Page 4

CHAPTER 4

T he trip back from Heaven's Archives felt like getting shot through a cosmic pinball machine. Amelia's stomach did backflips as everything bent around her. One second, she was surrounded by rivers of floating knowledge and disapproving archangels. The next she was materializing in the mansion's entryway with enough force to make her stumble.

"Mother of magic," she gasped and then grabbed the nearest solid object - which happened to be an expensive-looking side table - to stay upright. "No one mentioned forced celestial travel would feel like the world's worst hangover."

"Most mortals don't survive the trip." Camael's deep voice came from behind her as he appeared with considerably more grace. His massive white wings were still out, and they filled the space with deadly beauty. "Your heritage protected you."

"Lucky me." She straightened and tried to get her bearings as the room finally stopped spinning. "Next time I get yanked into Heaven without warning, I'm demanding frequent flyer miles."

His lips twitched in what might have been a smile, but his ice-blue eyes were serious. "We need to talk about what happened up there. About what Metatron revealed."

"You mean the part where my ancestors helped write the universe's instruction manual? Or the part where I'm some magical key to preventing reality from unraveling?" She ran a hand through her long, dark hair. The gesture betrayed her nervousness, but she couldn’t stop herself. "Because I've got questions about both."

"All of it." Camael moved closer. His presence filled her personal space like an approaching storm. "But first, you should sit down before you fall down. Dimensional travel takes a toll. Even on those built for it."

As if his words had permission to make it true, exhaustion slammed into her like a supernatural freight train. Her legs turned to jelly. The room started doing that annoying spinning thing again. Before she could face-plant into the marble floor, Camael's arm wrapped around her waist.

"I've got you," he rumbled. The words vibrated through his chest where she was pressed against him.

"My hero," she muttered with less snark in her voice than usual. She was too tired to maintain her normal attitude. Not to mention, he was too solid and warm to resist leaning into.

He guided her to the living room, where she sank into what had become her favorite armchair. It was a massive thing upholstered in butter-smooth leather that was softer than the chinchilla she had as a kid. The Angels of Retribution had excellent taste in furniture.

"You need to rest," Camael said. His wings settled and vanished as he took up position on the end of the couch. "In addition to the travel, your body's still adjusting to channeling so much energy. "

"What I need is answers." Try as she might, she couldn't stop the yawn that escaped. "And maybe coffee. Scratch that. The coffee is a must."

As if summoned by the word, Rami appeared with a steaming mug that smelled like heaven's brew. "Thought you might need this," he said and handed it to her. "You look like you went ten rounds with Michael's ego."

"Close. I’m sure you guessed I was yanked into Heaven's restricted section. A little warning would have been nice," she griped and then took a grateful sip of the coffee. She sighed gratefully. It was exactly how she liked it. Strong enough to raise the dead and sweet enough to give any being diabetes.

Rami's eyebrows shot up as he looked between her and Camael. "She was in the Archives? And the other archangels didn't smite her on sight?"

"It's been an interesting day," Camael drawled. The tension she felt in his posture belied his casual tone.

"When isn't it?" Amelia set down her coffee as a thought hit her. A thought she’d had before her unexpected trip to Heaven. "I need to check something at my grandmother's house." She still couldn’t think of it as her house. It would always be Nana’s place.

"You need to rest," Camael countered. His voice dropped to a place that made windows rattle.

"What I need is to follow my gut." She stood and had to force her tired legs to cooperate. He jumped up beside her and glowered at her. "Something's been nagging at me since before the Universe kidnapped me. It’s something I wanted to check. Even more so after that little visit."

Camael shifted restlessly. "Explain."

"I had planned to look in the family journals for more information on my ancestors while you were gone. And when Metatron showed us those images of my ancestors working in the Archives, something clicked. The wards around my grandmother's house aren't normal protection spells like I always assumed. Now, I think they're hiding something." She started pacing. Her energy was returning as she worked through the puzzle. "I always thought they were just complex because she was paranoid about supernatural security. But what if she was guarding something more important?"

"Your grandmother was a powerful witch," Rami observed. "From what we heard from the Dark Warriors while you were gone, the magical community still tells stories about her."

"That’s true. But something tells me we didn't know the half of it." Amelia's power stirred as she remembered details that suddenly seemed significant. "The attic was always off-limits and I haven't tried to get in there since I moved in. Even after she died, the wards up there stayed active. I never questioned it because, well, witches are weird about their spaces. But now..."

