“Consider it a debt paid for healing me queen.” He looks past Russell and Anya to Buns and Brownie. “Ah, da Reapers have arrived—and more Powers—yer entourage is growing, mo chroí.” He smiles at me, indicating Zephyr and Preben, but then his eyes darken and his eyebrows clash together. Without warning, his fangs engage with a click. Stepping in front of me, he growls, “Someting is wrong.” His back is to me. Finn gets in front of me as well, ready to defend me from whatever Brennus senses. I can’t see around the wall of Faerie.
Reed remains relaxed beside me. He takes my hand in his, trying not to laugh. “What you sense is Phaedrus. He’s a Virtue. He came with us to help us locate something.”
Brennus relaxes, turning to look at Reed. “Ye couldn’t have mentioned dat before I sensed da Virtue?”
It suddenly occurs to me that Virtue angels are invisible to most beings. It’s only because I’m part angel that I can see him. “Wait. You can’t see Phaedrus?” I ask.
Brennus retracts his fangs. “I can na see him, but I can feel him. At da moment, da Virtue is radiating enough heat to burn da place down.”
Phaedrus strips off his shirt, exposing his skin to the icy air. He wraps his shirt in his hands. “He’s right. I need to get inside and locate the item we came here to collect.”
“Can you hear him?” I ask.
“No,” Brennus replies.
“You can’t even see his clothes?” I press on, still hung up on the notion.
“Na if he’s touching dem. He has a magic of his own,” Brennus replies. He makes a gesture with his arm, “Shall we go in and find whah ye’ve come here ta collect? I do na tink I can bear da suspense much longer.” He leads the way to the doors. He’s beside me after I enter the foyer. The inside is breathtaking. It’s so much crisper though through my own eyes than through the eyes of my clone.
This is the cathedral part of the seminary. Intricately crafted wooden pews flank a long marble floor. The aisle leads to an apse. Instead of an altar there are two enormous thrones. I face Phaedrus. “Where are you being pulled?” I ask.
He walks up the aisle. “This way,” he replies over his shoulder. His owlish wings eject from his back and unfurl. I follow him. His wings stretch out wide as he approaches the apse and stands under the colorful light from the stained-glass window. He takes flight, soaring around the carved stone images of saints recessed into the walls. He lingers near the back wall. “It’s somewhere…” He lands back on his feet. He drops to one knee, feeling the marble floor. His deft fingers search for a crease.
Brennus clears his throat. Is dere someting wrong?” he asks me.
“What’s beneath the apse?” I ask.
“Dat would be me archive. Would ye like ta see it?”
Phaedrus scrapes the floor with his fingernails. “Tell him yes.”
“Yes,” I relay to Brennus. The Gancanagh king waves his gloved hand in a graceful gesture. The floor beneath Phaedrus moves. The Virtue flies upward as a passage in the floor unfolds to reveal a set of descending stairs.
“You do love your tunnels,” I murmur.
“Dat is someting da religious clergy and I have in common. Maybe na da only ting.” Phaedrus does not ask for an invitation to the world below. He lands in front of the stairs and descends. We follow him down into an elaborate round stone chamber connected to several hallways that lead away from it in a sunburst pattern. Thousands of magical Faerie weapons line the walls of this room. Gleaming glass cases, like coffins, display shiny metal daggers, swords, and axes. They’re masterpieces that have forgotten how to sing. In the center of the circular room, I recognize Brennus’ Faerie armor; it holds the long battle-axe that he gave to me. I walk to the armor and touch it. It feels cold and lonely—the most extraordinary things usually are. It’s the consequence of being timeless.
Finn is beside me. On my other side, Phaedrus passes his hands over the armor next to Brennus’ armor. I grasp the etched silver and gold shaft of the battle-axe Brennus made so long ago. The metal vibrates and comes to life. Its music whispers to me a concerto of hope.
“This.” Phaedrus sighs with relief as sweat falls from his brow. He holds a battle hammer that has two faces. One side is a hammerhead; the other is sharper and sickle-shaped. The Virtue extends the weapon for me to take. My eyes widen in surprise. It’s Finn’s. I glance at him. His pale-green eyes connect with mine and I know. It’s always been Finn. He’s here for a purpose and his brother wouldn’t let him fall alone. Brennus came to help him.
I touch the sculptured silver; it’s like the living dead. It has been waiting forever for me to be born—for me to come for them both. As my fingers move over it, the weapon begins to sing. It’s not the elegant song of Brennus’ weapon. No, this one has a beat meant for crushing. Finn’s eyes squeeze closed when he hears its music. He drops down to one knee in front of me, bowing his head. “Me queen,” he says in a reverent voice. “I am yours to command.”
“Finn.” I rest his battle hammer against his ancient armor. Placing my hand on Finn’s shoulder, the heavy fabric feels wet from melted snow. He looks up at me and I gesture for him to stand.
He does. Getting to his feet, he says, “I made dis for ye—many, many years ago, Genevieve, before ye were ever born.”