William Blake
Lincoln left me at Hades, disappearing to chase down yet another source. He’d been on a mission since we returned from Santorini, tracking down informants and lower-rank exiles all over the city in an attempt to learn more about Phoenix’s physical bond with me. And how to break it.
I’d argued, like always. He’d been adamant nonetheless, like always.
When I made it back to the warehouse, cross with myself for letting Lincoln insist on going off alone, Evelyn was sitting on the stairs outside the building.
I wasn’t ready for this, but she clearly wasn’t going to go away and we’d have to have it out sooner or later. And once we arrived at the Academy we couldn’t trust that any of our conversations would be private. So I guess that left now or never.
I walked past her and unlocked the door, leaving it open. She followed, closing it behind her.
The coffee machine drew me like a magnet and I started to make two cups. Evelyn took her time joining me, looking around Lincoln’s place with unsettling curiosity. I noticed her eyes linger on the blankets that were still draped over the sofa from last night and fix on the wall covered by the large drop-sheet.
I fleetingly wondered if Lincoln had peeked but quickly discarded the thought. He wouldn’t.
When Evelyn finally joined me, I handed her a latte.
‘Thanks,’ she said, stirring in a spoonful of sugar. ‘This is a great place. The light is amazing.’
That it was. Lincoln’s warehouse had huge arched windows stretching the full height of a space that could easily accommodate another floor.
‘You should see it first thing in the morning,’ I said.
‘You stay here a lot, then?’
I crossed my arms and leaned back against the kitchen bench, not about to go there. ‘Do you know who he is?’
‘Who?’
‘My angel maker. I know yours was Semangelof. I know you made the deal with mine, he told me. So, do you know who he is?’ Evelyn might have come to me but that didn’t mean I couldn’t ask my own questions.
‘Yes.’ She was irritatingly good at retaining the same neutral expression.
Now we’re getting somewhere.
‘Well, who is he?’
She took a sip of coffee. A stalling tactic. ‘It’s not for me to tell and better that you do not know. For now, anyway.’ She sighed and put her hands down on the bench, leaning in. ‘I didn’t want to leave you and your dad. I felt every second of the time I was not with you and James. But I’d do it all again. You can hate me all you want – I would if I were you – but I look at you and I see … I might have taken your family from you, but I gave you one, too. You’re Grigori – they are your family, and you’re a warrior.’
I looked away from her piercing eyes. I couldn’t let her in. I just couldn’t. I’d gone my whole life without a mother.
What does she want from me?
‘Now I have a question for you,’ she said, satisfied she’d silenced me.
‘What?’ I managed, still digesting everything.
‘You and Lincoln – are you more than partners? Griffin refuses to discuss it. I need to know.’
I took a sip of coffee. She raised her eyebrows.
‘Yes. No. It’s complicated,’ I answered.
She nodded. ‘Griffin told me about Rudyard and Nyla. They were friends of mine.’ Her tone dropped and I was struck by her genuine sadness. She seemed so cold most of the time but this wasn’t – they’d obviously truly been her friends.
‘They were my friends, too,’ I said. When she didn’t respond, I added, ‘Phoenix did it. Phoenix was the reason Rudyard died.’
Evelyn’s eyes became fierce. ‘A demonstration?’
I nodded, guilt weighing heavily on my chest.
‘You and Lincoln are soulmates.’
It wasn’t a question but I nodded anyway.
‘Oh, you bastards,’ she mumbled.
I raised my eyebrows in question.
She shook her head. ‘The angels did it on purpose. They knew you’d choose for love.’
This was news to me. ‘How? I mean … How?’
She was still shaking her head. ‘Because I told them your choice would come from your heart.’ She pinned me with her gaze. ‘And James? He hasn’t been around much?’
I shrugged uncomfortably. ‘He works a lot.’
‘Nice try. How many family holidays have you been on?’
I thought back to our one weekend away that had ended in carnage. ‘Not many.’
‘And clearly neither of you cook,’ she concluded, adding, when she saw my expression, ‘your oven still has stickers on it. And …’ her look softened and intensified at the same moment. ‘I’ve heard enough to know someone hurt you a couple of years back.’
I looked down, bracing myself for the inevitable questions.
As if she’d read my mind, or perhaps my rigid body language, she sighed. ‘I’m not going to ask. I’m sorry I wasn’t here to kill the bastard for you.’
I blinked back tears.