“Through my social media profile. Apparently, I fit the criteria for this mission.”
“Which are?” I asked.
“Female, single, no kids, of uni age.”
“Tell them no,” Grayson said.
“I already said yes.”
“Emmeline . . .” He growled. “I’m calling your dad.” He started scrolling through her contact list.
She filched her phone away. “I want to go! I need to get out of London and do something useful.”
“You do plenty of useful things around here.”
“Like what?” she asked through gritted teeth.
“Like . . . I don’t know”—he tossed one hand in the air—“your interior decorating internship.”
“I’m not learning anything I don’t already know.”
“Em, Venezuela is corrupt and one of the most violent countries in South America. And the Circle Foundation . . . Well, you know my thoughts about them.” Grayson jostled around a little cluster of glistening vegetables.
“I do, and I don’t agree with them. I don’t think their charities are fronts for nefarious things.”
Grayson’s eyes became as somber as the sky outside. “You’re acting incredibly selfish.”
“I think you’ve gotten your definition of selfless and selfish mixed up, Gray.”
He worked his jaw from side to side. “When do you leave?”
“Monday.”
“Mon—” Grayson spluttered. “Tomorrow?”
“No. Of next week.”
The stepsiblings’ tension clung to the air as vigorously as the frowns to their faces.
To defuse it, I asked, “So, Grayson, how did you come by your dentist-phobia?”
He sighed, the question slowly blowing away the shadows from his expression, and eventually, from Emmy’s. As he told me the story of how a dentist had removed one of his adult teeth by mistake, my mind wandered to Emmy’s untimely departure and what it meant for my mission.
The girl had been my cover. If I wanted to operate from London, I’d need a new one.
Grayson . . . I could sign up to him.
But then another thought slid over that one: I’d come here to become a guardian. If Emmy was being brought to a dangerous monarchy by a shady organization, shouldn’t I be following her to keep her safe?
Chapter 6
Naya
“It’s quaint,” I told my mother as I sat cross-legged on my bed, towel-drying my hair, which was still damp from the scalding shower I’d taken after I’d gotten home from the guild.
I’d steeped under the hot spray, attempting to ease the disquiet my holo-ranker research had provoked within me, but like a teabag left too long to infuse, the hot water had only made my findings sink in deeper and my mood turn more bitter.
“Show me?” My mother’s voice snapped me out of my storm-packed head.
Even though she insisted Apa was the worrier, she fretted more than he did. Probably because she wasn’t allowed out of the guild to check up on me, unlike my father who could come and go as he pleased. And not because he was one of the Seven, but because he’d spent the requisite century away from the human world.
I recorded a video of the studio, making sure to frame the grayish-green dot Emmy had called a garden, then uploaded it to our chat.
“I think quaint may not be the best word to describe your new digs, Starlight.”
“My new digs?” I snorted. “What century are you from, Ama?”
“Same one as you.”
“You think Apa knows the word digs?”
My mother laughed. “I’ll ask. Or better yet, you can ask him. He’s planning to take you to dinner tonight, but, shh. It’s a surprise.”
I sat up so fast my head spun. “Is he planning on picking me up from Emmy’s?”
“I think so. Did you have other plans?”
“No. No other plans.”
“Act surprised, okay?” There was a little rustling noise on her end, then a grumbled, “Yes, yes, I’m coming, Mira. Gotta go, levsheh. Mira wants to discuss Arden’s painting. She thinks it’s very dark, too dark for a six-year-old, and denotes underlying trauma.”
I tried to picture Eve’s gap-toothed daughter splattering black paint over a canvas. Although Arden had a rather strong personality, like her mother and archangel grandmother, she was a surprisingly sympathetic child.
When she wanted to be.
That was probably just me being subjective, though. Arden was fiercely protective of my little sister, so I automatically liked her. I also liked her mother, who’d brought me presents from Elysium for each one of my birthdays—usually elaborate gowns that were tricky to wear outside guilds, what with them being so formal or sheer. Eve assured me they’d travel through the channel, since they were Elysian-made, and I’d have plenty of occasions to wear them up there. Angels adored dressing up, the glitzier the better.
Unlike Eve, Seraph Claire had never attended a single birthday of mine—why would she, though?—or of her granddaughter’s—heartbreaking. But again, most angels weren’t blessed with a tightknit family.
After I disconnected with Ama, I scoured the Circle Foundation’s website, then looked up the family who ran it—the Dunmores—and pored over every article ever published about the doting, illustrious clan. Considering the amount of money they apparently gave back, their sinner scores should’ve been in the single digits, but the entire family—Susan, James, and their two grown sons—was, as Grayson suspected, corrupt to the bone.
The matriarch’s score was 62 and her sin: Founder of the Circle Foundation.
The patriarch’s score was 47. His sin: Purveyor of the Circle Foundation.
The eldest son, Henry, was rated 53, and his sin: Financier of the Circle Foundation.
But it was the youngest son, Robbie, who had the most alarming score: 100. His sin: Gatherer of the Circle Foundation.
So ambiguous . . .
Ama once told me that she’d ended up in the clutches of a human butcher whose sin had been labeled: lawyer. I’d asked Apa why the rankers couldn’t just state the wrongdoings clearly. With a great sigh, he’d answered that it was put in place to protect us from the horrors committed by some, and then he’d kissed my forehead and left with my squirming baby sister bundled in his big arms.
I didn’t understand how that protected us. If anything, it made us more vulnerable. Ignorance bred frustration, not bliss. Personally, I preferred knowing the devil’s face than imagining it on everyone around me. And yeah, the devil wasn’t real, but it got my point across best when I complained to my mother about the misleading terminology.
She shared my mindset and told me that once I ascended, she and I could embark on a mission to modify ishim legislature or, as she put it, shake things up in the grand ole angel lair, but only once I ascended.
I wondered how she’d react to hearing that Ish Dov was already attempting this. I’d promised him I wouldn’t utter his name to either one of my parents, and I wouldn’t, not even to ask if they knew him, but I couldn’t imagine them not being enthusiastic about his plight. If anything, I bet they’d offer him the Elysian backing he needed, what with their ideals matching.