The Secret
Page 101
Damien’s eyes went hard. “Are you saying this isn’t a heaven-forged blade?”
Malachi shrugged. “I have no idea. But I know that’s not the dagger that killed me.”
“Dammit.” Damien looked around the armory. “I wonder—”
“How many of these are actually heaven forged?” Kostas asked, picking through the rows of weapons. “Not all of them. Maybe half. Some of these are far too new.”
“What do you know about angel blades?” Malachi asked.
“We all have our hobbies,” Kostas said, picking up a rusted weapon that looked far from useful.
The Grigori brought it up to his face and breathed on it. Taking the edge of his own knife, he cut a long gash in his forearm, wetting the edge of one of his linen wrappings with blood before he took it and carefully wiped the blade. After a few minutes, he held it up again. The blade was a dull pewter in color, but the edge was sharp again, the blade now clearly lethal.
“Angel blades are best cleaned with blood. It restores them. If you’re not sure if a blade is genuine, try that. A good rule of thumb is that anything forged in the past thousand years is probably a fake or simply something confiscated from an angel but isn’t a heaven-forged blade.”
“I thought all angels carried them,” Malachi said.
“They’re rare,” Kostas told them, “even among the Fallen. Lesser angels usually can’t keep them, so any blade taken from one of the lesser Fallen is probably just a sword. And of course, some of them don’t need them. Guardians of heaven carry swords within their bodies.”
Malachi and Damien both gawked.
“Unlike you,” Kostas said with a grim smile, “my father is an angel. I do know a few things.”
“I’ll keep looking,” Malachi said, turning back to the racks.
“Wait.” Damien held up a hand. “I hear…”
Without warning, the doors to the armory groaned and swung open. Library guards rushed in, only to halt with wide eyes when they saw the two scribes and the man dressed as a Rafaene in the process of stealing weapons.
“Well,” Kostas muttered, “this is awkward.”
Damien stepped forward. “Brothers, we are—”
“Out of time.” The captain of the Library Guard stepped forward. “I know who you are, Damien of Bohemia. The enemy is here. There are Fallen in the Library as we speak.”
“Is it Jaron?”
“How did you know that?” the captain asked.
“Jaron is an ally. For now,” Malachi said. “But there are others who are not.”
The captain did not question him but nodded briskly and spoke to his men. “Distribute the weapons. Take one for yourself and others for the men under you, then head back to the Library and join those protecting the council.”
Malachi saw Kostas swipe another blade. He must have had almost a dozen hidden in his robe. He tugged on the heavy wool and nodded toward the doors just as the captain of the guard turned back to them.
“I recognize you too, Malachi of Sakarya. I fought with your father. I will trust the son of Ilyas and Hanna would not betray his brothers.”
“You trust rightly.”
“Then go. We need all the able warriors we can spare,” the captain growled. “This city has been soft for too long. Politicians and financiers are not warriors. They forget what it means to fear.”
Damien, Kostas, and Malachi ran down the hallway as more guards flooded in. They ran up the stairs and out the main entrance, which was completely unguarded.
“Damien?” Someone shouted across the empty courtyard.
Malachi turned his head. It was Sari.
She came to her mate, completely out of breath. “The humans. They’re gone.”
“What do you mean, they’re gone?”
Malachi walked toward one of the larger courtyards in the Hofburg, searching for the bustle of tourists or the honking of taxis.
There was nothing.
Cars sat empty on the small side streets. Horses snuffled and shuffled, waiting for empty carriages to roll.
“Heaven above,” he whispered.
Who had done it? Jaron or Volund? More importantly, where was his mate?
He walked back to Kostas, Damien, and Sari, who were all frozen in the center of the courtyard.
“This is Jaron’s doing,” Malachi said. “Or one of the other angels.”
“It’s a city of ghosts,” Sari said. “What have they done with them?”
“I don’t think any of the humans will be harmed. They’re just… away. More importantly, where is Ava? Which angels were in the library?”
Sari said, “It was Vasu first, then Jaron and Barak. I’ve just called Renata and told her, Rhys, Max, and Leo to meet us here. She checked the elder singers’ homes this morning, and every one had been ransacked. The Grigori have been watching.”
“They know the singers have returned,” Damien said. “And your men, Kostas?”
“I’ll call.” The Grigori pulled his mobile phone from a pocket in his robe before he handed a gold blade to Sari with a wink. “That’s for you. Matches your hair.”
Sari frowned at Damien but took the blade. “Is this—”
“We’ll explain later,” Malachi said. “For now, let’s head into the library. If the enemy has finally reached Vienna, we need a plan. And I want to see my mate.”
