“Ugh. That would be just like him to cheat. Useless Scrap of Vladimir, or some such. Dangit. Next time I dream, I’m going to force him to tell me.”
I ignored her blathering and chanted a few more names, but the chime remained silent.
“Sooo,” Feather said, turning her attention back to her foot. “Distract me. What was this Apprentice doing exactly when he sealed himself up? And broke the Well of Souls, and started the shizz parade?”
I returned to my own work, doing my best to block out her muffled whimpers. After a moment, I answered, hoping my own voice would cover up her small cries. “He was doing work for me, finishing a cohort of Novices to be dispatched.” The last full cohort, in fact. The last time I’d had access to enough pure soul light to fully equip the Novices I sent to Earth. “He sent them and then broke the Well.”
She panted another question. “And… what were you doing? Why didn’t you see him, stop him?”
“I had left the workshop to accompany Gavriel outside.” My voice crackled with memory. “I had finished my greatest work, a Construct. Gavriel and I took her to show her our realm. To welcome her into our world.” I cleared my throat. “She was his soul’s mate, his pair bond. Arabella.” The chime on the table hummed at the name.
My heart pounding, I lifted it again and held it over Feather’s downturned head.
“Yes,” I said, my eyes on the chime. The workshop hummed with Feather’s pain, my pain, and the memory of Gavriel’s agony as I spoke, already knowing what I would hear. “Arabella. The Beautiful One.” It chimed softly, so I finished the name in the angelic tongue, whispering it so softly, I was sure she wouldn’t hear the words. “Useless Scrap of the Beautiful One.”
Feather covered her ears at the ancient language, complaining. But the chime rang clear and true.
CHAPTER19
Feather
“Stop freaking out,” I repeated. Mikhail had more or less collapsed into a giant rough wooden chair and was staring with glazed eyes at the now-silent bell in his hands.
He didn’t respond, just kept muttering, “Must be broken, but it can’t break. Evil forces at work, maybe. But how?” Then he would hold the chime over his own head and say what sounded like a title, but must be his name, since every time he did it, the thing pealed out like a hundred church bells. “Mikhail the Great-Souled, Maker of Sanctuary.” He said it in a language I could understand, and then again in that weird, painful angelic language that hurt my head.
My ears were still ringing from the last time, and when he held it over his head yet again, I threw my regular toga back over my bikini and hunted for something to help. Maybe he had some liquor or ambrosia stashed away for nervous breakdowns.
I couldn’t find anything, other than tons of craft supplies in drawers, even a paint-by-numbers kit on black velvet of dogs playing poker. I scrambled back up on a table, waving my hands in front of his face to get his attention. But Mikhail just kept mumbling, his wings drooping lower as he rubbed at his head like he was having an aneurysm. Could he be having one? I didn’t think so, but I was new here. And this was way above my paygrade.
It was time to find someone in charge. The VP of Sanctuary, some kind of manager. Or at the very least, an assistant manager.
“Stay here, Mikhail the Great-Souled. I’m getting help.” I jumped down from the table, stopping for only one split second to admire my pure golden toenails. Maybe I’d missed my calling as a pedicurist. They’d be perfect with a little glitter polish.
I threw myself against the heavy door, just managing to budge it open a few inches. “Hey, someone! Help!” I shouted out the opening. I pushed again, managing to open it enough to slip outside. Of course, no one was in the hallway. “Hey, I need help! A Guide, someone official? Hellooooo!” I ran a few yards down the hall, turning a corner that I knew led to the cafeteria—and crashed headlong into the one “manager” I knew would not be the least bit helpful.
Righteous stood silent, eyes blazing as I lay in a heap on the floor. His eyes were bright gold, but the rest of him… I felt vaguely ill. He was a wreck. His lips were almost festering with smut, his hair lank and greasy. The oily clay had made what looked like a rash spread from his scalp all the way down to his toes.
“Wow, Ry, you look terrible,” I squeaked, before I couldn’t talk any more.
Because his fingers had closed around my throat and he was holding me up against the wall, choking me to death.
You can’t die, Feather, I chanted internally.You are already dead.
His grip on me didn’t hurt, either. Not nearly as much as the knife I used every day. I mean, it wasn’t a massage, but it could have been worse. Although after a few seconds, I started feeling lightheaded and kind of death-ish. Was he really trying to kill me? Poor guy, my smut infestation had made him crazy.
Crazy. Like Mikhail. I needed to get back to him. But I was seriously dizzy now, only another minute or so and I’d black out. Not die, though… really? Hadn’t someone told me Protectors couldn’t die here? We had to be unmade. Righteous had to know that rule.
But from what he was ranting—words that sounded like “Get out of my head,” and “Must extinguish you from my thoughts”—Righteous didn’t know it right now, anyway. He truly was trying to kill me.
Time to get creative. Or... dramatic. That might work. I’d been in a fifth-grade school play once, a wretched one calledThe Lotterywhere the villagers all stoned me to death at the end. My death scene had been one for the prepubescent ages.
I made myself relax, my eyes closing and my body slumping after one more solid twitch. I even let a trickle of drool seep out one corner of my mouth. And when his fingers relaxed on my throat and he released me, I made my body drop bonelessly to the floor, being careful not to let my head hit too hard. Honestly, I’d been actually dead enough times on Earth to be really good at it. But I had a feeling this would be my best “death” yet.
I couldn’t see him, but Righteous’s breathing changed. “What am I doing? What have I— Oh, Great Soul, what have Idone?”
What I wouldn’t give for a solid video clip of this one.
Suddenly, he was shaking my shoulders. I wasn’t fooled. If I popped my eyes open and yelled “Ta-da!” like I wanted to, he would probably snap back into kill mode. So I let him shake me, let my cheeks lie soft, my lips gap open, my lips…
