A Temptation of Angels (23 page)

Helen’s nod was reluctant. “But what if I can’t hit the mark? My experience with anything requiring aim is minimal, and I have not exactly demonstrated a talent for it.”

“Not to worry. I’ve built something into the model that I think will help.” He stood. “Come. I’ll show you.”

She followed him to one of the other worktables. He set the pouch down, reaching for a pair of cloth mittens hanging from a hook. Then he turned the lever on a small iron box. Flames leaped from inside, and Helen jumped back.

“Goodness!” she said. “What on Earth is it?”

He lifted a pair of long-handled tongs from the table. “My work often requires the heating of metal and other compounds,”
he said, pushing the tongs into the fire. “Besides, I’ve found that it keeps the room toasty.”

The tongs emerged a moment later with an orange-hot piece of metal in their grasp. Galizur placed it on the table atop a piece of silver fabric. Helen expected it to catch fire, but it didn’t. Galizur set the tongs down and reached over with his gloved hands to wrap the piece of molten metal inside the cloth.

Picking it up as if it were nothing, he made his way across the room to a large muslin bag propped up in the corner. Helen watched, fascinated, as Galizur pushed the tiny bundle of fabric, still holding the hot metal, inside the bag. He turned and made his way back to Helen.

“It’s just a bag of straw, but with the hot metal inside, I can show you how the darts work.” He picked one of the darts up from the table, aimed at least two feet to the left of the muslin bag, and released the dart.

Instantly, Helen heard a tiny whir from within the dart. She watched with shock as the dart accelerated through the air—presumably due to the motor mentioned by Galizur—and hit the bag about a foot from the opening where Galizur had placed the hot metal.

She was still staring at it when Galizur spoke. “There. You see? Nothing to it.”

“But you… How did you… Your aim…” She could not seem to formulate the question.

Galizur chuckled. “It was terrible, of course.”

She turned to him. “How does it work?”

“I’ve been experimenting for years with a heat-seeking compound. Something that would be drawn to heat—like a moth to a flame.” He smiled. “It seems I finally got it right.”

She crossed to the bag, placing a hand near the spot where the dart still stuck out of the muslin. It was warm.

She turned back to Galizur. “Do you mean to say the dart will find its own target?”

“If that target has a heat signature—as all living animals do—then yes. It will find its target with one caveat.” He paused. “If you are too close to the object and your aim is even more terrible than mine, the dart might not have time to make its way to the target. But as long as you aim somewhat close and with enough time for the dart to do its work, even someone with relatively poor aim should be able to find his—or her—mark.”

She closed the remaining feet between them, holding out a hand. “May I?”

He smiled, reaching for another dart. “But, of course.”

She spent the next thirty minutes practicing on the hay-stuffed bag in the corner. Even with her initial, shaky aim and a target that she could only assume was cooling, the dart found its mark every time. Galizur stood by, removing the darts after each throw so that Helen could use them again. Finally, he took all five darts back to the worktable and used a slim brush to paint their tips with an acrid concoction from inside a tiny pot. Once they were dry, he placed them carefully inside the pouch and handed them to her with solemn eyes.

“Thank you,” she said with a smile. “I hope I won’t have to use them. Hitting an inanimate object in the corner seems a bit easier than a moving target.”

“Indeed.” He nodded before crossing the room to a row of locked metal cabinets. He took a ring of keys from his pocket and bent to one of the drawers. The keys jingled against the metal, and she had to listen attentively to make out his next words. “There is one other thing I think you should have.”

She walked toward him. “What is it?”

When he turned, his palm was closed around something she could not see. He came closer, holding out his hand. In it lay a bundle of cloth. She met his eyes.

“Is it for me?”

He nodded, pushing his hand closer toward her until she reached with hesitant fingers toward the fabric-encased object.

Lifting it from his palm, she was surprised at the weight of the hidden item. It felt cumbersome. Heavy in the way only something of great importance can be. She slowly peeled the fabric away from the center. When the object at last lay bare, she knew instantly what it was.