"Now you're wondering what else she might have been protecting." Camael cocked his head and looked at her as if he could see into her soul. "Something connected to your heritage."

"Exactly." She grabbed her jacket from where she'd dropped it earlier. "And I'm going to find out what it is."

"Not alone." It wasn't a request. Camael's tone made it clear this was non-negotiable.

"Wouldn't dream of it, Archangel." Amelia popped one hip out, and her dark hair fell across her shoulder as she met those ice-blue eyes of his. The male was fine as hell, even when he was being overprotective. Maybe, especially then. "Besides, those wings of yours might come in handy if we need to reach the high shelves."

The tension between them crackled like a live wire. Possibility pulsed between them, making her giddy. Camael's massive frame shifted, drawing her eyes down his body. She admired the way his black leather jacket stretched across shoulders built for battle. His wings might be hidden, but their deadly grace was evident in every predatory movement.

"We take my car," he growled as he headed for the garage. His boots made no sound on the marble floors. That was some kind of crime, given his size. The male moved like violence, waiting for an excuse to happen.

"Of course we do." Amelia rolled her eyes as she followed him. Heaven forbid they take her perfectly good Honda Civic when he had that black beast of a Dodge Challenger waiting in the garage. The thing was all muscle and attitude, just like its owner.

"Wait." Amelia planted her feet as something occurred to her. "Do you even know how to drive?"

From his position by the door, Rami's shoulders shook with barely contained laughter. The bastard was clearly enjoying this shit show. Her gaze remained on Camael as his ice-blue eyes narrowed. The temperature in the garage dropped about twenty degrees. His massive frame filled the doorway of that car like it had been custom-built for him. "I have commanded Heaven's most elite fighting force through multiple millennia of celestial warfare." His voice was pure don't-even-start-with-me. "I think I can handle one small machine."

The way he said ‘small machine’ made it sound like the Challenger was a tricycle. But there was something else in his tone. Something that suggested this wasn't his first rodeo with modern transportation.

"Besides," he added with a smirk that should've been illegal in at least three states, "Michael insisted we all learn after Gabriel tried to 'borrow' a fighter jet. That was an interesting week for the Archangel Council."

Well, shit. There went her last excuse to avoid getting into an enclosed space with all that concentrated male beauty. Sometimes a female's life just wasn't fair. Amelia thought of anything but how good he smelled during the ten-minute drive. It was easier to focus on the houses while they were cruising through the Garden District after that. His massive hands gripped the leather steering wheel like he was prepared to wage war with New Orleans traffic. Which, given the clusterfuck that was Magazine Street during tourist season, wasn't entirely unreasonable.

The tension in the car was thick enough to choke a demon. Every time he shifted gears, the movement drew her attention to those forearms marked with ancient Enochian script. The tattoos danced beneath his skin. It was a beautiful reminder that this wasn't just some pretty male playing chauffeur. This was a warrior archangel who'd seen centuries of combat.

And wasn't that just perfect? Here she was, ogling an archangel while they headed to her grandmother's house to uncover what could be world-changing information. And with luck, they’d discover some magical artifacts that could solve their problems. Her life had officially crossed into territory that would make reality TV producers weep with joy.

Her grandmother's Victorian stood exactly as she'd left it when she’d fled. Its gingerbread trim and wraparound porch were a testament to old New Orleans charm. She could see the wards that cloaked the property with her newly awakened senses. They were veils, hiding something powerful from prying eyes.

"The magic here," Camael said as they approached the front door. "is old. Older than the house itself."

"My family's lived on this land for generations." Amelia pressed her palm to the door. The wards recognized her blood and parted like curtains in a breeze. "Each witch has added their own layers of protection. I added mine when I inherited the house after Nana passed."

She hadn’t changed anything inside the house. It was still a testament to her grandmother's eclectic taste. Crystal prisms hung in windows. They caught the light and split it into rainbows. Books filled floor-to-ceiling shelves. Their spines bore titles in English and Latin. The one thing she loved about the place was that it still smelled of herbs and old magic. It represented home to her.

"The attic access is this way." Amelia led him up the worn wooden staircase. Each step creaked under their weight like the house was commenting on their passage. The male's massive frame made the space feel smaller, more intimate. And wasn't that just perfect? An archangel in her family home, about to discover God knew what in her attic.