Malachi shrugged. “I have no idea. But I know that’s not the dagger that killed me.”
“Dammit.” Damien looked around the armory. “I wonder—”
“How many of these are actually heaven forged?” Kostas asked, picking through the rows of weapons. “Not all of them. Maybe half. Some of these are far too new.”
“What do you know about angel blades?” Malachi asked.
“We all have our hobbies,” Kostas said, picking up a rusted weapon that looked far from useful.
The Grigori brought it up to his face and breathed on it. Taking the edge of his own knife, he cut a long gash in his forearm, wetting the edge of one of his linen wrappings with blood before he took it and carefully wiped the blade. After a few minutes, he held it up again. The blade was a dull pewter in color, but the edge was sharp again, the blade now clearly lethal.
“Angel blades are best cleaned with blood. It restores them. If you’re not sure if a blade is genuine, try that. A good rule of thumb is that anything forged in the past thousand years is probably a fake or simply something confiscated from an angel but isn’t a heaven-forged blade.”
“I thought all angels carried them,” Malachi said.
“They’re rare,” Kostas told them, “even among the Fallen. Lesser angels usually can’t keep them, so any blade taken from one of the lesser Fallen is probably just a sword. And of course, some of them don’t need them. Guardians of heaven carry swords within their bodies.”
Malachi and Damien both gawked.
“Unlike you,” Kostas said with a grim smile, “my father is an angel. I do know a few things.”
“I’ll keep looking,” Malachi said, turning back to the racks.
“Wait.” Damien held up a hand. “I hear…”
Without warning, the doors to the armory groaned and swung open. Library guards rushed in, only to halt with wide eyes when they saw the two scribes and the man dressed as a Rafaene in the process of stealing weapons.
“Well,” Kostas muttered, “this is awkward.”
Damien stepped forward. “Brothers, we are—”
“Out of time.” The captain of the Library Guard stepped forward. “I know who you are, Damien of Bohemia. The enemy is here. There are Fallen in the Library as we speak.”
“Is it Jaron?”
“How did you know that?” the captain asked.
“Jaron is an ally. For now,” Malachi said. “But there are others who are not.”
The captain did not question him but nodded briskly and spoke to his men. “Distribute the weapons. Take one for yourself and others for the men under you, then head back to the Library and join those protecting the council.”
Malachi saw Kostas swipe another blade. He must have had almost a dozen hidden in his robe. He tugged on the heavy wool and nodded toward the doors just as the captain of the guard turned back to them.
“I recognize you too, Malachi of Sakarya. I fought with your father. I will trust the son of Ilyas and Hanna would not betray his brothers.”
“You trust rightly.”
“Then go. We need all the able warriors we can spare,” the captain growled. “This city has been soft for too long. Politicians and financiers are not warriors. They forget what it means to fear.”
Damien, Kostas, and Malachi ran down the hallway as more guards flooded in. They ran up the stairs and out the main entrance, which was completely unguarded.
“Damien?” Someone shouted across the empty courtyard.
Malachi turned his head. It was Sari.
She came to her mate, completely out of breath. “The humans. They’re gone.”
“What do you mean, they’re gone?”
Malachi walked toward one of the larger courtyards in the Hofburg, searching for the bustle of tourists or the honking of taxis.
There was nothing.
Cars sat empty on the small side streets. Horses snuffled and shuffled, waiting for empty carriages to roll.
“Heaven above,” he whispered.
Who had done it? Jaron or Volund? More importantly, where was his mate?
He walked back to Kostas, Damien, and Sari, who were all frozen in the center of the courtyard.
“This is Jaron’s doing,” Malachi said. “Or one of the other angels.”
“It’s a city of ghosts,” Sari said. “What have they done with them?”
“I don’t think any of the humans will be harmed. They’re just… away. More importantly, where is Ava? Which angels were in the library?”
Sari said, “It was Vasu first, then Jaron and Barak. I’ve just called Renata and told her, Rhys, Max, and Leo to meet us here. She checked the elder singers’ homes this morning, and every one had been ransacked. The Grigori have been watching.”
“They know the singers have returned,” Damien said. “And your men, Kostas?”
“I’ll call.” The Grigori pulled his mobile phone from a pocket in his robe before he handed a gold blade to Sari with a wink. “That’s for you. Matches your hair.”
Sari frowned at Damien but took the blade. “Is this—”
“We’ll explain later,” Malachi said. “For now, let’s head into the library. If the enemy has finally reached Vienna, we need a plan. And I want to see my mate.”
