Archangel’s Ascension: Chapter 19

Aodhan didn’t have to interrogate the proprietor; a vampire old and savvy, her voice a rich thickness with a lilting accent, she gave him what he needed at once. Their entire inventory for the relevant time—five pairs—had been bought by Pierre St. John, a vampire with whom Aodhan was well acquainted.

“The gloves were gifts for his most senior staff,” the proprietor told him.

She also shared that the other boutique in the city that sold Céline’s work had received only two pairs during the time period in which he was interested. “I have had the pleasure of meeting Lady Céline,” she told him. “It is my great honor that the lady favors us with her work.”

Aodhan completed his task in a matter of minutes, but then voluntarily spent five more inside purchasing that artwork of a bag with the intent to send it to Eh-ma. It felt like a loosening of shackles that he could enjoy this pretty thing designed only to delight the eye, the maker’s painstaking work deliberately concealed under a creation of cheerful frivolity.

His purchase sent the proprietor into such a paroxysm of delight that, for a moment, she wasn’t a being old and perhaps jaded, the girl she’d once been surging to the surface. “To have the patronage of the one member of the Seven who is almost never seen anywhere but in the skies?” She spread her fingers over her chest, her nails painted a red to match her lips. “I shall be the envy of every single entrepreneur in my group chat!”

Her smug delight made him laugh—and that had her eyes going huge. “I almost believe I am hallucinating,” she whispered.

After returning to his suite with amusement yet alive in his veins, he stored the gift, then flew over to Pierre’s through the sepia tones of dusk. As he’d expected, the affable vampire gave him the list of names without problem—and every one of the giftees, baffled by the request though they were, produced their gloves when asked.

“Took a while, but I tracked down the other two buyers,” Illium said when he returned from his own hunt. “One’s in Europe right now, but his housekeeper was able to find the gloves in his closet, while the other located them stuffed into the pockets of his winter jacket. So we have no missing sets from the seven that came into the city during the window of time we decided on as reasonable.”

They’d been generous with that window; increasing it seemed the wrong way to go.

“We’ll have to widen the geographic search,” Aodhan said at last, and even though he’d been braced for this possibility, it was still a blow. Especially because they both knew many angels were highly mobile; the gloves could have been bought in Spain or Singapore as easily as New York.

But it was all they had.

“I have Céline’s contact details,” he added. “We can get the names of all her clients directly from her.”

But when he called, it was to be informed that she was at a gathering and out of contact for the duration. Aodhan could guess at the type of gathering—held by vampires and angels of a certain age, it was about rejecting the modern world. No phones, no access to electricity, basically nothing that hadn’t existed five hundred years ago.

Candlelight balls, intellectual salons, a bloom of artists who wanted to inspire each other and work in a space filled with artistic energy, or a tangle of hedonists bent on an orgy, the type of gathering depended on the participants and their desires.

“There is a peace in creating without interference,” Aodhan murmured to Illium after telling him that Céline was currently out of reach. “In prior times, I could work for days, weeks, without interruption if I wanted.”

“Yeah, but I don’t think most of these candlelit types are like you, Adi.” Illium bit into a crisp red apple he’d grabbed from the dining area before flying up to join Aodhan in the office he’d used in his attempt to contact Céline. He’d also picked up two pastries for a pre-dinner snack, and now handed Aodhan his favorite.

Glad to see Illium eating, Aodhan made short work of his own pastry.

“At the core of the movement,” Illium continued after a satisfying crunching of the bite he’d taken, “is a dislike of the fact that mortals have so much agency now. Five centuries ago, a large number were either in small villages or in cobbled-together cities, under the rule of angels to the extent that they’d never even think about building their own towers of steel and glass.”

Another bite. “On another point,” he said after swallowing, “I’ve sent word to Isiel about the jewels, but he’s out stone hunting—and while he’s not the candlelit type, he doesn’t carry a phone.”

Apple finished, core and all—Aodhan was, as always, fascinated by how Illium could accomplish that fact with zero trouble—Illium bit into his pastry. It was a pleasure to watch him eat, his throat muscles moving with purpose and strength.

When a fleck of pastry dropped onto his chest, Aodhan picked it up from the soft gray of his tee and fed it to him, got a kiss on his fingertips for his trouble. Even as warmth spread through his wings at the affectionate touch that was pure Illium, he could see that the other man was tired. And why not? He’d been going full steam since returning from China—where he’d worked himself down to the sinew.

