Page 29 of Semi-Fallen

First of all, Celeste was the least intimidating human Lucien had ever seen in his life. In body, at least. She couldn’t be any taller than five feet, and Lucien was certain she wouldn’t weigh one-hundred pounds soaking wet.

She had one of those faces that made it impossible to gauge her age. Her skin was smooth and unlined, but her dark eyes suggested she was decades older than she appeared.

Her shoulder-length brown curls were liberally shot through with silver, but most of them were tucked away under an orange and hot pink turban that was so bright, it hurt Lucien’s eyes to look directly at it.

But it didn’t take long for him to see past her frail appearance and recognize Celeste for the threat she actually was.

See, in this room amongst the spirits, there were three corporeal beings: a witch, an angel, and the oldest vampire in existence. And if they were to engage in combat to the death, Lucien wasn’t entirely sure he would be the one to survive.

It wasn’t a feeling he was used to, especially in this dimension where humans tended to be so delicate. But Celeste was one of the most powerful humans Lucien had met in this dimension or any other.

Her power seemed to take up actual space in the room, surrounding them like a thick, weighted blanket, choking off the air supply. It was stifling. And the look the tiny little woman was currently giving him was sharp enough to flay flesh from his bones.

Celeste had greeted Hunter with a warm hug. She’d tittered like a schoolgirl when he complimented upgrades she’d made to her shop and told her she looked to be aging in reverse.

Lucien, however, did not receive a warm welcome.

She offered Hunter a seat next to her at the scarred oak table where she did her tarot readings, but made Lucien sit at the far end. Where she could keep an eye on him, she’d said.

After they were all seated and Celeste and Hunter had a cup of tea in front of them (Lucien wasn’t offered any), Celeste took off her colorful housecoat, revealing a Grateful Dead T-shirt.

Lucien raised a brow at her wardrobe choice, and she snorted as she unwrapped her turban and gave her curls a shake. “The tourists like me to look the part,” she said. “If they feel better handing their money over to some fortune teller stereotype, who am I to refuse?”

And judging by the rate sheet she kept in her foyer, fleecing tourists paid very well. Lucien didn’t care one way or the other, but because Celeste was looking at him like she expected judgement, he merely shrugged. “Whatever pays the bills.”

Her eyes narrowed on him and it made his skin crawl. She was trying to read his mind and see if he was just placating her. It took all his strength to let her see what she was looking for and not slam his emotional walls into place to stop her.

Few things made him nervous in this dimension. But witches, it would seem—topped the list, with psychics and empaths being a distant second. He had horrors hiding in the dark corners of his mind that did not have any business being seen by others.

He didn’t want to remember them most of the time.

But Celeste must have seen what she was looking for, because she turned her shrewd eyes on Hunter. “So, handsome, I already have a good guess why you’re here, but I’d like to hear it from you.”

“Lane is in trouble,” he admitted.

And over the course of the next ten minutes, Lucien listened as Hunter clearly and concisely laid out the truth for Celeste. He gave her every detail, held nothing back. He couldn’t imagine that was easy for a man like Hunter. Which proved how desperate he was to save his daughter.

Lucien could relate.

When Hunter’s tale ended, there was a loaded pause on Celeste’s end. She did nothing but move a slice of lemon around in her teacup for what felt like an eternity before finally saying, “And you, angel? What’s the girl to you? Why save her when you didn’t ever question your orders for any of the others you slaughtered?”

“She’s different.”

“Than the others?” Celeste pressed.

“Than anyone,” he admitted quietly.

He wished he had an answer that was better, but he didn’t. Unless he wanted to admit she was his soul mate. And that just didn’t seem like a good idea while her father was here, looking like he was waiting for an excuse to kill him.

Celeste snorted, then turned to Hunter. “Do you trust him?”

Hunter looked Lucien up and down, and Lucien was left with the distinct impression he’d been found lacking. “No. But he’s the closest thing we have to an ally against the other angels. I don’t trust him, but I trust he doesn’t want to hurt Lane.” He shrugged. “That’s the best I can do at this point.”

Celeste nodded, obviously mulling that over. “This place you want to find. It’s a point of celestial energy in the veil between this dimension and the next, correct?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Her nose scrunched up. “Don’t you ma’am me, boy. I’m not nearly old enough to be a ma’am.”

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