Messenger''s Angel: A Novel of the Lost Angels

“No, sir,” said Law. “Your magic slides right under his radar.” Law smiled a winning smile, flashing straight white teeth in a grin that would have made many women—and men—swoon.

  “Good.” The last thing Sam needed was to have to recast someone in the Comeuppance series. His personal life might be filled with archangels and vampires and supernatural creatures galore, but he was, among many things, a very famous media mogul and he hadn’t achieved that goal by being sloppy. Work did matter.

  Other things just mattered more.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  It was late Thursday night in Luskentyre when Gabriel once more opened a portal through the mansion to take them back to Scotland to retrieve a few things. They’d decided that staying in the mansion was the safest best for the archesses and their loved ones at this juncture. Eleanore’s rather stubborn parents had finally been coerced from their cabin in the mountains and set up in one of the many guest suites.

  Then Juliette accompanied Max to speak with her own parents.

  She’d decided that the best way to broach the supernatural subject of what she was was to simply come right out and prove it. So, she’d put out the fire in the hearth with a wave of her hand and then floated her mother’s stainless steel cookware around the kitchen. And that was more or less that.

  Her parents were still shocked and they would definitely need time to adjust. But they agreed to come and live in the mansion for the time being as well, and that was where Max and Michael were at the moment—helping them move their belongings. Her father had to get someone to cover his classes. Her mother was going to take a sabbatical. They were coping.

  Juliette had considered asking Gabriel whether they could bring Sophie in as well. It was an erratic and worried thought—that something might happen to her best friend. But then she’d considered it carefully and realized she had no logical reason to fret about Soph. The girl didn’t even know about Juliette’s power, much less the rest of this madness. Why would she be in danger?

  In the meantime, Juliette had left some important things behind in her cottage when Gabriel had whisked her off to Slains on Tuesday afternoon. She needed her laptop, wanted her clothes—and rather desperately longed for Nessie and his familiar, comforting Parma Violets smell. She also had to check in her cottage key and sign out with the owner.

  The portal swirled to life before them, and by this time Juliette was used to the sight. She also had to pride herself on being used to the strange pushing-pulling sensation of walking through the portal and into her waiting cottage on the other side. They stepped through and the portal closed behind them.

  The cottage was utterly still in the darkness. Gabriel waved a hand at the peat-burning stove and a fire leapt to life behind the grate. Juliette’s brows raised a little at the display. She’d seen so much and he’d given her so many surprises, and yet she wondered whether she would ever get used to this new, powerful world he had introduced her to.

  The next thing he did was touch his hand to the doorframe and close his eyes. Veins of gold began to appear in the wood of the cottage’s walls. It spread and grew until even the curtains were laced with fine threads of the honey-colored metal.

  She could only shake her head and watch.

  When he’d finished, he removed his hand and opened his eyes. “Get your things, lass. I’ll finish up out here.”

  She let out a breath and nodded. She headed to the bedroom, where she pulled her carry-on bag out from under her bed. All the clothes that Samael had somehow whisked magically into her room and placed onto her bed a few days ago were now hanging in her closet.

  More magic.

  She accepted it with an ambivalent sigh and began sifting through them, picking and choosing what she would place into her bag. But as she did so, she noticed something she was certain hadn’t been there before. On the shelf above the hangers was the spine of a single book. It was gilded in gold and read, Dorcha Draíodóir.

  Juliette frowned and pulled the leather-bound book from the shelf. It was thick and heavy. She opened it to the beginning to find a handwritten note scrawled across the title page.

  Dear Juliette:

  I found this in the Stornoway library. A little light reading to get you started on that miniseries.

  Best,

  Law

  Juliette blinked down at the note, bewildered. She ran her hand over the pile of pages, noticing that one of them had been folded down. She opened the book to that page and began to read. It was written in Gaelic, but she understood. . . .

