Archangel's Heart(67)

Aodhan nodded. “Such long gaps are not unusual among angelic families. Though children are rare gifts, there is no known end to fertility.”

“Huh, guess that makes sense.” She pointed to the next drop as, from above them, came a pointed, “Shh.”

They dropped . . . to find Hannah gazing in fascination at something in a glass display case, her vampiric escort, Cristiano, leaning lazily against the wall not far away. The handsome male with skin the color of darkest caramel and eyes of a chocolate brown gave an impression of liquid grace that was oddly feline. It intrigued Elena that one of Elijah’s most trusted people would echo the prowl of the pumas that came to the archangel’s call.

“Ellie,” Hannah said softly, waving her over. “Come see this.”

Crossing the short distance to her after smiling at Cristiano, Elena saw the other woman was fascinated by what appeared to be a map drawn on what looked to be animal hide. It was so fragile that it was in pieces an archivist had carefully placed next to one another, like a complex jigsaw. “It’s the Refuge,” she said in realization, “but the gorge is missing.” That gorge bisected the angelic stronghold, was unmissable.

“This is from a time before the land shakes that created the gorge.” Hannah’s eyes glowed. “But it’s not simply the age of the map—look at the artistry of the work itself. Aodhan, do you see?”

Having come to stand beside Elena, his wing just brushing hers, Aodhan nodded. “It is one of Tarquin’s. The hand is unmistakable.”

Elena frowned; she’d heard that name before.

“He was an archangel in the time of Caliane and Alexander,” Hannah told her before she could ask. “An Ancient who went to Sleep some fifty thousand years past.” Her slender, elegant artist’s fingers touched the glass. “This was discovered long after his descent into Sleep, the damage already great, but the Luminata have done astonishingly well in managing to keep it as whole as it is.”

Elena tried really hard to be interested, decided it was a lost cause. “Have you been to the bottom of the Gallery?”

“No, it would take me many months to get there,” Hannah whispered, tucking back a curl that had escaped the intricate knot at the back of her head. “I skipped all the levels above to get to this one—it was so hard to make a choice as to what treasures to view first.” Her dark eyes met Elena’s, sudden laughter suffusing the awe in her expression. “Shoo. Go explore and then come back and tell me if I should go to a particular level.”

Grinning, Elena nudged her head at Aodhan—who’d gone to talk with Cristiano—and they continued to dive down. Each part of the Gallery held endless treasures. One of Elena’s favorites was the glass level. Full of finely blown glass created by mortals and immortals both, the fragile items were safely encased behind far more rigid glass shields, their dazzling colors glowing under strategically placed lights. This exhibit she could imagine spending hours in, lost in the iridescent wash of color.

Aodhan had a different favorite—a strange level filled with “artworks” that made little sense to Elena. “What do you see?” she asked him.

“This is the exhibit of possibility,” he told her. “The pieces that were never finished, or those that were found half done after the artist’s death. The stories are not yet complete, and so, there are endless futures to explore.”

Elena tried to think through that lens, caught the barest glimpse of what he meant. But what struck her most was that he’d taken the positive interpretation over the negative. Because it could as easily be said that this was the exhibit of lost dreams. None of these pieces would ever be finished, no hope in them.

Elena was no healer, but she didn’t have to be one to know that Aodhan’s interpretation was a sign of soul-deep healing on his part. “You want to hang here?”

“Later perhaps. First, we must get to the bottom—Illium would never forgive us otherwise.” A determined look. “I will make him listen to me after I return and then I will tell him of our adventure.”

Nodding in approval of his plan, Elena flew down to a landing spot, Aodhan’s wing brushing hers again as he landed a little too close. His primaries were impossibly soft when contrasted with the way they glittered as if coated with broken glass. He didn’t apologize for the contact and she didn’t want an apology.

The glancing brush was unremarkable among friends . . . but it was one Aodhan would’ve gone to great lengths to avoid when they first met.





21


Elena swallowed the knot in her throat, glanced around. The works on this level were of the earth—clay and stone and other natural materials. Again, she thought it was an exhibit she’d enjoy, but they had places to be. Next came an exhibit of precious metals and gemstones, tiaras placed beside necklaces and next to rings so dazzling they threatened to outshine Aodhan.