“Oh!” She could not keep the gasp from escaping her mouth. “It’s lovely!”

“It was your grandmother’s,” Galizur said softly. “I asked the Scouts to search the remains of your house for one owned by your parents, but they weren’t able to find anything. I thought this might be the next best thing.”

Although closed, she knew it was a sickle. Its shell was crafted entirely of opal, and it glimmered with an iridescent shine that gave it a pink cast one moment, green the next, when she tipped her hand.

Galizur spoke. “It’s very, very old, but I’ve kept it in perfect working condition. If you close your hand around it, the blade will engage with no more than a thought as long as you wear your pendant.”

She transferred the cloth to her left hand, reaching for the sickle with her right. As soon as her palm closed around it,
the sickle opened, the blades glimmering menacingly from either side. When she looked down, the pendant emitted a soft blue glow at her throat.

“It’s lovely.” Her own voice was breathless with the power and beauty of it. “Are you certain it’s all right for me to have it?”

Galizur smiled. “As the last surviving member of the Cartwright family, it is yours more than any other. Your blood tie to it will make it even stronger in your possession.”

She looked up at him. “How do I close it?”

“The same way you open it.” His voice was matter-of-fact. “Will it closed.”

She looked down at it, telling it to close with her mind. It did.

“Thank you, Galizur.” She smiled at him. “This means so much to me.”

He nodded, his expression grave. “Do be careful, Helen. We cannot afford to lose a single one of you. More than that,” he added, “I should hate to see it so.”

Her heart swelled with emotion, but there was no time and no words so she didn’t speak. She simply rose on her tiptoes, kissed his cheek, and turned to go.

S
he approached the journey back to the Channing house with trepidation. Jumping once hardly made her an expert, and she had no desire for another confrontation with a wraith. The sun had long since set, and although she could not be certain of the time, she knew it must be close to nine o’clock. She could not afford to be delayed.

Her fears were unfounded. She traveled from Galizur’s streetlamp to one a block away from the Channings’ without incident, appearing next to a young couple walking along the street. They looked over at her in surprise, and Helen stepped onto the walk, continuing down the road as if she had been there all along. Doubtless, they would tell themselves they simply hadn’t noticed her there before.

Helen was almost to the house when she realized her mistake. In her eagerness to escape unnoticed, she had not
planned a way back in. Approaching the forbidding stone facade, she gazed up at the point from which she’d dropped earlier in the evening. It was far too high to climb back up. In fact, the thought of having made the jump down from such a height caused her to question her sanity.

She stood in the shadows a moment, pondering her options. She didn’t have a key, and knocking was hardly an option. Darius and Griffin would answer, of course, but then she would have to explain why she’d gone to Galizur’s.

And if she had to explain why she’d gone, she’d have to explain how she knew about the dogs.

Taking in the many ground-floor windows, she wondered at the possibility that any of them would be open. She knew it was unlikely, but acknowledging her lack of other options, she began circling the house, eyeing the windows for one that might give her an opportunity to slip inside unnoticed.

She had made her way around the house without success and was preparing to investigate the back when she noticed a sliver of golden light shining along the door frame to the kitchen. Ascending the steps, she realized that the door was open a crack. She looked down, noting the nearly empty dish of cream that sat on the stoop.

She pushed open the door, relieved that it didn’t creak on its
hinges, and shut it quietly behind her. Making her way through the kitchen, she headed down the hall toward the glow of light cast on the floor from inside the library.

At first, she thought the room empty. A recently stoked fire crackled in the firebox, but there was otherwise no sign of life. Then she heard a soft hum from behind and, turning to follow the sound, found Griffin asleep on the sofa with a black-and-white ball of fur on his chest.

Lowering herself carefully next to him, she could not keep the smile from rising to her lips. After days of seeing Griffin’s face taut with worry, it was startling to see him in repose, his expression one of utter serenity as he slept with the kitten on his chest. She reached out to stroke the soft space between the animal’s ears.

“So you’re the intruder, then,” she said softly.

Griffin’s eyes opened at the sound of her voice. For a moment, he was caught in the haze of sleep, his face still at peace. Then, a furrow appeared between his eyebrows.