  . . .this time, the archess was ready for the assault. She had come too far, lived too long, to allow the black wizard to drain her in this manner. So, as he began to suck her spirit from her body, she willed her magic to remain within herself. She trapped it there, deep inside, forever denying the wizard her essence. . . .

  The chapter ended there and began on the next page with an entirely different story. Juliette frowned at the small segment of story. Trapped, she thought. A puzzle piece slid around in her head as if searching for its mates. But it wouldn’t click. Not yet.

  Juliette sighed and placed the book inside her bag along with everything else. When she was finished packing, saving enough room for Nessie, she moved back to bed, took the plush elephant from his resting place on her pillow, and gave him a kiss. Then, with a soft smile, she placed him inside her bag as well and zipped it closed.

  “I’m ready,” she said, lifting her laptop from where it sat on her nightstand. She turned to find Gabriel leaning on the doorframe of her bedroom, watching her intently. His silver eyes were glittering in the overhead light. He smiled slowly at her, the expression sending his already handsome face into angelic perfection.

  “What?” she asked, feeling a little nervous and admittedly a little treasured beneath the intense scrutiny of those searching, silver eyes.

  Gabriel shook his head and pushed off the doorframe to come toward her. “You steal my breath, little one,” he told her softly, closing the distance between them. His palm cupped her cheek, warm and tender, and his silver eyes flashed for a moment, sparking to supernatural life. “How can one so small be so strong—and so innocent at the same time?” He made a bewildered sound, rubbing his thumb across her cheek. “You defy reality,” he told her. And then his tall form bent over her, and his lips captured hers in a tender kiss.

  The soft, dry contact sent an electric current through Juliette, buzzing her nerve endings to quick, delicious life. She closed her eyes, dropped her laptop on the bed, and allowed her bag to fall to the floor. Her hands wound through his thick black hair, and she kissed him back.

  Gabriel’s arm snaked around her waist, drawing her up tight against his hardness, the flat of his hand palming her lower back as if he couldn’t get close enough. She lost her breath as he deepened the kiss, fisting his own hand in her long curls.

  But she jumped violently and drew a surprised gasp, pulling away, when there was a loud knock on the door in the living room behind them. Gabriel waited, holding her stock-still against him. The knock came again, this time a harried hammering, desperate and loud.

  “Black!” came a hoarse call. “Black, come quick! Are ye there, lad? Black!”

  Juliette recognized the voice. It belonged to Stuart Burns, Gabriel’s good friend and the man whose wife had prepared all of Juliette’s favorite foods earlier that week. He sounded terrified and out of breath and maybe even a little in pain.

  Gabriel released Juliette and hurried to the door. “I’m here, Stuart,” he said as he flung the door open.

  Stuart Burns stood on the threshold, his cheeks blackened with what looked like soot, his white hair askew and grayed with ash. His bright blue eyes stared in at Gabriel with wide fear, and his clothes were covered in both water and cinder residue. He smelled like fire.

  “Wha’ happened?” Gabriel asked, concern lowering his tone and stiffening his body. Juliette saw the change come over him immediately. She moved up beside him, fear gripping her.

/>   “The children’s home, Black! It’s gone up in flame! Tristan’s been hurt an’ we cannae find Beth!” Stuart yelled. He was out of breath. He’d obviously run from wherever the orphanage was.

  Who are Beth and Tristan? Juliette remembered Angus Dougal telling her about how Gabriel was rebuilding the children’s home. Was this the one he was talking about? It couldn’t be, because it wasn’t finished yet. No one would be living in it. It must be the old one that had caught fire—and children had been trapped inside.

  Gabriel didn’t hesitate. He shot past Burns like a dark blur and was ten yards away before he stopped and turned toward Juliette as she stood in the doorway. “Stay inside, Juliette! Do no’ leave the house!” He didn’t wait for her to respond, but spun on his heel once more and began racing at breakneck speed up the road. She had never seen a man run so fast in her life. It was both impressive and utterly inhuman.

