Chapter Thirteen

“BREAKFAST?”

“Sure, thanks,” Ravi says at the peak of a push-up. “Something light?”

Nate watches him from the bed, elbow crooked and head propped. Hair wild, and color still high in his cheeks from their lazy dawn tumble. “I’ve got everything to make mango lassi. Lotsa protein in that.”

Ravi finishes his set and sweeps a hand through his hair with a smile. “Sounds great.” It’s crazy that Nate has bothered stocking his pantry with things he knows Ravi likes. There’s barely anything personal in his own apartment, but the fact there’s a place in Nate’s kitchen solely for him, is…it’s a lot to absorb.

He stretches over the bed to push Nate back against the pillows. The sight puts him in mind of nineteenth century paintings of odalisques, all peach and gold in the early-morning light, languorous against ivory sheets.

“This is a good look on you,” he murmurs, scattering kisses to Nate’s chest, lingering over a tattoo of an Irish harp, and another of a constellation of stars tracing the outline of a bear.

“Mm. What is?” Nate trails his hands from Ravi’s shoulders down his spine, leaving goosebumps in their wake. “Incredibly well-fucked?”

Ravi nips at Nate’s collarbone, making him twitch. “That’s one way of putting it.”

“Okay, give me another way,” Nate challenges.

“Hm. Sundar,” Ravi suggests, tipping up a smile. “Aakarshak. Séduisant. Mozzafiato.”

“Mozza-what? Did you call me a cheese?”

Ravi rolls onto his side with a deep laugh, somehow feeling light and unburdened despite the weight of his troubles. Amazing how Nate keeps doing that, taking Ravi’s shadows and effortlessly turning them into light.

“It’s Italian for breathtaking.”

Nate bites down on his lip, then grins wide. “You’re showing off. Just so you know, I fully support that one hundred percent.”

Ravi grins back, running his fingertips through the sparse hairs on Nate’s thigh. His legs, with that well-hewn hockey player tone, are worth some extra attention. “I have two skill sets. The first is hitting things, and the second is asking in different languages, ‘Where’s the thing you need me to hit?’”

Nate cups Ravi’s face in his hands. “I can think of plenty more than two, sunshine.” They slide easily into a series of kisses, warm lips and wandering hands soon unraveling any intentions of getting up.

Ravi regretfully pulls back before they get too carried away again. “Val’s picking me up soon.”

Val is so indifferent to human relationships he doubts she’d even notice if she caught him and Nate in a clinch, much less care, but even the thought makes Ravi want to throw his clothes on as soon as possible.

“Cockblocked by an angel.” Nate sighs and heaves himself out of bed. He pulls on some shorts. “You get first dibs on the shower. I’ll start some coffee.” But instead, Nate stops in the doorway and looks back at Ravi for a long stretch of time, lips curving into a half-moon smile.

Feeling Nate’s admiration as if it were a tangible thing, Ravi plays into it a bit, stretching and flexing for his audience. Nate’s smile only grows softer and more heartfelt instead of heated, his eyes shining brighter. No one has ever looked at Ravi in quite the same way before; he can’t even put a name to the expression.

“What?” he asks, suddenly shy.

Nate doesn’t speak for a moment, throat bobbing, then he breaks into a broad, easy smile.

“You’re cheese too.”

*

NATE PUTS WHAT he claims is pure Ontario lavender honey in the blender with the yogurt, and it’s very likely the best lassi Ravi’s ever had.

“I can’t believe it,” Nate says in false shock, giving him a once-over. “A T-shirt. Are you okay? Is it painful?”

“Laugh it up, Doc.” Ravi rolls his eyes. He finishes his coffee and rinses out the mug. “I told you I owned some.”

“My guy, you know it doesn’t count as a T-shirt if it costs over a hundred dollars, right?”

That’s news to Ravi. He avoids the question. “Jeans too, see? Very common man.”

