A few angels fell. Before splattering on the ground, they flew away. I snorted. The last line of my males flew off after them. “Return,” I shouted. “Let them go in shame.” Raphael thought to infiltrate my fleet. Spies could not infiltrate my fleet because they didn’t train like my fleet. I trained warriors. Everyone else trained splattering eggs. Mm-hm.
“Which Court flies the finest angels?”
“Court of Command,” they shouted. Weapons clashed against their chest armor.
“Today is Sunday. We love Sundays, no?”
“Yes, Commander.”
“What do we do on Sundays?”
Every warrior stared back expectantly, for we did whatever I wanted them to do. “We hunt.”
Cheers broke out. I smiled.
Chapter Twenty-Three
The water felt blessed as it poured down my body. Maybe inside this House, water was blessed, but those who stayed certainly weren’t. Or maybe I only felt this way after having Lucifer in my head. When I said he’d been in my head most mornings, I was afraid Michael would freak out, seeing as Lucifer must’ve witnessed what happened between us.
Michael in bed.
On top of me.
Grinding his powerful body into mine.
I touched myself and winced. Sore. Too sore, not that I needed more orgasms. Or babies. I didn’t need babies either, but I didn’t protest, because I imagined having a baby with wings smiling up at me, looking at me the way people looked at Michael, knowing he’d protect them fiercely. I would. I would protect the baby. I would find a way to summon courage, and I would train until my feet couldn’t carry me anymore.
And I would love him or her the way my parents loved me. Even if they didn’t remember me, I remembered them. What if Michael lied, popped into my head. Whose thought was that? I shut off the shower, stood there, tilting my head as if I could hear thoughts. It was not so. I had to sort things out in my head, figure out a way to create barriers. Michael said I had done well. I could do even better.
Liar.
I rubbed my face.
“Who was a liar? Me or Michael?” I asked out loud.
“Your parents lived here, so they remained here,” I answered myself in a voice that sent a shiver down my spine.
“Stop it. I don’t want to talk you.”
“You’re not talking to anyone.”
I shut my mouth.
He would drive me crazy. Fear of madness made me quickly dry and dress in my uniform. I strapped knives into my sheaths, and, out of habit, slipped one into my back pocket. I wouldn’t take a single day off until I was a damn good soldier, both mentally and physically. Exiting my chambers, I paused and looked around. The lights seemed dimmer. With a shrug, I descended the steps, careful not to trip and fall. Had we lost power?
The house appeared darker, the foyer emptier, only a few people crossing back and forth. Perhaps they had all left the House of Command for the city.
Shouting came from outside, and I opened the door and looked up. Dear God. Angels blocked the sky, their feet still, their kilts waving like flags on the wind. Michael levitated above them, shouting. They thumped their weapons against their armor, and then they were off.
Storm clouds gathered above the city. It would rain. I wondered if they flew in rain. Descending the steps, I shook my head. Of course they flew in rain. Michael probably made the clouds rain. Snickering to myself, I crossed the lawn, looking for my squad, then remembered I didn’t have a squad anymore.
Some things, I wished I could forget, take an eraser and wipe from my mind. The chow hall was one of them. I exited the gate and stepped onto the training part of the House. There, I found a man behind the large pot. Ladle in hand, he brought it to his lips.
“Hey,” I said. “Have you seen…” The Ducklings had died. “My squad?”
He lifted his blue gaze, then dropped it.
I approached the food stand. “Excuse me. Have you seen any squads training today?”
“No.” A curt answer, and he turned away, got busy with something.
“Sir?”
He wouldn’t turn around.
“Sir.” I put more force into the word.
“Get lost. I don’t want trouble.”
What the fuck?
I marched out of the House’s gates and onto the street, stood there for a second, pursed my lips, stuck a hand into my pocket, and got the note with the address. Michael had said my parents didn’t know I existed. But I existed somewhere in this world, since there was an address in my file. Who lived there? Anyone? Or had Michael made up a random street and shoved it in there knowing I’d find it and look for it? The latter sounded likely. Still, hope wouldn’t let me stop looking. Hope made me move my feet toward town with no idea where I was going.
Intentionally, I avoided the busy street, thereby avoiding Mr. Habib’s shop, and took a left, then another right, and walked into a densely populated narrow street, tripped over uneven cobblestone, and hurtled forward, flailing my arms to prevent a fall. Somehow, I saved myself from eating shit on the stone. Pulling back my shoulders, I looked around. Nobody saw that display of klutziness. I moved on.
My boots made a lot of noise in this area. It got quieter and quieter as I moved farther into the town. It got darker somehow, and as I rounded the next corner, I realized the streets had no names or signs, and that they all led only one way: down. It was a maze. I was pretty certain of it. Turning, I tried to spot the House and saw only the tip of the roof. It seemed miles away. Shit. I walked back. Should’ve taken the main street. Damn it, I was lost, with nobody around to ask for directions.
At the top of the street, I looked back down. Maybe I should’ve kept going. Eventually, I’d reach the water. Right? Thinking, I scratched my head. At the bottom of the
