Conspiracy of Angels (30 page)

Lil made a sour face and turned away.

Even I wasn’t sold. “Oh, come on, Sal,” I said.

“Size matters,” she said with a smirk.

Ava cut our speed, easing the Cantius up to the side of the
Scylla
. There was activity on the gunboat’s deck. I hovered at the railing, just staring across at the massive vessel. The sheer bulk of the ship kept my attention away from the dark, churning waters of the lake.

Saliriel stepped up to the wheel room with Ava and Caleb. She put Asif and Gerald to work making preparations for us to board the other vessel. Remy was still below. That left Lil with me.

“It’s a lot bigger than I was expecting,” she murmured.

“Still planning to kill everything?” I asked.

She shrugged. “I may need a distraction.”

“That’ll be easy,” I mused. “They’re not going to be happy to see me.”

One of the figures on the
Scylla
’s deck seemed significantly taller than the others, with a familiar lithe and spindly build. Nephilim. There were reasons history referred to us as giants. Of all the “family” I had thus encountered, I measured in as the short one at six foot three.

“Here, hold my purse,” Lil said suddenly. She didn’t wait for a response, just shoved it at me.

I blinked down at her, mystified.

“The hell?”

As I held it loosely in one hand, she started pulling things out of her little bag of holding, stashing them on her person. With quick and practiced efficiency, she tucked the Derringer into the back of her waistband and slipped a tactical knife into the top of her boot. When she bent to adjust her pants leg, I noticed she already had another knife tucked into the top of the other one.

“What are you, a freaking ninja?”

She eyed me skeptically. “I like to be prepared. Speaking of which, take one of these,” she added, digging into the pocket of her blazer and pulling out a tangle of charms. She unwound one from the mess. It was a bronze amulet stamped in the shape of a stylized sun.

I took it, and held it gingerly.

“Uh, thanks, I think,” I said. “What’s it do?”

“Kind of like a flash-bang. Snap the charm to activate it,” she instructed. “It’s just a one-shot. Face it away from you.” I frowned at the gaudy little pendant, turning it around in my hand. M
ADE IN
C
HINA
was stamped on the back.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I muttered, but I shoved it in one of my pockets anyway.

Lil slipped another of the cheap little pendants around her neck. It appeared to be a pewter Mardi Gras mask. Purple, white, and green enamel glimmered brightly on its vaguely misshapen surface.

“Is that like the masking charm you threw on me the other night?” I asked.

“Something like that,” she replied, then proceeded to untangle the remaining few charms, tucking each away in different pockets. She froze when Remy walked up to us, then quickly smoothed the lines of her suit jacket, managing to make it look like she was fussing with her clothes.

“I had no idea this was out here,” he said, nodding toward the ship.

“I wonder what else Saliriel hasn’t been telling you,” Lil said, sneering nastily. “By the way, did you enjoy the drinks?”

“No sense turning down good Scotch,” Remy replied defensively.

Lil muttered something unkind, which Remy chose to ignore.

“Unless Sal’s plan is a game-changer, we’re pretty well screwed,” I said, gesturing toward the
Scylla
. “That’s not a boat—it’s a floating fortress.”

The expression in Remy’s unearthly blue eyes grew pensive as he studied the stark metal lines of the other vessel. He turned to Lil.

“Can you sense her?”

“What?” she asked sourly.

“Your sister,” he persisted. “We should be close enough. Can you sense her?”

Lil’s frown deepened as she peered over to the deck of the gunboat.

“No,” she said, adding quickly, “it’s hard to pick up on anything with all this water.”

Remy made a thoughtful sound. More suspicious than ever, Lil twisted to make a study of him. Hurt and anger quarreled on her features.

“Sal fed you more bullshit than whiskey.” It wasn’t a question.

Remy didn’t seek to deny it, I noted. Rigidly, they faced off with one another, Lil glowering and Remy bearing her challenge passively. Tension knit on the air between them until I couldn’t stand it anymore.

“What’s it mean if you can’t sense her?” I asked.

Before Lil could respond, Remy said, “It might mean she’s not here.”

Lil shot him a withering look.

“What about dead?” I asked bluntly.

To my surprise, Lil just shook her head irritably. “No, dead would be easy. Once her spirit slipped free, she’d come to me on the Shadowside. It’s the silence that’s had me worried this whole time.”