“Uh-huh,” Nate says knowingly, arms crossed as he leans against the fridge. “That’s exactly what you bring to mind. Common.”

In a sudden rustle of unseen feathers, Val appears a yard away from Ravi. He jumps but refrains from snatching up a blade off the knife block.

“We’ve talked about knocking first, Val,” Nate says mildly.

Val inclines her head. “Apologies.” She raps a fist on the table thrice.

Nate’s eyes narrow. “Are you fucking with us? I can never tell if your ‘I’m so alien and clueless’ thing is legit or just a hilarious angel gag.”

“Often the ways of heaven are unknowable.” She looks to Ravi. “Your clothes are acceptable. Though you may wish to bring a jacket.” She’s eschewed her usual gym clothes for a white long-sleeved jacket worn over a long skirt. A silk scarf twines around her neck.

Ravi nods, grabbing a moto jacket from his duffel along with his shoulder holster.

“Firearms will not be necessary.”

He shoots her an incredulous look.

“Should battle become inevitable, you and I are both lethal enough on our own.”

True enough. Reluctantly he zips the duffel back up, 9mm inside. Ravi trusts Val, but she’s got a divine maul she can summon up with a mere thought. Going into an unknown situation unarmed and unprepared makes Ravi edgy.

Nate waves, smiling brightly. “You two have fun on your mysterious adventure! Call me if you run into any weird monsters you need me to identify.”

A desire hits Ravi strong and sudden, unaccountably difficult to resist for such a simple thing: he wants to kiss Nate goodbye.

Val takes his shoulder and in a breath the apartment swoops away from underfoot.

Blinking away the disorientation, Ravi is confronted by an endless golden expanse, tall grasses swaying over hills for as far as he can see. The cool wind whips past them with a soughing sigh, low-hanging clouds overhead puckered like ostrich leather. The placement of the sun behind the clouds confuses Ravi briefly before he realizes they’re no longer in North America; Val must have taken them somewhere where it is afternoon instead of morning.

“Val.” Ravi turns around. Nothing but grass stretching for miles and miles, until it meets faint, far-off blue mountains. “Where are we?”

Valiance gazes westward. Strands of hair almost the same color as the clouds fly out of her ponytail across her burning ice-blue eyes. “These are the steppes of Mongolia.”

“And…why are we in Mongolia?”

“Because this is where the urumi was delivered to Zhen Zi-Qi, four hundred and sixty years ago.”

Individually each word makes sense, but all lined up together in a sentence Ravi is utterly lost. “Zhen Zi-Qi…my ancestor?”

“Yes.”

“You…” Ravi stares at her. Val’s abilities have limits. She can only teleport to people she’s familiar with, or to places she has already visited. “You’ve been here before.”

“Yes.”

“Are you saying… What exactly are you saying, Val?”

Her gaze has all the calm of a bodhisattva carved into sandstone. “Harry is not the first Chosen of Durga I have stood beside. I was here with Zhen. This was where Naimanzuunnadintsetseg’s eagle brought him the urumi, passing the destiny of your bloodline to him at the age of twenty.”

Stunned, Ravi takes a step back, reciting facts by rote. “That’s…that’s Eight Hundred Precious Flowers, the falconer. One of Zhen’s comrades-in-arms. She… Val. I don’t—”

“We three met the jiangshi shortly after, the vampire who joined up with Zhen’s cause. We traveled far and wide, slaying many great evils before Zhen fell.” Val brushes ash-gray hair from her eyes and puts on her sunglasses. “Perhaps I should have eased into this revelation.”

“Perhaps you should have!” Ravi throws up his hands and has a difficult time wrangling his voice back down to a reasonable volume. “I don’t understand. I get that you’ve had different bodies before, been in different times. But that you knew my ancestor—”

“I have known all of the Chosen Ones not born Abhiramnews.”

