Guild Hunter 02 , Archangel's Kiss(57)
Twenty minutes later, she was clean, a towel wrapped around her body as she sat on the bed rubbing her calves, and contemplating the walk to Jessamy’s classroom. But her mind insisted on returning to the disturbing tableau she’d glimpsed in the vampire wing, the foreignness of it all suddenly overwhelming.
This place, with its piercing beauty and secrets, its violence wrapped in peace, it wasn’t home. She was mortal in her heart—and there were no mortals here. Cranky taxi drivers zipping by in the rain, snappily dressed investment bankers with cell phones surgically attached to their ears, bruised and bloody hunters cracking jokes after a difficult track—that was her life. And she missed it all until she couldn’t breathe.
Sara would understand.
Holding the towel more firmly around herself—wings and all—she picked up the phone. Hoping desperately that her best friend was awake, she listened to it ring on the other end.
“Hello.” A deep, masculine tone, as welcome as Sara’s would’ve been.
“Deacon, it’s me.”
“Ellie, it’s good to hear your voice.”
“You, too.” Fisting her hand on the towel, she blinked away unexpected tears. “Is it late there?”
“No. I was watching Sesame Street with Zoe. She’s just gone to sleep.”
“How is she?” Elena hated that she’d missed out on a year of her goddaughter’s life.
“Caught a little cold,” Deacon said. “But Slayer’s got her back.”
Elena smiled at the reference to the slobbering hellhound of a dog who thought Zoe was his. “Sara?”
“You two must have a psychic hotline going.” Quiet humor, very Deacon. “She was about to call you but she went out like a light right after dinner. Had a tough few days at the Guild—almost lost one of her hunters.”
Elena’s heart crashed into her ribs. “Who?”
“Ashwini.” He named the hunter who’d first told Elena about Nazarach. “She got cornered by a pack of vamps in some back alley in Boston—apparently they were out to settle a score because she tracked one of them after he went rogue. They cut her up pretty bad.”
“Are they dead?” An ice-cold question.
“Ash killed two, wounded the others. Ink wasn’t even dry on the execution orders when their heads were delivered to the Guild, express delivery.”
“Probably their angel.” For the most part, angels did not like vampires acting out. It was bad for business. “Is Ash okay?”
“Doctors say no lasting damage. A month recovery tops.”
Relief made her entire body tremble. “Thank God.”
“What about you, Ellie?”
The care in those words had her swallowing. “I’m okay. Getting used to this new body. Things don’t work the same, you know?”
“I have an idea for a special crossbow for you.”
“Yeah?”
“I’m going to design it so you can strap it over one arm comfortably, instead of over your back. That way, you won’t have to worry about your wings.”
“Sounds good.”
“What do you think of lightweight bolts? They’ll do the job without weighing you down in flight.”
“Can you make it so it loads automatically?” Galen could go eat his sword, she thought. Childish, yeah, but it made her feel better. “I need speed.”
“Something with small spinning sawblades might be better—let me work on it. You can use the bolts for chipping and the blades for serious defense.” A pause. “You are coming back to the Guild?”
“Of course.” She was hunter-born. Wings didn’t change that.
Raphael met Neha’s eyes on the wide screen mounted on the wall. The Queen of Snakes, of Poisons, sat in a chair carved out of a light-colored wood that gleamed. The sheen did nothing to hide the fact that the carvings were of a thousand writhing snakes, their scales catching the light as Neha leaned back, the bindi on her forehead a tiny golden cobra.
“Raphael.” Her lips—red, lush, poisonous—parted. “I hear there is trouble in the Refuge.”
“An angel who seeks to become an archangel.”
“Yes, so my daughter tells me.” She waved an elegantly shaped hand, the bangles on her wrists making a delicate clinking sound. “There’s always one who seeks to rise above his station.” Reaching forward, she picked up something, the silk of her emerald-colored sari a quiet rustle. “But I agree, this one must be punished in a way that’ll never be forgotten. Our children are too rare to be used as pawns.”
Raphael knew that in spite of the way she’d phrased that, Neha was one of the few members of the Cadre who treated human children as precious. That didn’t stop her from ending adult lives—but any resulting orphans grew up in the lap of poisonous luxury, the memories of their parents’ agonizing deaths wiped from their minds.