Page 373 of Castings & Curses

When we stood beneath the branches, out of sight from onlookers, he made himself invisible and intangible, and I followed suit.

We could still sense one another, but he was hard to see, even to my eyes. Almost like a ghost. I wondered if I appeared the same to him, or if his power and insight as an archangel allowed him to see more than I could.

We didn't teleport, we flew. It felt good to unleash my wings, and the air was cool and refreshing as we glided over the city. My fear of heights was triggered, but Raphael kept us low enough to the ground that it wasn't as bad as the descent from heaven had been.

I already knew the crime scene was in Misha Drake's studio, and Raphael and I hovered above the building so we could get a good view of it and its small back yard. When we set down outside the back door, I was glad to be standing on solid ground again.

Raphael walked straight through the door in front of me, and I followed.

The air in the studio was cold, with an odd smell that I couldn't quite place. The walls were lined with sculptures of all shapes and sizes, some made from materials I'd never seen before. Some kind of stone, perhaps?

There was a window at the back of the room, but it was covered with thick curtains. In the center of the room was a large wooden table piled high with tools and pieces of metal and stone. On one side was a doorway leading to what appeared to be Misha's living space, but there were no signs of life coming from that area.

On the floor near one wall lay Misha Drake's body. His eyes were closed, his face peaceful as if he were merely sleeping. But I knew better — his soul had been ripped away from his body, leaving him in this state.

His clothes were in disarray, as if he had tried to struggle before succumbing to death. I felt my stomach turn, and my heart ached at the sight of him. I don't think his loss had truly struck me until this moment. It was easy to discuss a murder in theory, but heartbreaking to see the results of it firsthand.

Raphael knelt down beside the body and examined it closely. He seemed to be searching for something, so I stayed quiet and watched. After a few moments, he stood up and said, "There are signs of a struggle here. It appears that Misha Drake was attacked by someone with supernatural strength."

He walked around the room, studying everything carefully. He pointed out where furniture had been knocked over, books thrown from shelves, and pieces of art broken on the floor.

Then Raphael noticed something on one of the walls — a small symbol carved into it near the window. It looked like some kind of rune or sigil, but I didn't recognize it. Its shape reminded me of an hourglass, but with a jagged line that ran through it.

"Do you know what this is?" he asked me as he ran his finger over the runic carving.

"No," I replied. "But maybe we can find out who did this if we can figure out what this symbol means."

Raphael nodded in agreement and then began to search for more clues around the studio. Meanwhile, I studied the symbol more carefully. I pulled out my phone and took a photograph of it, as well as several other places in the room. I avoided photographing the body. While I had an enhanced memory for detail, it didn't hurt to have a visual record. It would make it easier to discuss it with others.

I discovered another symbol on the wall beneath Misha's work bench. Raphael found another on the ceiling. Both of the symbols were the same as the first one we'd found.

"I have to wonder if Misha might've carved these symbols in his home. Perhaps as part of some kind of protection spell," I surmised.

"That's possible," the archangel replied. "If he did, I wonder if it was for his general protection or if it was because he knew someone was coming for him."

"It's hard to say. I'd be inclined to think general protection. If he was anticipating an attack, you would expect to see more weapons and better defenses."

"I have some contacts who might be able to tell us more," Raphael said.

We shifted furniture and investigated trinkets, taking note of anything out of place or unusual. It didn't take long before we found something else — a scrap of fabric tucked into one corner near Misha's body.

It appeared to be made of a material that was beyond the mundane — not quite cloth but not metal either. Even stranger was its color, which seemed to swirl and change as it moved. It wasn't merely reflecting the colors in the environment.

Raphael picked up the scrap with one finger and held it closer to his face, examining it intently with his eyes closed, as if he were trying to get a better sense of it. After a few moments, he opened his eyes and said softly, "This fabric is imbued with angelic power."

My breath caught in my throat as a realization dawned on me: this could be evidence suggesting an angelic murderer.

"The question is whether someone wearing this attacked him or if something else happened here. It could have been planted so we'd form the wrong assumption," I said.

"I fear that's likely," Raphael replied as he turned it over in his fingers. "If it was planted, it was a reckless choice. If the police had found this, it would've raised questions about its supernatural origins. It isn't any normal cloth."

"We're already looking for Melinda. It seems strange that the killer would plant this when we have a suspect in mind."

"You're forgetting that they don't know that," Raphael said. "Maybe they weren't sure we'd suspect Melinda, or it might've been Melinda who planted this, in the hope we'd suspect someone else. Still, we shouldn't assume this isn't genuine, though it isn't the angelic way to commit a crime of this magnitude."

"Could there be any fallen angels in New York City? Would anyone know?"

Raphael glanced at me, as though studying my expression, but he didn't answer me. I had to wonder why.

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