Jason agreed, hoped the angel would make it.
Now, Aodhan said, “I know you can’t speak to me about the details of what you’re doing here, but I’ve detected a pattern linked to this region. It may have no relevance to your task, but my instincts say otherwise.”
35
Before the other angel could continue, a butterfly, its wings an unabashed red dotted with saffron yellow, alighted on Aodhan’s shoulder. Another followed a second later, its markings more modest, its wingspan larger. Aodhan looked at them, and for a fleeting instant, he was a young angel again, woefully embarrassed by his most curious of abilities.
“It’s as if they can smell me,” he muttered, but didn’t brush the delicate creatures away. Instead, he lifted a finger, and a third butterfly appeared out of the sky to alight on it, this one with wings of creamy sunset. “Illium says that perhaps I can use them to flutter someone to death.”
Jason watched as Aodhan put the butterfly carefully beside the others, creating a living ornament on his otherwise prosaic T-shirt of deep brown. They weren’t the only fragile beings of flight who were drawn to Aodhan—once, long ago, Jason had seen the other angel laughing as he was covered by an array of tiny jewel-hued birds, his attraction greater than the nectar on which they customarily sipped. “As Galen would say,” he replied, “Bluebell has the wings of a butterfly himself.” He knew Illium had done a great deal to pull Aodhan out of the abyss, that the bond of friendship between the two was fast.
Shaking his head, Aodhan returned to the subject at hand. “A number of older vampires and angels have resigned their posts without fanfare in several courts across different regions over the past six months, then disappeared off the grid. All of them had some tie to Neha’s territory in their past.”
Six months.
Time enough to set up a well-guarded base. “How strong were these angels and vampires?”
“No one as strong as Dmitri or you, but by no means weak. Together, they’d compromise a battalion powerful enough to withstand a significant and prolonged assault.”
If, Jason thought, that assault force didn’t include an archangel. “Did they take people with them?” Trusted retainers who could keep their mouths shut.
“Roughly five hundred once you put all the pieces altogether.”
Those were the people Aodhan had managed to track. There could well be any number of vampires or angels who pledged service to no court, and thus flew under the radar. Because while Nivriti might not have been an archangel, as an angel of acknowledged power, she’d ruled a vast swath of territory under Neha.
Jason had heard nothing that said her people had not been loyal. Such loyalties died hard, and three hundred years was no eternity in an immortal’s life. “Were you able to glean any information about their eventual destination?”
“Just this subcontinent.” Aodhan’s eyes fractured the reflection of Jason’s face into innumerable shards. “It’s a secret that’s been kept well.”
Unsurprising. Nivriti’s followers had to know that if Neha discovered the conspiracy, she’d hunt down her sister before Nivriti was ready for battle, and complete the execution she’d begun many mortal lifetimes ago. “One day,” he said to the other angel, “I’ll be able to tell you what you just gave me.”
Aodhan flared out his wings, the air around him busy with pieces of color as the butterflies perched on him took flight. “I will see you in New York.”
“Yes. Good journey, Aodhan.” As he watched the other angel take flight, a splintered piece of light in the sky, he was already calculating every angle of this problem.
It wasn’t until the next morning, the sky still a dark cloud-gray that he found the answer. “It’s time to tell Neha of Nivriti’s resurrection.”
“Yes. Shabnam’s blood . . . it screams for justice.” Deep grooves around Mahiya’s lush mouth. “What is it you’ve discovered that you choose this moment?”
When he laid it out for her, she sucked in a breath. “You play Russian roulette with an archangel.”
He had never feared death, not for himself. But he would not permit Mahiya to be sacrificed on the altar of the bitter war about to take place. It was one born of old vengeance and old pain, twisted and rancid. Nivriti might love Mahiya, but she hated Neha more. Anyone caught in the middle of their conflict would be obliterated.
He thought of Mahiya with her wings broken, her face shattered, her eyes weeping blood, and knew he’d force her hand if need be, earn her hatred, but he would not watch her die. Not Mahiya.
“What are you thinking?” she asked softly. “You went away for a second.”
He considered obfuscation, decided on truth.
Her response was instant. “I could never hate you. I’d sooner love Neha.” Kissing his jaw with sweet, hot lips, she said, “All right, Jason. You are more experienced in matters of war—I will take your lead in this.”