Aodhan didn’t blame Suyin for his condition—this was all Illium. When he gave, he gave everything and all of himself. “I think,” he murmured, “tonight we rest, and I make you a meal.” They’d done all they could on the case at this juncture; there was no point in chasing their tails…and Aodhan wanted to look after his Blue.

Illium’s smile was startled…and sweet. “I’m all yours.”

No, Aodhan thought, the other man wasn’t all his yet, seeds of fear and worry still holding him back from a final commitment, but he was well on the way…as Aodhan was well on the way to conquering the nightmare that had once had a stranglehold on him.

Smoke bounded out at them when they neared the office of Dmitri’s chief administrative officer.

“There you are!” Crouching down, Illium cuddled and stroked his pampered feline. “I thought I dropped you off with Vivek’s crew downstairs? Have you been bothering Greta?”

Having come to loom in the doorway, the grouchy admin at least a foot shorter than Aodhan peered at Smoke through the half-glasses perched on her aquiline blade of a nose. Black framed, they matched her severe black jumpsuit with fitted long sleeves.

Aodhan had never seen Greta in anything else, had often wondered if she slept in those jumpsuits, too.

Also, the vampire, with her dark red bob, emerald green eyes heightened by vampirism, and translucent skin was so old, she was petrified; she didn’t need the glasses.

But was Aodhan going to mention that?

Oh no. He wasn’t an imbecile.

Greta was Dmitri’s right hand on the unseen end of Tower work for a reason.

“Your cat has a fascination with seeing angels take flight,” she told Illium. “Spent most of her time on the window ledge, watching.” It was crystal clear that she’d rather watch paint dry. “But she’s a smart cat otherwise. Knows how to catch the elevator so she can move around the Tower.”

“Thanks for looking out for her.” Illium scratched Smoke between her ears. “She’s so inquisitive, I worry she’ll decide to head out into the city and not be able to find her way home.”

A thawing of Greta’s expression as a message pinged on the computer system at her back—which was complex enough to rival Vivek’s. “Smoke is excellent company—and I wouldn’t worry about her wandering. She seems to have decided the Tower is her territory.”

Having heard her name, Smoke spoke up, then padded over to nudge at Greta’s dark green ankle boots until she bent and petted the cat. An emerald ring circled her pointer finger, what appeared to be pagan runes on the titanium band. It made total sense to Aodhan that Greta had been a sorceress in her mortal life.

“Yes, yes, you’re gorgeous.” She gave Smoke one last luxurious stroke. “Now off you go so I can get some work done.”

Aodhan held his silence until they were safely behind the closed doors of the elevator. Then he crouched down to scratch Smoke on the top of her head. “Just like your master, charming everyone in sight. Including a woman who looks at me like I’m a lizard that’s dared crawl into her vision. A diseased lizard.”

Illium snorted a laugh, while Smoke butted at Aodhan’s hand for a firmer scratch just as the doors opened on their floor.

After getting out, Illium went to his suite to feed Smoke, while Aodhan entered his and changed into simple pants in a loose linen, and an equally relaxed shirt of the same fabric. Only the color differed, with the pants a rich brown, the shirt a dark cream. After folding back the sleeves to his elbows, he padded barefoot into the kitchen to see what he could throw together from the ingredients on hand.

Part of his prescription for healing from Keir had been to start taking care of himself from the inside out. That meant nourishing his body with things that both tasted good and were good for him.

“Not every angel cooks, but for you, Aodhan,” the healer had said, “I think making a ceremony of cooking yourself a good meal at least twice a week is important. A way of saying to yourself that you are worth this time, worth this goodness.”

Aodhan hadn’t much been in the mood to hear Keir when the healer had first said that, but the farther he walked out of the dark, the more he understood the importance of Keir’s wisdom. Since returning from the rigors of China, which had permitted no such time, he cooked as much as he could.

“There’s a difference between fuel and nourishment,” he said to Smoke, who’d beaten Illium over and was now looking up at him as Aodhan sliced various vegetables into thin strips. “And the same applies to the people we love.” He wanted to nourish his Blue, wanted to care for him from the inside out. “Where’s our favorite person, then?”

“Right here,” came the answer from the vicinity of the front door. “Reye called as I was heading over, wanted company for dinner,” he said, naming a member of his wing. “I told him I had a better offer.” He walked into sight, lean and sun-browned and with a wickedness that glinted in the eye.

