Page 53 of Archangel’s Lineage

Belle, a dancer at home in the spotlight.

Ari, Jeffrey’s right hand and future CEO.

“He used to speak about them right after they were murdered,” she said thickly, “but one day, he stopped. I know that he probably couldn’t bear the pain, but to me, it felt like they’d vanished. Especially after he put away all their photos.”

Raphael’s wings rustled as he curved one over her.

Stroking her fingers along the inner softness, she continued. “But last night, he said he’d seen them in his dreams, and they were angry with him. Belle was shouting and throwing things, while Ari was sitting there, arms crossed, with a disappointed look on her face. Then he laughed.”

Elena’s throat felt like sandpaper as she continued to speak, her body’s ability to heal no match for her grief. “When he stopped laughing, he said that was exactly how the two of them had been.

“Belle was always the hot-tempered one, while he used to tell Ari she’d make a great school principal because she could make anyone behave just by looking at them. It’s the first time since I was a child that the two of us laughed together—because he’s right. That’s what they were like.”

Raphael could well imagine both sisters—because Elena had spoken to him often about the two elder sisters, who, according to her, would’ve interrogated him the instant he and Elena became entangled. “Belle wouldn’t have cared that you were an archangel and could turn her to ash, while Ari would’ve hacked into Tower files to find out dirt. She was like that. Protecting us without the fireworks. Together, my big sisters were a powerhouse.”

He ran his hand over the sleek beauty of Elena’s wings. His consort carried all the colors of night and day in those wings, the midnight at the arches flowing into indigo and a blue as deep as the dark heart of the ocean, before merging into softest dawn and brilliant white gold. “Did your father reveal or know why they were angry with him?”

“Yes. Because of how he acted after they died.” She was silent for a while. “He asked me if we should exhume and cremate them, too.”

“Hbeebti.” No wonder she was so distraught—this wasn’t only about her father’s heart attack, but about the massacre that had forever altered her childhood.

Elena sat up so she could face him. “It was an easy decision with my mother. She never wanted to be buried. She said that while she was still alive. I’ve never been able to believe that she’s at peace in that grave where he put her.”

Angelic burials had their own rituals, but that didn’t mean he didn’t understand Elena’s need for this mortal way of doing things. It wasn’t about the actual ritual, but about fulfilling her mother’s final wish on this earth. “But your sisters had no chance to make a choice.”

She nodded, her throat moving as she swallowed. “I like to imagine that they are at peace, their remains only a shell they discarded when they left this world. What right do I have to disturb them? They didn’t give me permission like my mother gave me permission.”

Raphael bent his leg so that his knee was behind Elena and she could brace herself against him. “A difficult choice.” One he couldn’t imagine having to make. “Does Jeffrey have a view on it?”

“Not yet. I’ve never seen him like this—so... lost. I’m almost not sure he won’t revert back to the Jeffrey I’ve known for most of my life, but he’s definitely all there. Brain acute as ever. He’s already begun to give instructions to do with his businesses. It’s only on this topic that he seems to rely on me.”

Elena remained shaken by that. Her father hadn’t relied on her for anything after those first years following Marguerite’s death, when he’d asked her to watch over Beth now and then so he could finish up work in his home office. Even that had been rare; she’d never minded, but he’d said he didn’t want her becoming a de facto caregiver for her younger sister. He’d hired a babysitter for Beth.

“Most of the time when we talk,” she told Raphael, “it’s just me and Jeffrey, but Gwendolyn’s been in the room a couple of times and she told me that he doesn’t talk to any of my sisters like that. Just me.”

“Because you were there.” Raphael’s voice was gentle, the way he’d lifted his wing against her back familiar and needed. “You’re the only one of his children who was not only there at the most devastating moment of his life, but you remember. You’ve said yourself that your younger sister has but a few fleeting recollections.”

“Looking back, I think Beth’s brain shut down to protect her. She was only six when we lost Ari and Belle, a bit older with our mom.” Elena’s heart filled with a rush of protective love, Beth forever the small girl with her hand gripping Elena’s as they stood at their mother’s graveside.

“She should have more memories, but she doesn’t. She told me once that all she has are what she calls ‘shadow memories’—faded and fuzzy images she can’t make out. I’m glad for her.” Never would Elena want Beth to suffer as she’d suffered.

All those night terrors.

All the echoing screams.

All the blood she couldn’t forget.

That swaying shadow against the wall.

The single high-heeled shoe on the tile.

Red. It had been a shiny poppy red against black and white tile.

A portrait of clean contrasts seared into her mind.

She thumped a fist against her heart, as if that would dislodge the old pain, make it fade away.

Raphael squeezed her nape. “So you see, you are the only person with whom Jeffrey can truly speak of this. I think, unlike you, he has not let anyone else that close.”

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