“Are you ready now?” he asked with exaggerated patience.
Taking a deep breath, concentrating very hard on staying glued to the chair she was currently sitting in, Maggie nodded. She felt a quick tug, but resisted with all her will, clenching both hands on the edge on the seat. A slight frown flickered over Gideon’s features, but then the room fell away as before. She experienced the same dropping sensation, though, admittedly, it wasn’t nearly as bad as before. Either she was getting used to it, or being mentally prepared for it actually did help.
When the falling sensation stopped, and Gideon’s bedroom came into focus, Maggie grinned. Gideon looked perplexed.
She was still sitting in the chair.
“Master,” the Charocté called quietly from the corner, head bowed, fists pressed to shoulders. “The Animagi is here to see you.”
“Admit him,” Stolas barked. Dimiezlo had fast become one of his most loyal and trusted subjects, earning him perhaps a bit more leeway when interrupting Stolas’s time.
The demon walked through the massive archway into the great hall, his gait wobbling awkwardly as his cloven hooves came down on the gleaming black marble. Dimiezlo’s forked tongue slithered from his mouth. His furry arms crossed over his equally furry chest, fists pressed to his shoulders as he bowed his bald, horned head. His goatlike legs prevented him from kneeling, but he remained respectfully silent until Stolas gave him leave to speak.
“Master, we have word of a first generation Halfling,” Dimiezlo said once Stolas bade him speak. “But she is already with the Fallen. Temptation has her.”
Stolas sat up straight in his seat. Dimiezlo had learned to spit the bad out with the good right away. It tended not to ignite Stolas’s temper quite so quickly or so fiercely when he wasn’t given false hope only to have it crushed later. Though still angry, he was much more reasonable when the facts were all laid out quickly.
The Halfling in the cell below had begun hemorrhaging not half an hour past. The news of a first generation Halfling was just what he needed to brighten his day, regardless of who currently had possession of her. There was still hope. Besides, he had something in the works now, an alliance that might well render the Fallen irrelevant.
“First generation, confirmed.”
“Yes, master.” Dimiezlo’s forked tongue slithered around the words. “My sources report the Slayer’s mate’s mother was a Keeper. She’d made contact prior to her death.”
A Keeper of Secrets? Well now, that was interesting. He’d thought they were only myth. Of course, the mere existence of Halflings attested to the fact that angels did indeed have secrets to be kept. Why then shouldn’t there be Keepers?
“Do we know the Halfling’s line?”
At last Dimiezlo lifted his head, his black eyes gleaming like the floor beneath his feet. “Michael.”
Any action Stolas might have taken over the lapse in respect was negated by the staggering revelation. He leaned back in his chair as the wind left his lungs in a whoosh.
Michael. An Archangel! By all that’s unholy!
The power that Halfling possessed would be staggering.
He’d wager all he possessed—and the very success of his plot to overthrow his grandfather—that she’d breed without complication. And not only would she breed well, but the Halfling could be employed as a valuable weapon, herself.
“You will do whatever it takes to obtain her. Promise whatever you have to, pay any fee, but keep it quiet. Utilize any and all resources available. You will obtain her, am I understood?”
Bowing his head, thwapping fists to shoulders, Dimiezlo vanished.
A first generation Halfling…of Michael’s line.
Stolas would be invincible.
Chapter Seven
“No,” Gideon repeated for what felt like the thousandth time.
“But I have to go home.”
He had to give the woman points for dogged determination. The last rays of sun were streaking the sky, and she’d used every available opportunity since she’d awoken that morning to needle him on the subject. She hadn’t let up one bit. If anything, his continued resistance only seemed to fuel her resolve.
The school this. Her responsibilities that. Her students. The charities she helped. Her damned houseplants. Nag. Nag. Nag.
Sweet Heaven, couldn’t the woman understand he was saving her life by keeping her there? Why the hell couldn’t she just say thank you and then be quiet?