Camael's ice-blue eyes scanned everything, missing nothing. His warrior's instincts didn't take breaks, even in supposedly safe spaces. "You haven't changed anything," he observed, voice rumbling through the narrow hallway. "The place looks frozen in time."

She paused at the top of the stairs. One hand rested on the banister her grandfather had carved decades ago. "I guess I've been waiting for something," she admitted. "Though I didn't expect that something to be an ancient destiny and an archangel houseguest."

"It's your home now." Camael's massive shoulders barely fit in the hallway as he moved closer. His presence seemed to fill all the empty spaces she'd been trying not to notice. "You should claim it properly."

"I keep telling myself I'll redecorate," she said as she led him into the study. "But every time I try, it feels like..." She trailed off, searching for words as she breathed in the familiar scent of old books.

Her gaze moved around the organized chaos. The space would give Martha Stewart an aneurysm but it made perfect sense to her nana and her. She trailed fingers over the massive oak desk where she'd spent countless hours learning her craft from her nana. Its surface was a roadmap of magical mishaps. There were burn marks from spells that had backfired. There were also crystal-shaped impressions from failed levitation attempts. The rings from the thousands of cups of tea her nana drank created a lump in her throat.

"Like you're erasing her," Camael finished when it was clear she wasn’t going to. His voice was gentler than a male his size had any right to manage.

"Yeah." Amelia turned to face him. She found understanding in those ancient eyes. "Stupid, right? She's been gone for over a year, but I still feel like she's going to walk in and start critiquing my spell technique."

"Not stupid." He moved closer. He was close enough that she had to tip her head back to maintain eye contact. His heat seeped into her bones. "But she'd want you to make this place your own. To build on what she taught you. Not just preserve it."

Well, shit. Who knew an archangel could do therapy? Though standing this close to him was definitely not helping her think clearly about interior decoration or anything else. She nodded without responding as she continued across the room.

The attic stairs were hidden behind a bookcase that only opened if you knew the right spell. She’d watched her nana countless times but had never been told how to get in. Going on instinct, Amelia's hands moved through the familiar gestures. She infused the magic with both light and shadow. The response was immediate and dramatic.

The bookcase practically leaped aside as ancient wards recognized her awakened power. The stairwell beyond was dark, although she could still see the protective sigils that lined its walls. They were written in magic and carved into the wood.

"Well, that's new," she muttered as she studied the symbols.

"Those markings are like the ones in the Archives," Camael observed.

Her fingers hovered over symbols that predated written history. "How many generations of my family knew about this? How long have we been guarding these secrets?"

“They’ve been guarding them since the beginning,” Camael responded as she continued up the stairs.

The attic was thick with dust and old magic. Afternoon light filtered through a single round window. It painted the space in shades of amber. Boxes and trunks were stacked up carefully. Amelia cocked her head and scanned the room. She recognized they were arranged in magical arrays. The whole room was one giant ward designed to hide something important.

She was drawn to a particular corner. Magical energies were concentrated there. Walking over, she discovered a wooden trunk. It was covered in dust and humming with power. The lock was a complex piece of spellwork that would have given most witches fits. For Amelia, it practically sang to her blood.

Excited, she unlocked it and flipped the lid. There were numerous things inside. But only one that she instinctively reached for. It was an ornate box covered in symbols that moved like quicksilver. Power radiated from it in waves that made her magical core vibrate in recognition.

"I’ve never seen this, yet it feels familiar," she muttered as she traced the intricate patterns. The box wasn't alone. Nearby lay a crystal that seemed to contain actual starlight and there was a dagger displaying many runes. There was also a book bound in some sort of material that defied description.

From his position by the attic window, Camael watched her with those ice-blue eyes. They saw straight through her bullshit. His massive wings had appeared at some point and were half-spread. Their shadows danced across the dusty floorboards. The archangel hadn't said a word since she'd started examining her finds. His presence filled the space like a storm about to break.

"You gonna hover there all night? Or help me figure out what we're dealing with?" She went back to her examination of the smaller box's magical lock.

His boots made no sound as he crossed to her. "Those symbols," he rumbled as he leaned close to her. "They're from before the First War. Given what we know, my guess is that they’re from when light and shadow still danced together."

"Like what we saw in the Archives." The memory of that celestial library still gave her chills. The kind that came with discovering you were part of something bigger than yourself. "My family has been guarding these for generations. The wards on them are..." she trailed off as power surged through the room.

