Page 58 of Vanish Into Light

She went at a run, heels clipping over the tarred roof.

“She really didn’t know,” Damien said, when she was gone, the slam of the door ringing in their ears.

Beck turned to him, slowly. “I find that very hard to believe.”

Damien shrank backward a bit, twisting his rings faster, more desperately. “Look, man, what do you want? If I’m not back inside in five, Noah’s gonna–”

“Noah is unimportant. A delusional mortal who thinks he might somehow be the chosen one to survive the end days. And you let him hold sway over you.”

“He–”

“I don’t care. Tell me about Raphael.”

Damien put on a comical display of confusion. “Who?”

Beck sighed. The rain was picking up, tickling down his neck, sliding down the back of it to soak his shirt. “This is tedious. Tell me about Raphael – how he found yourNoah, why he chose him of all people. Where the rest of the shards are.”

“What shar…” Damien trailed off, lips pressed tight together in the face of Beck’s sharpening look. “Okay, okay,” he relented. “Fine. But, look, here’s the truth – I don’t know anything about that guy’s master plan or whatever. He scares the shit out of me, and I only know what I know.”

Beck waited.

Damien blew out a huge breath that threatened to push his hood back. “Raphael turned up here a few weeks ago. Nobody knew it was him, but we could tell he was an angel, and a strong one. Everybody freaked. Guy walked in and torched two of the bouncers straight off: it was like something out of a bad movie. ‘Take me to your manager,’” he said, doing air quotes with his fingers. “I told him I was the manager, but he wanted to see Noah. So. I took him up there. When he was gone, Noah told me to melt the thing down, make it look like something nobody would suspect.” He snorted, a smug grin tweaking his mouth. “The pentagram was my idea.”

“How brilliant,” Beck deadpanned. “You took it to the occult shop?”

“Yeah, but that was Noah’s idea. That guy owed him a favor, and the shop’s so shit he knew no one would be able to find it there.” He frowned. “Howdidyou find it?”

“You have your tricks and I have mine. Where can I find Raphael now?”

~*~

Every book in Castor’s old library was focused on heaven or hell; on Biblical mystery and myth, the lives of saints – and of Satanists. They were all also damp, and by the time Lance shut the latest with disgust, his hands were slimy and green-tinted with mold. He got up, back protesting having sat still for so long – and from last night’s activities, no doubt – and went to wash his hands and make a cup of coffee.

He started when he entered the kitchen and found Morgan sitting on the counter, eating potato chips straight from the bag. “Oh. Um. Hey.”

“Hello.”

He didn’t like to think of himself as ever having been afraid of her. He hadn’t been, truly. But he’d been reluctant to trust the sort of being he’d been hunting and neutralizing for most of his career. She still unnerved him, a little, even if he could admit that Rose was right, and the conduit was beginning to act more human.

A little more human.

Her guileless, glowing blue eyes followed him as he went to the sink and washed his hands. Her regard was weighty, but in the same way that a cat’s attention would be. It sent prickles up the back of his neck, but he found he wasn’t self-conscious about the things he would have been in front of a human. She wasn’t judging him the same way the rest of his company was, he knew.

He was reaching for a towel when Morgan said, “You feel shame.”

He froze. His pulse kicked, and his thoughts flashed to Rose, arching into his thrusts, spine bowed, mouth pink, swollen, and slack with pleasure. And of Beck in the same position, gold eyes slitted, face more open and vulnerable than he’d ever thought to see it.

His belly squirmed – not unpleasantly – and he clamped ruthlessly down on his reaction. Forced himself to dry his hands with slow, methodical care. He wouldn’t show her that she’d startled him again – though, being a conduit, he thought she could probably tell anyway.

“Shame?” he asked, and managed to keep his voice level; disinterested, even. “Why would I feel that?”

Too relate, he realized he shouldn’t have asked that and invited any sort of explanation. He turned, and found her staring at him, studying him, a chip held between two small fingers. A faint groove on her brow marked her as puzzled, trying to understand in a way that was human, and emotional, and went beyond a simple acknowledgement of fact.

She blinked. Placed the chip on her tongue and chewed it thoroughly.

Lance leaned forward, intending to escape.

But Morgan swallowed, and said, “Humans copulate to reproduce – but for physical pleasure as well. And to deepen emotional bonds.”

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