“Then someone else, more than one someone, must’ve seen Ibrahim being beaten,” Raphael said with grim understanding of exactly how deep the rot was in Lumia. “Given that it is a Luminata shortcut, the likelihood those bystanders were Luminata is near to a hundred percent certain. As is the fact they chose not to stop it.”

Or were too scared to, Elena said mind to mind, the steel of her a gleaming blade today. There are always people who have more power than others in any given situation. Old and respected as he is, Donael has power of his own, enough that the attacker didn’t want to take the risk of being seen by him.

Raphael considered it, realized she was right. The Luminata clearly give way to Gian, but as you’ve just pointed out, the old ones like Donael also hold considerable power—and he’s not the only one of his generation here.

Elena’s nod was reluctant. Yes, much as Gian creeps me out, I can’t see him just losing it like this. He’s always in control, the kind of angel who’d take his time, be subtle.

And what had been done to Ibrahim was in no way subtle.

“He is in anshara,” Aodhan said, and this time, Raphael saw how he was speaking to the healer.

Laric was using his scarred hands to sketch fluid, shallow movements into the air. It was an old language that relied on understated motion rather than sound. Rarely spoken these days, it was used mostly by those who wished to withdraw from the world, including vampires who chose seclusion. Aodhan had never used it as far as Raphael was aware, but clearly, if he knew it so well, he’d thought about it.

Rising, the healer continued the purposeful movements.

“Ibrahim needs to be in a safe place,” Aodhan translated. “Laric is happy to watch over him in his own quarters, but believes he shouldn’t be moved until the dawn. His body will have knitted together a little by then and movement will not cause him further harm.”

Do you trust him, Aodhan?

Yes, sire. He isn’t like many of the others, is as guileless as Ibrahim.

The healer moved at that instant and a stray beam of light from the overhead lamp caught on his throat and lower face. The scarring was the worst Raphael had ever seen on an immortal. Angels simply did not scar that way.

He felt Elena go motionless beside him, knew she’d caught it, too, but neither one of them said anything, letting the healer move to Ibrahim’s other side to further check his injuries and do what he could to ease them.

Looking to Donael, Raphael said, “You should inform Gian what has happened.” His words were a command. “Tell him we’ll speak with him after my consort and I have had a chance to get out of our wet clothing.”

Inclining his head, Donael went to leave—but he paused on the doorstep. “We are not who we once were.” Melancholy in his tone. “This would’ve never happened in the time of Reed.”

Waiting until after Donael closed the door behind himself, Raphael left Aodhan on watch while he and Elena retreated to the bedroom to change. “Don’t waste energy on glamour,” Elena said, her eyes dangerously focused. “I’m going to check the walls, and this time, I’m not stopping until I figure out what the fuck is making my skin crawl in this room.”

Raphael did the same, but it was Elena who found it almost thirty minutes later.

Hearing her mutter a harsh word under her breath, he moved to join her. Wisps of her damp hair had begun to curl around her face, her clothing stuck to her, but her concentration was a laser. “Where?” he asked.

She pointed the tip of a knife at a detail in the painting at which she was staring; it was the artist’s impression of a knot of wood on a tree. The hole was a pinprick, but it was very much there. Wings glowing in blinding fury, Raphael pulled the painting off the wall and threw it on the floor, exposing the hole beyond.

Elena thrust her knife into it. “No screams. Too bad. I was hoping to stab out someone’s eye.”

Not satisfied with that, Raphael punched a hand into the wall with archangelic strength. It collapsed in a spiderweb of cracks about four feet in diameter. He tore out the pieces to expose the entire interior.

Elena looked inside the hole after waving away the dust. “It’s a goddamn hidey space built between two rooms.”

“Maybe so the spy or spies can watch both.” Raphael stepped inside, saw that the hole apparently connected to nothing on either end. But there was a door in the center. “The entrance is via the other room.”

Squeezing past him, Elena opened that door—which proved to be the back of a closet. “Bet you the room’s empty.”

It was—and there was no clue as to who’d been utilizing the hole.

“At least we frustrated the spy or spies the entire time we’ve been here,” Elena muttered in cool satisfaction. “I hope they enjoyed watching an empty room.” She secured the door by thrusting a blade through the locking mechanism so no one could open it from the other side, then the two of them stepped back fully into their room.

Staring at the wall that had concealed the hole, Raphael spoke through the ice-cold anger chilling his veins. “This will not go unpunished.”

“Your wings are glowing, Archangel.” Elena ran the edge of his wing through her fingers. “Don’t explode just yet. Keep it in reserve for when we find out who hurt Ibrahim and which of these assholes have been terrorizing the town.”

It took at least a minute for Raphael to get himself under control. Then he and Elena, in silent agreement, checked the other walls again. There were no more peepholes, but despite Elena’s admonitions to save his power, he threw his glamour around himself and his consort. He would allow no one to spy on her.