  Beside her, Burns ran a shaky hand through his hair and then began to follow after Gabriel. Juliette watched him go in nervous silence. She thought of Stuart’s words. “Tristan’s been hurt. . . .” Tristan must be a child, she thought. And he’s injured. He needed her help.

  There was no way in hell she was going to hang back and be useless when there were children nearby who might need her power. Juliette turned and glanced once at the living room of her small wooden cottage. It was cozy and warm and Gabriel had laced the building materials with veins of gold to give her extra protection. In the back of her mind, she was well aware that this fire was far too convenient for the Adarians, from the timing of it—to the fact that it involved someone who might need to be healed.

  She knew this might be a trap. But she was not the kind of person who could ignore pain because of unfavorable consequences. She would never feel that people had a right to sacrifice one life for the safety of a hundred. She would never believe that “free will” was an excuse for human suffering. This was not Juliette.

  And so, throwing caution aside, she stepped across the threshold of her rented home and shut the door behind her. She sensed the difference in the air at once. It was heavier and fringed with smoke. She could feel the heat to it, cloying and wrong.

  Juliette moved away from the doorway and came around the house to look out over the dark horizon. A glow emanated from over the moors up the road. The fire, she thought. Then she looked up toward the night sky. The nearly full moon gazed back at her, slightly duller now that the air was filling with ash.

  They need water, she thought. And that was something she could provide. Without wasting any further time, she began to run up the street, heading toward the glow in the distance. Stuart Burns was incredibly spry for his age and had already made it well out of sight. She was alone on the road and already feeling useless. So, as she ran, she concentrated on the weather.

  A burst of wind answered her call, rushing by her and throwing her hair into her face. She tasted salt on the breeze and knew it had come over the ocean. She nodded to herself. This was good. Keep going. She imagined clouds next. She thought of them forming over the glow that was growing brighter as she ran. She imagined them building and darkening and growing heavy with condensation.

  She was getting closer now. She could actually hear what sounded like men shouting. Overriding the men’s voices, however, was a growing roar. It could only be described as it sounded . . . hot. The air was much warmer now and Juliette was finding it harder to breathe. She could imagine that if it were daytime, the blue of the sky would be blotted out with the wisps of ash that were climbing from the blaze ahead of her.

  She topped the next hill and stopped there, looking down upon the inferno below. The roar of the fire was nearly deafening. It crackled and popped and bellowed into the night. There were dozens of people running around the massive burning building, but Juliette couldn’t make out their faces. They were simply dark, humanoid forms racing here and there. Two of them held a hose. Others held shovels.

  In the distance, sirens wailed. Juliette looked up and out toward the road that led away on the other side of the orphanage, but she couldn’t see past the blinding light of the fire. She prayed the sirens belonged to a fire truck. Maybe two.

  And then she felt something wet upon her cheek. She looked up and another raindrop fell into her eye. Pushing her relief and gratitude aside, she closed her eyes and concentrated harder. Yes, she thought. Rain! Rain hard! Drop buckets of the stuff!

  And the clouds listened. Almost at once, the drops doubled. And then they did so again, exponentially multiplying until Juliette lowered her head as she felt a faint familiar weakness steal over her body. For the briefest of moments, she wondered whether she would be able to heal the injured if she brought on the rain. But she ruthlessly shoved her fear away. She would be able to heal them. She would never fail in that—never. She would rather die.

  After a few short moments, Juliette was drenched. She shielded her eyes and peered at the scene below, looking for signs of the injured. About a hundred feet to the left of the building was what looked like a cluster of people both standing and kneeling, their black outlines all that were visible at this distance.

  Juliette lowered her arm and shot down the hill in their direction. She slid once on the slick earth as the rain pounded the ground and melted it into something akin to an oil slick. But she caught herself and continued on, reaching the group of people in seconds flat.

