Archon(76)

To come face-to-face with absolute Beauty.

She could only stare, drinking in the ivory of his skin, the pink of his lips; losing herself in his lined, sea blue eyes, so large and so bright. Even his star-white hair seemed to shine, dispersing the gloom with an ethereal brilliance, with the scarlet ribbons woven through the tresses near his shoulders and graceful neck. His perfection was overwhelming, staggering. It erased the memory of Kim’s face in an instant. It made Tileaf look like an ugly duckling desperate to be a swan.

This was Israfel. Her beautiful, beautiful angel.

But he was no longer a dream or a vision or a memory. He was now a solid, flesh-and-blood reality, standing in front of her, his embroidered coat dazzling her eyes with its silver thread, his own shock looking supremely out of place. Israfel backed away from her, actually seeming afraid. His smile hardened the same as in her dreams, whenever he was upset. “You—”

His voice cut off.

Perfect. It’s perfect even when he isn’t singing.

Neither of them moved.

“You,” he said the words reluctantly, as if she’d pulled them out of his mouth herself, “you look like the—”

Like what? Like Raziel?

She shouldn’t let him touch her—not yet—but he was already doing so, fascinated like she was fascinated, losing all his caution to melt any trace of fear with his slim fingers. The longing inside of her grew like a living thing, threatening to burst out in all the wrong ways. How many times had she kissed his portrait, painted another picture, or sketched a scene from one of those ephemeral dreams, aching and sighing and pining away inside? How many scars had she inflicted on herself in the insane suicide attempts, all so that she could rest in the circle of his bronze wings?

They had yet to appear, though. Even more troubling, his hair and eyebrows were pearlescent white, not the bronze she’d seen in Tileaf’s memories and her own detailed visions. But his face, his slender figure, his graceful movements, even the soul gazing back at her through those languid blue irises—those were all the same.

It wasn’t until he leaned in closer, and the soft light from the towers grazed his features again, that she saw how heavily the kohl circled his eyes. How thickly he’d painted his eyelashes a deep shade of black.

Their roots were white as his hair.

“You heard my song,” he whispered to her.

“Yes.” Anything she said sounded foolish compared to the way he spoke.

“Is it you? Have you come back to me?”

He means Raziel.

“I don’t know.” That sounded even stupider.

But more than anything she wanted it to be the truth. When he cupped her face and drew her in close, she gave in with a delicate sigh, returning the pressure of his soft, insistent mouth, overwhelmed by a warmth that burned every other thought away. She sensed him testing her, tasting the deepest part of her soul and liking what he found, whether or not it was what he truly wanted. So much emotion, so fast. Insanity. Danger. This angel, a creature of such power, could crack her spine with a snap of his fingers, and yet Angela had fallen into his embrace brainless and lovesick, an idiot without equal, just like she had imagined over and over and over again. Kim’s face reappeared in the depths of her mind, protesting, but then he sank back into an abyss where she could no longer see him.

There would be no salvation. Because these feelings began somewhere else, long, long ago.

They broke apart, and Israfel licked his lips, as if still savoring the taste of her.

He stroked her hair, running its blood-red strands through his fingers, just as Kim had done. How right this felt, though. So impossibly right, yet in a way so different from the rightness Kim made her feel. He’d been passionate enough for her, but the sensation was ultimately far from the same.

“But how did you find me . . .” Angela gazed at him adoringly, unable to help herself. “How long have you been singing?”

Israfel smiled, and for the second time, sunshine seemed to break over Luz. But just as quickly a strange coldness came over him, and he let her go, and that sunshine turned to a ray that could burn whatever displeased him. Painfully, it became clear to Angela that her worst fears had been realized: her humanity was a factor almost too lowly for Israfel to consider. That made his next comment hurt all the more.

“You are not Raziel.”

“Why not?”

“Your taste,” and he looked so achingly hungry when he said it, “is entirely different.”

“I’m a different person.”

No one ever seemed to bother considering that. Well, now that she had her angel in the flesh, she was going to make him consider it. Anything to keep him from flying out of Angela’s life and back to Heaven, where it might take forever to reach him. For a second, the Grail beneath her blouse felt heavier, tempting her to bring it out into the open, to show him that she possessed something only the Archon could hold without eventually suffering for it. But the little voice in the back of her head cautioned against it, and for once, Angela listened. So much could go sour if she said or did the wrong thing.