Messenger's Angel: A Novel of the Lost Angels (24 page)

As Gabriel moved them through the swirling, interdimensional doorway, Juliette closed her eyes. Blackness slipped in like an army of shadows that had been waiting to lay siege. She frowned and tried to speak. The tiniest sound escaped her lips.

And she was out.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

G
abriel’s heart was aching. Juliette weighed nothing in his arms. It was like lifting a child. He couldn’t believe what he had just seen—what she had just done to save them. He hadn’t known she’d been capable of such immense power. The lightning bolts were impressive enough. But the stone . . .
Callanish,
he thought numbly. It would never be the same.

It didn’t matter. Not to him—nothing mattered but Juliette and her painful, ominous lack of substance in his arms.

“Michael!” he bellowed into the portal as it swirled before him and he raced through its kaleidoscope lights. She needed the Warrior Archangel’s healing touch. Gabriel could feel her essence slipping; she’d pushed herself way too far. She’d moved the earth and altered history, and now she was fading.

“Michael!” he cried again, choking on a sob he had no power to contain. He gritted his teeth and rapidly closed the portal behind him, and even as he did, he was besieged by his brother, who had apparently heard his harsh cries.

Michael strode toward him, still dressed in the shoulder holster and guns he wore to work as a cop in New York City. The living room was otherwise empty but for Max, who had risen from his place at a table that bore a chessboard and two mugs of what looked like fresh coffee.

“Give her to me,” the blond archangel commanded, stealing Juliette’s tiny, limp form from Gabriel’s arms. It was everything he could do not to rip her back out of his brother’s grasp and clutch her to his chest. He let her go—but it was the hardest thing he’d ever done.

“What happened?” Max asked.

Gabriel opened his mouth to answer, but he had no air in his lungs. He looked down at Juliette’s still form where Michael had laid her down on the couch, and his breath was lost to him. His chest ached. He forced it open, sucked in air, and said, “The Adarians happened.”

The shard gun slid off her stomach and Michael caught it, tossing it easily to Max. Then the Warrior Archangel’s attention was instantly back on Juliette. “She’s like Eleanore was,” he muttered, placing his hand to her chest and frowning worriedly. Several months ago, Eleanore had brought herself to a similar state by healing several people at once of what would have been mortal wounds. “What the hell did she do?” Michael asked. He closed his eyes and his palm began to glow where it was pressed against her body.

Gabriel watched with wide eyes. He was shaking. He could feel the hard tremble making its way through his body like a horrible disease.

“She’ll be fine,” Michael whispered, obviously concentrating on his healing, but wanting to assure his brother. “She’s just weak. Just like Ellie.”

Suddenly Max’s strong hand was on Gabriel’s shoulder. “Tell me what happened.”

“They attacked us at Callanish,” Gabriel replied, his gaze glued to Juliette’s beautiful face and her now fluttering eyelids. “Somehow, they found us. They knew we would be there.” He couldn’t comprehend it. He hadn’t felt them arrive. He hadn’t heard them. Where were they getting this new power to find the archesses and head them off without warning?

Max was quiet behind him. Juliette’s pink lips parted and a soft groan escaped them. She exhaled and Michael sat back on his heels, removing his hand. Juliette’s eyes fluttered open. Gabriel took her hand and leaned in. “Och, lass,” he whispered softly, “you truly are an angel.”

She blinked up at him for a moment and then smiled a shy smile.

“How many were there?” Max asked, moving around Gabriel to take a seat on the coffee table beside him.

“Three,” Gabriel replied as Juliette tried to sit up. He pressed his hand to her abdomen and kept her down, shaking his head reprimandingly.

She blushed and shot him a frustrated look, but acquiesced, resting back against the cushions instead. He grabbed another pillow from the side of the couch and slid it under her hair. Her soft brown waves cascaded over it and the edge of the couch, nearly coming to the floor.

“There were three,” he repeated softly, gazing at his archess with the pride he felt. “She moved fifteen tons of rock to save us. She worked a bloody miracle—didn’t you, luv?”

“I destroyed Callanish,” she said softly, her brow furrowing slightly with a frown.

“It’s nothin’ we can’t fix,” he assured her. And it was true. He and his brothers and Max could set anything right—even something as ancient and sacred as Callanish.

“The Adarians have gone too far,” Michael said.

“You’re right,” Max conceded. “But we’ve been here before. Things are coming to a head.”

Juliette looked from Gabriel to Michael, who was rising from the carpet now to lower himself into a love seat a few feet away. “Thank you for healing me,” she said. “I wasn’t feeling so hot.”

