Chapter 10

TEN

Willow

The flickering blue flames are brighter this time. Like they're growing along with my power. My whisper goes right to the book, but her near-translucent fingers can't grasp the pages.

Frustration builds inside her. She balls her hands into fists and pounds them against the stone altar. Once. Twice.

"Ow!"

The third time, impact sings up her arms. So strong, I feel the pain in my own hands. But I don't think Hannah's increased the power of the WCU. Maybe…she doesn't need to? Maybe this is all me? Or us?

Ink slowly fills the next blank page. This writing is bolder. Angrier.

Accept the power of the Blade, and the magic will be yours for the rest of your days. No weapon in this world can destroy it. It is bound to the souls of all who have come before. You have a choice, Whisper Keeper. Continue and you will possess control over magic itself. Leave now, and the Blade will remain hidden until the next in your line is called.

My whisper splays her hands over the ancient parchment. Her indecision weighs heavily on me. Or is she sensing my fear?

I thought the Blade was a tool for good. But these warnings are getting more and more ominous.

She huffs, then continues on. More ink, so many lines they blur in front of our eyes until the last period at the very end of the page is formed.

You will be bound to this place. To this burden. The Blade, the grimoire, and the Whisper Keeper are one. Before you take the final step, heed the warnings of those who came before.

1879 - These are the final words of Frances Rowland, Whisper Keeper.

I go to my death willingly. They have found me, and they will soon force me ? —

The vault and my whisper are ripped away from me so quickly, my whole world spins. "No!" I shout, back in my own body on the cold, stone floor beneath the cathedral.

Hannah grabs my shoulders, giving me a gentle shake until I focus on the worry in her eyes. Flecks of purple glow in the blue of her irises, and a wave of calm washes over me. "You're okay, Willow. Your two minutes were up, and we pulled you out. We have to increase the length of time we use the WCU slowly so we don't accidentally overwhelm your system. How do you feel?"

"I…I wasn't ready." The last Whisper Keeper's words play on a loop in my head. "They will soon force me…"

Force her to do what?

My chest tightens. I scramble to my feet, but start to wheeze. The sensation of my blood pressure bottoming out drives all rational thought from my head. Stumbling for the stairs, I struggle to draw a deep breath. "I need…"

Isaac grabs my arms in a bruising grip. The pain shocks me enough to focus on the anger in his dark eyes. "You're not done for the day."

"Let…go." The words don't sound like me. Tiny. Pleading. Panicked. "I need air."

"You'll get it after you finish with the book. After you find the spell to activate your power. We're not leaving until your whisper reads every page."

Every page? The grimoire has a hundred of them! It'll take me weeks to get through them all.

I try to yank my arms away, but he shoves me toward the vault door. Hannah dials up the WCU, and with a wail, I'm sucked back into my whisper.

Her tears stain the ancient pages. But the ink is still as clear.

They have found me, and they will soon force me to steal the talents—the very lives—of those trapped in the dungeons with me. Witches and werewolves, vampires and fae. The wretched souls howl in pain, knowing what our captors have planned. An unbeatable army, powerful enough to rule the earthen realm. To fight the Almighty. To breach the gates of Heaven.

I cannot fight any longer. Weeks of torture have broken me. I must find a way to die so the world may live. I pray the next Whisper Keeper is strong enough to resist the call. Only then will our ancestors truly be able to rest.

My whisper covers her face with her hands. They're almost solid now, but the haunting blue flames seep around the edges of her fingers.

"What do we do?"

I'd give anything to be able to talk to her. To know what she's thinking beyond these waves of emotion.

Her hands snap back to the grimoire like they're bound to it somehow. She tries to look away. I can feel her resistance. Perfumed air swirls around us. We sway as one, disoriented, until she turns the next page.

Another diary entry. This one from the late 1700s. Darker than the last. A third. A fourth. They all end with the Whisper Keeper taking her own life. With a warning for the future.

Sobs wrack her—our—shoulders. I can feel the finality in the air. The diary entries go all the way back to the 1100s. To the first Whisper Keeper and her coven. To why the Blade was created in the first place.

The next words we read…they'll be the end. We'll be bound to the Blade until we die. AURA doesn't want to cure cancer. I know that now. Like a veil has been lifted from my eyes, I can see their true intentions. My only hope is to run.

The page turns. The ink seeps up from somewhere unknown, and the final words appear.

The Blade is mine and mine alone.

It calls me forth to find its home.

Magic has but one true course.

No truth is found in might and force.

I hold it high for all to see.

Let no one set this power free.

A wave of magic hits me—us—in the chest. It seeps into every part of me. Into my pores. My veins. My bones. My whisper throws her head back in a silent scream until her throat is raw.

Pain explodes across my cheek. I'm ripped from her with such force, it feels like I'm flying. Until I hit the very real, very rough wall of the antechamber. Isaac and Hannah stare down at me.

They know. The power is mine now. And I'm theirs.

Gabriel

The old cathedral is utterly silent this time of night. The dim lights do nothing to chase the shadows away. I did not want to come here. But as I lay in bed, staring up at the hotel ceiling, I felt Azrael's call.

Letting him appear in my room would have caused a commotion. At least here, we are alone. I whisper his name, drawing him to me, and a moment later, a punch of power rattles the pews and almost sends me to my knees.

