The doors of the library swing open behind me. “Aww, whah’s dis?” Brennus’
smooth voice asks. “’Tis aingeals, Finn.”
“’Tis.” Finn’s voice agrees.
“Uckkk,” Brennus makes a rude sound, “and da other.”
“Why are ye lettin’ dem have da pretty dark-winged aingeal, da other?”
he asks me conversationally, as he walks into my line of sight. He looks at the
Power angel holdin’ me hostage by my throat. His eyes shift to Djet and Anya.
“Hallo, pretty aingeal,” he says to Anya, “I’ve missed ye.” Her eyes widen as
her hands grip Djet’s arm that holds the sharp dagger just below her chin.
“What are you doin’ here?” I growl at
He moves in front of me and bends down to my eye level,
studyin’ me. It’s shockin’ to see his black, velvet wings beyond the unbuttoned
collar of his stark-white dress shirt. They're almost like an elegant accessory
to complete his ensemble of dark, tailored dress pants and expensive shoes. His
meticulously well-kept black hair doesn’t even move as he leans near me. Faerie
writin’ scrawls in intricate tattoos over Brennus’ neck. Behind his ear, there's
somethin’ I’ve never noticed before; it’s another small, glowin’ tattoo on his
not so pale flesh—one that looks like the battleaxe I’d found in the armory back
at his castle.
“I came here ta retrieve da portrait of me queen dat da
Reapers stole from me castle,” he nods toward his brother Finn on the other side
of me. Finn demonstratively holds aloft a rolled up canvas; his iridescent green
eyes twinkle like this is all very amusin’. “Nasty wee craiturs, dose Reaper
aingeals—tink dey can reap everyting, but dat portrait is moin—given ta me in
trade by a Fallen one.”
who are ya tryin’ to kid? You killed Freddie and kept it.”
“I did na say ’twas a good trade for him.”
“You must be Brennus,” Djet says behind
him. Brennus’ eyes narrow as he straightens to face Djet.
must,” Brennus says pleasantly enough, but his anger is recognizable to me. “And
ye must be Emil.” Fallen angels move in closer, surroundin’ Djet protectively,
while their eyes focus on the back of the room by the doors. Behind me I hear
click, click, click, click, click, click...hundreds of Gancanagh fangs
engagin’ at once.
“How do you know that name?” he asks Brennus.
Emil. Yer last lifetime was in Lille, France, was it na? About a century ago,”
he states, exudin’ confidence. “And, like a coward, ye enjoyed frightenin’ wee
Judgin' by the look on Djet’s face, I should start
referrin’ to him as Emil.