Michael nodded and smiled warmly. “I imagine not. And it was my pleasure,” he told her.

“What exactly happened?” Max asked, clearly wanting more detail than Gabriel had thus far provided.

“I’ll tell you,” Gabriel supplied, glancing over at him. “Bu’ first, where are the others?”

“Uriel’s filming,” Max said. “And Eleanore’s with him. Azrael is sleeping.”

Gabriel nodded. The mansion was obviously on a similar schedule to Scotland’s at that moment; it was daylight here. So Azrael would be belowground, in his private chambers. “Get Uriel back here an’ find us some shade so you can wake Az up. I’ve go’ some rather important news to share.”

Thirty minutes later, Uriel and Eleanore had joined them in the mansion’s massive living room. Eleanore had gone directly to the couch to sit beside Juliette and the two had been conversing quietly ever since. Max managed to shift the mansion’s presence so that it resided in darkness, and now a full moon hung low in the sky outside the mansion’s massive windows.

Azrael had joined them as well. His tall, dark form leaned against one of the walls, his golden eyes glowing eerily in the frame of his otherworldly, angelic face. His arms were crossed over his broad chest and his black-booted feet were crossed at the ankles. He gazed steadily at Gabriel, and Gabe could feel an unsettled vibe coming from the former Angel of Death. He was in a hard mood. They’d woken him early and he obviously hadn’t had enough sleep.

Gabriel closed the blinds and turned to face his family. “Max, wha’ progress have you made with the shard gun?” he asked the guardian.

Max shook his head, taking off his glasses and cleaning them on the front of his brown suit. He almost always wore a suit. He always looked like a cross between a librarian and a businessman unless he was in combat mode, and then he wore fatigues and lost the glasses. “None,” he said. “I’m not surprised you want to know about that; you’ve been shot more than the rest of us combined with the damn things.”

“How many times has he been shot?” Juliette asked.

“Thirteen, including the blasts he took while the two of you were at Slains,” replied Azrael in his deep, cool voice.

Gabriel looked from Az to Juliette and found her staring at him with wide eyes.

“And the blasts hurt like nothing you’ve ever felt,” added Uriel. Juliette’s eyes widened farther.

“Shut up,” Gabriel told his brother.

Uriel shot him an unapologetic look. “Being healed of the wounds is almost worse.”

“I have no idea how they operate the weapons,” continued Max, wisely changing the subject. “But pulling the trigger doesn’t work and neither does taking it apart and putting it back together again.”

“You need to be an Adarian to make it work,” Gabriel said, spearing Uriel with one last hard look and then running a hand through his hair. He’d given this a lot of thought since Juliette had tried to use the Adarian’s shard gun against their enemies. “Juliette tried to use one as well an’ failed. None of us have go’ Adarian blood running through our veins. I’m willing to bet that’s the secret.”

The room was silent for a long while as everyone in the room contemplated what Gabriel had just said.

Max addressed Gabriel. “Was this all that you wanted to talk to us about?” he asked, obviously catching on that the Adarian shard guns were only the tip of the iceberg that night.

“No,” Gabriel replied. “No, that’s no’ all.” Juliette’s past lives were swirling through his head like a tornado. He needed to tell them about the archesses and how the circumstances of their existences were inextricably linked to the former duties of their archangels. It was an impending storm of information and it hovered on the horizon, loud and ominous. But this needed to be done.

He glanced once at Azrael and the vampire archangel straightened. He dropped his arms, coming to his full impressive height of six feet and six inches. It was clear from the way his glowing gold eyes were going from orange to red that he’d already entered Gabriel’s mind and read his thoughts. And it was clear that he knew what they meant.

“It’s about the archesses,” Gabriel said, his gaze locked on Azrael’s. “There’s somethin’ you all need to know.”

* * *

Samael nodded at the tall, blond actor as the man stepped up to the doorway of Sam’s office and prepared to knock on the open door. Sam’s nod saved McNabb the trouble.

“Come in, Law.”

“Sir,” Law replied, falling easily once more into his role as one of Samael’s . . .
employees
—and not just the actor client the rest of the world thought him to be.

“Close the door behind you,” Sam instructed.

Law closed the door and came to stand before Samael’s desk. Sam leaned back in his desk and steepled his fingers before him. “The Adarians are moving quickly.”

“I heard,” Law replied, nodding once in agreement. “Would you like me to head into the field?”

