“Them?”
Josiah closes his blood-red eyes. “You know I’m not in a position to take a stand, Raphael. I never have been. I never will be. I’ll be lucky if I’m not washing dishes by the end. I’m barely hanging on as part of the group as it is.” He spits this out with bubbling frustration.
“What are they saying about me?”
Josiah’s voice turns gentle as if reluctant to be the bearer of such bad news. “That no angel could withstand being alone for this long. That if you haven’t come back to us by now, it can only mean you’re dead. Or that you’ve joined the other side.”
“That I’ve fallen?” Raffe asks. A muscle in his jaw pulses as he grinds his teeth.
“There are rumors that you committed the same sin as the Watchers. That you haven’t come back because you’re not allowed back. That you cleverly escaped humiliation and eternal torture by concocting a story about sparing your Watchers the pain of hunting their own children. That all the Nephilim running around earth is proof that you never even tried.”
“What Nephilim?”
“Are you serious?” Josiah looks at Raffe as though he’s looking at a madman. “They’re everywhere. The humans are terrified to be out at night. Every one of the servants has stories of seeing half eaten bodies or their group being attacked by the Nephilim.”
Raffe blinks, taking a moment to absorb what Josiah said. “Those aren’t Nephilim. They don’t look anything like Nephilim.”
“They sound like Nephilim. They eat like Nephilim. They terrorize like Nephilim. You and the Watchers are the only ones alive who know what they’re supposed to look like. And you’re not exactly credible witnesses.”
“I’ve seen these things and they aren’t Nephilim.”
“Whatever they are, I swear it’ll be easier for you to hunt down every last one of them than to convince the masses that they aren’t. Because, what else could they be?”
Raffe steals a glance at me. He looks at the polished floor as he answers. “I have no idea. We’ve been calling them ‘low demons.’”
“We?” Josiah glances at me as I try to become invisible by the door. “You and your Daughter of Man?” His tone is part accusation, part disappointment.
“It’s not like that. Jesus, Josiah. Come on. You know I’d be the last one to go there, not after what happened to my Watchers, not to mention their wives.” Raffe paces the marbled floor in frustration. “Besides, this is the last place to throw that accusation.”
“No one’s crossed the line here as far as I know,” says Josiah. “Some of the guys claim to have, but those are the same guys who say they slew dragons back in the day, with their wings and hands tied up just to make it fair.”
The albino flushes again in the next stall. “You, on the other hand, you’re going to have a tougher time convincing people of—you know.” He glances my way again. “You need to counter the propaganda against you with your own campaign before trying any kind of a comeback. Otherwise, you could face a lynch mob. So I suggest you leave by the nearest exit.”
“I can’t. I need a surgeon.”
Josiah raises his white brows in surprise. “For what?”
Raffe stares at Josiah’s blood-red eyes. He doesn’t want to say it. Come on, Raffe. We don’t have time for delicate psychological moments. I know it’s cold of me, but someone could walk through that door any moment now, and we haven’t even gotten to asking about Paige yet. I’m on the verge of opening my mouth to say something when Raffe talks.
“My wings have been cut.”
Now, it’s Josiah’s turn to stare at Raffe. “Cut how?”
“Cut off.”
The albino’s eyes widen in shock and horror. It’s strange to see such an evil-looking pair of eyes fill with pity. You couldn’t get a more sympathetic response if Raffe had just told him they’d castrated him. Josiah opens his mouth to say something, then closes it as though deciding it’s a stupid thing to say. He glances at Raffe’s jacket with his wings peeking out, then back at his face.
“I need someone who can sew them back on. Someone good enough to make them functional again.”
Josiah turns away from Raffe and leans against a sink. “I can’t help you.” There’s doubt in his voice.
“All you have to do is ask around, make the introduction.”
“Raphael, only the head physician can set up surgery here.”
“Great. That makes your task a simple one.”
“The head physician is Laylah.”
Raffe looks at Josiah as if hoping he didn’t hear correctly. “She’s the only one who can do it?” There is dread in his voice.
“Yeah.”
Raffe runs his hand through his hair, looking like he wants to tear it out. “Are you still…?”
“Yeah,” Josiah says grudgingly, almost embarrassed.
“Can you talk her into it?”
“You know I can’t afford to stick my neck out.” The albino paces, obviously agitated.
“I wouldn’t ask if I had another choice.”