  Their faces were drawn and she heard someone crying. She shoved past the outer layer of the circle, noting that Gabriel was not among them. It seemed to take too long, but finally, she was at the center of the cluster and looking down. There was a bent figure before her, and beneath him, a little boy lay on the ground, his eyes closed, half his body badly burned. Most of his hair had been singed off his head, and his clothes were blackened.

  Juliette instantly felt like both screaming in rage and retching. But she kept both horrid emotions at bay and knelt beside who she could now see was a vicar in white collar and black attire. He looked up at her and she could see that his blue eyes were red-rimmed and swam in tears; white streams of the salty liquid had stained his cheeks despite the downpour.

  She didn’t waste any time or energy addressing the man. She knew that nothing she could say would make any sense anyway. Instead, she placed her hand to the boy’s chest and she felt the crowd around her go still as statues, all of them suffering a volatile cocktail of emotions at her intrusion. The boy was one of theirs. She was a foreigner. What the hell was she doing?

  She ignored them all and closed her eyes, concentrating fiercely. She could feel the boy’s life force beneath her, faint and wispy as a tendril of smoke. It floated up and away from his body, clearly wanting free of the damaged core it had been contained in up until now.

  But his heart still beat. Barely—but the pulse was there. She clung to it and willed the life back into him. She imagined him as he must have looked before. Whole. Healthy. Happy. He was a child. No child would ever die on her watch.

  There would be no small coffins.

  Around her, she heard gasps and exclamations amid the nearby roar of the out-of-control fire. In front of her, the vicar began to pray, speaking words of praise under his bewildered breath.

  Again, she ignored them. The child’s life force responded to her, as if she’d called it to play and he was peeking through the window at her now. She coaxed it further. He smiled and opened the door.

  That’s it, she told him. That’s a good lad.

  More weakness invaded her body, but she kept on, reaching out with the core of her being for the core of his. Beneath her hand, she felt his body stir. Juliette opened her eyes and looked down. Tristan was healed. There was no sign of the burns that had painted his body over in red and black seconds before. His clothes were still destroyed, but a thick mane of blond hair graced his head and stark blue eyes gazed out at her from a beautiful young face.

  He blinked and took a shaky breath. “My sister,” he said. “She’s . . . Where is she?”


  Juliette stood and the entire cluster of people around her stepped back like a massive ripple in a pond. The vicar crossed himself and slowly rose, his blue eyes wide in his elderly face. She looked past him at the blazing orphanage. Despite the downpour of rain she had called, the wreckage still burned bright. The fire raged as ever, seemingly unaltered by the deluge she had let down upon it.

  Maybe it’s too hot, she thought. Maybe the fire is making the water evaporate before it can even reach it. Frustration joined the weakness stealing over her. There had to be something more she could do. She just wanted the fire to die. She just wanted it to go out. She imagined Tristan’s tiny sister trapped in there—in that blistering heat. . . . Dear God, no. Rage coursed through her. How had this happened?

  “Go away!” she bellowed into the night, raising her arms at her sides, roaring her wrath at the fire that had roared at her first.

  A blast of wind shot past her from behind. She stumbled with the force of it and landed on her hands and knees. No, she thought. It hadn’t been wind. It had been something different. It had felt almost solid—like the way water would feel if it wasn’t wet.

  Juliette blinked up at the burning building as the wall of hard air continued across the field. She could feel it. She could almost even see it. She watched as it struck the orphanage and the fire on the east side was smothered beneath it. The flames bowed beneath its weight, doubling in on themselves. They shrank and receded and black smoke billowed from windows she hadn’t been able to see before.

  She stared at the monstrously smoking windows, imagining that any second now she would see tiny arms and hands reaching through them, searching for help or a way out. More anger flared to life within her, but along with the anger came a weakness she had never felt before. This was different. It made her fingers and toes tingle. Her heart skipped in her chest, painfully fibrillating out of sequence. She closed her eyes and tried to breathe. But the wrath was solid and real and all-encompassing inside of her.