Israfel had left her to sit in a nearby pew, his wings tucked away to give him room.
Now he glanced at her again, and there was a sharper tone in his voice. “Why was the Jinn present?”
He folded his legs, waiting for her to explain.
Everything he did felt like an unspoken invitation for Angela to throw herself at him. But she’d been given a second chance to make a better, less idiotic impression, and she was definitely taking it. “Troy . . . She’s related to—the priest who held the knife.”
Kim. God, why did it always have to be like this? It would have been so much easier if—
If what? More people had died?
And whose deaths would have made it all better, Angela?
No one’s, of course.
Israfel rubbed the cut on his neck. “How fitting, then, that he was a demon in disguise.”
Now it was her turn. She was still in too much shock to cry, but the more she talked with Israfel and remembered, the more terrible those memories became and begged for their own explanations. Angela worked up her courage, trying to hide the growing bitterness in her voice. “Why did you let Brendan die?”
Silence.
She’d either startled him or made him angry.
Angela drew in nearer, eager to close off a new gap before it widened any further. “How did you even know each other?”
“You would question my wisdom? When you’re only human?” He spoke softly, and with the slightest hint at her danger. But she already knew there was something keeping him from punishing or hurting her. Whenever Israfel looked at Angela, it was there behind his large eyes: recognition, and maybe by a long stretch, affection. She suspected both had more to do with Raziel than her own miserable self. “But I suppose you deserve that much for the trouble he caused you. He was your brother?”
“Yes. He was.”
Israfel smiled. “Well, I’m sure what you thought of him, and what he was, were two very different things. What is your name, girl?”
“Angela,” she said, flinching at the irony of it, and at the idea that she was a girl to him.
A child.
He invited her to sit, careful to lean far enough away from her touch that she wouldn’t become overconfident again. “The universe can be an amusing place, can’t it?” He laughed delicately. “Actually, your brother mentioned you the first day we met. He had been eavesdropping on me for hours and hours. Can you guess why, Angela?”
She arranged what was left of her skirt, trying not to feel so uneasy. That laugh always sounded like it hid more behind it.
“Because”—Israfel blinked, the movement oddly majestic—“he wanted something from me.”
“What could that have been?” she said, her mouth dry and scratchy.
Already, the answer seemed to reveal itself in the way her heart hammered, her cheeks flushed. Either he hadn’t noticed, or he was even more encouraged by her reaction.
Israfel smiled less rigidly and turned his head toward the altar, like a flower twisting in the breeze. “Yes. I gave your brother everything he wanted. But whether that was good for him or not was none of my concern. It was enough that he wanted it, and that I found his desires useful. So if you are smart,” he turned back to her, his gaze steady, “you will not mourn his passing. The fact remains that his soul was beyond saving. I simply exposed the darkness in him before he did it himself.”
She breathed hard, sick again inside, unwilling to show it a second time.
“I understand, you see. I had a sibling who was much the same. Only I haven’t had the satisfaction of seeing justice done. Far from it.”
He sighed.
In it, Angela heard the whisper of Lucifel’s name echoing throughout the church.
“But that, like all things, is only a matter of time.”
Why couldn’t she speak anymore?
Was it fear? Infatuation? The staggering power of his presence?
Angela gazed at the kohl around his eyes, wondering at the sloping perfection of his nose. She sensed the honesty, the logic of what he’d said. Angela had never wanted to acknowledge it before, but her brother wasn’t nearly the saint her childhood memories made him out to be. Unfortunately, it had required a tragedy for her to believe it. Tonight, Brendan had shown his true colors in the worst manner possible. It was the how and why that bothered her, much like how she was taken aback by the Supernal’s self-satisfied pride. This was horrible. Her mind was turning in circles, and she barely noticed that Israfel was leaning in, closer and closer.
Then his fingertips brushed her face.
“Who are you?” he said, gentle as ever. “You have Raziel’s hair and eyes, but not his soul? Though I am appreciative that you’ve chosen to take your brother’s place in my service.” His breath was rich with a sweetness like honey, and he could have actually been caressing her with slight, but real, desire. Once again, she knew with a kind of stinging pain that he saw someone else. “It is only fitting, considering the torment we have endured tonight. For a few hours at least, we will enjoy ourselves, you and I.”