Aodhan did something she didn’t quite catch, and suddenly, Illium was on the ground, flat on his back in the snow. The shocked look on his face was almost as good as Aodhan’s studiously blank one. “Shall we go inside, Elena?”
“How about helping me up first?” Illium scowled and held up a hand. “Now my back’s all wet.”
Aodhan hauled him up with his good arm. “Poor Bluebell.”
Elena’s lips twitched. It was starting to become clear why Aodhan and Illium had become friends. Aodhan might be quiet, but he could hold his own against the blue-winged angel—who remained the only person Aodhan could bear to have touch him. Elena didn’t know what had traumatized Aodhan to that visceral depth, but she knew the silent battle he fought each and every day.
“Your scars exist, but it’s your courage that defines you.”
She’d said that to him a week past, received a piercing glance in return from the haunting fracture of his gaze. “I’m afraid, every instant, that the darkness will suck me back under.”
“But you keep going, Aodhan. Any fool can jump unawares into danger—you know exactly the risk you’re taking, and yet here you are.”
In front of her, he brushed the snow off Illium’s feathers and said, “Next time you call me Sparkle, I’m dumping you into the Hudson.”
“I can swim.”
“Come on,” Elena said with a grin. “Montgomery will be waiting.”
The three of them had just taken the first steps toward the house when there was a wash of wind. Jason and Mahiya landed to Illium’s right a second later. The spymaster’s black wings were dramatic against the white of the snow, his facial tattoo vivid even in the gray light, but it was Mahiya’s spectacular wings that caught the eye. Jewel green and wild blue with strokes of black, the pattern was akin to a peacock’s spray.
“Elena,” Mahiya said with the gentle smile that held an inner glow. “Thank you for having us to dinner on such short notice. I’m afraid we couldn’t resist the temptation.”
“I’m starting to worry about Naasir’s idea of a gift.”
Jason stirred. “He once brought an angel a bucket of piranhas and told the angel to stick his hand inside to retrieve his gift.”
“But he didn’t like the angel,” Illium put in, “so you should be safe. I don’t know why the angel in question whined to everyone about it—he only lost a few fingers.”
“At least there is nowhere for Naasir to find a live wild boar here.” That came from Aodhan, Illium nodding sagely beside him. “In his defense, he had been told to bring meat to the fire.”
“Gee, don’t try to reassure me all at once.” Leading them inside, she discovered Montgomery had set up a table in the formal dining room.
Elena and Raphael didn’t normally use this room for anything but meetings with archangels or other highly ranked individuals, it was so grand. However, it took on a different air with so many of the Seven in attendance. They sprawled over the elegant furniture, dug into Montgomery’s food, spoke with the ease of men who’d known one another for centuries.
That feeling only intensified when Dmitri drove his gleaming Ferrari to the front door, Honor in the passenger seat. Raphael returned home at almost the same instant, and the buzz of conversation and laughter grew to fill the house. Fifteen minutes into it and Illium had coaxed a blushing Mahiya into dancing with him in the center of the room, while Aodhan and Dmitri played a chess grudge match using a priceless hand-carved set placed on an antique parquetry table.
Honor, on the other hand, had walked over to examine the magnificent painting of the Refuge on the far wall, and Jason stood talking to Raphael as they watched Dmitri and Aodhan attempt to outthink one another.
The only ones missing were the people she’d originally invited. “Did anyone ask Naasir if he needed a ride?” Janvier and Ash she wasn’t worried about, since both were locals—and they were on a case, the chilling details of which Raphael had shared with her.
Goddamn Lijuan. Elena was ready for the crazy archangel to die and stay dead.
“Naasir said he was coming with Janvier and his hunter.” Illium twirled Mahiya back into him on those words, the gold-edged orange of the calf-length tunic she wore over black cotton leggings flaring out in a rippling circle.
The throaty purr of a powerful engine sounded just then, and Elena turned to the large windows that overlooked the drive to see a gleaming black panther of a car prowl to a stop next to Dmitri’s Ferrari. “Wow.”
As she watched, the driver’s-side door was pushed up at the same time as the passenger door. Ash stepped out one side, Janvier the other . . . and that was when she realized Naasir was crouched on top of the car.
17
Ashwini got out of the incredible car Janvier had driven up in after calling to offer her a ride. Still wrestling with what she had to tell him, she should’ve said no, but she’d missed him. Plus, they had to talk. The fingerprints had been a bust, as had her attempt to track down witnesses and/or surveillance tapes. She’d also spoken to a professor Honor had said could be trusted, his specialty mummification.
The white-haired male had read the interim autopsy report, then stared at the attached photos for considerable time, before saying conclusively, “Not natural. Not only is the severe cell-level damage incompatible with that, and with the ordinary process of mummification, the appearance of the corpse is all wrong in the context of its probable age, the fragile bones and teeth even more so.”
Janvier had been busy, too. He’d spent his time touching base with the “day” vampire community, and while he’d picked up a jumpy vibe, he thought that had more to do with the aftermath of the battle than their victim. “Let’s enjoy this dinner,” he’d said after the two of them swapped information. “The clubs won’t hit their stride till around eleven, and I can’t think of any other way to move forward at this point.”
Neither could Ashwini.
Now, she stroked her hand down the paintwork of his car, the black holding a faint shimmer that made the car appear a living shadow. “I can’t believe you had this all the time.”
He’d told her it had been garaged in Louisiana, that he’d hired a special truck to drop it off in New York. “Nobody,” he’d said, “drives her but me.”
Ashwini could understand his covetous air. This was one sexy machine. “How much did it cost?” She’d never thought of Janvier as rich, but he had to be—he was very, very smart, and the smart vamps always ended up wealthy.