“And did the mother take the bird back?”
“The bird was dead. I don’t know if Mariel had accidentally killed it before it fell to the ground or if she’d crushed it when she rushed into my arms, but after I’d taken her inside and calmed her down, I went back out and found its little body. I buried it out by the fence. I never told her she’d killed it. It would have wrecked her.”
“I don’t see how her killing a bird proves her innocent.”
“How could a girl who cried over hurting a bird kill a man, much less a Virtue?”
“That was a long time ago, Celeste.”
“It doesn’t matter. People don’t change, not the fundamental part of them. Mariel’s a gentle soul. She didn’t do it.”
He stopped walking, and she was forced to stop with him. He studied her, gaze intense, not with the heat of seduction but with a careful kind of evaluation. Finally, he seemed to come to a decision.
“If you mean to confront the Virtues, you will need more than your Elect facade to pass through their careful watch. They will test you, no doubt.”
“I know how to defeat their holy water. Zeke taught me the trick of it.”
“Holy water will be the least of your worries.”
“What, then?”
“Something they have created from divinity stone, mechanics, and angelic enchantments that probably they don’t even understand, made from a remnant of the war not meant for human hands. Its subjugation is one of the few things demonkind truly fear.”
He drew forth a pendant on a golden chain from around his neck. It held a single chip of divinity enclosed in a locket, and the locket was elaborately engraved with the sigils of hell.
“What is this?”
“Protection from the compulsion of the gloria.”
“Gloria,” she repeated. She took the protective locket and slipped it around her neck.
He said, “Go to the Circle and ask to speak to the head of the Order of Chamuel. You’ll have to convince them of Mariel’s innocence on your own. I cannot do that for you. The locket will keep them from devouring you whole, but the rest is up to you.”
“Thank you, Abraxas.”
His hand grasped her upper arm. “We aren’t quite done,” he whispered, his voice smoke and silk.
Her pulse sped up. “What do you mean?”
“We’ve bargained tonight, have we not? Exchanged gifts.”
She pressed her hand to the locket, confused. “You have given me a gift,” she agreed, nervous, “but what have I given you?”
He closed the space between them, and she tilted her head up to meet him, as natural as breathing. She saw the curve of his satisfied smile just before she closed her eyes, and she did not care. She had missed him. Missed this.
This kiss was brief, just a promise of what could be, a reminder of what had been, and then it was over.
When she opened her eyes, she was alone.
CHAPTER 6
The early-morning sun was already breaking across the mountains by the time Celeste returned home. Her mind dwelled on her encounter with Abraxas, replaying his every word, looking for meaning in each gesture, lingering over that stolen kiss. But it was an indulgence, and one she could not afford. She had no doubt the Circle would waste no time conducting their sham trial. The fact that the crime for which Mariel was accused had happened in the middle of the night gave her some reprieve. The Order of Chamuel would have to round up their compatriots to convene the court. Celeste planned to confront the head of the Order of Chamuel before then, just as Abraxas had advised, and the only way to do that was to walk straight into the lion’s den.
She stopped home only long enough to clean the ash from her coat and change into her best dress. She didn’t know if a dress and a memory of who she used to be would be enough to convince the Virtue to talk to her, but they did serve as armor against her fears. The frock was a remnant of her time with her father, and in it, she resembled a woman of wealth and breeding. She was ashamed to admit there was comfort in it, but she would take courage from whatever she could.
The territorial courthouse stood on a hill overlooking the city. The locals called the place Golgotha on account of its lofty location and the tendency of those who passed through its halls to end up sentenced to death. It was a gruesome epithet for an institution meant to dole out justice, and it felt like an ill omen.
A crowd of lawyers, newspapermen, and the gawking curious loitered on the steps. Most were men, and she felt their eyes turn to her before she was halfway up the stairs. They moved aside, letting her pass, until she was at the grand entrance to the courthouse. Above the doors, a sculpture of the archangel Michael stared down at her in bas-relief, his flaming sword of justice raised high overhead. The avenging angel was a stark reminder of who she was and how much she, half-Fallen, did not belong within these hallowed walls. A sliver of doubt wedged its way through her careful armor and into her heart.
“Fortis, Celeste,” she murmured to herself, Abraxas’s Latin lingering on her tongue.
One deep breath, and she walked through the doors. She ducked under the arm of a man in a gray day suit who was arguing with the deputy guarding the entrance. She half expected the deputy to stop her or a ward to sound and reveal her subterfuge, but the lawman didn’t even look up.
The noise rose by an order of magnitude inside. Attorneys, clerks, and men with badges packed the lofty space, going about the regular business of the court. Their voices echoed off the stone walls and marble floor, creating a deafening cacophony. She tried not to react to the aural assault as best she could, but it was impossible not to catch snippets of gossip as she passed.
“… murdered in bed…”
“… body mutilated…”
“… no doubt the wicked deed of that Fallen she-devil…”
She slowed at that last remark, realizing all the gossip was about Mariel. She tried to listen more, but the man who had said it, red side whiskers jutting from below his bowler hat, caught her looking. His eyes were a watery blue and narrowed in suspicion. Cold gripped the back of her neck like the touch of something sinister, and she quickly turned away.
Only to collide into the back of a woman.
“Goodness!” the stranger exclaimed, turning to face Celeste. She was young, surely no older than Celeste, and dressed in a daring unbustled skirt and shirtwaist with a smart black tie.
“Pardon.” Celeste offered her a smile as apology.
The woman returned it, her quick eyes darting over Celeste. “Grace Walter,” she said, introducing herself. “Reporter for the Goetia Daily Howler.”
Celeste knew the Howler. It was one of the less reputable dailies in town, leaning more toward gossip and sensation than sober news, but she preferred it over the more staid Herald, so when Grace offered her hand, Celeste shook it.
“Celeste Anant.” She used her father’s name. At first, she had thought not to, but why shouldn’t he be of use for once? Grace looked at her expectantly, as if all names were accompanied by occupations, so Celeste said, “I’m here about a legal matter.”
“A law office secretary, are you? Well, I don’t expect you’ll get far with that today. All anyone can talk about is the Eden murder.” She caught Celeste’s frown and must have thought it something else, because she said, “Well, surely you’ve heard, although it did happen at an indecent hour, but you read the morning papers, don’t you?”