Page 49 of Lover Forbidden (The Black Dagger Brotherhood #23)

Forcing herself to keep going, she eventually got used to it, and all that Italian food stopped rolling around in her gut. The landscape’s beauty helped. It was so bucolic, so peaceful, assuming you could get used to feeling like you were about to float off the undulating ground.

It was as she ascended a rise that the music became clear enough to decipher, and as she placed the beats and the lyrics, all she could think of was… yeah, wow, that was an oldie. And the only reason she knew what the song was was because—

Up on the plateau, two rainbow-striped plastic folding sun loungers had been set up side by side.

Between them was a little table on which were an old-fashioned portable radio with the antenna angled out to the side, a pair of pineapples that, given the pink umbrellas, had tropical drinks in them, and a bowl of guacamole.

Madonna’s “Like a Virgin” floated over on the non-breeze.

Lassiter, the fallen angel who had succeeded the Scribe Virgin as the spiritual head of the species, was stretched out on the chair on the left.

His blond-and-black hair was up on the top of his head and tied in a pink scrunchie, and he was wearing a coordinated set of pink, yellow, and bright green Tommy Bahama swimming trunks.

Naturally, his sunglasses were twin pink flamingos whose cocked legs poked into the angel’s cheeks as he smiled.

“Hi!” He indicated the vacant chair with the bag of Tostitos he was about to open. “Join me in a nosh?”

Lyric blinked. A couple of times. But here was the thing.

The tension in her drifted off as she approached, all the chaos in her mind settling, the tightness in her shoulders and neck gone as if it had never been.

She’d been expecting some kind of formal audience, with Lassiter in ceremonial robes—and, like, maybe an ancient tome tucked under his arm. This was…

Well, exactly what the male was like.

Lyric sat down as the angel popped the bag open, and as he tilted the Scoops! to her, she reached in for some and then went for the dip just to do something with her hands.

“So their standards are slipping.” He took out a chip. “Does this look like a scoop to you?”

He turned the disk around, examining it from all angles. “This is flat. Maaaaybe slightly concave. If it says ‘scoop’ on the label, you expect scoops. All scoops. Not these Frisbee things thrown in every four or five of them. How’my going to guac this. Come on, Frito-Lay, do better.”

Having no idea how to respond, Lyric eased what she’d filled into her mouth and bit down— “Mmmmm.”

“Good, right? Should we add queso? I feel like we need queso.”

With a pop and a curl of smoke, the table got bigger, and a bowl over a little tea light appeared.

“Perfect.” The angel picked up his pineapple and took a draw from the straw. “Just fruit juice, mind you. I don’t drink while driving, so to speak. And actually, that’s a lie. I don’t drink at all, I’m high on life. Cheers!”

Figuring in for a penny, in for a pound—or in for the chips-and-dip, in for a sip—Lyric palmed up the scratchy exterior of the one left for her and brought the straw to her lips.

“Oh… my God.”

“Right?” Lassiter took his flamingos off and gave her a wink. “Only the best up here.”

As the Madonna song switched to another pop-ish melody about walking like an Egyptian, she looked out over the lawn and wondered who tended to it. There didn’t seem to be any lines associated with mowing—

“It is as it is.”

She came back to attention. “I’m sorry?”

“The lawn. The flowers. The trees and the buildings. All of this is as it is. In this respect, the Sanctuary is like destiny. There is nothing to attend to because the immutable requires no gardening.”

Lyric glanced down into her pineapple. “Then why do we have free will.”

“To keep things interesting,” Lassiter said with a smile. “And to give the illusion that people have some control over their nights and days. Otherwise they’d just give up and bed rot—not that that isn’t appealing and appropriate from time to time.”

“So is everything…”

“Meant to be?” The angel shrugged. “Does the answer to that really matter? It’s not going to change your experiences.”

“So… do you already know why I’m here?”

“I’ve been expecting you. But why don’t you tell me what’s going on.”

As she stared into her own soul, Lyric shook her head. “I don’t know why I came.”

Okay, that wasn’t true. She just couldn’t seem to find the words for anything.

“Talk it out.” Lassiter reached to the far side of his chair and brought up a reflective half circle. “It can be helpful to just hear our own voices sometimes.”

Settling the shiny expanse across his bare chest, he eased back in the chair and closed his eyes, as if there were a sun to bathe under.

“G’on, then. Tell me what’s on your mind.”

Lyric stared out over the lawn that was so even in color and blade that it was like a carpet. Then she focused on the temple that was all closed up, the one that was just off the white colonnade where she’d heard the birds and the falling water.

“Is that the Temple of the Sequestered Scribes?”

“Yuppers. That’s the one.”

“I’ve heard there’s also a library here, and the books on the shelves contain all the history of the species… every vampire soul and whatever they went through is listed on those pages.”

“You’ve got it right. And the seeing bowls with their water levels are still at the transcribing stations that feed all of those pages.”

