you’re doing?” The slant to Maya’s eyes narrowed, her lips set in defiance.
“Fine,” Clark grunted. It was his lot in life to be surrounded by stubborn women. “Do whatever the hell you want. Don’t mind me.”
“I won’t,” she snapped back, her tone flooding Clark with memories of Sophia.
Just then, Camille landed beside them. She was so silent through the air that Clark hadn’t even heard her approach. He and Maya jumped in surprise, but Zarachiel merely looked to the Throne angel and said, “That was fast.”
“I found something,” she said, flicking her gaze to Clark.
His shoulders slumped; he saw her unspoken words play across the tightness of her jaw and how she tilted her head so that her eyes met only his. “That figures,” he said aloud to her.
“We should’ve known,” Zarachiel said with a heavy sigh; he’d understood too.
“What?” Maya asked, looking between the three of them. “Where?”
“His father’s grave,” Camille answered.
Maya’s mouth formed a little ‘o’ in surprise. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
“Why would you?” Camille bit off. “You’re not one of us.”
“What is your problem?” Maya squared off against the angel. Clark gave her points for bravery, but he didn’t give a shit right then. He left them standing there bickering and walked over to his father’s grave. Zarachiel was beside him, moving quietly through the tall grass. The trees leaned and whispered around them, dancing in a breeze Clark hadn’t noticed earlier. No night creatures moved about. Nothing breathed around them. Clark’s footsteps seemed muffled and worlds away.
He came to the grave quick enough—too quick maybe. He wasn’t prepared to see what was lying there, placed carefully before the tombstone. Two rib bones were arranged to form a heart above the scruff of grass atop of the newer grave. The ends of the bones were filed dangerously sharply. The outer curves were supplemented with shining metal blades that laced around the bone, curving almost sexually through the ivory to end in delicately sculpted handles to the two matching knives. The daggers would be lethal to human and angel alike.
“Michaela’s bones,” Camille said, coming up behind Clark and Zarachiel.
“How do you know?” Maya asked. She peered down at the knives, hands on her hips like she was frustrated with her lack of information.
“What does he mean by this?” Clark asked the two angels, ignoring Maya for the moment. He crouched down and peered closer at the weapons, nudging one with his finger.
“He knows how much she means to you. He saw your connection to her,” Zarachiel offered.
“Likely, he just wants to be a dick by rubbing it in your face that he took her wings.” Camille pursed her lips, regarding the bones at her feet. Clark noticed the slight shudder that spread down her back. She understood the pain of a broken wing.
“It has to mean more than that,” Clark mused. “Maybe he’s going after Michaela?”
“The Angel of Death is immortal though,” Maya said.
“Everyone used to think angels were immortal too. Then Michaela figured out that her bones could kill one.”
“Maybe he just wants to remind you that he has power over you,” Maya said. She shrugged when everyone just stared blankly at her. “I mean, he can sneak in and kill a Descendant right under your nose. And he can make you have illusions. That sounds pretty powerful to me.”
“So he left you weapons,” Camille started, staring at Clark with worry in her green eyes.
“Because he wants me to know that I’ll be needing them soon,” Clark finished, knowing in his heart that it was true.
His battle with Lucifer had only just begun.
* * *
By default, Clark was left to walk Maya back to her apartment. Zarachiel and Camille were bent over old, dusty books written long ago about Lucifer. Too long ago, Clark thought, because they were dealing with something entirely new now.
“I’m
“Fine,” Clark grunted. It was his lot in life to be surrounded by stubborn women. “Do whatever the hell you want. Don’t mind me.”
“I won’t,” she snapped back, her tone flooding Clark with memories of Sophia.
Just then, Camille landed beside them. She was so silent through the air that Clark hadn’t even heard her approach. He and Maya jumped in surprise, but Zarachiel merely looked to the Throne angel and said, “That was fast.”
“I found something,” she said, flicking her gaze to Clark.
His shoulders slumped; he saw her unspoken words play across the tightness of her jaw and how she tilted her head so that her eyes met only his. “That figures,” he said aloud to her.
“We should’ve known,” Zarachiel said with a heavy sigh; he’d understood too.
“What?” Maya asked, looking between the three of them. “Where?”
“His father’s grave,” Camille answered.
Maya’s mouth formed a little ‘o’ in surprise. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
“Why would you?” Camille bit off. “You’re not one of us.”
“What is your problem?” Maya squared off against the angel. Clark gave her points for bravery, but he didn’t give a shit right then. He left them standing there bickering and walked over to his father’s grave. Zarachiel was beside him, moving quietly through the tall grass. The trees leaned and whispered around them, dancing in a breeze Clark hadn’t noticed earlier. No night creatures moved about. Nothing breathed around them. Clark’s footsteps seemed muffled and worlds away.
He came to the grave quick enough—too quick maybe. He wasn’t prepared to see what was lying there, placed carefully before the tombstone. Two rib bones were arranged to form a heart above the scruff of grass atop of the newer grave. The ends of the bones were filed dangerously sharply. The outer curves were supplemented with shining metal blades that laced around the bone, curving almost sexually through the ivory to end in delicately sculpted handles to the two matching knives. The daggers would be lethal to human and angel alike.
“Michaela’s bones,” Camille said, coming up behind Clark and Zarachiel.
“How do you know?” Maya asked. She peered down at the knives, hands on her hips like she was frustrated with her lack of information.
“What does he mean by this?” Clark asked the two angels, ignoring Maya for the moment. He crouched down and peered closer at the weapons, nudging one with his finger.
“He knows how much she means to you. He saw your connection to her,” Zarachiel offered.
“Likely, he just wants to be a dick by rubbing it in your face that he took her wings.” Camille pursed her lips, regarding the bones at her feet. Clark noticed the slight shudder that spread down her back. She understood the pain of a broken wing.
“It has to mean more than that,” Clark mused. “Maybe he’s going after Michaela?”
“The Angel of Death is immortal though,” Maya said.
“Everyone used to think angels were immortal too. Then Michaela figured out that her bones could kill one.”
“Maybe he just wants to remind you that he has power over you,” Maya said. She shrugged when everyone just stared blankly at her. “I mean, he can sneak in and kill a Descendant right under your nose. And he can make you have illusions. That sounds pretty powerful to me.”
“So he left you weapons,” Camille started, staring at Clark with worry in her green eyes.
“Because he wants me to know that I’ll be needing them soon,” Clark finished, knowing in his heart that it was true.
His battle with Lucifer had only just begun.
* * *
By default, Clark was left to walk Maya back to her apartment. Zarachiel and Camille were bent over old, dusty books written long ago about Lucifer. Too long ago, Clark thought, because they were dealing with something entirely new now.
“I’m
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