Archangel's Heart(117)

“A stalking horse?” Aodhan lifted a shoulder, dropped it in a liquid shrug. “I don’t see Gian as anyone’s fool, but arrogance can be blinding.”

“Yes.” Now that she’d oriented herself within the map, Elena tried to figure out if something was amiss. “Damn,” she said after a few minutes. “We don’t know Lumia well enough to figure out what to look for.”

Aodhan was silent, his attention on the Gallery. Turning the map toward himself, he continued to stare. “We flew through all the levels of the Gallery,” he murmured, as if speaking to himself. “There is no discrepancy with the number of levels, but . . .”

He lifted the map, sending her blades sliding off.

Tucking them back into the various sheaths and taking over the watch so Aodhan could concentrate, Elena waited. Aodhan had very good spatial skills. At last, he gave a curt nod and put the map back down. “Look here, Ellie.”

“It’s a door.” On the bottom floor of the Gallery.

“No, Ellie, it’s a trapdoor.”

Elena’s eyes widened, realization slamming belatedly into her. “And if we were on the very bottom floor, what the hell lies underneath?”

“More importantly, that trapdoor wasn’t covered by a rug or other easily removable object when we were in the Gallery. The entire floor was smooth marble.”

“What’s the best place to bury something?” Elena whispered. “A place that no one knows even exists.” Her heart thundered.

Was she looking at her grandmother’s grave? The graves of countless other men and women taken from the town because Luminata wanted them—or as with Majda’s vampire husband—because they stood in the way of someone else the Luminata coveted?

“Ellie.” Aodhan’s voice was gentle, his wings sparking wildly in the firelight. “You must make no assumptions. If it was a burial place for a mortal, no one would care.” The harsh words made her flinch then stiffen her spine. “You know what most immortals think of mortals, and you’ve seen evidence of how the Luminata treat the people of the town.”

Elena fought not to strike out at him—she knew he didn’t believe the same, was just giving her the perspective she needed to keep in mind. “So what the fuck is down there that has Ibrahim lying in anshara?” Because it was the map that had caused the angel to be beaten to a pulp, of that Elena had no doubt. “He gave us this and he paid for it.”

“It could be the Sleeping place of an angel, one that is known to the older Luminata,” Aodhan pointed out. “If so, we have no right to disturb it.”

“But if it was that, all anyone had to do was drop a word in Raphael’s ear and none of us would’ve gone near it,” Elena said. “Why beat Ibrahim so badly?”

“Ibrahim could’ve been beaten for some other, totally unrelated reason. Such as the fact he fell afoul of a Luminata who wished to take an unwilling man or woman from the town.”

Elena hadn’t even thought about that option, and damn it, she could see innocently hopeful Ibrahim being shocked by such an abuse of power.

Glaring at Aodhan, she said, “Stop being a devil’s advocate.”

A faint smile. “Your Bluebell is not here, so I must carry the banner.”

“Ha ha. How did you know about what the Luminata are doing in the town anyway?” She hadn’t had a chance to brief him after their first trip, and he hadn’t come along on the second.

“The sire spoke to me soon after you discovered the spyhole in your quarters.” He touched his temple to indicate how Raphael had contacted him.

Rolling up the map after biting back a snarl at the memory of that hole, she slipped it into the crossbow bolt sheath once more. “We have to find out if there’s another way to get underneath that final level of the Gallery and we only have until the storm passes.” Soon as the lightning stopped, the Cadre would have to move. Bloodlust across China was a far more lethal threat than the insanity of a small, power-mad cult.

Aodhan appeared thoughtful. “I can ask Laric what he knows. Before Lumia changed, he didn’t always stay in his tower. He used to walk the hallways and talk sometimes with a few others who know the hand language.”

“He can’t vocalize at all?”

“No, the scarring is too severe.” A pause. “He says none of the new ones but Ibrahim bothered to learn the hand language if they didn’t know it already. Ibrahim is apparently terrible at languages, but he is dogged.”

The more Elena learned about the hurt novice, the more she liked him. As for the others who hadn’t bothered with a simple kindness for a living being in pain . . . “That’s what happens when the rot comes from the top. People turn into mindless sheep.” She got to her feet. “I want to talk to Hannah, too. She spent the most time in the Gallery, could’ve seen something she doesn’t realize the importance of.”