Page 45 of Far From Center
“Be prepared for a long-winded speech that will bore you to death.” She took a breath. “Sorcerers craft items of varying quality, and that’s a significant factor in how long these things last. They generally charge wands with a minimum of 5 and a maximum of 10 charges. Gareth, the sorcerer that the Iblis mainly purchases from, has been known to craft special orders with up to fifty charges, so this is most likely his work. That lets me know what the calculations should be for rebound on a broken object. They’re not exactly best buddies right now, and the Iblis has a habit of delinquent payment on her account so if she bought it from him, he’d charge her extra and wouldn’t be as likely to give it the same attention to detail that he normally would. Nyalla is like a daughter to the Iblis, and she’ll spend extra to ensure her well-being, so I’m pretty sure the wand was of Gareth’s manufacture. Taking all this, in addition to other factors, into consideration, as well as knowing the multiplication factor for a broken magical device of this type, because I’ve read extensively on the subject, I’d assume with a normal victim, the effect would take six to eight weeks to wear off. But you’re an archangel, and I’ve felt the kinda mojo you put out up close and personal like. I’d say two weeks before you’re back to normal with the effect starting to wear off after the first three or four days.”
“So I’ll be fully back to being an angel by two weeks?”
She tilted her head. “I can feel you pushing against it. Your stupidly high vibration pattern is chipping away at the spell faster than I had believed possible. There will probably be little things here and there than hinder you for a while, but I think you’re going to be able to significantly break through the effect in the next week.”
Even more of a relief. But could he believe her? It was so difficult not being able to sense falsehood. “Thank you. And although I appreciate your offer, I think I’ll allow my injuries to heal naturally, just in case. Although if I suffer stab wounds or broken bones, I might reconsider.”
“That’s a shame. You’re not as pretty when you’ve got a black eye. Although I think Nyalla might go for the wounded-bird thing. Could earn you a sympathy fuck.”
He was not about to discuss their intimacies with this demon, no matter how helpful she’d been. Time to change the subject. “What were the flame-throwers you had?”
She whipped them out of her pockets, and with a click, each sprouted a flame. “Crème Brulee torches. I grabbed a few of them from the kitchen at Charlie’s last night.”
Terrelle was very resourceful, even if Gabriel was fairly certain that she never paid for the items she’d taken. “I’ve changed my mind about you. I’d believed you to be useless, but you seem quite valuable to have around in a fight. I wish I could say the same about that cowardly Low that ran off.”
Her lip curled. “Careful, your prejudice is showing. Snip is following them. I was curious about how an ancient managed to get out of Hel undetected. I’m also hoping Snip can get us a lead on the angel you’re so eager to meet as well as what this artifact is. He’s fast and stealthy. Lows are practically invisible to other demons. He makes the perfect spy.”
She was right. He’d been so busy making assumptions about these two demons that he hadn’t allowed himself to see their value or their commitment. They weren’t bodyguards. They were sent with Nyalla to help her in a different way. He’d underestimated humans. And he’d underestimated demons. Just as he opened his mouth to apologize, something cold and wet smacked him across the face, blocking his vision. It smelled like frozen death, and dripped liquid down onto his shirt.
Terrelle laughed. “Nyalla, you’re killing me, girl. Why are you trying to suffocate G-man with a nice piece of rib eye?”
“That’s what you do to help heal a black eye. I read it somewhere. Or maybe I saw it on TV. I’m not sure.”
“Is this another scholarly journal? Like the one that said red wine helped your heart?” Gabe spluttered, the cold blood from the steak running into his mouth as he spoke. “I think I’m feeling better. You can take the meat away from my face now.”
This was disgusting. He’d rather suffer through Terrelle healing him than this. Plus, it was dripping blood on his already bloody shirt. He liked this shirt, too. Hopefully the washing machine down the hall could clean it properly, because he wanted to wear it again this week.
“No, it’s not better,” Terrelle announced gleefully. I think you need another steak. Actually I think he needs to eat one, because consuming another being transfers part of their life-force and allows someone to heal quicker.”
“Oh Terrelle, that is a terrible falsehood! You’re just as bad at lying as Sam. He needs steak on his face, not in his stomach. Actually I think he might like to eat steak, perhaps cooked a bit more than this, though.”
“I’mnoteating one of these. The blood dripping into my mouth is making me gag. Nyalla, please take it off. I’m fine. I promise.”
He felt the meat lift from his face and opened his eyes to find Nyalla inches away. Her hand came up and with a finger, she poked his cheek.
“You will not put that meat on my face again,” he told her, although his voice lacked the usual thread of command. In fact, it lacked any sort of command at all. And he knew very well that if she slapped the steak back on his eye, he wouldn’t do more than protest.
Terrelle snorted. “Offer is always there, G-man. Say the word and your face will be just as beautiful as it was an hour ago.”
“No.” He wiped himself with a napkin from off the table and looked up at the pair. “What now? Do you think the Gormand will actually come through by midnight, or do you have a back-up plan in case he doesn’t?”
Nyalla shrugged. “My intuition says the angel behind it all, this Tura, really wants the deal to go through. Either it’s too much bother to find another buyer, or he really wants the collar. But I’ve got no idea what that ancient demon has to do with any of this. I doubt the Gormand smuggled him across the gates to Hel with all the bribes and expensive magical devices it would take to mask his presence, just so he could verify an artifact that an already-present angel could.”
“I agree.” Gabe frowned in thought. “There has to be a different reason that Sirumel is here. He’s skilled in illusion, and that’s doesn’t make sense with anything else that’s going on here.”
Nyalla shot Terrelle a quick glance. “And as a human, you’ve read about these things. Which is how you know he’s skilled in illusion.”
The information demon snorted. “I know he’s that archangel that Sam hates so much, Nyalla. I’ve met him before. And even if I hadn’t, he acts like an angel. Snip knows too. There. It’s all out in the open. And props to you for both disabling an archangel and getting one into your bed. Major props.”
“Back to the reason for Sirumel’s presence,” Gabe scowled at Terrelle. “Could he be the one who is buying the real artifact?”
“I wish we knew what it was,” Terrelle said. “Sirumel’s interest would narrow that down a bit, but we don’t even know he’s a potential buyer.”
“A rogue angel orchestrates the theft of several heavenly artifacts,” Nyalla said, ticking the statements off on her fingers. “The Traveler’s Veil is used to distract the archangels so the rebels can make an attempt to take Aaru and the elves can migrate. I’m sure any other artifacts would be used to similar purpose. What artifact would need an ancient illusion-skilled demon, an angel, the collar, a Gormand, and a skinny lackey demon?”
Gabe shook his head, perplexed. “There are thousands of artifacts hidden in a sacred place. I doubt they could have taken more than two or three and not had the theft immediately noticed. The Traveler’s Veil was stolen in transit, the angel carrying it killed. And that wasn’t exactly something I’d expect a rebel angel to choose to steal. That whole plot was convoluted. He could just as easily figure out a way to use the Kavacha, the Libretti, Pandora’s Box, the Arc, the Stone of Fire–”
“Job’s Tear,” Terrelle announced, looking at her phone.
