Page 46 of Camael
"We try tracking first," Isis suggested. Her red hair glowed like fire in the dim light. "If that fails, we move to scrying."
"And if that doesn't work?" Remi's hand tightened on the hilt of his sword.
Pema's smile was all teeth. "Then we get creative."
Amelia joined hands with them and reached for her power. The magic slammed through their circle like a tsunami. Amelia's power merged with that of the sisters until the room blazed with blue-white light that was hot enough to singe. Static danced over their skin, raising goosebumps and making their hair float like they were underwater.
The Dark Warriors and angels backed the hell up real quick, considering the voltage they were throwing around. Amelia locked onto tracking first. The witches’ combined energy swept the city grid like searchlights. The map ignited like Times Square on New Year's and then went black as pitch.
"Son of a bitch." Isis's curse carried all kinds of promises of violence. "Fucker's got himself cloaked tighter than Fort Knox."
Amelia pulled out the feather. Its surface lit up like premium angel bling. "Time for plan B. Let’s scry." The thing practically hummed with fresh essence. "Easier to track this poor angel than chase Jeremiel's trail."
"Hellz yeah." Suvi's approval came with that trademark smile of hers.
Amelia locked hands with them again. Power surged as the feather went airborne. It spun like a compass. Pema led the chant. Almost instantly, the feather's celestial glow turned ultraviolet. Its rotation created rings of light that expanded outward like ripples in a pond. Each pulse sent their collectiveconsciousness riding the currents of space and time. Images overlayed the feather. They saw streets, buildings, and faces. Amelia recognized some but nothing pointed to a location.
Just when she was about to give Camael the green light to go on his wild goose chase, the feather's spin went nuclear. Light exploded outward, and St. Louis Cathedral materialized in high-def clarity. Its spires stabbed the night sky like daggers. Inside that holy ground, shadows danced to a vile conductor's symphony. And there at the epicenter? One beautiful, cruel maestro was orchestrating the whole damn show.
Amelia panted and braced her hands on her knees. Sweat ran down her back, and her muscles trembled from the voltage they had channeled. But they had the motherfucker's location locked down tighter than a virgin's chastity belt.
"Got you, you son of a bitch," Izzy breathed.
"The cathedral?" Az shook his head. "That’s ballsy to be hiding right under our noses."
"It makes sense," Jo said, checking her weapons. "It’s sacred ground with lots of ambient divine energy to mask his presence. Plus, there are tourists coming and going all day. It’s the perfect cover for moving prisoners."
Camael's wings snapped open. They were twenty feet of lethal grace. The displacement of air sent papers flying and rattled the windows. He looked at his assembled warriors before locking gazes with Amelia. The look in his eyes made her grateful he was on their side "Time to end this. Jeremiel dies tonight," he growled.
CHAPTER 17
The pre-dawn air crackled with power as Camael led his Angels of Retribution toward St. Louis Cathedral. His massive wings cut through the darkness while reports flowed in from teams positioned across the city. The Dark Warriors able to be out during the day had secured the perimeter. They’d taken up positions that would give them clear lines of sight on any approach. The Rowan sisters were there and already weaving containment spells to keep the humans away from the area. Their power hummed through the Quarter like a live wire.
His ice-blue eyes locked onto Amelia. She was cradled against his chest as they soared. The Key blazed at her throat like captured lightning. Her hybrid magic channeled both light and shadow like she'd been born to it. Pride and fear went to war in his chest. She was lethal perfection, but every corrupted angel in the Big Easy could track that power signature. And then there was Jace’s comment about her body not being built to handle the shit.
"You holding up?" he asked as they banked around Jackson Square. The place was dead empty.
"Flying high." That smile of hers lit up the pre-dawn dark better than stadium floodlights. "Next time though? We schedule this shit for noon. Mama needs her beauty sleep."
His chuckle was cut off when Rami's voice crackled through their comms link. "I’ve got movement! There are multiple signatures approaching from the north. I think they used to be the fledglings."
"Give me numbers," Camael demanded as he adjusted their flight pattern.
"At least fifteen- no, wait." His pause was filled with tension. "I've confirmed visual on thirty-plus former fledglings. They’re warped warriors now. Not kids."
"There’s something else," Jo cut in, her voice tight. "It could be Jeremiel."
Camael's blood ran cold as a familiar presence brushed his senses. Even corrupted, he'd know that grace anywhere. "It’s him."
His brother's twisted power pulsed from the cathedral steps like a beacon of darkness. The once-pure energy had been transformed into something that reminded him of Lucifer in the early days after his fall. It called to the chaos the demons loved so much.
"Remember the plan," he growled to his warriors as they approached. His wings spread wider and created updrafts that carried his voice. "The priority is extracting any fledglings you find. Do not engage Jeremiel directly. He's mine."
"Like hell," Amelia muttered in his arms. "You're not facing him alone."
"This isn't up for discussion, witch." His voice dropped. "He’s my brother. My problem."
"Our problem," she corrected. "Or did you forget that you’re no longer alone?"
