“Did you say something, hbeebti?”
It was a gentle question—he’d been careful with her all morning and, given the way she’d freaked out the night before, she couldn’t exactly complain, but it was time to let her archangel know she’d patched up the wounds. “Every time I board this thing,” she said, “I’m reminded of how filthy rich you are.” Raphael could’ve completed the journey on the wing without problems, but her flight endurance was pitiful yet. “It’s like a flying mini-Tower.”
An amused look, no hint of the awful sadness she’d sensed in him as they hovered over the field where he’d lain broken and bloodied. “Would you like me to go through that?” He nodded at the folder in front of her that held Marcia Blue’s financial statement and business plan.
Handing it over because she had no idea what half of it meant and wasn’t too proud to admit it, she said, “I, too, am on the path to becoming filthy rich.”
“With such a soft heart as yours”—he opened the file—“it’ll be a challenge for me to ensure you do not end up penniless.”
Elena squirmed in her deliciously comfortable seat. “Okay, okay, so I felt sorry for her. At least I asked for the business info—that should get me some credit.”
“Hmm.”
Leaving him to the documents, she hooked her phone into the jet’s high-tech communications network and made a visual call to Sam, the sweet, funny little boy who’d become her friend and guide while she’d been in the Refuge. He told her about his recent adventures, made her promise to hold a position in her Guard for him until he was “growed up,” and showed her the present he was secretly making for his mother.
“Sam,” she said toward the end, “does Galen really teach you flights skills?”
“Uh-huh.” A strong nod. “He’s strict but not in a mean way. We like him.” Smiling, he proceeded to regale her with the story of his last lesson with Raphael’s weapons-master—where Galen had actually ended up laughing at the antics of his baby squadron.
By the time the call ended, Elena was conscious that she’d only ever glimpsed one narrow aspect of Galen’s personality. “Your weapons-master appears to have an actual, beating heart,” she said to Raphael. “Who knew?”
“Jessamy.”
“I concede that point.” Logging in to check her e-mails as Raphael continued to read over the file, she saw one from Sara asking her opinion on an antique weapon Sara was considering getting Deacon as an anniversary gift.
She’d just finished shooting her best friend a reply when a new e-mail popped into her in-box. It was from Aodhan, the subject line making Elena’s fingers clench convulsively around the phone and her mind hurtle two months into the past.
• • •
Elena swallowed, the paper crinkling in her hand the only sound as she stood in front of the elevator that would drop her down into the Cellars, the protected area under Guild HQ. She’d taken advantage of the underground safe house when she’d slit Dmitri’s throat during the hunt that had forever altered the course of her life—though, in her defense, he had provoked the action.
It was Vivek, the hunter who ran the Cellars, who’d given her a gun meant to injure an angel long enough to give a mortal a chance to run, to escape. That gun had done far more, Raphael’s blood pooling on the broken sheet of glass that had been the outer wall of her apartment.
“Do it, Ellie,” she ordered, knowing the trip through memory lane was nothing but procrastination at its finest.
Reaching out, she stabbed the button to summon the elevator and, when the doors opened, input the special code on the hidden auxiliary touchpad so the cage would move downward, rather than up into Guild HQ. That code changed on a daily basis and since she’d contacted Vivek directly to get it, he was expecting her.
“I am so whupping your ass today,” he’d predicted, in reference to their continuing Scrabble battle.
They’d always played a game or two anytime Elena was in town for more than twenty-four hours. Now that she was based in New York, she made it a point to come by at least once a week—because Vivek wouldn’t come to her. He was capable of it, his wheelchair state-of-the-art, but hunter-born like her, Vivek found it difficult to be outside when he couldn’t exercise his hunting abilities. The constant bombardment of vampiric scents scraped his senses raw, left him bleeding on the inside.
Exiting the elevator into the pitch-black area under the building, she navigated it without turning on the small flashlight she had in one of the pockets of her cargo pants. It had taken her some time to find a workable pathway after she’d returned to the city with wings, but she now moved through the darkness with confidence, easily avoiding the heavy pillars that were the foundations of the building.
Reaching the scarred and graffitied metal door meant to discourage any intruder who got this far, she coded herself in using another concealed keypad, then put her eye to the retinal scanner. The door slid open seconds later, inviting her into a solid metal cubicle where she was scanned three ways to Sunday in a new layer of security, her weapons noted.
“That way,” Vivek had told her, the first time she’d visited after the upgrade, “if you turn out to be a bad guy, I can gas you, and bye-bye, Evil Elena.”
“Funny,” she’d said at the time, thinking about just how much trust they put in Vivek down here—all of them dead certain that trust would never be broken. He might be occasionally petty, but Vivek was nothing if not loyal to the Guild.
When the doors opened to release her from the steel cubicle, she knew it hadn’t been an automatic action; Vivek personally cleared all incoming and outgoing traffic.
“Ohayoˉ, Vivek,” she said to the air.
“Gozaimasu, Elena.” A pause. “Seriously? That one was so easy even Ransom would’ve got it.”
“I’m going to tell him you said that.” She waited patiently as she was scanned a second time, wondering what other tricks he had up his sleeve; she wouldn’t put it past him to have had automatic gun ports built into the walls.
“Hey, I think I might have to double-check your identity.” Vivek’s voice came out strong and resonant through the speakers. “You usually start bitching about how long the scan takes the second after you walk in.”
Fingers tightening on the piece of paper she’d crushed beyond any hope of repair, she rolled her eyes. “Next time you complain about the bitching, I’m going to remind you of this little conversation.”
A chest-deep laugh, an unexpected sound when it came to the often moody hunter, before the final doors opened in front of her. She headed straight to the reinforced core from where Vivek held court, his steel hand controlling all aspects of the Cellars. That, however, was only a sideline—his true job was keeping watch on anything and everything that might affect the Guild or its hunters.
Today, he buzzed her into his inner sanctum without making her jump through any further hoops. “You’re in a good mood,” she said, when she entered to see him grinning from ear to ear.
“I just had dirty, dirty cybersex with a smoking-hot brunette from Italy. Let’s hear it for intimate international relations.”