Shadow Fall

The control center occupied the greater part of the first floor. Beyond, a wide spiral staircase led upward like a shaft of light to the sky, the architecture contemporary and modern. In Heaven everything had been both primeval and overwrought with the ages, every surface telling a story. But the tower was spartan, pristine. A vessel for light.

Custo stopped midstep as the solid wall of the tower grew transparent. The street below was bustling with all the staccato pump of the city, a direct contradiction to the clean quiet within the tower’s walls.

“They can’t see us,” Luca said.

Custo had figured out that much himself. “How’s that?”

“The same way we read minds, we’re able to manipulate perception. Dampen sensory acuity near the tower to the degree that only angels cross our threshold.” Luca waved a hand in the air to concede an unspoken point. “That is, until today. If it were anyone but Adam Thorne, you’d have been stopped on the street.”

And Annabella?

Luca didn’t answer but continued up the stairs. Custo forced his eyes from the view of the city to follow.

A wide archway had Custo stopping in his tracks again. An armory. Custo entered, awestruck. A glittering display of blades, cuffs, bows, and other oddly shaped weapons were mounted in white-blue glass cases along the walls. Blades predominated. Swords—some thick, some slender—and wicked daggers. To his left, a display of body armor. Was that a breastplate? He knew instinctively that these were not normal weapons; they hadn’t been crafted and honed by mortal hands.

Centered in the room were tabled exhibits. Slim drawers suggested more arms were tucked away. Curiosity had him stepping forward to ease out one of the drawers. Maybe he’d find the dagger shaped like a reversed trident, the dagger that had cut the wraiths out of the world last night.

The drawer opened soundlessly, but within lay varied tools, nested in molded blue velvet. Disappointed, he grazed a finger down the shaft of a raw-looking blacksmith’s hammer. The wood was shiny with use, the head blunt on one side, rounded on the other. Not what he was looking for.

Custo’s mind began to turn as he shut the drawer again. That blade would be damn useful at Segue, in Adam’s hands. If Custo could get away from his guide for just a moment to search the room…

Luca’s eyes narrowed at him; apparently, there’d be no stealing from The Order.

Custo hated angels in his head for good reason. At the very least he should be able to contemplate a crime, if not attempt to carry it out. Was it any wonder he didn’t want to be anywhere near others of his kind? Get out of my head!

The only reason he suffered Luca’s company was that Luca didn’t try to sustain that annoying mind-to-mind conversation.

“What are these things doing in here when they could be put to good use?” Custo asked. In other words, I know someone who could kill an awful lot of wraiths if properly armed.

Luca raised a brow and answered the unspoken statement. “Adam will have to make do with what he’s got. The weapons stay within The Order. Join us and you can have your pick.”

“But then I’d have to be one of you.”

Luca laughed. “You are already. I don’t know why you fight it. Actually, I do, but I am hoping you’ll come around.”

“Don’t hold your breath.” To change the subject, Custo said, “I don’t see any guns.”

Luca leaned up against the entry, folding his arms. “There’s a tedious, ongoing debate about acquiring modern tools of war. Most of the younger members are for it, but the administration of The Order is still very old- school.”

“You’ve embraced technology in the control room,” Custo observed.

Luca shrugged. “Many make a firm distinction between using satellites for information gathering and using semiautomatic weapons for violence. One life taken by accident is one too many.”

Custo knew that from experience; it burned like the wound in his gut. Nevertheless, there was no denying the accuracy and utility of firearms when faced with a gang of wraiths.

“Over here,” Luca said, exiting the armory for another minimalist archway. “Let’s get that wound taken care of first. You can’t heal with that bullet shredding your guts.”

Custo followed, grudgingly. He’d have held back if his belly weren’t so sore. “You said it was killing me.”

The idea was more than bothersome. He didn’t know his limits—he didn’t know he had limits.

“It could,” Luca answered. “If you were human, you’d be long dead.”

The room they entered led to smaller, glass-walled spaces resembling a hospital’s operating room, banks of equipment tucked perfectly along one wall. Two white-smocked women were waiting near an elevated pallet. To the side of the bed was a narrow, utilitarian table with a tray of disturbing tools. And damn, a needle and syringe.

“I thought angels were immortal,” Custo said. He didn’t want to get remotely near that pointy thing. His belly didn’t hurt that much. “We’ve already died, and we heal spontaneously. How can I, can we, be killed?”

Luca made an openhanded gesture. “Because we are in the mortal world. Everything, everyone, here is… mortal. On Earth, you are a mortal angel, and as such, you will age and can be killed.”

That didn’t make sense. “Just last night, I was hammered by wraiths, even shot a couple of times, and today, aside from this nagging pain, I’m little worse for the wear.”

“Last night you were on the brink of death, and you know it.” Luca lifted a brow as if to dare Custo to dispute him. “Had we not come to your aid, you would have died. You sustained and healed from those injuries because you have a great soul, a soul capable of much good, or evil, as you so choose. But taxed enough, your body can and will die.”

Custo recalled debilitating darkness and the long wait for the welcome burn to signal healing. Yes, he’d come very close to something irrevocable last night.

“And what then?” Custo wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

“You’ve already lost your life, so the only thing of yours left to give is your soul. You die a second time and you die forever. The choice to return to mortality is thus a difficult one, made with much forethought and deliberation.”

Custo had jumped Heaven’s Gate in a mad dash for the trees.

“Since the second birth is traumatic and painful, angels descend into the comfort and safety of the tower, to be cared for until they are strong enough and world-oriented enough to function without calling human attention.”

He had endured the rebirth on a city sidewalk, naked and terrified, and then mugged some poor slob for his clothes and cash.

“Afterward, each mortal angel is assigned a task, a mission to complete for the benefit of humanity. Usually something small and manageable. And then another of greater difficulty and another, until the angel elects to return to Heaven, preferably long before sustaining mortal harm.” Luca finished and made a show of waiting on Custo’s next question.

But Custo was still stuck on the first. “So you’re saying that I can die.”

Luca’s mouth twitched. “Will die, yes, if you remain long in mortality or don’t get that bullet out of your side.”

The table was ready, needle waiting.

No, no, no. “I’m fine for now.” Translation: Someone else at Segue could dig the bullet out of him. His friends were waiting below, and he wasn’t so keen on submitting himself to the tender mercies of the women in white.

You’ll be asleep. Won’t hurt a bit. The message came from the brunette.

“Don’t talk in my head,” Custo said, near growling. “And no thank you. I’m fine.”

“You like to court disaster, don’t you?” Luca said. “Very well, as always, it’s your choice. This way…” They made another circuit of the wide stairway, ascending to the level above. Instead of the wide archways of the floor