At least it smells fantastic, and my stomach is rumbling because I didn’t eat lunch. When we got back, I headed down to the library and spent the rest of the day working.
Well… not working.
Reading some of Carrick’s journals, or rather, attempting to read them. The further back in history I went, the less I could read as he wrote in the language of whatever region he was living in at the time. There were some interesting pages during the French Revolution, which were actually written in English, and it appeared Carrick was a subject of the English crown but living in France.
Of course, a million questions.
Did Carrick have a different name as he moved through generations, centuries, and millennia? I know he must have as Carrick isn’t an ancient Sumerian name.
For that matter, he doesn’t look like what I would expect a Sumerian to look like, but he never said he was created to blend in with them. Only to fight their wars.
Having met and seen how ridiculously beautiful but very unique Veda is, I expect Carrick was created more in their image than to fit into any particular civilization.
When Rainey and Myles showed up with groceries for dinner, I realized I’d been in the library for over five hours and had not once tried to research changelings or angels.
Only Carrick.
I’m so lost in thought about the man—well, demi-god—and his exceedingly long history in this world that I’m caught completely off guard when he materializes in the kitchen just behind Zaid. Except he doesn’t just appear statically as if out of thin air. Rather, he seems to be taking a large step from somewhere else, right into the kitchen. Like literally one foot appears, then his leg, torso, and finally the rest of his body.
Rainey and Myles are caught way more off guard than I am. She shrieks, and Myles yells, “What the fuck?”
We all just experienced Carrick bending distance. Zaid does no more than lazily glance over his shoulder to proclaim, “You were gone a lot longer than I thought you’d be.”
“Well, when in Rome,” I quip since that’s where Maddox told me he went. “Do as the Romans do, so maybe he was just eating a lot of pasta.”
“Actually, I wasn’t in Rome long,” Carrick says as he moves behind the counter and peers into the wall-mounted oven to look in on the lasagna. He then nabs the open bottle of red wine and pours himself a glass. “I’ve been in New York for a good chunk of the day.”
Rainey’s eyes come to mine, then to Myles, then back to me.
I finally ask the question. “And did you learn anything about angels or changelings or whatever lead you were following?”
“It was angels,” Carrick says before lifting his glass and taking a small sip. He walks up to the counter and leans on it. Even though the man has been gone for hours and hours, traveled from Rome to New York, he looks fresh and full of energy. He chose black cargo pants, a long-sleeve shirt, and combat boots, so I expect some, if not all, of his trip, was on the secretive side.
Carrick then tips his head right toward Rainey, standing beside him as she had been buttering up the garlic bread to go in the other oven. “You can thank her. She found an obscure mention of a group of angels called The Custodia that intrigued me.”
Rainey nods effusively. “I remember that name. It was just that one mention, but there was a cited source that was unreachable via internet searches as I seem to remember.”
“That’s because the source was an 11th-century manuscript that was housed in the private Vatican libraries, which are not open to the public.”
“A little breaking and entering. I like it.” I turn to find Maddox strolling into the kitchen. How he knew Carrick was home and that he was off duty is beyond me.
Maddox grins at my scowl, and I ask, “How did you know that Carrick was back, and you could leave the lobby? Do you two communicate with some form of telepathy?”
Waving his cell phone in his hand, he gives me a chastising look that says I’m a complete dummy. “It’s called a phone. Carrick texted me as he was leaving New York.”
“Oh,” I mutter, ducking my head to take a large gulp of my wine as everyone laughs at my expense. Maddox, though, walks over to me and pats me on the head, which is even worse.
“Anyway,” Carrick continues. “I found the manuscript with no problem, but it didn’t provide much information. Only that there were a group of angels that some small sects of the Catholic church recognized in the past, but the Vatican did not, insisting they were not the same as guardian angels.”
“That’s not overly helpful,” Rainey murmurs.