“Is everything all right?” he asked. “What’s happening?”

Helen smiled, reaching over on impulse to brush a stray lock of hair from his forehead. “Nothing. It’s nearly nine o’clock. How long have you been sleeping?”

“I have no idea.” He yawned, noting the kitten on his chest. “How did he…”

“I found the back door open a crack. Someone must have left it unlatched. He’s a clever little thing, isn’t he?”

She leaned in to drop a kiss on the kitten’s soft head, reaching to move him from Griffin’s chest. He reached for her hand, stopping her.

“And what about me?” he asked, his eyes burning into hers.

“What about you?”

“Am I not clever enough for a kiss?” His voice was gruff.

She favored him with a shy smile. “You’re more than clever enough, Griffin Channing.”

Leaning toward him, she lowered her mouth to his. His lips were warm and soft on hers. Heat moved between them, rising through her body in the moment before the cat meowed softly in protest.

Laughter rumbled through Griffin’s body. She felt the vibration of it in her own.

“Well, well.”

The words, spoken from the doorway, startled her. She sat up quickly, the kitten jumping to the floor and disappearing around the corner of the sofa in one fluid motion.

Darius strode into the room. “I found a sickle for you, Helen.” He held out a hand. “It’s old, but it will do the job should you require it.”

Panic clutched at Helen’s throat. She had not thought to explain her grandmother’s sickle to Darius and Griffin.

“Well?” Darius was impatient now. “Take it.”

“I… uh… I don’t need it,” she said, frantically searching her mind for a plausible explanation for the weapon now in her possession.

Darius took a deep breath. “You want a sickle, you don’t want a sickle. Which is it?”

“Galizur sent one over.” She lifted the opalescent weapon from her bag. “This one.”

“Galizur?” Griffin shook his head next to her, the lazy sleep gone from his face as if it had never been there at all.

Helen nodded. “It came with a note that said he had a feeling I might need it.” The lie rolled smoothly off her tongue. She did not have time to question its source. “It was my grandmother’s.”

Darius’s eyes dropped to the weapon in her hand. “May I?”

She handed it to him carefully, her heart in her throat.

He studied the exterior for a moment before it clanged open. There was awe on his eyes. “This was your grandmother’s?”

“According to Galizur,” she said.

Darius raised his eyebrows, whistling. “Your grandmother must have been quite a woman.”

Helen’s eyes dropped back to the weapon. “Why is that?”

“That is no ordinary sickle,” Griffin said. “It’s old. Much older than any I’ve ever seen.”

She shrugged. “So?”

“It was crafted in the traditional way, by the ancient ones. It will be more powerful than a newer one. It must have been in your family for centuries,” Darius said. He met her eyes, handing the sickle back to her as gingerly as she’d given it to him. “You’re lucky to have it.”

There was new respect in his voice. She did not care that it came through her association with her grandmother’s weapon. She would take Darius’s regard where she could.

“Thank you.” It was all she could think of to say.

Darius nodded. His face was grim as he turned his attention to her and Griffin.

“I hope you’re both well rested,” he said. “It’s time.”

They entered the tunnels a couple of blocks from the house. The street was empty when Griffin bent to lift a large wooden disk from the road.

“I’ll go first,” he said. “Helen, you follow me down and Darius will come last, pulling the cover back over the entrance.”

Staring into the darkness below, she couldn’t find her voice to answer.

“Helen.” Griffin’s voice commanded her attention. She met his eyes. “It will be all right. I’ll be at the bottom when you get there.”

She could only nod as he began descending. She could not see beyond the mouth of the opening, but from the way Griffin lowered himself into the darkness, she gathered there was a ladder of some kind built into the wall of the tunnel entrance. A few minutes later, a clear blue light trickled from the inky depths of the tunnel.

Griffin’s voice was soft. “You can come down now.”

She swallowed hard, jumping as a hand closed around one of her own. When she turned, she was surprised to see Darius looking at her with something that wasn’t sarcasm or annoyance.