Blood Redemption (Angel's Edge #3) (13 page)

A large garden stood off to the side of the rambling structure. I could make out corn and tomato plants laid out in long, neat rows. Two children, a boy and a girl, were on their hands and knees weeding. They were so intent on their task that they didn’t even look up at our approach. A smaller nearby garden featured low, bushy plants and flowers. I wondered if this was where Mrs. Alice grew the many herbs she stocked in her shop.

I stopped when we came within about thirty feet of the house, suddenly feeling shy. I knew that members of the Blackwood family were my friends; I hated to bring trouble to their door. But my brother was in there too, and I was determined to see him.

Cassandra stepped out as soon as I took three more steps toward the Lodge. She never hesitated; running up, she wrapped her arms around me in a fierce hug. She smelled of lilies instead of the customary patchouli she sported at the store. Her long blonde hair was still wild, though, and a long, loose, brightly colored skirt swished around her.

“Caspia!” she practically shouted. Her hug became bone-crushing. “Thank the gods you’re okay.”

Logan came out just a few steps behind her. He tackled me with a whoop and hugged me even harder than Cassandra, the two of them clinging to me like limpets. I could barely breathe after less than a minute; squeaking in protest, I tried uselessly to fend them off long enough to recover the power of speech. Eventually, after I had almost died of asphyxiation, Cassandra let go.

My brother didn’t.

Seeing Logan again brought back so many memories: him fighting a battle with cancer that left him weak and decimated; his twisted body, broken after the accident; the way Ethan had revived him. Then there were endless hours in the hospital, waiting for him to either recover fully, or die. I remembered all these things, and looked carefully at my now healthy, strong brother. I was so glad to see him, words were inadequate. I settled for a fierce hug of my own and a whispered, “I’ve missed you.”

“Me too,” he breathed back. “Don’t you ever do something like that to me again. I almost lost you, and I couldn’t live with that.” One hand came up to cup the back of my head and cradle me gently against his chest. His heart beat erratically, and a kind of safety I hadn’t experienced since childhood enveloped me. Our apartment had been compromised, but as long as I was with my brother, then home was never very far away.

“How have things been here?” I asked. I peered into Logan’s Nephilim eyes. They were dark, almost black, with a ring of red around the irises. They’d begun to change about the time he discovered his Nephilim ability: incredible strength. He was strong enough to hold his own against even the likes of Asheroth. I wondered how he would fare in a fight against Belial, and then quelled the thought. I wanted to keep my brother as far out of the coming war as possible.

If he would let me, that is. I smiled ruefully as I realized that our roles had reversed. Instead of me worrying and protecting him all the time, he was the one who nagged and bullied me. I’d take the change gladly, because it meant he was healthy and strong.

“We’ve been hiding him, successfully so far,” Cassandra said carefully, not looking at Asheroth. “And not just from the Fallen and the demons.” She sighed heavily. “Hunters have been probing our wards.”

My blood froze. I had only encountered them in the Dreamtime, briefly, and didn’t know much about them. But I knew enough. Hunters meant the army of the Light was near, intent on destroying my kind along with my town.

They wanted to kill us before we became a threat. Nephilim with gifts, like me. And Logan.

If they were already trying to break the wards around Blackwood Lodge, then I wondered if there was any true sanctuary left in the world.

Cassandra must have sensed my dark mood. “Come inside, Caspia,” she said, placing a sisterly arm around my shoulders. She guided me up the creaking, wooden staircase and across the porch. “I’m guessing you have a lot to tell us. You’ll be safe here.”

As she opened the door to Blackwood Lodge, I could only pray that she was right.

ith Cassandra’s arm around me, supporting at least some of my weight, I suddenly realized how tired I was. Exhaustion hit me in a wave, threatening to pull me under. I tried to remember the last time I’d slept, truly slept, and couldn’t. Fighting and running in the Dreamtime didn’t exactly count as restful. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d eaten, either; this fact announced itself in the form of a loud, angry growl coming from my stomach. By my own reckoning, I had only been gone for a few days, but those days took their toll all at once. I swayed where I stood.

Cassandra reached for me immediately. She didn’t bother with stupid questions, just gently steered me into the front room of the Lodge, then paused to put her free hand on her hip and glare at me as if I had already dared to disagree with her.

“You’re going to eat some breakfast and have a rest,” she announced like a woman who was rarely disobeyed. “We’ll find you some clean clothes, and a bath, too.”

