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2. An Amazing Thing

Gemma

On Wednesday, our mission skills class went on a field trip.

“One of a warden’s responsibilities during a mission is to take into custody any items of Divine or Diabolical power as well as those that have been Blessed or Cursed,” Ms. Chapman explained. “Centuries ago, the Council created Repositories, where these artifacts could be stored and studied in safety. Our Sanctuary is privileged to host one of the world’s largest Repositories, of which you will now take advantage for a research project.”

She gave us the assignment to begin while we were there, then led us to a small clapboard house about a mile off campus. Outside, a sign read, “New Hope Museum.” The room we passed through was filled with maps and display cases, but Ms. Chapman led us to a door marked private and down a winding stone staircase. There were no windows and very little light.

Without a word, Kerry reached for my hand as we started to descend - and my heart turned to mush. He knew I had an irrational fear of the dark and was trying to help me deal with it.

We wound down the stairwell until we came to a stone room with an iron-bound wooden door set in one wall. As the others filed in, he drew me to the side and I knew he was wary of anyone bumping into him. Gigi and Chessie joined us, but I wasn’t sure if it was to support him or because they were a little unnerved. The vibe coming from the other side of that door was not a pleasant one.

“All right, class.” Ms. Chapman wasn’t the kind of teacher to put up with any nonsense, and everyone fell silent. “Only one with Divine blood can open this door. Humans do not see it and the Diabolical cannot unlock it.”

As I watched, her hand sank into the door, which creaked as it swung open.

“Everyone in.” She stood aside as the class entered, but held up a hand when Kerry and I would have followed. “Harker, the layers of wards should protect you; however, I wish to see your grace to be sure.”

He raised his eyebrows, but tugged the gold chain out from under his shirt and swung the small white amphora into her open palm. As she examined it, I wondered once again what might be inside it. Concentrated power? The blood of an angel? Fairy dust?

Hmm. I have to ask Gigi if there are such things as fairies.

Even after being here for six months, there was still so much about the nephilim world I didn’t know, but I kept usually quiet and tried to find the answers myself. As far as his grace went, I didn’t want Kerry to think I was stupid, and broaching a potentially taboo subject with Ms. Chapman was risky business. I swallowed my curiosity and let it go.

“A grace of refuge. Good.” She nodded and let it drop. “Hank Bishop knows what he is about. You should be grateful to have him as your warden.”

“I am.”

He slipped the necklace back under his shirt, and we followed her into a bright chamber that looked like the foyer of an office building.

“There are a few rules for visiting the Repository,” Ms. Chapman told everyone. “First, touch nothing. Second, especially do not touch the exterior doors or walls of the Vault.”

“Excuse me.” Chessie raised her hand. “What is the Vault?”

“It is the internal safe at the heart of the Repository where we keep the most dangerous artifacts. Ones that can kill or corrupt too easily. Others that begin to do your thinking for you. Every few decades, we must change the wards on the Vaults because the items inside slowly dismantle them.” Ms. Chapman raised an eyebrow. “Some theorize that those artifacts have, during their long existence, gained a semblance of sentience and seek their freedom.”

I shivered a little and Kerry noticed. He reached down and took my hand again, and Chessie huddled against me.

“Hold my hand, too, Kerry,” I heard Gigi whisper.

I felt his body tense, but he took a deep breath and held out his other hand. Very slowly, she touched her hand to his palm and he folded his fingers around hers. Then his nose nuzzled into my hair and he relaxed again.

He did that a lot. Smelled my hair, then calmed down. August, my warden, said it was because a warrior’s senses were more finely tuned than any other classes. At first, I was horrified because I didn’t always take the time to wash my hair, but August had explained it went beyond that.

“He can smell you , not your shampoo.” He’d smiled. “ You . Your essential nature. To someone with Kerry’s background, you probably smell like everything good and pure in this world.”

I had laughed, knowing I was far from the angel Kerry often called me, full of as many faults as anyone. But if it helped him and he liked it, how could I deny him?

