snap on an op, and she would lose them. But tonight, she fastened the necklace around her throat, and let the pendants lay on top of her shirt, where she could see them. Where she could cover them with her hand and feel their familiar points.
“I’m coming,” she whispered to herself – to Beck, wherever he was. (Hell.) “I won’t get distracted. I’ll find you.” More fervent than any prayer.
FIVE
The Present
The plane, with its hollow belly and its jump seats and its netting for their baggage, the drone of its engines insanely loud, was no more comfortable on the return flight, but Rose couldn’t be bothered by those sorts of mortal inconveniences. Not with Beck back – and pacing up and down the length of the cargo hold, wings folded back, as steady and graceful as ever, despite being on a moving plane above the Atlantic.
“He should really sit down,” Gavin said, not for the first time; he was having to shout above the engine noise. At no point had he addressed this remark to Beck himself, but to Rose, instead.
Lance looked on Beck with mistrust and reluctant awe. The other three, though – even Tris, though he did an admirable job of maintaining his usual indifference – were openly frightened. None of them had made direct eye contact, nor spoken to him.
Beck, being Beck, had of course noticed. He paused when Gavin spoke, tail whisking side-to-side. He spun, hands clasping behind the small of his back, beneath his wings, and his golden stare zeroed in on Gavin a moment, sharp as a blade – Gavin blanched, throat kicking as he gulped – and then he looked toward Rose. And toward Lance, sitting beside her, his gaze shifting between the two of them.
She wondered, briefly, almost horrified, if he could tell that she and Lance…
Probably. He’d probably known back at the church. He’d always been the most perceptive person she’d ever met.
“Tell me about the city,” he said. “What sort of hell are we walking into?” He grinned quickly at his own joke.
Rose grinned back, but only because he was here, at last; it faded quickly, when faced with the enormity of their task. “That night in Castor’s basement. When you–” It still hurt to say, even though he was gazing softly back at her, finally, eyes glowing. “When the ritual started, when the conduit Gabriel killed Castor, a gateway to hell was opened. And in the time between it opening and closing, when – when you were lost – things managed to slip out. Lots of things.”
“Hell beasts,” Lance said. “There are two kinds of conduits, now. The angels that we’ve faced before – and a new kind. A demonic kind. They’re battling each other, and, as you can guess, humanity’s been caught in the crossfire for the past five years.”
“Humanity’s always been in that position,” Beck said. “What of the demons? Are they any more powerful?”
“Equally matched, for the most part,” Rose said. “But the war’s on properly now, in a way it never was during the First Rift. The streets have never been this bloody.”
“And the Knights have never been so busy,” Lance added. “We’ve learned how to engage them more effectively, but we’re still humans messing with a kind of power we can’t understand.”
Beck showed his teeth, his new fangs flashing, in an expression that wasn’t at all a smile. “And this is where I come in.” He didn’t sound bitter or unhappy – Rose thought he almost sounded eager. He always had enjoyed his hunting. But the way he bared his fangs wasn’t pleasant.
“I planned to raise you either way,” Rose said, “but the only way I could get assistance” – she gestured to the plane encasing them, the men sitting beside and across from her – “was if I pitched you to my superiors as a weapon.”
“As well you should have.”
“But…”
Lance’s gaze landed heavy against the side of her face, burning, questioning.
“Rest assured, Sergeant,” Beck told him. “Rose isn’t thinking of deserting. She feels beholden to her company, now. Doubtless she’d tell me to run off if I chose, but she won’t abandon the mission.” His unsettling non-smile sharpened at the edges, honed like a blade.
Lance let out a deep breath, but didn’t respond.
Tris, nearly shouting to be heard above the engines, said, “Here’s what I’m wondering, though. You’ve got wings.” He met Beck’s gaze when he turned to him, his own face impressively unimpressed. The twitch of an eyelid betrayed deeply suppressed nerves.