Ravi’s jaw hangs open. “Kya? Par tum… You…” He slips into the refuge of Hindi. “Why haven’t you said anything about this sooner? When Harry got the urumi? And if you say because ‘nobody asked,’ I swear—” He covers his face, taking long measured breaths before pulling himself together enough to speak. “I’m sorry. I don’t…”

Val slips her scarf off her neck and pulls it over her hair, tucking it around her face. She answers in the same tongue as naturally as a native speaker. “Your reaction is understandable. Brace yourself.”

“For wha—”

Val touches his arm, and with another rush of wind the plains wink away to be replaced by a busy outdoor market, throngs of milling people fortunately not noticing the pair appearing out of nowhere, sandwiched between a large stand of women’s bangles and a spinning rack of colorful fabric.

The momentum causes Ravi to sway slightly in place as he gets his bearings. The aroma of spices, incense, and sizzling street food is immediately familiar, though a quick glance around at the local clothing tells him he’s likelier to be somewhere in Kashmir or Pakistan than in India.

Val releases his arm. “This is where Nayab bint Mukhtar was approached by Shraddha, as The Trust was known in those days, though then it was only a loose confederation of like-minded people intent on stopping evil. How it’s grown,” she says, the way one would remark on the size of a friend’s child. “Nayab was a commoner of no renown when Durga Chose her, a daughter of Caspian traders, and your family welcomed her with open arms.”

“That’s… In 554. You were here too?”

“I…met Nayab later. She showed me this spot.” Val shifts, which he’s never seen her do before. “Nayab didn’t have the training your family is raised with, or any of the advantages which graces your bloodline. She was a girl of fourteen with no knowledge of the destiny that would be thrust upon her. But she did have me, to help bear the weight.”

People pass by, talking, laughing, engaging in commerce.

“Does my aunt know about this?” Ravi asks hoarsely. “Is this another secret I wasn’t in on?”

“No, Ravi. No one knew except the Chosen themselves. This incarnation is the first where I have not kept my true nature hidden.” She holds out a hand. “Are you ready?”

Ravi hesitates only a moment, then switches back to English as he gives Val his hand. “William Harbridge?”

“Indeed,” Val says, and they’re away again, carried on the celestial breeze until Ravi’s feet touch down on polished parquet flooring. It’s easier this time to shake off the strangeness of teleportation, blinking away static.

They’re surrounded by familiar Old-World opulence, a baroque foyer Ravi knows well from several formal Trust events. Harbridge Manor outside London. On the left is his favorite credenza, a huge Regency era monstrosity that casts a conveniently large shadow. He’d often stood in that shadow during the endlessly dull parties he was forced to attend, trying to blend in with the wallpaper. More than once that credenza helped Ravi avoid a long-winded blathering from some old white guy—almost universally one of the Prestons—boasting of their family’s ancestral prowess at slaying monsters or bragging about their beloved family heirlooms. Bits of statuary torn off Indian temples, tea chests of ivory taken from Indian elephants.

Ravi’s very fond of that credenza.

The faint rumble of low voices carries from an adjacent room.

“Val,” Ravi hisses in alarm. “There are wards and defenses here for intruders. We can’t be here.” Later he’ll have to suggest the Harbridges update their wards to account for teleportation.

“I shall be brief, then.” Val strides to the base of the grand staircase, not modulating her voice or gait in the slightest. Ravi winces; she’s not cut out for stealth. “The widow of the previous Chosen accompanied the Director of The Trust and performed the ceremony right here, to give William Harbridge the sword. He was twelve.”

Footsteps click down from the long hallway. Val rejoins Ravi and whisks him once more around the globe.

This time he blinks hard, shaking off the staticky buzz. Val must be tiring, her teleporting less smooth. They stand high on a balcony, ivy spilling in a riot over iron fretwork railings. The view is unmistakably the red sandstone of Jaipur, Amber Palace looming proud across Maota Lake. The weather is fine, sun shining, the arid breeze playing with Ravi’s hair. Almost winter; Sharad Ritu, a proper season. It feels good on his skin.

