Broken Wings (An Angel Eyes Novel)

22

Pearla

Pearla crouches atop a roof on Main Street. Below her, in the recessed entryway, is her mark.

Damien.

She’s been following him for hours, waiting for him to do something, anything worth reporting to Michael. He’s taken his human form now. Tall, olive skin, dark eyes. He leans against the wall, staring at the empty street.

It took her some days to locate him. His new eyes spotted her at once and she had to lie low for a time, but today she’s managed to stay hidden, discreet. Still, he’s done little to merit report.

His first stop was a farmhouse skirting the highway. He circled once and dropped through the roof. She watched as he strolled the house, his black wings brushing everything with fear. Down the hall he went and into a bedroom.

She knew right away that a Shield had made his home here. She could tell that by the onyx chest in the dwelling place. That Damien would enter a Shield’s residence showed a reckless disregard, and Pearla wondered then just how much stock he was putting in those new eyes.

At first Damien ignored the chest. He walked the house, sniffing each room, leaking fear onto the furniture. But before departing, he re-entered the Shield’s room and glared at the chest. He hacked at it with his talons, beat it with his wings. He attempted to pick it up, but the chest would not move.

Finally he crouched before it, and with taloned fingers he lifted the lid.

Pearla clung to the roof, out of sight, amazed that the Throne Room would give up its secrets to one of the Fallen. She watched as he lifted a dagger from its depths. Watched as he opened his mouth and howled with delight. And then watched as his face turned hard. He tried to take the dagger, tried to slide it next to the curved sword at his waist, but the moment he sheathed it, the dagger vanished. Damien cursed as, with a heavy clunk, it rematerialized in the chest below. He tried again to retrieve the dagger. And once more the weapon would not be removed. In a fit of rage he left the house, flying past her, his mouth screaming hate.

Pearla doesn’t understand the demon’s actions, doesn’t understand the significance of the dagger, but it’s the one piece of information she has to report, so she tucks it away for her rendezvous with the Commander.

Soft footsteps pull her attention back to her mark. A woman approaches, crossing the street and stepping into the entryway next to Damien.

His human voice is low, threatening. “You came highly recommended.”

Fear presses through the woman’s satin shirt, but her voice is steady when she speaks. “So you said.”

Damien steps closer. “I’m reminding you because I’ve yet to see progress, and my fingers are just itching to send that e-mail.”

“Oh, stop. I’ll get it. Things take time.” She turns to go.

“You’re stalling,” he growls, yanking her back into the doorway.

The fear multiplies, but Pearla’s impressed by the woman’s ability to sound unmoved. “And why would I do that?”

“I don’t know.” Damien’s eyes rove her face. He really doesn’t know, and Pearla can see that bothers him. “But you being here, in Stratus, now, seems far too convenient.”

She pokes at his chest with a long fingernail. “You didn’t care where I was when you found me. You just wanted that bracelet. And I’ll get it.”

He pushes her back against the wall, a massive forearm to her throat. “Why Stratus?”

“The bracelet is here, right?” she says, her throat scratching for air. “Why does it matter?”

He releases her, but not before pressing her into the wall once more. “You had ties here before. Your work predates our arrangement.”

“You’re blackmailing me. That’s not really an arrangement.”

His hands curl into meaty fists. “You’re not answering me.”

“Look, the foundation has to do actual work from time to time. We can’t just continue to funnel money into Henry’s addictions. When Javan disappeared, that became possible again. And the girl . . .”

“Brielle?”

“Oh, please. Kaylee. She intrigued me. She’s smart. A fast learner. We could use someone like that at the foundation.”

Damien scowls. “That’s it? Your interest in Stratus is a gangly teenager?”

“Yes. Like you, I’m looking for a protégé.” Her words are delivered with precision. “Why would I lie to you?”

“You wouldn’t, because one rogue e-mail to the authorities and you’ll spend the rest of your life rotting in a jail cell.”

“You’ve made that perfectly clear. What you haven’t made clear is exactly why you want the girl’s bracelet.”

“Collateral.”

She steps into him, running her fingernail along his chin. “That’s a big word for a bad man. Are you sure you know what it means?”

Again he pushes her back. “Watch your tongue. We’re running out of time, and I need time to test it before . . .”

“Before what?” Her almond-shaped eyes narrow. “What else do you have planned?”

“Just get it. And keep your phone on. I don’t like having to find you.”

“We done?” she asks.

Damien shoos the woman away. Fear covers her body, but she moves as if she’s used to the substance, worn it often, made friends with it. With hardly a tremble in her step, she leaves the entryway and turns right, her high-heeled shoes taking her away from Damien.

He watches her go and then steps from the curb and strolls down the center of Main Street. His swagger says Stratus is his for the taking. But Pearla can’t stop thinking about the bracelet that seems to have captured his imagination.

What does he want with it?

And why didn’t he tell the Prince he had other plans?