Kessiel’s threat resounded in my mind—that they would bind Lailah even without the Stylus. I didn’t want to think about that, but with the secrets Sal had me keeping, I couldn’t hold onto more.

“Uh, Lil,” I started, trying to figure out how to broach the subject.

“What?” She picked up on the change in my body language.

I hesitated. “She’s immortal, right? Like my people?”

“We’re nothing at all like your people,” she responded, and I was suddenly thankful the lioness had remained on shore. Given how responsive the spirit-beast was to Lil’s moods, she might have taken a chunk out of me right then and there.

I took a deep breath, and met her steely gaze.

“At the museum, before I killed him, Kessiel said something about binding Lailah.”

Lil’s eyes widened for an instant and then she lost it. With a roar to rival the lioness, she threw herself on me, landing blow after blow. My leather biker jacket took the brunt of it, but she jammed the Beretta painfully into my ribs a few times. Still howling wordlessly, she tore her purse from my hands, began beating me with that—and the damned thing weighed a ton.

I threw my arms up, protecting myself half-heartedly.

“I could be wrong,” I cried. “He was doing that whole monologue thing. You know the Nephilim.”

That did nothing to placate her.

“Why didn’t you say anything, you asshole!” she snarled. She had me up against the railing, my back arching uncomfortably over the dark waters. One push and I’d be in the lake. Terror welled up at the thought, and I twisted away.

She let me go.

“I wouldn’t be able to sense her if they bound her,” she huffed, “but you better hope they didn’t take things that far.” Her eyes were fierce as a hurricane.

Saliriel chose that moment to come down from the wheel room.

“And this is why I shall do all the talking, once we board the
Scylla
,” she called. “Diplomacy isn’t a strong suit for any of you.”

Remy scowled a little, but didn’t raise an objection.

“You seriously expect us to believe you’re going to just parley him into a surrender?” Lil growled, still fuming. She pushed wind-blown strands of her wild hair back from her face, and glared defiantly at my towering sibling.

“Of course not,” Saliriel snapped. “I’m going to keep him talking until we can determine what’s really going on.”

“There’s one problem, Sal,” I said. “If I’m right about any of this, these people aren’t going to be interested in talking. They want my fucking head on a platter—dissected for easy consumption.”

“I have it under control,” she responded. Yellow eyes flicking to mine, she added, “Just follow my lead.”

“What the hell’s that supposed to mean?” Lil demanded.

Instead of answering, Sal turned on her heel and strode over to where Asif and Caleb lashed the final rope between the two vessels, effectively mooring the Cantius to the anchored gunboat. The
Scylla
sat low on the water, but her deck still rose higher than that of the
Daisy Fay
. When the small party of workers on board the
Scylla
tossed down a walkway, I balked.

“We’re crossing on that?”

It didn’t look like much more than sections of wood and knotted rope. Caleb and Asif began fixing it to points on the Cantius without so much as a glance my way. I drew back with mounting dread.

“Marching order,” Sal called. “Zaquiel, behind me. Remiel, stick close to him and be ready to restrain him should he attempt anything foolish.”

“I—I would prefer not to, Decimus,” Remiel replied.

“If I give you an order, Remiel,” she said, biting off the end of each word, “you will follow it—as we’ve discussed.”

“Discussed?” Lil asked suspiciously.

Saliriel talked right over her. “It’s bad enough we’ve brought along a daughter of Lilith. I’ll not risk further insults through the actions of one hot-headed Anakim. Stay behind him, Remiel, and be ready. You know how he gets.”

Remy clenched his jaw, but lowered his head. His strained, “Yes, Decimus,” barely carried over the shushing sounds of wind and water. While he glared unhappily at the tips of his shoes, Sal flicked her yellow-eyed gaze to me. Her look didn’t linger, but it was enough. I felt the prickling power of the oath, and it was too late to back out. Too late for a lot of things.

“Where do I fit in your marching order?” Lil growled.

“You, my dear,” Sal answered wryly. “Will bring up the rear.”