“Yes,” Samael said. He leaned forward in the plush leather chair and stood gracefully, coming to his full impressive height. Then he turned away from the actor and moved to the vast windows behind him. He stood before them, sliding his hands into the pockets of his charcoal gray suit trousers. It was early evening in Chicago, and the sun had already gone down. Twilight cast a dim glow over the surface of the lake and the metal in the high-rises that made up its skyline.

“The four favored tend to throw a few wrenches into our plans every now and then,” Sam said, his voice light with a touch of humor. “Still, thus far in the grand scheme of things, everything has gone according to design.”

“But?” Law questioned. Samael smiled. McNabb was good at knowing what was coming next.

“However,”
Sam said as he turned back to face the blond man, “this last attack by the Adarians on the archess was a touch too close for my tastes. This is a pivotal moment. Everything must go exactly according to preparations.” He moved around his large desk and made his way to the marble fireplace set into one wall. The fire blazed merrily, warm and inviting. Sam braced his right arm against the mantel and leaned in. His wristwatch gleamed in the crackling firelight. “The archess is very precious, Law.” He said this as he felt it—with a deepness he did not fully comprehend. “They all are.”

“I understand,” Law said slowly. “I’ll make certain she has what she needs to protect herself.”

“See that you do,” Sam said, still gazing into the leaping light. He pushed away from the fireplace and turned to face McNabb. “Does Uriel suspect anything of you?” he asked, changing the subject. Lawrence McNabb and the archangel Uriel had been working together for the last year and a half on the
Comeuppance
series, and so far the former Angel of Vengeance had yet to make any indication that he thought of McNabb as anything but a costar. But it didn’t hurt to double-check.

“No, sir,” said Law. “Your magic slides right under his radar.” Law smiled a winning smile, flashing straight white teeth in a grin that would have made many women—and men—swoon.

“Good.” The last thing Sam needed was to have to recast someone in the
Comeuppance
series. His personal life might be filled with archangels and vampires and supernatural creatures galore, but he was, among many things, a very famous media mogul and he hadn’t achieved that goal by being sloppy. Work did matter.

Other things just mattered more.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

I
t was late Thursday night in Luskentyre when Gabriel once more opened a portal through the mansion to take them back to Scotland to retrieve a few things. They’d decided that staying in the mansion was the safest best for the archesses and their loved ones at this juncture. Eleanore’s rather stubborn parents had finally been coerced from their cabin in the mountains and set up in one of the many guest suites.

Then Juliette accompanied Max to speak with her own parents.

She’d decided that the best way to broach the supernatural subject of what she was was to simply come right out and prove it. So, she’d put out the fire in the hearth with a wave of her hand and then floated her mother’s stainless steel cookware around the kitchen. And that was more or less that.

Her parents were still shocked and they would definitely need time to adjust. But they agreed to come and live in the mansion for the time being as well, and that was where Max and Michael were at the moment—helping them move their belongings. Her father had to get someone to cover his classes. Her mother was going to take a sabbatical. They were coping.

Juliette had considered asking Gabriel whether they could bring Sophie in as well. It was an erratic and worried thought—that something might happen to her best friend. But then she’d considered it carefully and realized she had no logical reason to fret about Soph. The girl didn’t even know about Juliette’s power, much less the rest of this madness. Why would she be in danger?

In the meantime, Juliette had left some important things behind in her cottage when Gabriel had whisked her off to Slains on Tuesday afternoon. She needed her laptop, wanted her clothes—and rather desperately longed for Nessie and his familiar, comforting Parma Violets smell. She also had to check in her cottage key and sign out with the owner.

The portal swirled to life before them, and by this time Juliette was used to the sight. She also had to pride herself on being used to the strange pushing-pulling sensation of walking through the portal and into her waiting cottage on the other side. They stepped through and the portal closed behind them.

The cottage was utterly still in the darkness. Gabriel waved a hand at the peat-burning stove and a fire leapt to life behind the grate. Juliette’s brows raised a little at the display. She’d seen so much and he’d given her so many surprises, and yet she wondered whether she would ever get used to this new, powerful world he had introduced her to.

The next thing he did was touch his hand to the doorframe and close his eyes. Veins of gold began to appear in the wood of the cottage’s walls. It spread and grew until even the curtains were laced with fine threads of the honey-colored metal.

She could only shake her head and watch.

When he’d finished, he removed his hand and opened his eyes. “Get your things, lass. I’ll finish up out here.”

She let out a breath and nodded. She headed to the bedroom, where she pulled her carry-on bag out from under her bed. All the clothes that Samael had somehow whisked magically into her room and placed onto her bed a few days ago were now hanging in her closet.

More magic.

