Ashwini could see that her crate wasn’t empty now and she renewed her efforts, Naasir coming over to help. It took another excruciating half second to get the slats off enough that she could see the woman. Pressing her fingers against the victim’s throat, Ashwini prayed for a beat. Nothing. No, wait. There it was. A faint flutter. “She’s alive!” she yelled at the same time that Janvier yelled the same.
Naasir lifted out the woman just as the victim Janvier had discovered began to scream, high-pitched and piercing. Ashwini ran over, guessing it was seeing a male that had set her off. Janvier backed out of view at the same time.
The shock of recognition was instant. “It’s all right,” she said to Brooke. “You’re safe.” Nude body bruised and bloodied, one of her eyes swollen half-shut and her lip split open, the auburn-haired woman was nonetheless still whole. “We’re taking you to a hospital.”
Brooke was already fading, eyes glazed by shock and face pale, but she struggled to speak. “Giorgio . . . hurt . . .”
“We’ll get him,” Ashwini promised. “Conserve your strength.”
Ignoring the words, Brooke forced out, “M-monster w-watched . . .”
Lights, sirens on the doorstep.
“Janvier!” Ashwini called out. “Help me carry her to the ambulance.” She could’ve done it in a fireman’s carry but that might aggravate any internal injuries Brooke had sustained, and with the wounded woman having lost her battle with unconsciousness, she wouldn’t be traumatized by the contact with a male.
Janvier lifted Brooke into his arms with utmost gentleness. “I have her, cher.”
Knowing he’d be careful with her, Ashwini turned to make sure all the crates had been opened and there were no more victims.
When Janvier returned, he, Ashwini, Naasir, and Illium compared notes. Brooke wasn’t the only one who’d been conscious. The girl Naasir had rescued first had also managed to speak.
“‘Monster,’” Naasir repeated, his eyes gleaming so violently in the semidark of the warehouse that Ashwini realized they were actually reflective . . . like a tiger’s. “She kept saying ‘monster.’ I thought she was confused, talking about me.”
“The second armchair,” Ashwini pointed out, “it had a back modified for wings.”
“An angelic partner may explain the desiccation,” Illium said, features grim. “The emergence of new abilities among our kind isn’t always telegraphed ahead of time.”
“We go over this warehouse inch by inch.” Janvier’s voice had lost its languid rhythm, become hard, ruthless. “Feathers at Giorgio’s home could belong to innocent angelic guests, but anything here is near certain to belong to his partner.”
Not wasting time, they walked to one end of the warehouse to form a horizontal line across the huge space with others of the squadron. Not the Legion fighters, however—according to what Ashwini had picked up from talking to Tower personnel, while the Legion were skilled in the air, they weren’t very good at delicate tasks. Not yet.
Using high-powered torches flown in by the Legion to light shadowy areas and illuminate aisles between the shelving, the line was almost to the other end of the warehouse when Janvier called for them to stop.
Positioned only a couple of feet to his left, Ashwini watched him crouch down and pick up something from the ground. “Feather,” he said, fierce exultation in his tone. “Red.”
Red?
As far as she knew, there were no red-winged angels in the city, but she was no expert. Many angels also had delicate markings—one could have tiny red feathers on the inner curve of a wing, for example. “Do you recognize it?” Angelic colors tended to be highly distinctive. No one in New York would ever mistake one of Illium’s for one of Raphael’s, or one of Jason’s for one of Aodhan’s.
“No.” Janvier rose to his feet, handed the feather to Illium. “You know who this is?”
A chill iced Illium’s expression. “There are two options that make sense.”
“Red,” Naasir said, a growl in his voice, “is unusual among angels.” His eyes met Illium’s. “Xi and Cornelius.”
Ashwini’s mind filled with an image of wings of gray streaked by vivid red, her skin pebbling. “Wasn’t Xi—”
“—one of Lijuan’s generals?” Illium completed. “Yes.”
Naasir spoke again. “Not the oldest or the most powerful, but favored because of his intelligence.”
“Cornelius,” Illium added, “is a lower-ranked general. His wings are a heavy cream for the most part except for a scattering of red across the top arches.”
“Illium!”
Turning toward the doorway, Ashwini saw a slender black-haired vampire with a scarf around his neck walking toward them. He must’ve arrived in the area after them, she realized when Janvier introduced him as Trace.
His voice was hoarse as he said, “I had a hunch, with Giorgio being scientifically trained. Dug around in the other warehouse.” Trace opened his palm. On it sat a tiny ziplock bag with a few crystalline granules colored a reddish brown.
Ashwini recognized it from Janvier’s description of the new designer vampire drug that was the reason for Lacey’s horrific murder.
“Supply or creation?” Illium asked after taking the bag.
“Creation. There are tools. Nothing elaborate, but enough.” Trace glanced around. “Giorgio must’ve separated out his drug operation from his sadistic games”—utter distaste in his voice—“because the other warehouse already had the right setup for it.”