Everything made sense now.
Cathrynne had the feeling of being shadowed on her way back to the townhouse, but she saw no one. She’d wrapped the gemstone in a piece of velvet and stowed it in an empty jewel box. That seemed enough to dull the effect so she could carry it in her pocket.
She pounded on the front door until Mercy threw the bolt. Then she raced up the stairs to Gavriel’s bedchamber. He lay so still she feared the worst, but when she touched his shoulder, he stirred slightly, then lapsed again into unconsciousness. His skin was gray.
“Found something?” Mercy asked.
Cathrynne tossed her the jeweler’s box. She caught it one-handed and took out the stone—then flinched. “What is that?” Mercy threw it to the carpet, her mouth drawn down in revulsion.
“That,” Cathrynne said, “is what’s killing Gavriel.”
“What’s killing Lord Morningstar?” Yarl came in.
“It’s called kaldurite,” she explained. “A gem that repels the ley. Pick it up.”
Yarl did so. He held the stone to the lamp, watching it shift from sapphire to ruby. “It’s extraordinary,” he said softly.
“Do you feel anything?” Cathrynne asked.
He frowned. “No.”
“It must be because you’re human. When I touch it, I feel a bit sick.” She looked down at Gavriel. “But his blood is almost pure ley. We need to search his body.”
“What if he swallowed it?” Yarl looked stricken.
“I think he would already be dead. Come, help me. It will be small, hidden somewhere against his skin.”
They removed his shirt, which had laced vents to accommodate his wings. Gavriel was a strong man, his chest solidly built, but she could count his ribs. When Yarl removed his trousers, she and Mercy turned their backs. Minutes passed.
“I cannot find anything,” Yarl said, frustration in his voice.
“Lay the sheet over him,” Cathrynne said. “It must be there.”
She heard the rustle of cotton. “Mercy, help me turn him on his side.”
Together, they managed to roll Gavriel over. Beneath his shoulder blades was a second set of scapulae. His wings extended from those. Cathrynne ran her fingers carefully along each feather, starting with the small coverts and moving downward to the primary flight feathers, probing for anything foreign. Near the joint where wing met shoulder, nestled among soft down, she encountered something hard and smooth.
The moment she touched it, the ley vanished. She gasped and instinctively drew her hand back. Gavriel moaned.
“Careful,” Yarl warned. “His feathers are rooted in the bone. Pulling one out is like pulling a tooth. I am not certain he can survive the shock.”
She nodded and parted the feathers, ignoring the queasy feeling in her stomach when she touched the kaldurite. It was the size of a thumbnail, affixed to feathers and skin with a tarry adhesive.
“How did it get there?” Mercy asked.
Cathrynne worked the stone loose, picking it away from the adhesive. “Someone must have come in while he slept.”
Mercy shook her head. “I told you, no one entered this room.”
Cathrynne gave the stone to Yarl, who added it to the jeweler’s box. Her fingers still tingled from the contact, as if she had brushed the scales of a dozing serpent.
“I woke up at three thirty-three exactly,” she said. “I remember looking at the clock. Maybe I heard something.”
At those words, Yarl seemed to age ten years in an instant. He sat down in the chair next to Gavriel’s bed, staring at nothing.
“What is it?” Mercy asked, laying a hand on his shoulder.
He had not shaved in several days. A hand stole to his chin and rubbed the white beard sprouting there. “Haniel . . . She is an Angel of the Hours,” he said.