“Mr. Harker.” Ms. Chapman’s sharp voice drew my attention. “If your harem is ready, let us proceed.”

He probably didn’t know what a harem was, but he ignored the snorts of laughter from our classmates and nodded at her.

As we moved on, I tried to see everything. Angelic sigilla were everywhere and I recognized several from Miss Weatherbee’s class. The walls were studded with round steel doors every twenty feet or so. Above was the usual drop ceiling with fluorescent lighting panels and the occasional black bump of a camera.

Everything looked modern and efficient except for one door on the left. Thick wooden beams, rich with age, were pegged together in a large square that made me think of a gothic cathedral down a forgotten side street somewhere in Europe. The elegant designs spoke of a master carver. Examining them, I realized five familiar sigilla repeated in a rectangular spiral that ended in the center with a sigillum I did not know. That one was carved deeper and slightly larger than the others.

Kerry noticed the door, too, and came to a dead stop in front of it. As he stared, Chessie suggested it was probably left from bygone days and too much a work of art to replace with a modern door. He shook his head and his nostrils flared as if he were tasting the air. For whatever reason, the door disturbed him.

“Defend. Protect. Bind. Guard. Lock,” I read the repeating sigilla. “But that one in the center, it doesn’t even look like a sigillum.”

“Because it ain’t.” He shook his head. “It’s a seal.”

“How do you know that?” Gigi still held his other hand and her eyes were wide. She obviously didn’t like this place anymore than I did.

“Miss Weatherbee taught seals last week,” he said. “In her lecture about active and passive warding.”

I blinked. I remembered the lecture, but not anything about seals. I knew he did, though, and in perfect detail, too. His memory was phenomenal.

“Um, she mentioned seals, Kerry.” Gigi rolled her eyes at me. “In a passing comment. She didn’t teach them.”

“Why is it there?” Chessie demanded. “Why would you need a seal on a vault?”

“I don’t think it’s a vault. I think it’s— Nah. Never mind.”

“What, Harker?”

I jumped a little, surprised Ms. Chapman had returned to stand behind me.

“A gateway.” He swiveled his head to meet her gaze.

“And how did you formulate that hypothesis?”

He cut his eyes down at me, and I mouthed, Why do you think that?

“There’s something underneath the seal. Gears, maybe. I can see them if I look outta the corner of my eye. Even if the seal does do something, I think it’s mainly there as a distraction.” His eyes flashed to the door, then back to her. “This is a portal.”

Ms. Chapman never smiled. Very rarely, if someone performed exceptionally well in class, her eyebrows arched up and she inclined her head in a regal nod and you knew she was pleased.

She gave him that look now and, when he grinned back, I wanted to hug her.

Too often, I feared Kerry thought he was dumb, which was far from the truth, but his misconception was compounded by too few people noticing, let alone recognizing, his intelligence. The teachers rarely acknowledged him, except for Miss Weatherbee and Mr. Snyder, who seemed fascinated by him more than anything. The rest were terrified of him, and I could only imagine what Ms. Fey would have done if he’d ever gone to poli-dip with me.

But not Ms. Chapman. She praised him in front of everyone when he had a right answer, gave him papers to pass out, and encouraged him to contribute in class discussions - all in the same matter-of-fact way she redirected him when he mentally checked out during a lecture or told him to watch his language.

In other words, she treated him like she treated the rest of us. That was why her approval meant something to him, and why he respected her so much.

“Who uses it?” Gigi interrupted my thoughts. “Where does it go?”

“If you select it as the artifact for your project, you can answer those questions for yourself.” Ms. Chapman nodded, then went back to the main group.

Chessie followed her, and Gigi dropped Kerry’s hand and left, too, but I put my hand on his arm.

“Are you going to be okay in here?” I searched his eyes. “If you want to leave, I’ll go with you.”

“I’m not a baby!” he grumbled. “And you don’t need to leave if I do.”

“I know you’re not a baby,” I kept my tone even and didn’t smile. “But I don’t want to stay here without you. I don’t like this place.”