Fuck. I have spent too long in the earthen realm if I cannot withstand the jolt of a single angel appearing before me.

"Gabriel."

His black wings fold against his robes, and a current of jealousy runs through me. Another very human emotion I am not accustomed to.

"You called?"

He stares at me, confusion knitting his brows together. "Where are your robes?"

"Robes are not typically worn in the earthen realm. Surely you knew this? Or do you not look at a soul's earthly body when you help them cross over to the afterlife?"

His lips curve into a frown. "I don't pay attention to what they wear. Why should I?"

Two weeks ago, I would not have had an answer for him. Or even asked the question. But now, his apathy grates on me. "Because humans choose their clothing with purpose. They often use it to define who they are."

"That is ridiculous. The Almighty does not care how a soul dresses ." He shakes his head and scoffs, his wings shifting with every movement. "She does care that you have been shirking your duties. As does Seraphiel. I assured him you would return to the celestial realm very soon ."

Fuck. "I am not ready." Grabbing Azrael's arms, I barely resist the urge to shake him. "There is so much we can learn here, brother. So much we do not understand about how this realm has changed since its creation."

The Angel of Death beats his wings, lifting us both five feet off the ground before he shakes off my hold. I fall, and my head slams into the side of one of the pews. The harsh scent of blood fills my nose. My blood.

"Put your hands on me again, brother , and you will find yourself with much more than a minor head wound."

I touch the cut on my temple. It is already starting to heal. In five minutes, it will be nothing but a memory. Much like my wings, at the moment.

"Of all our brethren, I thought you would be the one who would understand. I am not staying in this realm for my health, Azrael. We spend our entire existence watching . We think we are all knowing, but in truth, we are blind. We need to find a way to see."

Azrael smooths his hands down his pristine, black robes. His silver belt glows with his power. "I can buy you another few days in this realm. Seraphiel is distracted dealing with Lucifer. Hell's guardian is demanding an audience with the Almighty, and you know how well that went the last time. But if you're not back once that mess is sorted, Seraphiel will order you home."

"Seraphiel can fuck off," I mutter. "He is a power-hungry twat, and everyone knows it."

Azrael's chuckle seems to surprise him. He sobers quickly and steps closer to the altar. "That he may be. But he has the Almighty's ear. Do not test him."

His return to the celestial realm ruffles my hair, but I am prepared for the blast of power and maintain my footing.

The frescos behind the altar draw my gaze. Over the past two weeks, I have seen many churches. The ones in Italy were my favorite. Magnificent in every way. Some so ornate, they moved humans to tears. This cathedral is plain by comparison. Yet, there is beauty in its simplicity.

I should return to my hotel. Figure out where to go next. If I only have one more week, I must be…discriminating in my choices. And steel myself for the ridicule I will surely encounter when the other archangels see the ravaged state of my wings.

"Stop! Please!"

The woman's voice carries from somewhere behind the altar. Panicked. In pain. Familiar. I close my eyes and release the hold I keep on my angelic power. Utter hopelessness and despair. Fear. Her emotions are like a thousand razor sharp daggers piercing my soul.

At the distinctive sound of a slap, I stride for a purple drape covering part of the wall. It flutters slightly, though the air in the sanctuary is utterly still.

"I didn't see the last page! You have to believe me!"

"You lie," a man growls. "Tell us where the Blade is, or you'll find out what happens when we turn the WCU up to eleven."

The woman screams in agony. I race down a narrow, twisting set of stairs, and burst into a large antechamber with stone walls. Bright floodlights point at a metal door.

An angry dark-haired man pins a curvy blonde's arms over her head, while another woman—this one decidedly not human—twists the knob on a black box in her hand.

Tears stream down the blonde's face. I know her. I met her in this very cathedral, perhaps ten days ago. Dr. Willow Saunders.

"Please," she whimpers, her voice fading as her body shakes violently. "Hurts…"

"Let her go!" I shout, springing for the brute. One well-placed punch to his side sends him flying. Willow crumples to the ground, still crying.

The other woman narrows her gaze at me. "What are you?" she asks with a smile designed to seduce even the hardest of men. Her voice is like ambrosia, sweet and rich and addicting.

"I am—" Fuck, no. I wrap my fingers around her throat, cutting off her air. Was I truly about to answer her? I could snap her neck, but I am no killer. Not unless there is no other choice.

Her eyes roll back in her head. I toss her toward an old, pitted metal door with no handle, then scoop Willow into my arms. A seizure racks her body. I have to get her somewhere safe.

The man stirs with a groan. I run for the stairs, unwilling to let these assholes witness any of my angelic power.

Once I reach the sanctuary, I kick one of the lecterns in front of the passageway. That should slow them down.

Willow gasps for breath. "I will take care of you," I say softly. "You are safe with me."

Closing my eyes, I call upon my talents and picture my hotel room in my mind. The man shouts, "Trap her in the void! Now!"

Her agony washes over me. So much regret and pain. The fine hairs on the back of my neck prickle. With a final wail, her entire consciousness fades into oblivion. I can sense nothing from her. Not even a trace of emotion. Yet…her heart still beats. Her chest stutters with weak breaths. What have they done to her?

A seductive, silken voice wraps around me from the stairs. "Let her go."

"Fuck you," I grit out. With every bit of strength I can muster, I bend the very fabric of the world to my will, and we disappear.