A Gift of Wings (38 page)

We gather in the spirit of Alliance—Light, Dark, and Fallen. Let the representatives speak. I AM URIEL, ARCHANGEL OF THE HEAVENS.

“I am
Ha-Satan
, the Adversary,” Kev’s voice rang out, strong and clear.

“I am the Cherub Ezekiel, Ambassador to the Fallen.” Zeke’s voice was more resonant than ever. Like the fluid chime of a deep, clear bell, its tone lingered after the words were spoken.

The Sensitive is present?

Lucky gave her response. “I am Lucinda Lily Monroe, known as Lucky.”

Let the Striking begin.

That was the signal for Lucky—and everyone besides the Archangel—to take their seats. The dark wood of the chair was hard, and the ornate carving bit into her thighs through the thin silk of her shift, but the chair was warm to the touch, warmed as was Lucky herself, by the heat radiating outward from Uriel.

Who speaks for the Sensitive?

Zeke rose to his feet. “I do,” he replied.

What is your request?

“Lucky would undertake the Making, Archangel.”

And the reason for this request?

As she listened to Zeke’s response, Lucky felt almost as if his words had nothing to do with her, as if he were talking about people she didn’t know. Zeke explained in formal terms what had happened to her cousin. He stressed that Josh was a human, an innocent, who had become an unwitting victim in a conflict he knew nothing about. He described Josh’s condition with stark simplicity. “He will die and become a Wraith without the blood of a Naphil of his own blood. Lucky would save him from this fate.”

You are aware of the danger of that which you would undertake?
The Archangel’s words were addressed to Lucky.

She stood and swallowed to ease the sudden dryness in her mouth and throat.

“I am.”

You make this request of your own free will?

“I do.”

You have not been coerced or compelled in any way?

You mean, other than by the fact that my cousin was given a poison that will turn him into a soul-sucking demon?
Lucky thought, but she gave the expected response. “I make this choice freely.”

Ha-Satan, have you any objection to the granting of this request?

“I have no objection.” Kev’s words lacked inflection. Lucky knew from their morning’s conversation that, like Aidan and Zeke, he wished she weren’t going through the Making, but knew that she had no real choice and would not stand in her way.

Then let the contract be Struck.

So saying, the Archangel opened the book that lay before him. Light sprang forth from its pages as it opened. Uriel raised his right hand palm out, and as he spoke, a complex and intricate sigil glowed on his palm like red-hot embers.

The contract is absolute. Once Struck it cannot be revoked. The Sensitive, Lucky Monroe, will be Made Naphil in three days time.

As soon as he finished speaking, Uriel pressed his burning sigil against the pages of the book. A wind swept through the room, and it seemed to Lucky as if everything went dark except for the Archangel and the book he touched.

She felt as if she were underwater, the pressure on her ears drowning out all sound except the beating of her own heart. She tried to take a breath, but the air wouldn’t enter her lungs. Her hands and feet began to tingle, and within seconds the sensation spread throughout her entire body. Directing her attention deep inside herself, she tried to reach her control room only to find that access was denied. It wasn’t that the interior space was no longer there; it was like a door had been locked and barred against her. She wanted to scream with frustration, but she couldn’t even breathe.

Then something shifted—inside of her and, she somehow sensed, in the very substance of being itself—and the force of that shift was enough to knock her off her feet. She felt a sudden flash of pain as her knees hit the wooden platform, and then there was nothing.

***

Aidan felt the shockwave wash over and through him as the fabric of reality adjusted to accommodate the terms of the Striking. He saw Lucky fall as if from a distance. Decorum forgotten, he staggered to his feet and raced down out of the gallery in a stumbling run. An aftershock hit before he’d reached the bottom step, and he tripped and fell. When he hit the floor at the base of the gallery stairs, he rolled into a crouch, pushing off into a sprint that brought him to Lucky’s side in time to catch her before she tumbled off the raised platform onto the floor. Dropping to his knees, he cradled her against him. As he ran his hand over her hair, he felt something sticky. He pushed her curls back with trembling fingers. The blood had come from a cut on her temple, and a goose egg was rising on the spot even as he watched.

“Is she okay?” Kev asked, as he crouched down beside him.

“She’s unconscious, but she’s breathing normally.” Aidan gestured to the wound on her temple. “She must have hit her head on the chair when she fell.”

“The force of the Striking made
me
stagger. I can only imagine how much more intense it must have been for her.”

“I’ve never attended a Striking before. Is it always like this?”

Kev shook his head, his face grim. “The only one I’ve been to that came close was Malachi’s.”

Aidan clenched his jaw but said nothing.

“She should come to in a moment or so. We must put her back in the chair.” Zeke spoke above them. Directing a sharp glance at Aidan, he added, “And you need to return to your seat. I will take care of her.”

“I didn’t notice you keeping her from crashing to the floor,” Aidan hissed.

“There was no need,” Zeke answered. “You were already here. Now, go. I have her.”

As he spoke, the Cherub lifted Lucky from Aidan’s arms. Aidan reluctantly made his way back to the gallery and found a seat off to the side, where he thought he would have the best view of Lucky. But when he sat down, he could see only Zeke. The Cherub was bent over the side of the chair, blocking Aidan’s view. In a moment, Zeke stood up, and Aidan saw Lucky’s hand come forward to rest on the angel’s arm. She was conscious then. Zeke said something to her, listened to her response, and then patted her hand, before returning to his place at the Ambassador’s table.

Even with Zeke out of the way, Aidan couldn’t see much of Lucky. The high carved sides of the Petitioner’s Seat hid everything except her hand, which in lieu of Zeke’s arm now rested on that of the chair. He would only see her well if she stood again.