Her nose wrinkled ever so slightly as she looked at my torn and, by this time, filthy gown. I felt like I had been wearing it for days. I realized I couldn’t remember the last time I’d showered, and I probably smelled like a dungeon, too. Cassandra would get no arguments from me. Her plan sounded absolutely heavenly.

A sudden thought stopped me. “How is it breakfast already? It was still night when we passed through the portal.”

Cassandra shrugged.

I knew she didn’t have the answer I was seeking.

“There were some… difficulties in the portal,” Asheroth answered, leaving out the part about my gift going wild on me. “Sometimes, time passes oddly between Gates.”

Cassandra nodded as if this made perfect sense, even though it left me with more questions than answers. But I decided they could wait until the promise of a hot breakfast had been fulfilled.

“Ethan, you’re coming too,” Cassandra announced. She cast a backward look at Asheroth, seeming to hesitate.

I remembered that Fallen angels didn’t eat; never once had Asheroth touched a morsel of food in my presence.

“I’ll stay outside, thanks,” he said, sounding mildly alarmed. “I’ll just wait out here for the others to arrive.”

With that, he slunk into the shadows of the porch. I had just enough time to wonder what he meant by others when Cassandra roughly propelled me forward. Ethan and Logan followed.

Several doors led off the small front room, which seemed to serve as part foyer, part mudroom. Shoes of all sizes, some of them quite dirty, stood arranged in rows to the side of the main entrance. A bucket overflowing with gardening implements leaned against the far wall. Logan had slipped around me; he stood right in front of one of the heavy wooden doors. His eyes were playful as they locked on to mine.

“Whatever you do, don’t panic,” he said mock-ominously.

Panic? What?

Cassandra merely rolled her eyes theatrically and shoved him aside, something he tolerated with amusement. I knew he must have let her shove him. Someone as strong as Logan couldn’t be moved by a mere human unless he let her. I had no time to think about that, though, as I entered a cavernous space that was both kitchen and dining room.

The scene in front of me stopped me in my tracks as soon as I walked through the doorway.

Logan and I had lived on our own for so long that I had gotten used to just the two of us at meal times. Our house was usually quiet, and we rarely invited guests over, especially after Logan got sick. I was used to a home full of peace, and the chaos in front of me was anything but. My head swam and my vision blurred as I looked at the loudest, wildest household I could ever have imagined.

A cacophony of movement and sound swelled around me. A blonde woman with sky-blue eyes stood over a wood-burning, cast iron stove. She vigorously stirred a pot of what looked like oatmeal. It was large enough to feed half a small city. Her cheeks were red with exertion; sweat beaded on her forehead and temples, plastering her hair to her skin in long yellow streaks. She bore more than a passing resemblance to Cassandra; in fact, she could have been Cassandra’s much older twin.

She stopped her stirring, opened the door to the furnace, then shot fire into it with a blast from her fingers. Satisfied as the flames inside climbed higher, she went back to her stirring as if nothing unusual had occurred.

I realized that for the Blackwoods, a family of magic practitioners, her actions might be quite normal indeed.

Girls not much younger than me rushed around the room, gathering pitchers and putting out covered platters and bowls. Three boys, ranging in age from about ten to fourteen, prowled around the longest table I’d ever seen, setting it with plates and silverware and glasses. A small girl, hardly older than six or seven, perched on one of the long benches ringing the table and stealthily reached under a covered bowl, getting her fingers smacked by a passing adult for her trouble. Adults and older teenagers gathered in small groups throughout the cavernous room, shouting to be heard over each other. A pre-teen boy and girl argued in a corner: “Did not!” “Did so!” “Not!” “Did!”

Then the boy held out his hands, palms facing the girl, and let loose a torrent of water. The girl stood there for a moment, gaping at him, and then did the same thing to him. The two of them stood dripping, their argument at a standstill, until another adult I didn’t recognize stormed over and swatted them both on the behind.

“No magic before breakfast!” she announced sternly, then marched off.

The boy and girl traded glares before stalking off in opposite directions.

For a second, the chaos seemed so intimidating, so completely unlike anything I was used to, that I almost turned and ran away. Only Logan’s appearance at my side, and the slight pressure from his strong fingers on my forearm, held me in place.

Just as I was trying to figure out a way to make a fast exit, I recognized someone sitting in an overstuffed chair in the middle of the room. A look of infinite patience crossed her face as a toddler tugged on her skirts, and another small girl placed a broken doll in her lap. The old woman picked up the doll and reattached its head to its body, passing one hand across the broken place and muttering under her breath. Then she handed it, whole and mended, back to its owner, who practically glowed with pleasure. Almost as if she could sense me looking at her, the woman saw me.