The crystal had begun to glow when he got close to her. Light spilled from its faceted surface in waves that painted the walls with moving symbols. "Oh, pretty." Amelia reached for it instinctively.

Camael's hand caught her wrist. "Careful. Artifacts that old tend to have minds of their own."

The crystal was singing to something in her blood, and she couldn’t stop herself. Something in her recognized its call. Power surged through her, making her gasp as new awareness bloomed in her mind. Suddenly, she could see the threads of energy that connected everything in the room. They were beautiful… and terrifying .

"Shit," she breathed as the crystal's light wrapped around her like a lover's embrace. "Is this what you see all the time?"

Camael's grip on her wrist gentled. "You're seeing the true nature of things. I bet it’s awakening even more of what has been dormant in your blood."

Knowledge poured into her mind like water from a broken dam. She saw how energy flowed through the world. It felt like centuries of magical theory were downloaded straight into her consciousness. Her knees buckled as the information overload hit. Camael caught her against his chest. One arm wrapped around her waist while the other still held her wrist. The contact sent sparks of awareness through her that had nothing to do with magical awakening and everything to do with the way his body felt against hers.

"Easy," he murmured. His breath stirred her hair. "Let it settle. Don't fight it."

"Easy for you to say." Her voice came out shakier than she liked. "You're not the one getting PowerPoint presentations beamed directly into your brain."

His chest rumbled with what might have been a laugh. "No, but I remember what it's like when power first truly awakens. When you realize the universe is bigger and stranger than you ever had imagined."

"And here I thought finding out about my family was the weird part of my week." She managed to steady herself. However, she didn't step away from his support. The warmth of his body was too comforting to give up just yet.

The crystal's light faded while the knowledge it had gifted remained. Amelia’s mind raced with possibilities. "These artifacts," she said slowly. "They're the keys to accessing the original power. The stuff that existed before light and shadow split. I’m not actually the key."

"They're tools," he corrected as he finally released her wrist. She was giddy when he kept his other arm around her waist. "Left by your ancestors to help their descendants remember the old ways."

The box chose that moment to click open. Inside lay a medallion that seemed to be made of frozen twilight. The metal was neither gold nor silver. It was something that existed between states of matter.

"The Twilight Key," Camael breathed, recognition flaring in his ancient eyes. "I thought it was lost during the First War."

"Let me guess. This is another family heirloom that could reshape reality?" Amelia reached for the medallion but stopped just short of touching it. The power radiating from it made her magical core hum like a tuning fork.

"It's mentioned in the oldest texts. It was a tool forged by the First Weavers to help maintain the balance between realms." He shifted restlessly, stirring dust motes in the afternoon light. "It was supposedly destroyed when Lucifer fell."

"Looks pretty intact to me." She finally gathered her courage and picked up the medallion. Power surged through her the instant her fingers touched its surface. It was different from the crystal's awakening energy. This was pure potential, waiting to be shaped by her will.

Images flashed through her mind of Lucifer gathering ancient artifacts and preparing rituals that would tear holes in the veil. She saw creatures stirring in the depths between worlds. They were drawn by the corruption he was spreading. And she saw how her newfound powers could stop him.

"In addition to waking the Oldest Ones," she gasped as the vision faded. "Lucifer is trying to corrupt the original power itself. He wants to turn it dark before light and shadow can find balance again."

“That’s not surprising. We all should have assumed that,” Camael replied before saying something in Enochian. "Show me. "

Without hesitation, Amelia reached up and pressed the medallion to his chest, right over his heart. The contact sent power surging between them like a live wire. His wings flared as wide as they could in the cramped attic. The artifact showed him what it had allowed her to see. His ice-blue eyes began glowing with celestial fire.

"Son of a bitch," he growled. The words carried enough raw fury to make the windows rattle. He looked ready to go nuclear. Given what they'd just seen, Amelia couldn't blame him. "That arrogant piece of shit is playing with forces that could unmake everything. Not just Earth or Heaven - everything."

"Not if I have anything to say about it." Amelia turned back to the trunk and reached for the ancient book. Its cover was warm under her fingers. "Time to see what other surprises my ancestors left behind."

"We should get these back to the mansion," Camael interjected as he started gathering the artifacts. "My wards will help protect them while you learn to use them."

"Your wards plus mine." Amelia gathered the crystal, which hummed in her grip like a happy cat. The thing practically purred as she wrapped it in layers of protective magic. "Something tells me we're going to need all the protection we can get."