Lil muttered angrily in some dead language, no doubt spewing curses on the lot of us. She whirled away from the railing, her barely contained fury burning a hole between my wings. Saliriel strode forward and, mutely, I fell into step behind her. Remy, more subdued than ever, hovered near my elbow. Lil was right—something had passed between him and Sal below decks, and it wasn’t just some forty-year-old Scotch. How much had she told him of the plan? Not the Eye, that much was certain.

Maybe enough to get him to play along.

Can I even count on it being the same plan?
The thought sped the staccato knocking of my pulse.

The reluctant Nephilim trudged miserably behind me. When I turned to check in with him, I couldn’t find a single consoling word.

We filed to the newly rigged walkway, Asif tightening a final knot as we approached. Although it had handrails, the walkway looked neither sturdy nor safe. Saliriel stopped me as I hesitated at the edge. Water sucked and slapped in the narrow gulf between the two vessels. The rest of our party clustered behind me, Lil jostling Remy to peer toward the
Scylla
’s higher deck.

“Wait here while I deal with the greeting party,” Sal instructed. She pointed to the very lip of the Cantius where the dark waters roiled in the gap below.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” I choked.

“It’s not your place to argue,” she reminded with a flash of fangs.

I seized the rails, white-knuckling as Saliriel pulled ahead with Caleb. The primly dressed Nephilim walked nimbly across the walkway, mincing in her heels. Rooted to the spot Sal had indicated, I effectively blocked the narrow passage between the vessels. Behind me, Lil shoved Remy till they both objected, but I couldn’t budge—the oath bound too tightly.

Fucking hell.

On the deck of the
Scylla
, another Nephilim approached Saliriel. Flanked by two burly henchman-types, he stood at least six foot five. His short-cropped hair screamed
paramilitary
, and his cheekbones looked sharp enough to slice paper.

Saliriel glided toward him on her not-so-sensible shoes, launching into an elaborately rehearsed greeting. The other Nephilim dismissed the words impatiently, his hate-filled eyes lasering on me.

“What the hell are you thinking?” he growled to her.

The grin Sal offered him went as cheerful as a shark’s. “Jubiel—you forget yourself. I am a decimus. You do not speak to me that way. Where is your master?” She held herself stiffly, telegraphing affront with every line of her body. Caleb moved closer beside her, a wary expression deepening the lines of his face.

Jubiel’s name stirred scraps of memory. The red-rimmed taste of old fury rose hot in my throat. I averted my face to hide my expression, but kept him at the edge of my vision. Behind me, Lil murmured, but the fickle wind stole her words from my ears.

Jubiel ignored Sal’s question, stabbing an accusing finger toward me. “He’s dangerous. He should be wrapped in warded chains. Unconscious.” Tension thrummed across his muscled upper body. The lines of a shoulder holster shone against the light windbreaker he wore.

“And yet here he is, delivered docile to your door—a feat which I doubt you could have accomplished yourself.” Her voice rang with eerie clarity on the damp night air. She folded her lightly muscled arms across her chest, skimming the faces of his greeting party with a look both haughty and bored. “Dorimiel is the one who should welcome me aboard this vessel, not some gaggle of underlings. Where is he?”

“Busy,” Jubiel spat.

Remy fidgeted anxiously at my shoulder, muttering, “He shouldn’t speak to her that way.”

Lil smacked him.

“She’s up there double-crossing us and you’re fretting over protocol?” Her next words were pitched for our ears alone. “This stinks, Zaquiel. If we start shooting now, I think we’ve got a chance. I know you’ve got a gun on you.”

I didn’t respond. The oath gave me no option. I knew Sal was playing someone, and I hoped to hell it wasn’t me. A cold, hard knot clenched in the pit of my stomach. I had no way of knowing if I could trust the Nephilim in her latest gambit—the only oath I’d gotten from Sal involved not using the Eye on me.

Too late now.

“Why are you stalling?” Lil gritted.

She shoved her way between Remy and me, elbowing me in the kidney in the process. My grip tightened convulsively on the railings. I wanted to shout or run or pull the Beretta for one last blaze of glory, but all I could do was stand there, rigid and waiting. My throat closed around all questions and objections.

The panic of my thoughts flew to the precise wording of the oath.

Half this shit drops away once we get on the damned boat.

Cold comfort—Sal rooted me in place on the very lip of that transition. I shuddered at her reasons.

“That’s not helping, Lilianna,” Remy said.