Val guides Ravi to a pink lacquered bistro table and waves at a chair. He plunks down, belatedly glancing around for possible threats and finding none. A secure spot with excellent lines of sight. Val takes a seat across from him, slipping the scarf from her head back into a fashionable knot at her throat. A kettle on the table steams with fresh coffee.

Val slides him an empty cup. “I thought you might welcome some refreshment.”

“Yeah, it’s very thoughtful, but what the hell, Val?”

“You must have questions.”

“Yeah.”

“Ask.”

The funny thing is, Ravi doesn’t know where to start. His thoughts are a complete jumble and he grasps until he finds the most important thread to follow. “Did you know all along about Harry? Before the urumi came to her?”

“No. I was surprised, as well.” Val sits with her hands flat and unmoving on the table, posture unnaturally perfect. “I knew someone was fated to be Chosen, though I did not know it would be her. I had wondered if I had been found unworthy of guardianship, for my failures.”

“What failures?”

“They all died, Ravi.” The faintest of changes comes over Val’s voice, like a far-off bird fluttering a broken wing. “Nayab, Zi-Qi, and William all died alone, because I had already fallen in battle protecting them.”

Ravi stares at her, a distant pain under his breastbone.

Her head slants minutely to one side. “You are wondering if I have ever met Durga.”

Frowning, Ravi turns his profile quickly away out to the skyline. “You can read minds, now?”

“No. But I have been asked similar questions before, by those whose curiosity you carry.”

Ravi holds his breath. “Well, have you?”

“I have not.”

He exhales in considerable relief. He’s pretty sure he doesn’t want to hear what any of the nine manifestations of his family’s patron goddess has to say about him. Carrying the weight of his aunt’s disappointment is bad enough.

He crosses his arms over his chest, then drops them, then sets them on the table. Suddenly he’s grateful for the coffee, if only to have something to do with his hands. He pours himself a cup, trying to focus on what’s important. His personal issues are definitely not.

“Tactically, what can we do to help Harry? To make her situation more survivable? You must have…wisdom from the ages, right?”

“My strategic skills are best suited for the immediacy of the battlefield, but I believe our greatest strength lies in Harry’s support system. Nayab had personal allies and comrades-in-arms, as did Zhen. Neither of them had The Trust as it exists now, as a powerful organization of wealth and influence. William did, but he did not have a personal team. That had long fallen out of favor for the Chosen. He just had me.”

“So, Harry has the allies and the resources. That’s good. That means we’re doing something new, something that hasn’t been tried before. That’s hopeful.” Harry is going to die of old age, comfortably in bed and surrounded by loved ones, if Ravi has anything to say about it. We’re eternal optimists, Harry would snark.

“What were they like?” he bursts out, a boyish exclamation he immediately wishes he could reel back.

Val doesn’t even pause. “Courageous. Determined. Strong.”

Not quite what Ravi had hoped for, though he doesn’t know what else he expected to hear. He takes a sip of coffee without tasting it. “I didn’t give my real name when we first met. When did you figure out I was related to them?”

“I knew the very instant we met that you were an Abhiramnew, and a direct descendant of the Chosen line.”

“It’s the cheekbones, isn’t it,” he huffs sarcastically.

“No.” Ravi’s reflection is stretched and strange in the dark glass of Val’s sunglasses. “William had an unassailable sense of purpose, and an iron dedication to it. Zhen was a wanderer, never happy unless he was moving, and would throw himself into battle without regard for his own wellbeing if innocent lives were at stake. Nayab was a guarded woman, but underneath she had a hidden spark of humor, and she loved those close to her with unmatched fierceness.

“Before Harry, out of nearly ninety generations of Chosen, I have only known three. But I can easily see that the best of them live on in you.”

