Archangel's Prophecy (Guild Hunter #11)(32)

Even had Jean-Baptiste decided against such service, he and Majda would’ve been treated with the same courtesy.

“They are your grandparents,” Raphael had said as he and Elena lay tangled in bed one night, “and so they are mine, too.” A pause before he’d added, “I also do not feel the desire to murder them as I so often do your father.”

The door Jean-Baptiste had painted a bright pink at Majda’s request opened before she reached it. As with Beth’s home, this door was wide enough to allow Elena entry. And it was Beth whose smiling face filled the doorway. Jean-Baptiste must’ve spotted them coming and not stopped Beth. From the joy of her, he also hadn’t alarmed her with a warning about nebulous danger. Good.

Before Beth could say anything, a smaller body wriggled out from around her side and pelted down the walk. “Auntie Ellie! Grampa! Auntie Eve!”

Bending, Elena scooped Maggie’s body in her arms and snuggled her close. Her niece was dressed in pink jeans with pink snow boots and a white furry jacket that was open over a white top that had a sparkly design on it. Her head was bare, the shoulder-length strands of her silky black hair awry, but she’d no doubt be wearing her pink sparkly hat when she ventured out into the snow again.

Her eyes were a sweet brown, tilted up at the edges, and her light olive-toned skin held a brush of gold. In the cheekbones hidden beneath the little-girl softness, Elena saw the promise of dramatic beauty. Most of all, in Maggie’s tiny body, she saw myriad threads of their family—strands of Morocco, of France, of New York, of her other great-grandparents’ history in Hong Kong and India.

But Maggie’s smile was a reflection of the pretty woman with strawberry-blond hair who stood in the doorway, clad in skinny blue jeans and a fuzzy green sweater with threads of silver.

Beth’s face had lit up at seeing the three of them, but her smile began to fade at the edges almost before Maggie finished digging in Elena’s top jacket pocket for a treat. As Maggie knew her aunt often had a small sweet for her, Beth knew that Elena and Jeffrey didn’t go out for companionable walks in the snow. Her eyes zigzagged between them to finally land on Elena. “Ellie?” A shaky question.

Maggie kissed Elena on the cheek, even though all she’d found today were a couple of crumpled energy bar wrappers. The foil backing of the wrappers caught the snow-amplified sunlight when Elena passed her niece to Jeffrey. Then she gave Beth a hug and tugged her sister with her as she walked into their grandparents’ home.

Majda and Jean-Baptiste sat in front of the fire, cakes made from the colorful clay children used to form their dreams spread out in front of them. A plastic tea set sat nearby. Heartbreakingly young in appearance, Majda and Jean-Baptiste could’ve been two twentysomethings who might have a three-or four-year-old of their own, but Majda was more than eighty years old and had been trapped in hell for much of that time. Jean-Baptiste, muscular and golden-blond with a square jaw and eyes of silvery blue, was older than his wife by a hundred and forty-five years.

Majda’s face was solemn when she looked at Elena. Her eyes, a hauntingly clear turquoise identical to Beth’s, spoke to Elena without saying a word. Jean-Baptiste had told his wife of the threat alert.

Elena gave a small, barely perceptible nod.

Rising in a graceful move, Majda held out a hand. “Maggie, azeeztee. Would you like to help me ice the cookies we made?”

Over the years since she’d found her grandparents, Elena had become used to hearing the affectionate word from Majda’s lips, the same word Marguerite had once used with Elena and Beth, Ari and Belle. But she sensed more than saw Jeffrey go rigid, as, across from them, Jean-Baptiste got to his feet.

None of them spoke until Maggie was in the kitchen, safely behind the closed door. Then, aware Beth had to be imagining all sorts of horrible things, Elena cupped her sister’s face in her hands. “Harrison is alive.”

Beth’s pupils flared.

Elena didn’t give her a chance to panic. “He was hurt, but Father and Eve found him in time,” she said in a voice as calm as Jeffrey’s had been at Beth’s house. “By now, he’s at the Tower under the care of a team of experienced healers.”

Beth lifted her hands to clamp them over Elena’s wrists. “How badly is he hurt?”

Elena didn’t lie to her sister. She had once, softening the edges of reality because she’d thought Beth couldn’t accept the harsh truth, but she knew better now. Though Beth lived in a world of sparkles and pink coats and a little girl who was her starlight, there remained inside her a Beth who understood death and loss and having to stand at gravesides while the people you loved were put in the cold ground.

Elena wished she didn’t, but life had stolen that choice from them.

“Bad,” Elena said. “But one of Raphael’s Seven donated blood to help him heal. You know that blood is powerful, Bethie.”

Her sister’s trembling lips firmed. “Oh. That’s good.” She took a shuddering breath. “Raphael’s angels and vampires are scary and tough.” She turned toward Jeffrey, and, to Elena’s surprise, their father held out an arm.

Beth fell against his chest, let him wrap his arms around her. “Harrison got the best possible help at the right time. Barring any unforeseen complications, he’ll be fine,” he told Beth with curt practicality. “Your house, however, is a mess—you should stay with your grandparents for the time being. We’ll make sure you and Maggie have what you need from the house.”