“You know he’ll think you’re with a lover?”

“I am.”

Aodhan’s heart punched into his ribs at that easy acceptance, even though he knew that it could never be so simple between him and his Blue. Still, it was a step, another move in their dance. “Sit while I prep. Tell me about what you did in China between your last proper messages to me, and your flight home. We haven’t really talked about that.”

While Smoke prowled around the suite, as if checking that no one had dared claim her territory while she’d been out, Illium settled at the kitchen table, his wings pouring down either side of the chair designed for angelkind, and told Aodhan of his final week in China. It wasn’t that he’d gone silent or otherwise shut Aodhan out, just that his missives had been the quick ones of a man with little time on his hands.

“Mostly, we worked on the final touches to Suyin’s citadel.” He nibbled on the bowl of salted peanuts and cashews Aodhan had set out in front of him. “The more decorative elements, the things that are her trademark when it comes to architecture. It’s a symbol, you know? For her people. Of hope and of the better future to come.”

Aodhan nodded, content to just listen to Illium’s voice as the other man detailed the build, then moved on to update Aodhan on the people with whom Aodhan had worked side by side during his more than a year as Suyin’s temporary second.

“Arza’s doing an excellent job as second, but everyone misses you—Arza included. Her respect for you goes to the bone. You ever go back and ask her to step down and she would.”

“That’s why I can’t visit. Not yet.” Suyin wasn’t the right archangel for him, and he wasn’t the right second for her. “Arza deserves the time to settle into her position until she even consider stepping aside.”

Eating more nuts, Illium told him about a wedding over which Suyin had presided—it had been the citadel’s first official celebration. “Complete with sky lanterns blown over the ocean, and musicians picking up instruments once thought forever abandoned.”

“Describe it to me in detail.” Aodhan rarely painted from anything but his own memories and experiences, but this was an event that should be immortalized.

“I took photos, too,” Illium said. “I’ll show them to you after dinner.” For now, he began to color in the images with his words…and Aodhan’s entire being felt anchored in a way that wasn’t about chains but about freedom from all that had once held him down. This anchor gave him safe ground and, with it, the ability to take every chance.

There was nothing unusual in this night, this situation—he and Illium had eaten together plenty of times. Yet it felt different. Quieter, more intimate somehow.

The feeling intensified once he joined Illium at the table to eat, as Illium teased him about his penchant for a particular spice. When the other man bumped into him while they cleaned up afterward, his wing sliding over Aodhan’s, Aodhan didn’t move away. Instead, putting down the dish he’d been drying, he curved his hand around Illium’s nape and stroked his thumb over the other man’s pulse.

Illium’s eyes were sleepy, his pupils dilated. “Adi.” A single word that held so much. A lifetime. Of love. Of loyalty. Of sacrifice. Of patience. Of a bond without boundaries or endings.

“Come to bed,” Aodhan murmured. “Keir gave me homework a long time ago.”

“What did he suggest you do?”

“Become easy with touch by starting small with people I trusted.”

“I’m afraid we’re far beyond that,” Illium whispered, as if making a confession. “Your hands quite undid me, in case you’ve forgotten.”

Aodhan stroked Illium’s pulse again, the staccato beat of it an addiction. “No, Blue, touch on skin.”

The sleepiness retreated, the gold of Illium’s eyes liquid fire. Both of them silent, their rough breaths the only sound, Aodhan tugged him out of the kitchen and to the living area. The lights of the city sparkled beyond the huge windows, but since the post-war repairs, the view here only went one way—the windows were glazed in a way as to negate spying, inadvertent or not.

It meant he could tug off his shirt and drop it aside without worrying that someone was staring at him without his consent, coveting him. Making him feel less than a sentient being with his own hopes and dreams.

Just an object that could be owned.

But there was no danger of that here, with this man who had seen from the first. And it wasn’t only about his privacy. Because when Illium pulled his T-shirt off over his head, Aodhan didn’t have to worry that others were looking at the man he loved when he was so vulnerable, so exposed.

They’d both discarded their shoes once inside the suite, and their toes brushed as they came close, closer. Aodhan placed his hands deliberately on Illium’s upper arms. Giving the other man permission. Because that mattered to Illium, his lover tautly muscled and dangerously trained.

Their eyes tangled in a visual kiss, Illium placed one hand over Aodhan’s bare hip.