He wrapped an arm around her and pulled her firmly out of the wind.
“The wire,” she said, pushing damp strands of hair out of her eyes. “I was going to cut it at this end, but with the ferocity of the wind, it could whip around and accidentally garrote someone.”
Putting a bare hand on the wire, Aodhan released a touch of the same energy she’d witnessed him use in battle. It raced along the wire to spark against the stairwell . . . and behind it, the wire disintegrated. “When do I get superpowers?” she muttered, retrieving the bolt she’d shot and sliding it away.
“Perhaps once you’re no longer around the same age as Sam.”
Surprised into laughter and threatening to brain him with her crossbow, Elena forced herself to look away from the wild fury of the storm. She and Aodhan made good time to Hannah and Elijah’s suite, to find Hannah alone but for Cristiano’s languid form, the vampire as loose-limbed as always. Those dark brown eyes, however, they were of a cool-eyed predator who’d eliminate any threat to Hannah or die trying.
“Elijah has gone to join Raphael,” Hannah said to Elena after Cristiano let them in, the vampire and Aodhan staying by the door to talk in quiet tones. “Gian is insisting the violence must’ve come from one of the Cadre’s escorts. He is pointing the finger most strongly at Riker.”
Elena had zero love for Michaela’s vampire guard—and that was a grand understatement, but making him the fall guy was a little too convenient. “He sticks as close to Michaela as permitted,” she pointed out. “When she’s meeting with the Cadre, he lurks outside. So if he beat up Ibrahim, that means Michaela was watching.”
Aimlessly rearranging a vase of flowers, her deep green gown simple and elegant and her hair in a neat knot, Hannah raised an eyebrow. “We both know that could happen.”
“Normally, yes. But Michaela wants out of here—she wouldn’t have countenanced anything that could cause a delay.” She folded her arms. “And I know Riker’s scent. It wasn’t on Ibrahim.”
Nodding, Hannah abandoned the flowers. “Why did you want to speak?”
When Elena told her, Hannah frowned. “Another level below the Gallery? I saw nothing that indicated a hidden area.”
“Are you sure?” Elena pressed. “You were on the map level for a long time. Maybe they forgot something, left it on display.” Visitors, after all, were rare in this place.
Picking up a sketchpad, Hannah began to make strokes with a charcoal pencil that had been lying beside it. Again, it seemed aimless . . . “Oh, damn,” Elena murmured, ice in her own veins. “You’re worried Elijah is going to fly out of Lumia to draw away the storm.”
Hannah swallowed hard, her expression bleak when she looked up from the sketchpad. “He was talking about it before you left, how it was the only option if the storm didn’t abate in the next three to four hours—else Lumia will begin to collapse. Has Raphael said anything?”
“No, but I know he has to be considering it.” Elena had succeeded in putting the possibility to the back of her mind, but faced with Hannah’s fear, her own nipped at her with cold, hungry teeth. “They’re archangels, Hannah. Don’t forget that.” It was as much a reminder to herself as to Hannah.
“I know, but that lightning, it’s not natural.” Shuddering out a breath, the other consort continued before Elena could reply. “I am sure about what I saw on the map level. Absolutely nothing that indicated a hidden level to the Gallery.”
Disappointment sank leaden fingers into Elena’s blood, joining the icy knot of fear in her gut. “Damn. It would’ve been nice to have confirmation.”
“I’m sorry,” Hannah said.
“I don’t suppose you’ve heard the name Majda or Jean-Baptiste?” Elena threw out without hope.
But Hannah’s eyes widened.
37
“Majda?” Hannah said. “Yes, I saw that name very recently.”
Elena’s pulse rocketed. “What? Where?”
“In a book.” Hannah pressed her fingers to her forehead before dropping her hand and locking gazes with Elena. “Elijah and I went to sit in the Repository of Knowledge for a little while earlier tonight, together with Astaad. I got up to wander and discovered a handbound volume of poetry that had fallen behind a tall shelf.”
Lines on her normally smooth brow, she said, “I only glanced at it before handing it to the librarian on duty. He appeared shocked at what I held and I couldn’t understand it at the time. I thought perhaps he was dismayed that something so obviously handmade had made it into his library.”