She accepted it with an ambivalent sigh and began sifting through them, picking and choosing what she would place into her bag. But as she did so, she noticed something she was certain hadn’t been there before. On the shelf above the hangers was the spine of a single book. It was gilded in gold and read,
Dorcha Draíodóir
.

Juliette frowned and pulled the leather-bound book from the shelf. It was thick and heavy. She opened it to the beginning to find a handwritten note scrawled across the title page.

Dear Juliette:

I found this in the Stornoway library. A little light reading to get you started on that miniseries.

Best,

Law

Juliette blinked down at the note, bewildered. She ran her hand over the pile of pages, noticing that one of them had been folded down. She opened the book to that page and began to read. It was written in Gaelic, but she understood. . . .

. . .this time, the archess was ready for the assault. She had come too far, lived too long, to allow the black wizard to drain her in this manner. So, as he began to suck her spirit from her body, she willed her magic to remain within herself. She trapped it there, deep inside, forever denying the wizard her essence. . . .

The chapter ended there and began on the next page with an entirely different story. Juliette frowned at the small segment of story.
Trapped,
she thought. A puzzle piece slid around in her head as if searching for its mates. But it wouldn’t click. Not yet.

Juliette sighed and placed the book inside her bag along with everything else. When she was finished packing, saving enough room for Nessie, she moved back to bed, took the plush elephant from his resting place on her pillow, and gave him a kiss. Then, with a soft smile, she placed him inside her bag as well and zipped it closed.

“I’m ready,” she said, lifting her laptop from where it sat on her nightstand. She turned to find Gabriel leaning on the doorframe of her bedroom, watching her intently. His silver eyes were glittering in the overhead light. He smiled slowly at her, the expression sending his already handsome face into angelic perfection.

“What?” she asked, feeling a little nervous and admittedly a little treasured beneath the intense scrutiny of those searching, silver eyes.

Gabriel shook his head and pushed off the doorframe to come toward her. “You steal my breath, little one,” he told her softly, closing the distance between them. His palm cupped her cheek, warm and tender, and his silver eyes flashed for a moment, sparking to supernatural life. “How can one so small be so strong—and so innocent at the same time?” He made a bewildered sound, rubbing his thumb across her cheek. “You defy reality,” he told her. And then his tall form bent over her, and his lips captured hers in a tender kiss.

The soft, dry contact sent an electric current through Juliette, buzzing her nerve endings to quick, delicious life. She closed her eyes, dropped her laptop on the bed, and allowed her bag to fall to the floor. Her hands wound through his thick black hair, and she kissed him back.

Gabriel’s arm snaked around her waist, drawing her up tight against his hardness, the flat of his hand palming her lower back as if he couldn’t get close enough. She lost her breath as he deepened the kiss, fisting his own hand in her long curls.

But she jumped violently and drew a surprised gasp, pulling away, when there was a loud knock on the door in the living room behind them. Gabriel waited, holding her stock-still against him. The knock came again, this time a harried hammering, desperate and loud.

“Black!” came a hoarse call. “Black, come quick! Are ye there, lad? Black!”

Juliette recognized the voice. It belonged to Stuart Burns, Gabriel’s good friend and the man whose wife had prepared all of Juliette’s favorite foods earlier that week. He sounded terrified and out of breath and maybe even a little in pain.

Gabriel released Juliette and hurried to the door. “I’m here, Stuart,” he said as he flung the door open.

Stuart Burns stood on the threshold, his cheeks blackened with what looked like soot, his white hair askew and grayed with ash. His bright blue eyes stared in at Gabriel with wide fear, and his clothes were covered in both water and cinder residue. He smelled like fire.

“Wha’ happened?” Gabriel asked, concern lowering his tone and stiffening his body. Juliette saw the change come over him immediately. She moved up beside him, fear gripping her.

“The children’s home, Black! It’s gone up in flame! Tristan’s been hurt an’ we cannae find Beth!” Stuart yelled. He was out of breath. He’d obviously run from wherever the orphanage was.

Who are Beth and Tristan?
Juliette remembered Angus Dougal telling her about how Gabriel was rebuilding the children’s home. Was this the one he was talking about? It couldn’t be, because it wasn’t finished yet. No one would be living in it. It must be the old one that had caught fire—and children had been trapped inside.

Gabriel didn’t hesitate. He shot past Burns like a dark blur and was ten yards away before he stopped and turned toward Juliette as she stood in the doorway. “Stay inside, Juliette! Do no’ leave the house!” He didn’t wait for her to respond, but spun on his heel once more and began racing at breakneck speed up the road. She had never seen a man run so fast in her life. It was both impressive and utterly inhuman.

