Of course, Azriel wasn’t just a reaper. He was a Mijai, a dark angel who hunted and killed the things that returned from the depths of hell—or the dark path, as the reapers preferred to call it—to steal from this world.
But what he hunted now wasn’t a soul-stealer or even my soul.
He—like everyone else—was looking for my father.
And all because my father and his fellow Raziq—a secret subgroup of Aedh priests dedicated to finding a way of preventing demons from being summoned—had created three keys that would override the magic controlling the gates, allowing them to be permanently closed. And if the gates of hell were permanently locked, no souls would be able to move on and be reborn. A good percentage of the babies currently born into this world contained reborn souls, so it was a possibility that terrified me. Because without a soul, they would be little more than lumps of flesh, incapable of thought, emotion, or feeling.
Of course, what could be closed could also be permanently opened, and I had no doubt there were those who would also welcome the hordes of hell being set free.
The one good thing that had come out of this mess so far was the fact that my father had apparently come to his senses late in the development of the keys. He’d arranged for them to be stolen and hidden, but he’d been caught in the process and punished by his fellow Raziq, and the people who’d hidden the keys had offed themselves before they could tell anyone where they were.
Hence everyone’s interest in me. I was currently the only link to my father and—according to my father—the only person capable of not only finding the keys, but also destroying them.
Although he had yet to explain just how.
Azriel, I thought silently, not wanting to alert whoever was approaching that I was calling for help. I knew from past experience that Azriel could hear thoughts as well as spoken words. If you’re out there, come fast. There’s an Aedh in the house and it could be my father.
He didn’t answer; nor did the heat of his presence sting the air. Either he had given up following me or something else was going on.
Which was typical. There was never a fucking reaper around when you wanted one. I took a deep breath that did little to calm the sudden flare of nerves, and said, "Whoever you are, reveal yourself."
"That, as I have said before, is impossible, as I can no longer attain flesh." The reply was measured, cultured, and very familiar.
Because it sounded like me. A male version of me.
My father.
"The last time you and I met, the Raziq came running. And that was your fault, by the way, not mine." I crossed my arms and leaned back against the wall. The pose might appear casual, but every muscle quivered, ready to launch into action should the need arise. Not that I’d have any hope against a full Aedh—I knew that from experience.