Page 46 of Semi-Fallen

He shook his head, wondering if Lane’s calm optimism was wearing off on him.

Tossing the ingredients in the bowl, Lucien recited the series of Enochian words Evangelyn had given him and gestured for Adrianne. “It’s your turn.”

She took a step forward, but Gabriel grabbed her hand and shot Lucien a dirty look. “Are you certain she’s safe?”

Lucien had never in his life had as many headaches as these people had given him lately. It was exhausting assuring them that their loved ones were safe all the fucking time. And they were demon fighters, for fuck’s sake! Were any of them ever truly safe?

He was about to ask that very question, but a reproachful frown from Lane reeled him in. He sighed—properly, if nonverbally— chastised. “Yes. I’m sure, demon. Your mate is in no danger from the angel we’re summoning.”

Gabriel thought about it for a moment, obviously struggling. Next he’d probably—

“You know that if anything happens to her, I’m going to—”

There it was. The death threat. It always came after the worry with these people. “Yes,” he interrupted dryly. “Insert violent death threat here. Got it. Now, Adrianne, if you please.”

Adrianne’s lip twitched as she took his hand. She glanced back at her husband and blew him a kiss. “It’s fine,” she said. “You worry too much.”

The look in his eyes said he worried about her way more than she realized. But that was not in any way Lucien’s concern. Besides, they were talking about a woman who kept a hellhound as a pet. A hellhound!

Lucien placed her hand on the bowl under his. “Keep your palm on the bowl and think about your music. Anything you wrote or play that brings you joy.”

She nodded. “I can do that. And that’s going to summon my muse?”

“Yes, it should.”

“How come I don’t have a muse?” Benny stage-whispered to Harper.

“I don’t know,” she answered. “Do you have any talents?”

“No,” three dhamypres said in unison.

“Thanks a fuckin’ lot, guys,” Benny muttered. “But I don’t see any of you stepping up like Addy to call a muse, so obviously, you’re a bunch of no-talent-having assholes just like me.”

“The one with the talent is my kid,” Riddick said. “That’s enough. I don’t need any other talent.”

“You’re saying having talented sperm is just as good as having actual talent?” Benny asked, incredulous.

Haven snorted. “So You’ve Got Talented Sperm. Now there’s a reality TV talent show I want nothing to do with.”

Hunter pinched the bridge of his nose in exasperation. “Can we save this conversation for after we’ve figured out how to save my daughter?”

“Or we could just forget it ever happened at all,” Mischa suggested. “Because I don’t think a conversation about sperm is ever really necessary.”

“I know thirty-eight different ways to kill a man one-handed,” Seven said. “Does that count as talent?”

“Absolutely, baby,” her husband assured her. “But I would assume they don’t assign heavenly muses for that.”

“You would assume correctly,” Lucien murmured. Then added, “Now, kindly shut the fuck up so Adrianne can concentrate, please?”

A smattering of “I’m sorries” sounded around the room before it finally—blessedly—went quiet.

Adrianne’s eyes fluttered shut, and her muscles relaxed as music only she could hear drifted through her mind.

It only took a moment for a rift to open in the middle of the auditorium, spilling golden light all over the basketball court.

The woman who stepped out of the rift looked even more out of place in their current surroundings than Lucien imagined she would.

“Hello,” he said to the very confused looking blonde angel. “I’m hoping you can help us with something.”

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