“Nothing will touch you while I’m here, and I ain’t going anywhere.”

He did that little half-smile, the one where the unscarred side of his mouth curled up, and my heart leapt. I don’t think he realized how adorable he was when he did that, and I wasn’t ever going to tell him because then he’d stop doing it.

We joined the group as Ms. Chapman approached a curved desk with a nameplate that read, “The Keeper.” An older lady with iron-gray hair stood up and greeted us in a chirpy voice.

“Hello, children! Welcome to the Repository. I hope you enjoy your visit. To maintain your sanity and avoid any loss of life or limb, look with your eyes and not your hands. I won’t be held accountable if you’re maimed. Have a lovely visit, dears!”

Maimed?

I blinked.

“I think she’s been down here a little too long,” Gigi leaned across Kerry to whisper, and Chessie and I giggled.

Ms. Chapman led us around the side of the desk and stopped at a low counter. There was a large plastic bin full of badges on lanyards and she began passing them out. When everyone had theirs, she lifted hers up for us to see.

“Rule Three: You must wear one of these at all times in the Repository. Press your right thumb against the badge now, please, and give it a small jolt of your power. It will imprint your unique signature into the badge. Should an accident occur, we will be able to identify you more quickly.”

“Wait.” Gigi raised her eyebrows. “So these are like what? Toe tags?”

“Well, if you want to put it like that.” Ms. Chapman frowned and gave her The Look.

Once we all had followed her instructions, Ms. Chapman pointed to several metal and glass boxes mounted on the walls at about hip-height.

“These are like fire extinguishers. In case of a rogue artifact, open the case and remove the red flask.” She made sure we were all paying attention as she showed us a small glass bottle. “Uncork the stopper and throw or pour the gelid inside onto the artifact to freeze it until a curator can respond.”

“How do we contact a curator?” someone asked.

“Good question,” Ms. Chapman nodded as she placed the bottle back in its box. “Removing the cork from the flask triggers a silent alarm to alert them that trouble is afoot. They are quite quick at responding, although the gelid can freeze anything for several hours. Now, let’s move on to see some of the artifacts.”

Ms. Chapman showed us amusing curiosities and flashy relics from every time period. There were prehistoric blood-lust weapons, a medieval book bound in human skin that recorded your thoughts rather than your words, Renaissance armor that wounded the wearer, a board game that inspired its players to make money at the expense of all else, and a modern cell phone made into a death trap with a distraction curse.

“Like they aren’t already,” Gigi muttered, and I had to agree.

Not all of the artifacts had an evil origin, though. Some started out with the best intentions. For example, Ms. Chapman pointed out a salt shaker Blessed with happiness, but it was too powerful and overwhelmed humans, sending them dancing in the streets or laughing off the edge of a cliff.

“Why aren’t these things destroyed?” Chessie demanded. “Why keep them if they’re so dangerous?”

“We learn from them, Ms. Catt.” Ms. Chapman frowned. “We can teach future generations with the actual item, rather than simply tell tales that sound far-fetched to young ears. You know the quote about those who don’t remember the mistakes of the past.”

Kerry nudged me with his elbow.

“You’re doomed to repeat them,” I told him softly.

“Also,” Ms. Chapman went on, “every time a demon or one of the Fallen imbues an artifact with its essence, it weakens itself. Even the strongest might give away too much in this way and lose stature as their power wanes.”

“Why do they still enchant items then?” Chessie voiced my own confusion. “If they know it could ultimately weaken them?” “Demons need souls to hold their rank,” Kerry answered before Ms. Chapman could. “The more souls it claims, the more people it enslaves, the higher the demon rises in the ranks. And it don’t take much essence. Like a fingernail clipping. It’s nothing to them.”

Ms. Chapman gave us a short nod, then headed back to the main group.

“Hey, guys! Look what I found!” Gigi had wandered over to a display case against the opposite wall. “Wow! These curators are quick. The plaque tells the whole story.”

I came to a quick stop when I saw three silver necklaces arranged on a bed of black velvet. In my old life, I may have thought they were simply ancient Roman coin pendants. I knew better now.

