Chapter Twenty-Five
DRAVEN SURVEYED THE CITY BEFORE HIM. The view from this part of Acheron differed from the one he had grown used to recently, and the constant droning of alarms melded together to resemble an air raid siren. Even the smell bothered him. The river snaking through Acheron didn’t flow near his home. Around here, the pollution turned the water a moss green and filled the air with the repugnant stench of rot. He grimaced. The smell would be hideous come summer when the heat intensified the stink. Of course, that was if they made it through winter.
He could practically taste the pain and suffering radiating from the residents in the surrounding buildings. His flesh crawled with their misery. He closed his eyes to it. The action only helped to concentrate his hearing so that he picked out the cries of the child who hadn’t eaten all day. Somewhere else, a drunk hurled verbal abuse at his wife because she couldn’t stretch their meager household budget to pay for his brand-name beer and had bought generic instead. In the same home, pop music played and charcoal scratched over paper. He wondered if that was where the money had really gone. In an alley on the other side of the building, a junkie attempted to score a fix from her dealer, without the money to pay. He dared not imagine where she would end up tonight.
Draven could ignore his gift for the most part, but his highest senses tingled in this part of town and sent chills deep into his bones. Nausea made his stomach curl, and his cotton shirt irritated everywhere it touched. His feet itched to the point of being painful. He could bear the clothes on his skin as long as his feet remained uncovered. It grounded him, like rubber soles for an electrician or a metal rod with lightening. Then there were times that it wasn’t feasible to go barefoot; a man walking barefoot through the city in winter was bound to draw a few speculative glances.
A disturbance in the breeze at the back of his neck followed by a muffled thump warned him company had arrived.
“Gabriel.” Draven turned in time to see Gabe’s wings fold in behind his back and disappear.
Gabe stood several feet away, wrapped in the swirling steam from a nearby chimney vent. Gabe lowered his head in formal greeting. Draven noted his stiff shoulders, the hard set of his jaw, and the way his fingers clutched the jacket of his expensive suit. Gabe was a man on a mission. These last few years had worn on them all, but on the angel before him especially. Draven commended Gabe for taking on the roles of leader and second-in-command during all those times Sebastian struggled or didn’t quite live up to his responsibilities. Gabe was probably the reason Sebastian still held onto his position—because he’d always had Gabe to pick up the pieces and watch his back. Regardless, history couldn’t re-write itself, and the Nuhra still looked to Sebastian.
“Thank you for coming.” Gabe walked toward him and held out his hand.
Draven took it without hesitation and shook it firmly. “How could I resist?” he admitted. Clearly, Sebastian was up to something. If Gabe was turning to him, it meant the issue was something that concerned all of them. “I take it you are here to explain what’s been going on?”
“First—”
“Nathaniel is nearby, should Brie require assistance.”
Gabe released a breath. He didn’t need to explain his reasons for seeking extra protection from Draven. Calling in another Nuhra to replace him would mean running the risk of alerting Sebastian.
Curiouser and curiouser, Draven thought.
“But isn’t he—”
Draven cut him off a second time. “I trust him implicitly,” he stated confidently about the guard who had once seen his Nephilim daughter slaughtered and in turn annihilated the Nuhra responsible.
Gabe sighed again. “We need to talk.”
“I gathered.”
Gabe scowled, reproaching Draven’s flippant attitude. Rhetoric was another tool he used for containing the effects of his condition. It distracted him, and he wasn’t about to give it up. The Nuhra walked past him—too close. His anxiety caused the hairs on Draven’s arms to rise. It radiated off him and pinged at Draven’s skin, leaving him feeling like a plucked chicken. His toes curled inside his sneakers. What he wouldn’t give to be rid of them already.
“That bar down there.” Gabe inclined his head in the direction of a gaudy blue neon sign…The Devil’s Snare.
The bar was as seedy as they came. Even the thought of circulation among its wretched patrons made Draven shudder, fortunately imperceptibly. “How amusingly apt.”
“That’s where Sebastian’s been hiding.”
“Why doesn’t that surprise me?” He peeked over the side again, in time to see the sign flicker, accompanied by a distinct sizzle.
Gabe shot him a cold glare and stepped up onto the low wall surrounding the roof of the building. His wings appeared, and one long stride, he disappeared out of view.
Damn you, Sebastian. Draven followed Gabe up and over the wall, simultaneously unfurling his own wings. By the time he touched ground in the alley by the side of the bar, Gabe’s wings were gone, and he appeared almost human again…as human as any of them ever appeared. He was in the process of shrugging on his suit jacket to cover the rips in his shirt.
Draven groaned, making no effort to hide his exasperation. He didn’t particularly enjoy being out in the open, and frankly, he had bigger fish to fry. If the Nuhra wanted to spend time babysitting Sebastian, it didn’t concern him much. Sebastian had served his purpose by publically acknowledging the time for fighting among themselves had ended. Besides that, he had little patience for Sebastian’s whining after what he’d done to Candra and then for dragging Ananchel into it.
“I don’t like this,” he complained, pulling on his own leather jacket after his wings vanished. They made their way to the front of the bar. Few cars traveled these streets, and those that did rarely stopped. Even taking that into account, the streets were more deserted than they should have been. In fact, there was barely a soul in sight. Now that he thought of it, the usual din of the city seemed to have settled at a lower volume.
“I don’t like any of what’s going on,” Gabe responded, his tone unusually scornful. “But despite what you might tell yourself, I know Sebastian a little better than you do. You are going to have to trust me when I say there is something he isn’t telling either of us.”
Draven stretched his tingling fingers and groaned. He couldn’t argue; he’d suspected as much himself. Anyway, he could use a drink to take the edge off. His skin felt hot and tight. “Let’s get this over with.”
Gabe nodded and pushed open the chipped and peeling door.
