Page 10 of Wings of Valor
While I agree with him, I’m also desperate. “Do you trust them?”
The nod Castiel gives is more telling than he realizes. “One in particular, absolutely. Let’s just say he’s saved my ass a time or two in the past. He’d never agree to follow Auriel. Not in this.”
“He may not follow, but if he knew, would he stand by and do nothing?” Zeke asks, looking like he’d rather go with the ambush plan.
“The man I know would never agree to harming anyone, let alone innocents.”
“Then I say get an audience. I’m willing to try anything and everything at this point. Maybe that’s reckless, but it’s that or give myself over.”
“No!” Theo, Raph, and Zeke shout in unison.
“Then make the call, but do it fast. We’re running out of time.”
Castiel checks the time on his watch, then curses under his breath. “I’ll contact him today. In the meantime, it may not hurt to have a backup plan—and maybe a backup to the backup plan.” He apologizes and rushes out, leaving the rest of us to use the last ten minutes we have before class to discuss strategies.
But the more I overhear my friends hash out details of a possible ambush, the stronger my conviction grows. There’s only one way to guarantee my parents’ safety.
I need to turn myself in.
And it looks like I’m going to have to do it alone.
6
Two days have gone by without hearing from my parents.
Azrael says the long-distance totems aren’t available, so I’ve taken to quick trips off campus, hoping some place in this goddamn city will bring me close enough to connect with them. So far, I’m out of luck.
According to Zeke, the samples they took were a dead end, too. Apparently the variety of sand and dirt is common in several regions of the city, so they’re unable to pinpoint a specific location. The only good thing is that they confirmed the blood they collected belonged to my parents, and they didn’t find any angel blade toxins in the sample. There’s still hope.
To make matters worse, I woke up to a private message on my slate. I stare at it once more, my hands trembling. Other than acryptic list of numbers, there are no other details in the message. It has to be Auriel, but how did he get my information?
They’re coordinates. And the exact time he expects me there.
I’d be foolish to go. Foolish to think this will solve all our problems. But how can I not when he dangles my parents’ lives over my head?
I toss the device face down on my bed, unwilling to look at it any longer. Fuck. What would my friends do in this situation? I’d ask them myself if I thought they’d let me go.
Right away, I know Theo would look up the coordinates and survey the area, given the high probability this is a trap. Raphael would advise me to figure out what parts of the landscape I could use to my advantage, and Zeke would encourage me to do the opposite—figure out how my opponent would use the terrain against me. Mira would probably tell me to suit up with weapons, and I know Dina would already have a list of what to pack in a bag in case things don’t go as planned.
Shit. This would be so much easier if I could just talk to them. I wish they understood. And I know, in a way, they do. They’re only looking to protect me, but how can I think of myself at a time like this?
For the last twenty-four hours, I’ve been playing sick like a coward. Pretending I’m ill so I can hide away in my dorm room, skipping classes, and avoiding my friends while I figure out what the fuck I’m going to do. They’ve hated it, and I know they’ve done their best to have someone stationed nearby in case any of Uriel’s henchmen try something, but at least they’re listening.
A knock on my balcony door spikes my heart rate. I’ve been jumpy as hell since the cloaked figure came for me, though I know now that was just Auriel. I wonder if he knew then what I was.
The knock sounds again, mere seconds before my slate vibrates on the bed beside me.
Slowly, like it’s going to bite me, I turn it over, relaxing a little when I see Mira’s name flash across the screen.
Mira: It’s just me. Can I come in?
After tucking the paper containing all my secret notes under my pillow, I open the door.
She surveys the room, then asks, “How are you feeling? Any better?”
Right. I’m supposed to be in pain with cramps or something. Shit. What had I told them? I feel like an ass. Physically, I’m fine—and probably always will be since our immune systems don’t allow for things like colds or sickness. But mentally, well, I’m a hot mess, and it hasn’t been that hard to play it up for my friends. Still, I can’t drop the ruse that I’m unwell.
“It’s touch and go, though I think the solitude is helping,” I say, trying my best to stick to as much truth as possible.