Last fall, Reilly Argaud had used two of these enthrallment amulets, one on Aspen Abernathy, who’d killed herself in October, and the other on Travis Peale, whom Kerry had freed shortly after Aspen’s death.

The third one had been meant for me.

I remembered the day Reilly trapped me in the dojo, beat me nearly unconscious, and came within a hair’s breadth of getting the necklace around my neck. Fortunately, Kerry intervened before that could happen. He’d half-killed Reilly, and I admit there were days when I wished Hank and the boys would have let him finish the job, especially once the trial started in December.

I could still feel the sharp stares of the legists boring into me as I testified. I’d managed to answer their questions without faltering by locking eyes with Kerry and pretending I was talking with him.

No one had asked Kerry to testify. Because he’d been possessed by a demon, he was persona non grata in most of the nephilim world. The legists had even been suspicious of my testimony because I dated him. When I’d realized that, the fury had burned the fear and anxiety out of me.

Kerry had accepted it with a shrug.

“I tried to tell you, angel. My word ain’t worth squat.”

Reilly’s accomplice, Whit Anderson, had confessed to everything. That, Travis’ testimony, and a mountain of other corroborating evidence were enough to convict Reilly on charges of enthrallment, intended enthrallment, and consorting with the Diabolical. The court sentenced him to twenty years in the Council’s gulag, an underground prison on a frozen island in the Arctic Ocean.

I wasn’t sorry for him.

Whit had received the Mark of Cain and been expelled from the Sanctuary for the same amount of time - and that punishment did bother me. I didn’t know what the Mark was until I’d asked and Kerry had explained it hid a nephilim’s Divine half.

“That sounds like a death sentence!” I’d said, horrified to think of Whit out in the world without his power.

Kerry had given me that blank look of his, the one that said he couldn’t understand why I even cared.

“Angel, nothing Diabolical will so much as look at someone with the Mark. Neither will anything Divine, but when do angels look at us, anyway? Until it fades, Anderson will be as safe as any human. And it doesn’t wipe your mind or anything. He’ll still have the knowledge of what the Diabolical is and can do, and that makes the odds even enough. Too even, if you ask me.”

Then he’d started to grumble about how both Whit and Reilly’s sentences were a slap on the wrist. I couldn’t agree, but I hadn’t argued. We were never going to see eye-to-eye when it came to mercy and justice.

Glancing at the necklaces again, I took a deep breath. They were only objects. They couldn’t hurt me. And it was my choice to dwell on memories or to move forward.

“Gemma?” Kerry rumbled in my ear.

I swung my gaze up to meet his blue eyes, and my breath caught in my throat.

He knows . He knows it hurts me to see these, and he hurts because I do.

Which, in itself, was an amazing thing. After ten years in the domain of darkness, you’d think he would have been reduced to either a mindless killing machine or an emotionless shell. He was broken - no one could deny that - but not ruined. Someone who was damaged beyond repair could never care about another person, and certainly not as deeply as he did.

“I’m okay, Kerry. Really.”

He stared at me for another moment, then raised our joined hands. He bent his head and brushed his lips over my knuckles, his eyes never leaving mine, and my heart stalled.

Most people at the Sanctuary feared him. Others were disgusted by his past and taint. Some longed to manipulate him to further their own agendas. A few envied his immense power and hated him for what they themselves lacked. And everyone, even those of us who accepted him, knew he was dangerous.

Yet he was kind to his friends and brave and willing to learn about anything. His drawings were so exquisite, they could hold their own in any art museum. When he laughed, you could see the boy he should have been had fate been kinder, and when he looked at me…

When he looked at me, it was like I was a rare and precious treasure.

Me .

A treasure.

One he’d never dreamed to have for his own and half-feared someone would steal from him at any moment. Since I felt the same way about him, I figured he must be as awed and confused as I was about this bond between us.

At least, I hoped he was.

“Let’s catch up with the others.” I smiled at him. “I don’t want to miss anything important.”