them in greaseproof paper, providing an easy way to hold the hot items as they ate. Elena dug into her pocket and placed enough local currency on the counter to cover the cost—the night before her and Raphael’s dawn departure from New York, she’d rung Sara and asked if the Guild could convert some dollars for her; she knew it held a small amount of all types of currencies.
Izzy had picked up the money for her and dropped it off at the Enclave. Because while plastic might be fantastic, a hunter always carried actual cash for moments like this.
The cook’s eyes went huge at seeing the money.
Shaking his head, he began to push it back with a trembling hand. Elena just took the food and gave one bun to Raphael. “Try it,” she said after taking a long sniff of the aroma. “If you don’t think it’s delicious, I’ll swallow my favorite blade.”
The cook made a small, choked sound.
Ignoring the overwrought man, Raphael took a bite and gave a decisive nod. “There is no need to swallow your blade, hbeebti.”
Smiling, Elena took a bite of her own bun before they walked on, leaving the stunned cook to collapse into a chair behind his setup, a tea towel held up to his sweat-drenched brow. From the corner of her eye, Elena saw a nearby shopkeeper run over and pat his shoulder before collecting the money and putting it in the little tin in which it should go. Her eyes, too, were wide as she handled the money.
These people don’t expect us to pay for what we take. Raphael’s mental tone was frigid, though his expression remained unchanged.
31
Yeah, looks like the Luminata don’t believe in a fair transaction. Elena’s own anger was a cold pulse inside her—immortals had so much, had centuries upon centuries to gather wealth. These people weren’t dirt poor, but they weren’t rich, either. Not by any calculation. They were just ordinary citizens trying to eke out a life.
Life was for living.
You are distracting me, hbeebti. Despite the stern words, Raphael kissed her back with a passion that curled her toes, all power and heat and love. So much love. It nearly hurt, to know she was that deeply loved.
“I could kiss you forever,” she said against his lips . . . and he dropped her.
Sweeping around with a laughing “Whoop!” of sound, she flew to line up wingtip to wingtip with him. “You know how to court a girl!”
A dangerous smile. “I aspire never to bore my consort.”
They kept to a steady pace, arriving at the township as the sky glowed a dark orange streaked with pink, sunset a long process in this land. More people were out in the cooler weather—though “cooler” was a relative term.
Their landing had a predictable effect: people froze, then they began to pull away as unobtrusively as possible, ducking inside shops or hunching their shoulders to make themselves smaller targets. The four of them had come down near the edge of the canopy of the sitting tree, and within seconds, everyone on the bench that circled the trunk had somewhere else to be.
Glancing at Caliane, Elena saw Raphael’s mother take in the fearful—and deeply if quietly angry—response with no visible reaction. As she watched, Caliane went to sit on the bench that circled the tree trunk, her wings draped gracefully on either side; her ebony hair, jeweled eyes, and gown of white brushed with green turned her into a goddess at rest.
“I will stay here,” she said to them with an enigmatic smile. “I miss my people when I am far from them. Listening to this town’s heartbeat settles the ache.” Her eyes met Tasha’s. “Explore, my dear.”
Shaking her head, Tasha remained standing by her side. “I am with you, my lady.”
“There’s not much anyone can do to me, child.”
“I’m sure Father will be very understanding when I explain why I left you alone in an unfamiliar marketplace.”
Caliane’s laughter was pure music, her voice holding a piercing beauty even when she was doing nothing to amplify it. “Ah, Avi, he taught his daughter well.” A nod. “Then stay, listen, and perhaps we will come to understand why this town is haunted by a malignant fear.”
Extending a hand to Raphael, she said, “You and your hunter will do much the same?”
Raphael closed his fingers gently around Caliane’s. “Yes. Tell me if you sense anything we should know.”
The two were focused on each other so they missed what Elena saw: the way people’s eyes lingered on their handclasp, and on how Caliane smiled at Raphael. Though she was an ageless beauty, that smile was a mother’s. No one could mistake that. As no one could mistake that they were mother and son.
Leaving Caliane and Tasha seconds later, Elena and Raphael stepped out into the amber and red of day transitioning to night. Had the streets been full, they might’ve had trouble navigating through them with their wings, but with people so wary, there were no obstructions.
At first, all they did was walk through the market, looking at various things.
When Elena spotted a short, skinny man cooking some type of filled bun, she wandered over to the cart he’d parked in front of a closed shopfront. Hot and with a touch of spice, the scent had her stomach rumbling, her mouth watering. “Two,” she said to the cook, who’d gone as motionless as a deer who’d spotted a wolf.
Nodding jerkily, he prepared two buns with expert hands, then half wrapped them in greaseproof paper, providing an easy way to hold the hot items as they ate. Elena dug into her pocket and placed enough local currency on the counter to cover the cost—the night before her and Raphael’s dawn departure from New York, she’d rung Sara and asked if the Guild could convert some dollars for her; she knew it held a small amount of all types of currencies.
Izzy had picked up the money for her and dropped it off at the Enclave. Because while plastic might be fantastic, a hunter always carried actual cash for moments like this.
The cook’s eyes went huge at seeing the money.
Shaking his head, he began to push it back with a trembling hand. Elena just took the food and gave one bun to Raphael. “Try it,” she said after taking a long sniff of the aroma. “If you don’t think it’s delicious, I’ll swallow my favorite blade.”
The cook made a small, choked sound.
Ignoring the overwrought man, Raphael took a bite and gave a decisive nod. “There is no need to swallow your blade, hbeebti.”
Smiling, Elena took a bite of her own bun before they walked on, leaving the stunned cook to collapse into a chair behind his setup, a tea towel held up to his sweat-drenched brow. From the corner of her eye, Elena saw a nearby shopkeeper run over and pat his shoulder before collecting the money and putting it in the little tin in which it should go. Her eyes, too, were wide as she handled the money.
These people don’t expect us to pay for what we take. Raphael’s mental tone was frigid, though his expression remained unchanged.
31
Yeah, looks like the Luminata don’t believe in a fair transaction. Elena’s own anger was a cold pulse inside her—immortals had so much, had centuries upon centuries to gather wealth. These people weren’t dirt poor, but they weren’t rich, either. Not by any calculation. They were just ordinary citizens trying to eke out a life.
