“The angels in that place refused to help him.” The bitterness of his tone made it clear Riad was referring to Lumia. “They said he wasn’t old enough to ask to have his mortal turned into a vampire.”

“Do you have any idea what happened to Majda or her husband?” Elena asked the elderly woman who’d hugged her with such love.

Riad’s quick translation was followed by an answer for which Elena didn’t need a translator. It was a sad shake of the head, the words spoken melancholy.

“She says Majda’s husband went away first, soon after the baby was born.” Riad made “poofing” motions with his hands and Elena understood the vampire had vanished without a trace. “Majda searched and searched for her husband, but when she didn’t find him, she was afraid, so afraid; she said she had to run before she was made to go away, too.”

A deep frown as he listened to his great-grandmother. “They thought the baby was dead when they saw Majda’s ghost years later.”

“Wait.” Elena sat up, a chill running down her spine. “Her ghost?”

“My great-grandmother didn’t see her,” Riad translated. “But some of the other people in town said they saw her running down the hills from that place one night. Her hair, it was so bright under the moon.”

Another biting of his lip. “When the angels heard the whispers, they hurt the people who spoke them, and so no one speaks of it any longer. My great-grandmother didn’t see Majda’s ghost, but she says why would the angels be so angry if it was just stories?” A very teenage shrug.

“Indeed,” Raphael said, looking directly at the older couple. “You define bravery. Thank you for speaking the truth.”

Riad’s translation had the older couple sitting up a little straighter in open pride. They spoke more, but there was nothing else the couple could tell them except the name of the vampire who had been Majda’s husband.

“He came from a faraway land,” Riad’s great-grandmother said, the teenager translating. “He helped guard that place, but he lived in the town. All the vampires and angels who were guards lived in the town then.”

Riad’s great-grandfather nodded his agreement with those words. “They were part of our town and it wasn’t the first time a vampire fell in love with one of us.” Riad pointed to himself as he translated, to indicate he meant mortals. “The vampire’s name was Jean-Baptiste Etienne.”

A last name beginning with E. Another piece of the puzzle slotting into place.

The realization that she’d just heard her grandfather’s name reverberated in Elena’s soul. “When did the vampires and angels stop living here?”

“Soon after Jean-Baptiste went away.” That poof-disappearing motion again. “And those angels told the other vampires who lived here that they couldn’t stay anymore.” The elderly woman’s expression made it clear what kind of tactics the Luminata had employed to pass on that message. “Then later, the angels who were guards stopped living here, too. The angels from that place came and made the townspeople tear down the tall homes left behind, the ones that touched the sky.”

A fiefdom indeed, Raphael said in a tone gone ever colder.

Elena nodded. Selfish as it was, tearing down the angelic homes wasn’t just about ensuring the townspeople didn’t make use of them.

No, Raphael agreed. It was a message to the rest of angelkind that the Luminata prefer they do not settle their wings in this place.

A haunting sound cut through the air before Elena could reply, a sound so pure that it made her heart hurt. “Raphael, your mother is singing.” It came out a whisper touched with wonder and fear both.

The last time Caliane sang to mortals, thousands of them died.

And if Caliane had lost herself to madness again, it was Raphael who would have to stop her . . . who would have to attempt to kill his mother a second time around.

32

There’s no need for worry. Raphael’s wing arched over her, shadowing her face. She does not sing any harm to these people.

Shuddering, her chest no longer so tight, Elena put her hand on Raphael’s thigh and just listened, giving in to the clarity and splendor of a voice unlike any she could’ve imagined. Around them, the entire marketplace had gone silent. Some people sank to their knees after a while, tears streaming down their faces, while others began to walk toward the tree where Caliane sat.

And in all those faces, Elena saw no fear or worry, only sweet serenity. She’s doing something, though, isn’t she?

I believe my mother is singing away the knot of hard, cold fear that lives in all these people. She is giving them a moment of perfect peace and untainted joy. It will hold only so long as she sings.

It was manipulation . . . but Elena couldn’t argue with it. Not here. Not when reality would return as soon as the song stopped. Every person she’d seen in this town looked as if they could break at any moment, the strain on their shoulders a painful burden. If Caliane could offer them a small respite without asking for anything in return, if she could put a balm on their pain for a short period, then how could Elena say that was a bad thing?

Yet she knew it was. She’s stealing their choice.

The Luminata have already done that, Raphael argued. She’s simply balancing the scales.

Torn as she was herself, Caliane’s voice a gift not many mortals would ever be lucky enough to hear, Elena didn’t pursue the argument. It’s not affecting us.