Ravi’s eyes burn. He drags in a shaky breath and presses his knuckles over his mouth. He looks out over the landscape for a long, long time. Val sits with him in contented silence.

When he drags himself back together, Ravi clears his throat and wraps both hands around the warm cup. “Okay. So. Why you? Why an angel instead of—wait, are you an angel?”

“I am a soldier. Harry may try to instill a greater sense of autonomy in me, and I do not fault her for it. She is used to superiors who are flawed, as mortals are. Mine are not. I am Valiance.” She shrugs, a tiny shift of her muscled shoulders. “I am my purpose. I guard the divergent Chosen’s steps so that when the world needs them, when only they can turn the tide of evil, they stand ready. Whatever name or guise I must wear to do this is immaterial. Here and now, angel is a good enough moniker. For Nayab I was a malaikah, and for Zhen I was a heavenly champion of Zhong Kui. All are correct.”

“Nate would love to hear this,” Ravi mutters, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

“But I was not always such.” Val’s fingers convulse on the table, a swift clench of knuckles. She glares at her hands until they again still.

“You weren’t…always a soldier?”

“No. I would like to tell you a story about Nayab bint Mukhtar.”

Eagerly, he leans forward. “Yes! We have records, but there are so many gaps. I’d love to hear…” He clears his throat. “Yes, please.”

“Nayab was hunting demons,” Val begins, “that plagued the region through a small, unstable breach into the hells. She had been Chosen for mere months, still unsure of herself and unskilled with weapons. Nevertheless, she did what was needful, picking off demons one by one through cunning and subterfuge. One demon, a small and unimportant thing of Hunger, snuck through the rift to feed on scraps left from the greater demon’s slaughter. This demon was a wretched, carrion thing, seeking only the abattoir.” Val’s lip curls slightly. Rapt, Ravi listens. “It was not long before it ran afoul of Nayab, and the two battled. But just as Nayab was about to land the killing blow, she stopped.”

Ravi waits, but Val seems committed to the dramatic pause. “Why?”

“She claimed she ‘had a feeling,’” Val says with the faintest of smiles. “In that moment of weakness, the demon should have killed her. But it didn’t. Demon and demon-killer both stayed their hands, in an unspoken armistice.”

Ravi’s eyes widen. “Val…”

“Nayab spoke to the demon,” Val forges on, lifting her chin. “She made a bargain to let the demon live if it would help her close the rift. The demon agreed. An uncertain truce.” She pauses again, looking out over the rosy city. “The demon kept its word. It helped Nayab get all the way to the triumvirate of devils that had breached the Veil, and helped her slay them, all but the last. The last devil had Nayab at his feet and would have killed her then and there, but for the demon’s intervention. The demon took the blow meant for her.”

Ravi’s mouth works soundlessly for a moment. “Why?”

“I do not know. The demon…had a feeling.” Valiance takes a long, even breath. “I do not have memories from that life, any more than vague, distant images.”

Ravi stares.

“Mortals like to make much of angels who fall,” she says, “but rarely care to think about demons who rise. You’d think humans would speak of nothing else, if only for the wickedest among them to claim they should have infinite chances to reform.” Val’s hands twitch again. “I have been reticent to tell you of this.”

“I…can appreciate why.” Ravi feels a little like he caught an uppercut in the boxing ring, his bell rung. “You sacrificed yourself. And the gods, or…the powers-that-be, decided to make you a guardian for the other unconventional Chosen?”

“No. I chose that purpose myself.”

Ravi’s head begins to clear. He smiles crookedly. “You wanted to change your nature. To be better than you were.”

“Do not think that demons are redeemable as a rule,” Val says sternly. “Any who stay their hand to offer it to a demon will get that hand ripped off. Nayab was special. I chose to return to be by her side, and to do the same for any irregular Chosen who would come after her. None of them were truly prepared, as you were from birth, to be the one person in the world who could thwart the end of it. A heavy weight. I am honored beyond words that I have still been deemed worthy to help carry it.”