“Why haven’t you kept it up? Is it because the Primale freed the Chosen?”

Lassiter shrugged. “It’s just not my style. Plus, there’s another way.”

“What other way?”

“It’s a secret.” With his eyes closed, he made a shhhh! with his forefinger over his mouth. “But that’s my business, as I’m in charge now and each one of us will do things in our own way.”

“Each one… wait, how long do you think you’ll stay here?”

“Until it’s my time to turn this over to someone else.”

A strange alarm struck in the center of her chest. “You’re supposed to be permanent.”

“Come on, girl.” He popped his lids and looked at her. “There’s nothing permanent in the universe, and even immortals have lives that pass. It’s called eras. But you came here to talk about you, not my existential employment.”

“I’m afraid I’m wasting my life,” she blurted. “I was thinking maybe if I had a higher calling, something sacred to do, it might make me feel…”

“Like you matter?” The angel cracked a that’s-cute half smile. “Come on. You have four parents who love you, a brother who would die to keep you safe, and more protective uncles than this place has tulips.”

Okay, the part about Rhamp stung, it really did.

“But I need to do something that matters or all this is a waste.” She motioned over herself.

“I know I need to make a change, but I just can’t see how to get out of this neutral.

I’ve been running in circles having my picture taken, talking to strangers.

Meanwhile, everybody else around me is doing something… that matters.”

“So you’ve come up here, thinking I might put you to work in the library shuffling books around? Or maybe taking notes on other people? And you think that will make you feel better?”

“Is there something else I could help with? My mahmen contributed up here. I could follow in her footsteps.”

Lassiter put aside his under-the-chin tanner and sat up. Now, when he looked at her, he was all business, the jokey-jokey gone, his eyes grave.

“To devote your life in service to this place is a great fantasy, but the reality is you’re here to avoid confronting the things you need to deal with down below. A sacred duty is a calling, not something manufactured to hide behind when shit’s not going your way.”

Images of Dev played across her mind’s eye—especially what he’d looked like as he’d walked out of the apartment. And then she pictured Marcia, barking out orders with phones up to her ears. The chaser? Rhamp down on the street, fighting off lessers while she watched from that roof.

Lyric lowered her head. “You’re right. You’re right, I know… you’re right.”

“Oh, my God, I love that movie!”

“I’m sorry?”

“ When Harry Met Sally. ” Lassiter slapped his bare knees as he grinned. “Carrie Fisher as Marie. It’s a classic.”

“Oh. I’ll have to watch it sometime.”

“It’s a love story.”

“Just what I’m looking to avoid at the moment,” she muttered as she refocused on the scribing temple with its closed, ornate doors.

The angel reached out and took one of her hands.

“If you want to live a different kind of life, then make it happen. Purpose is like clay, Lyric. Mold it with your choices and your efforts. Sculpt the hours and the nights and the months and the years you have… to create what you want. You have the strength and the determination. And listen, I gotta tell you—you are not someone who needs to record the lives of others. That’s not who you are, and you know it. ”

“I’m so tired.” Her voice cracked. “I’m so… lost. How am I this young, but feel so ancient.”

“Well, you know how they say that every friend was once a stranger?” When she nodded, he continued, “The same is true for the new ‘you’ you’re becoming.

It takes work to develop any relationship and that’s tiring.

Once you get to know who you really are, though, you’ll feel like all this confusion was just part of learning your landscape. You’ll be glad you persevered.”

“You sound so sure.” She exhaled with defeat. Then realized, of all the people she could have said that to, he was the one person who was in a position to be clear about life advice.

“That’s ’cuz I am.” Lassiter leaned in and lowered his voice, like he was sharing a secret. “I’m like Farmers.”

She blinked in confusion. “I’m sorry, what?”

“I know a thing or two…’cuz I’ve seen a thing or two. “ He squeezed her hand. “Trust me, Lyric. You are going to do extraordinary things.”

“How can you be sure,” she murmured to herself.

“Do I have to prove it to you?” the angel said in an odd tone. “Well, then, I guess I gotta. Because your true purpose is coming for you, sooner than you think, and you’re going to have to be ready.”

Frowning, she sat forward on her lounger. “What do you mean—”

Lassiter rose to his full height, and the sheer presence of him was like the ringing of a gong, something that went through her with a vibration: No ceremonial robes, no great hall, no gaggle of sycophantic attendants.

And yet the profound nature of the audience suddenly resonated through her and left waves of awe in its place.

His voice abruptly warped in her ear. “You’re going to resolve to evolve. It’s your destiny.”

With that, the landscape began to rotate around her.

Or rather… she was the one set into a violent spin. And as she was sucked away, her last vision of the angel was one where his gossamer wings extended out over his shoulders and his hair was down and flowing, and his body was hung with gold.

The grim expression on his face terrified her.

It really did.