“You do have another choice. They have physicians.”
“That’s not a choice, Josiah. Will you do it?”
Josiah sighs heavily, obviously regretting what he’s about to say. “I’ll see what I can do. Hide out in a room. I’ll find you in a couple of hours.”
Raffe nods. Josiah turns to go. I open my mouth to say something, worried that Raffe’s forgotten my sister.
“Josiah,” says Raffe before I can get my question out. “What do you know about human children being taken?”
Josiah stops on his way past us to the door. His profile is very still. Too still. “What children?”
“I think you know what children. You don’t need to tell me what’s going on. I just want to know where they’re being kept.”
“I don’t know anything about that.” He still hasn’t looked at us. He stands frozen in profile, talking to the door.
The jazz outside the door drifts in. The buzz of the party breaks into bits of conversation as a couple of men approach the bathroom, then recede into background noise as they leave the area. The maintenance sign must be working to keep people out.
“Okay,” says Raffe. “I’ll see you in a couple of hours.”
Josiah pushes out the door as if he can’t get out fast enough.
CHAPTER 32
My mind swirls with what I just heard. Not even the angels know why they are here. Does that mean there’s room to convince them that they should leave? Could Raffe be the key to igniting an angel civil war? My mind stretches to make sense of angel politics and the opportunities it might present.
But I rein in my thoughts. Because none of it will help me find Paige.
“You spend all that time talking to him, and ask only one question about my sister?” I glare at him. “He knows something.”
“Only enough to be cautious.”
“How would you know? You didn’t even pump him for information.”
“I know him. Something has him spooked. This is as far as he’ll go for now. And if I push, he won’t even go that far.”
“You don’t think he’s involved?”
“In kidnapping children? Not his style. Don’t worry. It’s damned near impossible to keep a secret among angels. We’ll find someone who’s willing to tell.”
He heads for the door.
“Are you really an archangel?” I whisper.
He gives me a cocky grin. “Impressed?”
“No,” I lie. “But I have some complaints I’d like to file about your personnel.”
“Talk to middle management.”
I follow him out the door, giving him my death-by-glare expression.
As soon as we push out of the double doors from the club, we’re out of the stifling heat and noise. We head into the cool marble foyer toward a row of elevators. We take the long way through the room, staying near the walls where the shadows are thickest.
Raffe makes a quick stop at the check-in counter where a blond servant stands behind the counter in a suit. He stands like a robot as though his mind is elsewhere until we come near him. As soon as we’re in smiling range, his face animates into a courteous and professional mask.
“What can I do for you, sir?” Up close, his smile looks a little stiff. His eyes, although deferential when looking at Raffe, turn cold when he looks at me. Good for him. He doesn’t like working for the angels, and he likes humans cozying up to them even less.
“Give me a room.” Raffe’s arrogance dial is cranked all the way up. He stands at his full height and doesn’t bother to do more than glance at the man as he talks. Either he wants the clerk intimidated enough to not ask any questions, or all the angels behave like that toward humans and he doesn’t want to be remembered as being different. I’m guessing both.
“The top floors are already all taken, sir. Will something a little lower be all right?”
Raffe sighs as though that’s an imposition. “Fine.”
The clerk glances my way, then scribbles something in his old-fashioned ledger. The clerk hands Raffe a key and says we’re in room 1712. I want to ask for an extra one for me, but think better of opening my mouth. Based on the women trying to find escorts into the building, I have a suspicion that the only humans allowed to move around on their own are the servants. So much for asking for my own room.
The clerk turns to me and says, “Feel free to take the elevator, Miss. The power is reliable here. The only reason we use keys instead of electronic cards is because the masters prefer it.”
Did he actually call the angels the masters? My fingers turn cold at the thought. Despite my determination to grab Paige and get the hell out of here, I can’t help but wonder if there’s anything I can do to help bring down these bastards.
It’s true that their control of what was once our world boggles my mind. They can power lights and elevators and ensure a steady supply of gourmet food. I suppose it could be magic. That seems to be as good an explanation as any these days. But I’m not quite ready to throw away centuries of scientific progress to start thinking like a medieval peasant.
I wonder if, a generation from now, people will assume everything in this building is run by magic. I clench my teeth at the thought. This is what the angels have reduced us to.
I take a good look at Raffe’s perfectly formed profile. No human could look that good. Just one more reminder that he’s not one of us.