Beside her, Burns ran a shaky hand through his hair and then began to follow after Gabriel. Juliette watched him go in nervous silence. She thought of Stuart’s words.
“Tristan’s been hurt. . . .” Tristan must be a child,
she thought.
And he’s injured.
He needed her help.

There was no way in hell she was going to hang back and be useless when there were children nearby who might need her power. Juliette turned and glanced once at the living room of her small wooden cottage. It was cozy and warm and Gabriel had laced the building materials with veins of gold to give her extra protection. In the back of her mind, she was well aware that this fire was far too convenient for the Adarians, from the timing of it—to the fact that it involved someone who might need to be healed.

She knew this might be a trap. But she was not the kind of person who could ignore pain because of unfavorable consequences. She would never feel that people had a right to sacrifice one life for the safety of a hundred. She would never believe that “free will” was an excuse for human suffering. This was not Juliette.

And so, throwing caution aside, she stepped across the threshold of her rented home and shut the door behind her. She sensed the difference in the air at once. It was heavier and fringed with smoke. She could feel the heat to it, cloying and wrong.

Juliette moved away from the doorway and came around the house to look out over the dark horizon. A glow emanated from over the moors up the road.
The fire,
she thought. Then she looked up toward the night sky. The nearly full moon gazed back at her, slightly duller now that the air was filling with ash.

They need water,
she thought. And that was something she could provide. Without wasting any further time, she began to run up the street, heading toward the glow in the distance. Stuart Burns was incredibly spry for his age and had already made it well out of sight. She was alone on the road and already feeling useless. So, as she ran, she concentrated on the weather.

A burst of wind answered her call, rushing by her and throwing her hair into her face. She tasted salt on the breeze and knew it had come over the ocean. She nodded to herself. This was good.
Keep going.
She imagined clouds next. She thought of them forming over the glow that was growing brighter as she ran. She imagined them building and darkening and growing heavy with condensation.

She was getting closer now. She could actually hear what sounded like men shouting. Overriding the men’s voices, however, was a growing roar. It could only be described as it sounded . . .
hot
. The air was much warmer now and Juliette was finding it harder to breathe. She could imagine that if it were daytime, the blue of the sky would be blotted out with the wisps of ash that were climbing from the blaze ahead of her.

She topped the next hill and stopped there, looking down upon the inferno below. The roar of the fire was nearly deafening. It crackled and popped and bellowed into the night. There were dozens of people running around the massive burning building, but Juliette couldn’t make out their faces. They were simply dark, humanoid forms racing here and there. Two of them held a hose. Others held shovels.

In the distance, sirens wailed. Juliette looked up and out toward the road that led away on the other side of the orphanage, but she couldn’t see past the blinding light of the fire. She prayed the sirens belonged to a fire truck. Maybe two.

And then she felt something wet upon her cheek. She looked up and another raindrop fell into her eye. Pushing her relief and gratitude aside, she closed her eyes and concentrated harder.
Yes,
she thought.
Rain! Rain hard! Drop buckets of the stuff!

And the clouds listened. Almost at once, the drops doubled. And then they did so again, exponentially multiplying until Juliette lowered her head as she felt a faint familiar weakness steal over her body. For the briefest of moments, she wondered whether she would be able to heal the injured if she brought on the rain. But she ruthlessly shoved her fear away. She
would
be able to heal them. She would never fail in that—
never
. She would rather die.

After a few short moments, Juliette was drenched. She shielded her eyes and peered at the scene below, looking for signs of the injured. About a hundred feet to the left of the building was what looked like a cluster of people both standing and kneeling, their black outlines all that were visible at this distance.

Juliette lowered her arm and shot down the hill in their direction. She slid once on the slick earth as the rain pounded the ground and melted it into something akin to an oil slick. But she caught herself and continued on, reaching the group of people in seconds flat.

Their faces were drawn and she heard someone crying. She shoved past the outer layer of the circle, noting that Gabriel was not among them. It seemed to take too long, but finally, she was at the center of the cluster and looking down. There was a bent figure before her, and beneath him, a little boy lay on the ground, his eyes closed, half his body badly burned. Most of his hair had been singed off his head, and his clothes were blackened.

Juliette instantly felt like both screaming in rage and retching. But she kept both horrid emotions at bay and knelt beside who she could now see was a vicar in white collar and black attire. He looked up at her and she could see that his blue eyes were red-rimmed and swam in tears; white streams of the salty liquid had stained his cheeks despite the downpour.