“You’re a terrible liar, Nero. If you were going to turn me in, you would have done it already. I think you have a soft spot for me.”
Nero’s eyes flashed with indignation. “Did you hit your head when you fell from heaven?”
Damiel chuckled. “Nyx was wrong,” he told me. “You’re not a bad influence on my son. You are a fantastic influence.”
“I’m not sure about that, but thanks. I think.”
His eyes took on a nostalgic glow. “This is just like it was with Nero’s mother. Except I was the bad influence. We used to stay up late—”
A knife shot across the room. Damiel caught it between his bound hands, twisting them expertly to compensate. He sets the knife down on the coffee table.
“Nero, do not throw knives indoors,” he said in that same patient tone he’d used back at the Lost City, the tone of an immortal with all the time in the world, the tone of someone unbothered by anything. “Especially not when we’re guests in someone else’s home. It’s simply not appropriate.”
I was starting to realize that was the tone he reserved for the times he was really emotional, like a counter to strong feelings.
“Do not speak of my mother,” Nero said, his eyes burning with rage.
“I loved her.”
“You killed her,” he spat. His lip quivered, his shoulders shaking with angry tremors.
“No.” He paused. “It’s time you heard what really happened. I didn’t really go crazy. I was always a bit dark, but your mother countered that. She balanced me.”
His eyes shone with naked vulnerability. Looking into those eyes, I knew he’d loved her—that he still loved her. Nero must have seen it too because he didn’t argue with his father. He just listened in silence, waiting for Damiel to continue.
“Those were different times, Nero,” he said. “After a few angels defected, the Legion grew paranoid. They began striking preemptively, trying to stomp out darkness. We heard they were coming for me—and that they were going to assign your mother to hunt me down out of some kind of twisted sense of poetic justice.”
My heart clenched in sympathy. “That is cruel.”
“The Legion is cruel,” Damiel told me. “And they are cunning. So we decided to preempt them. We staged a confrontation. Everything you saw was an act.” He looked at Nero. “For you. So you would not be outcast by the Legion for treachery. As long as the Legion thought your mother died doing her duty, you would be assured entry.”
“But why would you want he to join an organization that would force his mother to kill his father?” I asked.
“The gods control the Nectar,” Nero said, his eyes meeting his father’s. “Without Nectar, you cannot become an angel. This is about power.”
“It’s about who you are,” Damiel replied. “Who you were always meant to be: an angel.”
Nero said nothing.
“She’s alive.”
Nero’s eyes lit up.
“Your mother is alive, and we are going to find her. That’s why I tracked down the weapons of heaven and hell. They belong to a group called the Guardians. I was going to use the weapons to get their attention so I could find her. After our staged battle, we were wounded and separated. I learned the Guardians took her in, but no one knows where they are. I’ve been searching for her, Nero, for two hundred years.”
21
Angels
Calli came in on the tail of Damiel’s revelation to announce that dinner was ready.
Damiel patted Nero’s shoulder. “Come on, son.”
We walked to the dining room in a solemn line. Nero still hadn’t said anything. His mind must have been overloaded rewriting two hundred years of history.
“Mrs. Pierce, this all looks delicious,” Damiel said as he sat down.
“You put out the fancy plates?” I said to Calli.
“Of course she did. We have two angels over for dinner. Two,” Tessa repeated with unfettered glee. “My friends will never believe it.”
“And you won’t tell them,” Calli said.
Tessa shot her a pouty face. “It’s still cool,” Tessa said, recovering quickly. “Even though one of the angels has handcuffs on.”
The handcuffs weren’t affecting Damiel’s ability to eat. He could twist his arms in just the right way.
“Way cool.” Tessa watched him cut a carrot neatly in half. “What level are you?”
“Level ten.”
“Wow. That’s like as high as it gets.”
“Not quite. There’s the First Angel.”
“Yeah, but she’s like in a class all her own.” Tessa’s gazed slid across to Gin. “Did you see her hair?”
“Yeah, it was flowing like it was underwater, like it was caught in some magic field or something.” Gin stole a quick look at the angels, then looked down shyly.
“What his favorite ability?” Tessa asked Damiel.
“What is this, Supernatural Teen magazine article part 2?” I demanded.
“Shush, don’t interrupt while I’m interviewing your future father-in-law.”
“Father-in-law?” Damiel’s brows lifted.
I dropped my face into my hands.
“There, there. She means well,” Bella said, patting my back.
“I don’t have a favorite ability. They are all tools, weapons in his arsenal. They all work together,” Damiel told Tessa, bringing them back to her question—and away from dangerous waters.
Thank you, I thought to him, sure he would hear my mental message.
“Would you sign my bellybutton?” Tessa asked Damiel with a coy wink.
“Don’t flirt with him,” I told her.
“Why not?”
I smirked at her. “Because I’ll tell your boyfriend.”
“You don’t even know who he is.”
“I’ll find out,” Leda promises her.
“You’d better be nice to me, Leda. Someday I might be your mother-in-law.”
I turned to Bella. “Kill me now.”
“What kills an immortal?”
“Seventeen-year-old girls.”
Bella laughed.
“I’d love to see your wings,” Tessa told Damiel, biting her lip playfully.
“And you thought I was bad,” I said to Nero.
“You’re even worse than your sister when you’ve had Nectar.”
The mischievous spark in his eyes reminded me of what had happened on our date—and in the library.
“Oh. That’s certainly vivid,” Damiel commented. “I didn’t know the shelves bent that way.”
I put up my mental barrier. “Mind-reading angels,” I grumbled, my cheeks burning.
“Young man,” Calli said.
“Young man?”
Calli gave her hand a dismissive wave. “Don’t ruin it. I had a whole speech ready.”
“Then by all means.”
“Are your intentions honorable?” she asked bluntly.
“What would you say if I said no?”
“I’d say that at least you’re honest.” Her eyes hardened. “And that I have a grenade launcher in the back that will shred more than a few of your feathers, immortal or not.”
They stared at one another, ice versus fire. Finally, they both laughed.
Calli took a bite of her roll. “I like you.”
Nero dipped his chin. “I like you too.”
They’d apparently sized each other up and decided they didn’t need to go to war.
After dinner, Nero and I sat outside, gazing up at the stars—and at the complete lack of soldiers watching the house.
“I have to leave now for Los Angeles,” he told me.