Page 27 of Astaroth
Luca inclined their head. “Noted.”
Uriel wasn’t fazed. He followed Aster into the sitting room and eased into a solitary chair, scanning the ornate walls and lace curtains. Briar sat on the sofa. He pulled the sleeves of hisknitted sweater into his palms and took the glass Aster handed him.
“There’s a situation in Olympia, Washington. A young person has offered sanctuary to a cluster of lesser demons. Seven of them, to be exact. The extraction team—your previous unit—has been charged with removal and rehabilitation,” Uriel said. His brow twitched, but he smiled. “They need someone with a gentle touch, if you will. So, Michael has asked for your assistance.”
Briar’s throat dried. He paused, resting the glass against his mouth. Wine soaked his bottom lip.Michael. The festering anger he’d pushed to the far corners of his mind rushed forward. He took a long sip. “Michael has the audacity to ask for my help after testifying against me? Where is he now, then? Why send you instead of coming here himself?”
Uriel’s gaze flicked briefly to Aster. “Your buyer in the Celestial Auction and your late overseer have a complicated relationship. Michael thought it best to send a mediator, so to speak. Since I’ll have a Guardian on stand-by during the extraction, I was a good fit. Not to rush through this lovely meeting, but we need to leave as soon as possible.”
“I’ve agreed to nothing,” Briar bit out.
Again, Uriel’s eyes widened. He lifted his chin, regarding Briar with a cool once over. He turned toward Aster. “Michael is willing to pay for Briar’s compliance. Sign over his retainer for a seven-day period and we’ll return him in one piece, as unharmed as the mission allows.”
“Briar is not on retainer,” Aster said, quietly, and narrowed his eyes. “He does as he pleases.”
“Michael sent you here prepared topurchaseme?” Briar asked, as if all the air had been knocked from him.
“You have been purchased once already. Trading and renting are popular and fully contractually agreeable within the auctioncircuit. I wasn’t made aware that your contract had been dissolved,” Uriel said, and added, nonchalantly, “My apologies.”
“Agreeable?”
Uriel pressed his lips together. “Yes, agreeable. How do you think Astaroth found his pretty chef? Clementine, is it? Died by suicide after murdering, cooking, andeatingher husband, and narrowly escaped damnation by being purchased in the Celestial Auction, first by Zagan, then traded to Astaroth. And who else? Ah, yes. Luca, of course—”
“You’ve overstayed your welcome,” Aster snapped. Energy pulsed from him. His ancient form shimmered like a second skin, coming and going. For a moment, fast as lightning, the outline of wings filled the space, knotted and stitched together, riddled with black pupils. A feathered sphere. A looping infinity filled with pure, old light. They were gone in an instant.
“You’reneeded,” Uriel said, flinging the words at Briar. “A child will die painfully, regrettably, and their death can andwillbe avoided if you join us. We all know what you’re capable of. No other medic has the skill-set you do. No one else is as sensitive, asaware, and no one else has successfully subdued an infestation except for you.”
“I lost my wings for it. A girl still died because of it.” Briar’s lungs squeezed. The residual wing-bone jutting from his clippings ached again, same as they had the day they’d been broken. “Successfully subdued an infestation? Hardly. I assessed an intervention that called for immediate cease and desist, and Michael took judgment into his own hands anyway.”
“You have the chance to do something good, Briar Wright,” Uriel said, sadly, apologetically, and each word mimicked the sound of a snare being tied. “Michael has asked for you, specifically. If your contract is dissolved, then I’m sure your team is prepared to welcome you home.”
Briar shifted his jaw back and forth. His hands began to tremble. Rage pooled inside him, that rotten, rigid feeling, like being speared with hot metal. He remembered the concrete underneath him, scrabbling there, and Michael’s boot pressed firmly to the back of his neck.This is for your own good, Briar.You will be stronger for it.He didn’t recognize silence until Aster touched his arm, tearing him from a wretched memory. He inhaled sharply, blinking away an uncomfortable sting.
“Let them welcome someone else,” Briar said. He swallowed the rest of his wine in two, long gulps. “Get out.”
Aster said something, but Briar didn’t hear. Everything suddenly sounded far away. Drowned. He watched fury form on Uriel’s face, how his mouth moved, slowly, distorted, like a warped film reel, but Briar didn’t stop to ask him for clarity. He made for the library without looking back. Focused on each step, grasped the brass handle, slipped inside, and slammed the door behind him.
Chapter Nine
There hadn’t been any shouting, which Briar appreciated. His nerves were already shot. Dealing with a fight between two estranged siblings who could barely tolerate each other would’ve sent his anxiety skyrocketing. And, quite frankly, he didn’t want to deal with the clean-up. He listened to the heavy front door open and close as Uriel took his leave. Three minutes later, whispers on the second floor turned to footsteps on the staircase, and slowly but surely, the house filled with gossip.
The library cocooned him. He paced in front of the windows. Shame and regret and anger,oh, anger, needled him. Rage contaminated his body. He felt it everywhere—stored behind his kneecaps, burning in his elbows, electric and familiar beneath his clippings. Anger came, it took, and it ravaged him, and then, just like that, it vanished, and all Briar had left was exhaustion. He kept pacing, legs restless, itching to run, and scrubbed his hand through his hair. There was no place for him to lock away his memories. No attic where he could store the what ifs—what if I could save this one, what if he was right, what if I deserved this, what if Michael needs me—and no basement to plant hishorrid, useless anger. The past, albeit recent, had dwindled. Every second before the auction had dimmed, gone unnoticed, and now, everything was there again, sprouting thorns in his stomach.
Aster opened the door slowly. He said nothing at first, simply turned the lock. Briar threw his feet at the floor, pacing past the windows once, twice, a third time. “Briar,” he tested, and took a step forward. “Would you like to talk?”
“What if that child dies?” Briar blurted. As soon as he spoke, he couldn’t stop. “Have I made a mistake? Have I damned someone over my own pride? I have, haven’t I? All this, because I couldn’t fathom being in a room with him. All this, because I’m too cowardly to face him. I deny someone help to. . . to. . . what? To play these avoidance games for the rest of eternity—”
“For as long as it takes,” Aster said. He tapped the secretary as he crossed the room. “You don’t owe the High Court anything.”
“To what end, though? When do I stop holding onto this hate and anger and fear? When will it let me be?”
“When you’re ready. No sooner than that.”
Briar huffed. “Isn’t it my choice? Shouldn’t I have a say in the place I call home? Don’t I deserve to turn away from the people who ostracized me?”
At this point, Briar barely understood his own thoughts. He knew what he felt, and he knew what he wanted, and those two things contradicted the person he strived to be. Unselfish. Forgiving. Merciful.
Still, he asked, “Haven’t they taken enough?” Briar halted in place on his tenth or twentieth back-and-forth, blocked by Aster’s wide chest.