“I’m sorry,” Ravi finally says, after a long pause.

“For what?”

“I’m sorry they fell when you couldn’t be there with them.”

She gazes at Ravi placidly through her dark glasses. Then a single tear trails from under the frames and rolls down her face. Val touches her cheek and regards her wet fingers for several breaths.

“This body feels grief,” she says, as calm as a smooth pond on a breezeless day. “Though burdened by responsibility, your ancestors were selfless and dedicated. They all believed in their purpose, in The Trust, and worked hard to build a lasting foundation. They would be proud of you, Chosen or not.”

That hits far harder than learning Val used to be a demon. Ravi blinks rapidly, unable to speak. Finally, he manages in a dry leaf rattle, “Thank you.”

They sit in companionable silence for a time, watching the flow of people below, listening to the sounds of the city. A radio set in a nearby open window plays some oldies. A vendor across the street cooks up fragrant batches of pyaaz kachori.

Ravi clears his throat. “I’ve been meaning to tell you. I, uh. I told my aunt we were an item.”

One of Val’s white eyebrows climbs upwards.

“She thought… I wanted to divert her suspicions. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have.”

“Will continuing that deception aid you in some way?”

He’s touched by the implied offer. “I…” He makes a face. “I’m tired, Val. Of deception. Not for the job, not tradecraft in general, but…I’m so fucking tired of lying about…”

“About who you are.”

He hesitates, then nods.

“I did not know who she was fated to be, but when Harry was confronted with the evidence of my celestial origins, I did not attempt to conceal the truth. Perhaps I had grown weary of the artifice, as well. I did not anticipate how good it would feel to not have to pretend anymore. To stretch my wings.”

Ravi considers this over the dregs of his coffee. “You know, Val, back there with Constance, you weren’t so bad at the human touch, yourself. I don’t think you needed the rest of us at all.”

She smiles, though a shade rueful. “Being a human is very difficult.”

“Tell me about it.”

*

IT’S BEEN A while since he’s visited the lake house himself, though he knows Harry and Constance swap kappa-feeding duty every other week. He’s had no reason to go back since that extended July day with Cayenne. Until now, Ravi hadn’t been sure he could ever face it again.

Even walking to the backyard brings back an unwelcome wash of memories. The basketball hoop in the driveway. The grassy stretch by the lake where he’d poured himself heart and all into Cayenne, where they murmured his name and whispered that they loved him. Where they offered to spar with him, showing instead of telling how ruthless they could be—would be. He remembers their face as they examined his blackened eye. Not apologetic, but with resignation. Like hurting him was an inevitability they wouldn’t even try to avoid.

Ravi forces himself to tread past the spot. At the edge of the manicured lawn, he pries up a small garden statue. Underneath, a tightly lidded plastic container is halfway buried into the dirt, and inside that a brilliantly scarlet phone with its charging cable.

Ten minutes later, Ravi sends a text.

 

- Ravi -

I need to see you.

- Cayenne -

Mon cher, what a SURPRISE! I want to see you too. I do, however, feel that it’s in my BEST interests to ask if your DELIGHTFUL friends are going to be there as well? Perhaps lying in wait in the bushes?

- Ravi -

Just me.

- Cayenne -

Then the question is, WHY do you want to see me, beautiful boy? You were VERY clear about never wanting to be graced with my scintillating presence again LAST time we spoke. Something about throwing a phone into a lake?

 

How can such a good liar be so bad at bluffing?

 

- Ravi -

Please.

 

The response takes an eternity to come.

 

- Cayenne -

Where

- Ravi -

Apartment on Peachtree. It’s clean. No surveillance. One hour.

 

He follows up with the address and quells a rising tangle of nerves. It’s in motion now. He can’t avoid the consequences of his actions any longer. He has to face them head-on. Do the job in front of him. No turning back.

 

- Cayenne -

Your monster will be waiting for you.