“An illustrated manuscript.” She traced the beauty of the graceful script through the glass. “Stunning, is it not?”
“Hmm. I’ve seen better.”
Hannah glared at her. “When will I get to see the Grimoire?”
“When you go to the Refuge.” The only reason Elena had seen the ancient book Naasir had found for Andromeda was because the couple had come to New York a year earlier. Normally, the Grimoire lay in Jessamy’s keeping at the Refuge Library, but as the one who’d unearthed it, Naasir had exerted his right to travel with it.
According to him, he’d had to “fight” Jessamy for it, in the end resorting to stealing it out from under her nose and leaving a note in its place promising its return.
Jessamy had threatened to strangle Naasir.
He’d just looked smug and pointed out it was Andromeda’s Grimoire, on loan to the Library. Andi, in turn, had told him to behave, though she’d been laughing at the time. The memory of Naasir’s unrepentant smugness—and of the possessive, wild kiss he’d taken from Andi, leaving his mate breathless—had Elena grinning despite the tension in her gut.
“Hey”—she nudged Hannah’s shoulder with her own when her friend pretended to ignore her—“at least it’s not entombed in Lumia, accessible to only the rarest of the rare.” With the corner of her eye, she noticed Aodhan speaking to Xander, saw that the young male was paying attention.
Valerius stayed in his seat, his attention apparently on his sword, but Elena had no doubt he was aware of every possible threat in the room. Those eyes missed nothing.
Cristiano appeared more lax, but Elena had come to know the vampire during her friendship with Hannah, knew he was as dangerous as Aodhan. The man might give off a lazy vibe, might’ve once told her he liked nothing more than sunning himself like a cat, but he could move lightning fast when necessary.
“Yes.” Hannah glanced around, grooves forming around her mouth. “I appreciate the idea behind the Gallery. So many of our people’s treasures would’ve been lost or damaged without the stewardship of the Luminata, but I cannot agree with the limited nature of access to it.”
The jeweled pins in the elaborate bun in which she wore her hair caught the light, sparkling in beautiful shatters. “When I create works of art, I do it because it is part of me and I must create. But afterward, when the work is done, I hope that it’ll speak to people, that it’ll open up their hearts or their minds. That cannot happen if the art is buried for safekeeping.”
“It’s a kind of hoarding, don’t you think?” Elena murmured. “The Luminata renounce sex, worldly possessions, all that, but they have this archive of treasures that belongs to them.”
“It belongs to all angelkind.”
“Lip service, Hannah.” Elena glanced down at the exhibits all but empty of life below them. “If a random, nonpowerful angel rocked up and asked to enter the Gallery, do you think he or she would be admitted?”
Hannah bit down on the lush curve of her lower lip, but despite the hesitant act, she was very much a consort in that instant. Contained and graceful, and with a spine that held a pure, unbreakable strength. “I want to think so, Ellie,” she said softly, “but being here, feeling the pulse of this place. It is . . . not right.”
“Secrets have a way of rotting foundations when those foundations are meant to be built on truth and honor.” Her gaze wanted to go to Aodhan, her soul itching to look at the miniature he’d retrieved.
Forcing patience, she kept her attention on Hannah. “You ready to leave, get some air?”
The other woman looked torn. “An oddness to the air or not, there is so much here for me to see. I do not know when Elijah and I will be able to return, not with the upheaval in the world.” She put her fingers to the glass again. “Will you be very angry if I stay?”
“Of course not. This is your jam.”
Hannah sighed. “I will be a very bad friend this trip, I’m afraid.”
“I’d be the same if you threw me into a room full of weapons across the ages.” She frowned. “Speaking of which, where are the weapons? I know for a fact that at least one of Deacon’s pieces was never used, but was commissioned to be displayed for its artistry.” Her best friend’s husband might be mortal, but his skill was revered by vampires and angels as well as humans. If he hadn’t been so loyal to the Guild, he could’ve worked only for the immortals and wallpapered his home with money.
As it was, the Guild’s hunters always came first for Deacon—hunters, he said when queried about his choice, needed their weapons to stay alive. He’d repair those weapons, create new ones when needed, then work on pieces for immortals. First the weapons meant to be used in combat. Last came the commissioned “art” pieces, or ones he guessed were meant to be displayed.