Directing his gaze back to the front of the room, he saw that the Archangel had not moved. His hand was still pressed against the glowing pages of the book, and the wind that had swept through the room when his palm first touched the book now seemed concentrated around him. His hair and robes whipped about him as if he were in the direct path of a hurricane. As Aidan watched, the wind suddenly ceased, and the light coming from the book abruptly dimmed, as if both were sucked into the volume’s pages. Uriel raised his hand from the book and again held it palm out. The sigil that had before burned red-hot was now black with hints of red sparking here and there, like banked embers. The Archangel spoke.

The Striking is complete. What has been done cannot be undone.

At the words, a shiver snaked up Aidan’s spine. He knew the Striking was unalterable, but somehow when put like that in the Archangel’s unearthly voice, the comment struck him as distinctly ominous.

Are there any final words? Ambassador? Ha-Satan?

Zeke and Kev both declined to speak. Aidan wondered if they felt as impatient as he did to get out of here. They had done what they came for. Now, they had to do everything they could to prepare Lucky for the Making—or, at least, Malachi had to do everything he could.

Out of the corner of his eye, Aidan saw a dark-robed figure slip from the far end of the gallery and glide into the center of the room.

“I would speak, if I may.”

The voice was female and rang out clear and unexpected in the silence. Aidan’s pulse rate increased as his anxiety ratcheted up several notches.

The Archangel’s flame-filled eyes shifted to the hooded figure.

Who speaks?

The woman raised her hands to push back her hood. Crimson hair flamed against the black of her cloak. Aidan heard several members of the gallery gasp in surprise.

“I am Lilith, the Banished.”

And what would you tell us, Lilith the Banished?

“Only this,” Lilith said. “The girl, Lucky, is not as human as she seems. Her mother, an unfortunate Sensitive named Marie Monroe, coupled with my son Luil, and this girl is the result. Lucky Monroe is my granddaughter.”

“What?”
Lucky had risen from the Petitioner’s Seat and was staring at the scarlet-haired woman. Sheer force of will kept Aidan from rushing to her side.

“Did you never wonder how you came by your middle name, child?” Lilith said to Lucky. “In the crease of your left arm there is a mark like a Dark Moon, is there not? All of my children and all of my children’s children have such a mark.”

“This?” Lucky raised her arm and pointed toward the inside of her elbow. “
This
means I’m your granddaughter?”

“Show me, Lucky.” Zeke commanded, stepping up close to the platform of the Petitioner’s Seat.

She turned her outstretched arm toward him.

“It is true.” Zeke’s words were so quiet that Aidan almost didn’t hear them. Then raising his voice, he repeated, “It is true. She bears the mark of Lilith.”

The gallery erupted in a flood of protests: “No child of the Banished can be Made Naphil.” “The girl cannot have been ignorant of this.” “It is an outrage!” “Is a Making even possible? Does she have a chance of survival?” “How could the Ambassador not know of this?” “No wonder
Ha-Satan
had no objections.” “One can only hope she will not survive the Making. Who knows what kind of power she might have if she does.” “The Making must be stopped!”

SILENCE!

Aidan looked back toward the Archangel, who had increased in size until he dwarfed the podium and everything surrounding it. The top of his head reached almost to the ceiling, and his unfurled, iridescent wings nearly encompassed the length of the room. His flaming eyes blazed brighter, and his features looked, if possible, even harder and sterner than when he had arrived, as his hair tossed in that invisible breeze.

Lilith the Banished, your words have been heard. They alter nothing. The Striking is absolute. What has been done cannot be undone. Lucky Monroe, Sensitive, Granddaughter of Lilith the Banished, will be Made Naphil in three days time.

As he finished speaking, light exploded outward from the Archangel’s body, and with a sound like the rushing of a great many wings, Uriel was gone.

CHAPTER 25

There was a moment of stunned silence after the burst of light created by Uriel’s departure had faded. Taking advantage of the lull, Aidan joined Zeke and Kev, who had moved into postures of defense, one on either side of the platform on which Lucky stood. He hoped the neutrality of the Council Hall would be respected, but he too wanted to be in a position to protect Lucky should it become necessary. Based on the comments he’d heard when Zeke pronounced his confirmation of Lilith’s statements, many of those present were not feeling especially neutral about the coming Making. Aidan wasn’t sure how he felt about it himself, except that he now had more reservations than ever about Lucky’s safety. Otherwise, he was refusing to think much about Lilith’s revelations until they were all safely back at Zeke’s.

He noticed with some surprise that Lilith too had moved closer to the Petitioner’s Chair, while keeping a wary eye on the members of the gallery. It looked like Lucky had a fourth protector. He bit back a bitter chuckle. Lilith owed her at least that much. If she hadn’t decided to make her little revelation in this public venue, Lucky wouldn’t be in quite as much need of protecting, would she?

Conversations resumed as the observers stood up to leave the gallery. Aidan was relieved to find that, although several cast venomous glances toward Lucky and the little group surrounding her, no one either approached them or made any verbal threats. He wasn’t stupid enough to think that Lucky’s safety was thereby ensured—he knew better—but at least everyone seemed to be respecting Elsewhere’s status as neutral zone.

As the last of the observers left the room, the heavy door closing behind them, the group gathered around the Petitioner’s Chair relaxed their defensive postures and drew together. Kev, who was nearest to Lucky, reached up to give her a hand as she descended the platform’s steep stairs.

Zeke shifted his eyes from one member of the circle to another, coming to rest on the scarlet-haired woman.

“That could, perhaps, have been better managed, don’t you think, Lilith?” he asked.

The wide sleeve of Lilith’s cloak fell back as she lifted a pale, elegant hand in an airy gesture, as if brushing the question aside. “You know me, Ezekiel. I’ve always had something of a penchant for drama.”