"We take them straight back," Camael ordered as he moved with that lethal grace of his. "No stops."

Amelia hurried to catch up. He was out the front door by the time she got downstairs. Securing the attic was just as important as getting out of there. She had no idea what else was up there.

The drive back was a special kind of torture. Being trapped in that muscle car with an archangel was not exactly a relaxing Sunday cruise. Every intersection had Amelia's heart in her throat. She expected demon attacks or worse. The artifacts were broadcasting their presence on all magical frequencies. It was like having a supernatural neon sign saying ‘come and get it’.

Camael handled the Challenger like he'd been born behind its wheel. He took corners fast enough to make her grateful for the seat belt. His massive hands gripped the steering wheel tight enough to leave impressions. All the while, those ice-blue eyes of his didn't stop scanning for threats. The male was in full warrior mode, ready to unleash violence on anything that looked at them wrong.

The mansion's gates opened automatically as they approached. Rami met them at the door. He took one look at their cargo and cursed. "I'll alert the others," he said as he reached for his phone. "Get those things behind our strongest wards before every supernatural nasty in the city comes knocking."

Once they were safely behind the mansion's reinforced walls, the real work began. The next few hours were a crash course in powers that would have made Harvard's magical theory department weep with envy. Camael guided her through exercises in control while she explored her expanding abilities. The archangel was a surprisingly patient teacher. Even when her attempts at channeling pure energy nearly set the curtains on fire.

"Again," he instructed after she failed to properly merge light and shadow for the tenth time. "You're still treating them as separate forces. They're two halves of the same whole."

"Easy for you to say." Sweat beaded on her forehead as she gathered power once more. The artifacts arrayed on the massive dining room table pulsed in time with her efforts. "You've had millennia to figure this stuff out."

His hands settled on her shoulders from behind while the other angels stood around watching. They were there to help Camael keep a lid on her practice. No one wanted the mansion to blow up.

"Stop thinking so much," Camael suggested. “Feel the connection. Find the balance point where twilight exists."

Amelia leaned back against that massive chest of his, letting his power flow into her like divine lightning. The instant she stopped fighting it, everything clicked. Light and shadow wrapped around her hands. They danced together like they'd never been apart.

"That's it," Camael growled. His voice vibrated through her body like a bass line. The male's power was everywhere. It steadied her as she worked magic that shouldn't exist.

The dagger called to her from the table. Its quicksilver runes practically begged to be used. When she wrapped her fingers around the hilt, a curse flew from her lips. It turned out this wasn't just some pretty letter opener. The weapon could cut windows in any veil. That would be bad in Lucifer's hands.

Taking a deep breath that did nothing to steady her nerves. She channeled both energies through the blade. Reality split open like wet paper and showed them exactly what they didn't want to see. Lucifer's corruption was spreading through the city faster than gossip at a church social.

"You're getting better at this," Camael observed as she let the window close. His ice-blue eyes were fixed on where the tear had been. He looked ready to go to war.

Doubt hit her harder than a demon's sucker punch as she looked at the artifacts scattered across the table. "What if-" she started. Camael was there before she could finish that sentence and spiral out of control.

His massive hand tilted her face up to his. "You were born for this," he rumbled. His thumb brushed her cheek in a way that made her heart skip beats. "These artifacts chose you. And so did I."

Before she could process that bombshell, vile energy slammed through the room like a supernatural freight train. Every artifact on the table started screaming warnings at her magical senses which automatically reached out to find the source of the disturbance. "The French Quarter," she barked out. "Lucifer's crew is making their play."

Camael's wings snapped out, and his Sword of Light materialized. "Time to crash their party." He turned to Rami and said, “It’s a good thing you haven’t gone to NYC yet. I have a feeling we’re going to need you for this.”

Rami nodded as Amelia strapped on the artifacts like she was gearing up for war. Because that's exactly what this was. Here she was, about to face down the Prince of Lies with some family heirlooms, an archangel who looked at her like she hung the stars, and his team of misfits. It would have to be enough.

"Ready to raise some hell?" she asked, taking his offered hand.

His answering smile could've cut glass. "I was born ready."

She clung to him as he teleported them across town. She was leaving the safety of their home to face whatever darkness waited in the French Quarter. Some things were worth risking everything for. Balance, it turned out, was one of them.