Page 207 of Nightshade

“How …. How do you know they took her?”

“I have my sources.”

“Sources? Aren’t you a cambion?”

“And? Oh, right.” His chuckle echoed from behind in mocking. “You still live in the mortal fantasy of thinking there’s some clear and distinct separation between angels and demons. Allow me to enlighten you, angels can be equally as ruthless as demons. They just hide it under their greater good clause.”

“Why her? Why not …”

“You? Your father? Because that is how your fates were written. You serve a purpose in all of this. And, well … let’s just say, I’m not the only one who wants to see Jericho fall.”

“What does that mean?” Over my shoulder, I caught a glimpse of his quirked brow and curved lips.

“I could tell you, but then I’d have to kill you.”

With the path ahead leading toward a windowless wall, the doors at each side of the hallway held the sinister promise of imprisonment. And who the hell would’ve found me in the basement of a church, if that were the case?

Scanning over my surroundings showed nothing but a long, concrete path, bland white walls, and the occasional door. Absolutely zero chance for escape, unless I wanted to duck into one of the rooms, but who the hell knew what they held? I needed Remy’s help. Perhaps he was down in the basement, too. The fallen angel was my only hope at getting away from the whackjob.

“How did my father bring you back?” I asked, trying to keep him talking. “How would he even know to bring you back?”

“It seems my true name was carved into a fossilized stone that bore the sign of the Pentacrux, found by some Romanian archeologist. As your father had some insight into the Pentacrux, the archeologist called on him for translation. Centuries, I waited for someone to crack the code. To chant my true name that would release me from the nothingness, and he did. He was brilliant, your father.”

My breath hitched at that. “Was? So, he’s … dead?”

“Your father fled to Nightshade in the same manner in which you did, so yes. He’s essentially dead here in the mortal realm, but trapped there.”

While my heart ached hearing that he’d met his demise by venturing to Nightshade, I took comfort in knowing there was a small sliver of hope that he could return by time reversal. “How do you know this? That he’s there?”

“A little birdie told me.”

“Who?”

“Cassiel. Took a little coaxing. After your father visited Jericho in Nightshade and was turned away, Cassiel sought him out. Your father had mentioned the Pentacrux to Jericho, and Cassiel was intrigued by it. All Fallen loathe the Pentacrux, after all. It seems Nightshade is where your father fled with a very crucial piece of translation. Cunning little prick tore it right out of his journals. All those years of staring at symbols, and the bastard unwittingly discovered the translation for the Omni on a piece of fucking bubble gum.”

I recalled having seen the torn pages of his journal. “What is the Omni?”

“It is the power of the angels. Immortal fuel, so to speak. And it’s the only thing which can fully restore my wings.”

“How would my father even know what it was? What he was translating?”

“I suspect he doesn’t fully grasp what it is that he possesses. But I am not the only one who has hunted him for it, either.”

“I don’t know where my father is. I wasn’t lying when I told you I hadn’t seen him in fifteen years. If that’s what kidnapping me was all about, you’re shit out of luck.”

“Yes. You’ve proven to be quite worthless. To me. Which is why I’ll have to venture to Nightshade myself.”

“Then, why am I here? What the hell do you want from me?”

“It is not what I want from you. But we’ll get to that in a moment.”

The puzzle pieces inside my head of why Hines had sought me out and what he was looking for, began to converge into a disturbing image. “It was you, wasn’t it? You turned Cassiel into the wingless creature. The Alatum.”

“Yes. Like plucking the wings off flies.” A hand gripped my shoulder, bringing me to a stop in front of a steel door.

“Where is Remy?”

“Funny you should ask. I was just getting to that.” He swung open the door to a small dark room and flipped a light on. Propped in the center of the room was what appeared to be a crucifix, upon which Remy had been strung naked, facing the wooden structure, his hands nailed to the posts. Cables hung from the ceiling, the ends of which held thin hooks that’d been attached to his black wings, prying them out. The angel moaned and writhed, as if in incredible pain.