Rua Alva was a quiet street with well-kept buildings divided into flats, each with flowerbeds in front, though they were withered now from the chilly nights. The address he sought had an archway with a locked wooden gate. Peering through the slats, he glimpsed an interior courtyard with potted trees and a small fountain.
Gavriel rattled the gate. “Good day!” he shouted. No answer came. “Well,” he said with a sigh, “I suppose we must wait until someone comes along. Or return another time?—”
Rowan’s bootheel struck the gate. It flew open with a splintering crack.
“You do realize this is criminal trespass,” he said with a scowl.
“But it was broken when we arrived.” She looked up at him, guileless.
Gavriel disapproved of her cavalier attitude toward the laws she was sworn to uphold. But the gate stood open and he was eager to learn what Gia Andrade might know about Casolaba’s death.
“I shall do the talking,” he said sternly.
They climbed the stairs to the second floor and found number five. Before he could stop her, Rowan banged hard on the door. Silence stretched, then footsteps.
Gia Andrade was in her middle years with thick, curling black hair and a generous figure. She wore a belted dressing gown embroidered with silver birds at the hem. Heavy kohl smudged her eyes.
“Did the landlord send you?” she asked in a flustered tone. “I told him I’d have the rent next week . . .” The words faded as she noticed Rowan’s smoky eyes. “Go away,” she snapped. “I have nothing to say!”
“Just a few questions,” Gavriel said quickly. “It won’t take long.”
A naked, bearded man with a hairy belly appeared behind her. He tried to slam the door, but Rowan’s boot slid into the crack. She forced the door wide quite easily, even with a broken hand, and Gavriel reassessed his initial impression that she was weaker than her partner.
“You heard Gia,” the man snarled. “Piss off, witch!”
Rowan moved like a striking adder. Gavriel watched in amazement as she reached through the door, seized the man’s flaccid member, and used it as a handle to yank him into the hall. Another well-placed kick to the rump and he half-tumbled, half-slid to the foot of the stairs, cursing vividly all the way. When he got to his feet, she held up her hand in warning. A gem nestled in her palm. The man swiftly retreated.
Gavriel feared that Gia Andrade was about to receive similar treatment and lifted the glamour. When she saw his wings, her eyes rolled back to the whites. He caught her before she hit the floor and carried her inside.
The flat was small but clean, decorated in the local style with a rug in intricate repeating medallions, bright cushions, and a backgammon game in progress on a table. A sulky-faced cat darted away as they entered, streaking into the next room to hide under a rumpled bed.
“That was savage of you, Rowan,” Gavriel admonished as she checked the other rooms and found them empty.
“He was obstructing an investigation,” she called over her shoulder.
“But still, did you really need to . . . Never mind.” He gestured to a decanter on a side table. “Pour a glass of that pear brandy.”
She frowned. “How do you know it’s pear brandy?”
“I can smell it.”
“Stoppered? From across the room?”
Gavriel nodded impatiently. She looked impressed and poured a finger of the amber liquid into a glass. He tipped a few drops between Gia’s parted lips. Her eyelids fluttered, then flew wide.
“You are . . .” she whispered.
“Gavriel Morningstar, archangel of Kirith,” he confirmed. “You can answer my questions truthfully now, or Cypher Rowan can bring you to the Red House for questioning there.”
Gia shot an anxious glance at Rowan, who leaned against the doorframe.
“Of course, my lord, if I had known . . . please forgive my rudeness.” She sat up and drew her dressing gown tighter with trembling hands.
“There is no offense,” Gavriel said. “When did you last see Barsal Casolaba?”
She took a hefty gulp of brandy and coughed. Color returned to her cheeks. “The night he died.”
“What was his manner?”
