Archangel's Prophecy (Guild Hunter #11)(68)

The Primary stared at her from his silent crouch on the far side of the balcony, his eyes a deeper blue today and his skin carrying a touch of gold. “Who did you speak to?”

Breath rough, Elena put away her knives. “Did you see the owl sitting there?”

“No.” Wind blowing back his hair. “We felt you reach for us. Will we fly again?”

Her phone rang before she could answer. “I’ll take this inside.” She was cold deep within her bones. “You want to come in?”

“I will watch the snow and remember it.”

Leaving the Primary to his unfathomable vigil, she stepped in, phone to her ear. “V, what is it?”

“You still in Raphael’s office? I’m patching in a call on his screen.”

“Thanks.”

The screen cleared to reveal a woman with curls of golden brown against skin the shade of rich honey. Her eyes were a clear brown with a burst of gold in the center, the wings that rose up behind her shoulders the evocative shade of bitter chocolate. “Andi.” Elena’s blood grew hot. “Did Jess put you on my research question?” Mated to Naasir, the young angel was Jessamy’s student and a nascent historian in her own right.

“The white owls.” Andromeda’s voice trembled. “Legend says they are Cassandra’s—she’s often described as having lilac hair and it’s said she clawed out her eyes to stop her visions.”

. . . tears of dark red.

“I think Jessamy mentioned her once.” Elena frowned, fighting to remember what her friend had told her. “She was an archangel long ago?”

“Cassandra is more myth than memory now. Many people think she never existed, the few of her prophecies that survived, nothing but the fantasies of a Sleeping poet.” Andromeda’s curls vibrated with her energy. “Ellie, the legends say she was kin to the Ancestors—the first ones of our kind, the angels said to Sleep under the Refuge.”

Elena staggered inside at the idea of an archangel of such enormous age. Cassandra had Slept a long time. “Is she waking now?” she asked, a rasp in her throat. “Is that why I see her owls?” Elena had spoken to Jessamy right after leaving Nisia, given the historian the necessary background to her request.

“Jessamy and I don’t know.” Andi hugged an old book with a battered leather cover. “We spoke to Caliane, and she says she dreamed in her Sleep. You may be part of Cassandra’s dream—she might not be conscious she’s woken enough to impact the world.”

Rubbing at her forehead, Elena tried to quiet the incipient headache. “Do you know anything else about her?”

“Not yet,” Andromeda said. “But I won’t stop hunting.”

After saying good-bye to the other woman, Elena got dressed for the weather then went outside and asked the Primary the same question she’d asked Andi.

The gargoyle that was the Primary didn’t so much as blink as snow began to fall on him. Within seconds, he was coated in a fine layer of white, a stone creature who had always been on the balcony in that position. When he spoke, his voice was inside Elena’s head, his lips unmoving. We remember the snow. She loved the snow. She loved our first aeclari.

And Elena knew. Cassandra ascended during the Cascade of Terror, didn’t she? A time of such violent energies that it had changed the fabric of the world—and given an archangel the terrible gift of endless foresight.

The Primary didn’t answer, only said, She saw what was to be. She dug out her own eyes to stop. But she could not stop seeing. She saw you, Elena.

Elena stared at the Primary. “What?”

We did not understand then. We did not know. The Primary’s voice held an echo now, the others of the Legion coming through. Mortal born. Mortal fall. Mortal heart. Ambrosia’s sweet kiss. Wings of dawn. Wings of night. This will be.

Elena’s heart still felt like ice ten minutes later, though she’d come inside again to give herself time to calm down before she went looking for Jade on the ground while Vivek continued to try to find an electronic trail. He’d even contacted both Claire Vargas and Andreas’s Nara, but so far, had nothing. In this case, talking to certain connected people might get her the answer faster.

Mortal born. Mortal fall. Mortal heart. Ambrosia’s sweet kiss. Wings of dawn. Wings of night. This will be.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” She screamed it out and felt immediately better. “Right, Ellie, pack it away until your archangel gets home. Your focus is fixing this mess of Harrison’s.”

She couldn’t think about how if Cassandra had foretold her ascension to angelhood so long ago that she’d been forgotten by immortals, then it was unlikely the Sleeping archangel was wrong about her upcoming death. So she’d push that cheery thought aside till she had Raphael beside her. She knew her limits, and she knew this was archangel-level insanity.

She’d just taken a step to the balcony door when her pants sagged.

Giving in to another scream because, goddamn it, she could not get a break, she wrenched her belt tighter around her waist and carried on—after grabbing three chocolate bars and ripping into one as she decided to talk to Ash and Janvier before she headed out. The two might have contacts inaccessible to her.

Also, she needed to brief them on what she’d discovered this morning. She was pretty sure she’d heard them in the hallway earlier, but if they’d left the Tower, she’d call. No point letting her research go to waste if her brain turned to paste when her wings sent her on a swan dive into a skyscraper.