Page 25 of Archangel’s Lineage

It couldn’t simply be put down to fear of the archangels. Mortals were stupid in their curiosity at times. Chance alone said that some idiot or adrenaline junkie would’ve tried by now... unless there existed an invisible variable altering choice and chance: the Mantle.

“Wait.” Suyin’s quiet voice, the sleek white of her hair flowing unbound over shoulders clad in what appeared to be handwoven cloth of deepest brown. “It seems far too coincidental a thing to me, that all four younger archangels should not know.”

Lines formed in the smooth white skin of her face, a vee between her eyebrows. “Is it possible the Mantle has been malfunctioning for a longer period of time? That we have been affected so that we don’t remember it?”

“I believe it’s a case of eternity and memory,” Caliane argued. “An unusual confluence of events—and in the end some of the Cadre do know. We have not forgotten.”

“No,” Alexander agreed, as Zanaya and Aegaeon nodded. “But let us put that aside. The more immediate problem is that for the first time in memory, we must consider the security of the Refuge.”

Zanaya picked up the thread from her consort and neighboring archangel. “It’s located in an area high and remote enough that it’d be a deadly climb for most mortals, one that’d require multiple days camping in the snow and the crossing of vast ice crevasses.”

Raphael agreed with her. The landscape that offered a breathtaking view on the wing, complete with glaciers formed of preternatural blue ice, and rock formations that glittered in the sunlight, was brutal territory on the ground.

“From what Meher’s been able to determine,” she added, “it’s only the edges of the Mantle that have failed, so even those who breach that section will soon lose interest and leave. We have time to find a solution.”

“Is there any way to test that?” Elijah asked. “That it’s only retreating from the edges?”

Raphael frowned. “I can ask one of my Seven to show several mortal members of my Tower a satellite image of the Refuge with zero contextual clues, and have those staff members note any points of interest.”

No doubt Illium—the one most likely to take on the task—would come up with a believable reason for the test. “If the Mantle has failed higher up, they will see signs of the Refuge, and we’ll know.”

“Will you then execute the mortals?”

Raphael knew it was hypocritical to be angered by Aegaeon’s question when not so long ago, he’d thought along those same lines, mortal lives firefly bursts that could be snuffed out without any real thought.

But he was angry—because he wasn’t that man any longer, his heart forever altered by his love for Elena. So it took effort to offer a polite reply devoid of even a drop of fury. Emotion wouldn’t work here.

“There’d be no point.” He folded his arms. “Because if those mortals see it, so will countless others. Many make a habit out of scanning satellite images for fun.”

Aegaeon’s expression soured. “You should’ve crushed the knowledge when it first began to rise.”

“Aegaeon’s right.” Alexander’s statement held the censure of the general he’d once been. “Mortals shouldn’t have access to technology so invasive.”

“A world that doesn’t grow stagnates and dies, my old friend,” Titus countered.

“Stop.” Suyin raised a hand, palm out.

Unused to such a firm voice from the Archangel of China, they all turned toward her image.

“None of that matters.” Calm and tempered words that held an undertone of steel developed over a decade of rebuilding a territory with nothing but grit and endurance. “We need to work out how to fix this.”

“To do that, we must know the origin of the Mantle,” Zanaya pointed out. “The one who passed on the knowledge to me said it was a gift of the Ancestors, but that is a meaningless ghost story. Does anyone have concrete information?”

The answer was a firm negative.

“Great.” Titus threw up his hands, his shoulders bunching under his simple black tunic. “The Refuge is shaking hard enough to fall apart, the Mantle that protects it is failing, and Qin has decided to Sleep!” Turning, he punched a wall.

Cracks spiderwebbed from that point outward.

Raphael wasn’t feeling much more in control, his wings aglow as power aggressive and without direction surged through his veins. Aegaeon’s chest glowed, the light coming from the silver swirl embedded in his skin. Onscreen, the others were in no better condition.

Another minute and the entire Cadre would be out of control.

“We start with the Librarian,” he said, because it was the only answer he had that might defuse the tension. “We must also make plans to relocate our vulnerable to our beta location should the Mantle continue to deteriorate.”

That beta location was underground, beneath an island. A good hiding place and one they could play off as a fun adventure for a short period, but it was no home for children with wings. But angelic children also couldn’t live in a homeland accessible to mortals and ordinary vampires.

If angels had a vulnerability, it was their children—angelic young could be wounded, could be easily killed. The reprisal for any such act would, of course, devastate entire civilizations—but there were mortals who wouldn’t care, driven by a vicious fury toward angelkind.

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