Celestial (Angels of Elysium, #2)

by Olivia Wildenstein

If my front-row seat to Leigh and Jarod’s relationship had taught me anything, it was that falling in love was messy and painful.

Four and a half years later, and I still shuddered. How many more years until I could think back on Leigh and not feel like my heart was being stabbed by the letter opener she’d used to slit her veins?

Without hesitation, she said, “You become nephilim.” “Bingo. The worst sort of monster.” “Nephilim aren’t monsters.” My head jerked back in surprise. “I . . . agree.” I leaned forward. “But don’t voice that too loudly around here. I think we’re the only two people who share this belief.” “I like sharing something with you, Celeste.” My heart gave a slow, painful squeeze, but then the squeezing was replaced by total stillness. “I didn’t tell you my name. How do you know my name?” She bit the inside of her cheek as though in deep concentration before a huge grin split her face. “My head told it to me.” Her head? I stared at her until it hit me what she meant. She must’ve heard it screeched by Ophan Mira earlier. Stone carried sound like a tunnel carried wind.

“Fletching, the sera—” Her lips stilled at the sight of my table companion. “Fletching Naya, what do you think you’re doing here?” “I was spending time with my friend.” Her hands were linked together on the quartz tabletop as though she was in the middle of a business negotiation. I found myself smiling at how she didn’t quiver or balk. “Your . . . friend?” Rude much, Ophan? Was I not worthy of friends? Naya shifted on her seat. “Celeste and I are friends.”

Mira tracked Naya’s swinging golden hair until she vanished into the hallway that led to the children’s dormitories. “She’s an exceedingly . . . emotive little girl.” Yet another thing wrong with our world: angels extolled empathy and yet advocated emotional detachment. Leigh had been too compassionate with her sinners. “Being emotive isn’t a flaw, Ophan.”

“I’m so sorry, Mimi.” “Whatever for?” “That you suffered at the hand of someone supposed to love you.” “Hmm.” She slid her hand over the soft duvet. “I’m not. If he’d been kind, I wouldn’t have met Pierre. If I hadn’t met Pierre, I wouldn’t have learned how to shoot. And if I hadn’t learned how to handle a gun, Isaac Adler would never have hired me, and I wouldn’t have gotten to raise Jarod and then you.” She ran a knuckle across my cheek. “I believe everything happens for a reason. Even the terrible things.” Mimi mistook my silence for lack of understanding, because she added, “What doesn’t destroy you will reshape you. Remember this, Celeste. Remember that the same fire that transforms sand into glass can turn logs into ash.”

startled awake when dawn crept around the edges of the thick burgundy damask, damning myself for having missed out on precious time with Mimi. Rubbing the shards of sleep out of my eyes, I rolled over. When my gaze met a set of eyes I hadn’t seen in years, one I’d hoped never to look upon again, I sat up. If the seraphim had come, then that meant only one thing: Mimi was gone.

I wanted to scoop Mimi’s soul out of his hands and cocoon it between mine. Stow it away in the jewelry box she’d given me for my sixteenth birthday. The one she’d filled with sixteen rings, one for each year she’d missed. She’d laughed when I’d laid down my spoon full of crème brulée to slide each and every ring on. They were apparently meant to be worn separately. I never did. I kept them together. If only I could’ve kept her soul and mine together, too.

“You do not get to call her that!” Already every passerby, be they male or female, was gawking at Asher, but my raised voice just funneled more attention our way. Even the leashed dogs cocked their heads toward the seraphim and his big angel energy. BDE was a thing; BAE was Asher’s thing.

wings crusade, I settled on the simplest method of grating him—provocation. I selected a tight black tank that displayed my perky nipples and paired it with black panties, neither skimpy nor sheer. If I’d owned a bra, I would’ve worn that instead, but I didn’t own bras since I had so little to boost and wasn’t interested in false advertisement.

“You found your pants.” I looked down at the supple leather hide that hugged my legs. “Most men would be disappointed, but you seem quite pleased.” Since his mouth was hidden by the cup, I watched his eyes for a reaction. The corners crinkled slightly, but perhaps that was because Mimi and I favored bitter beans, and the archangel found them too tart. He drained his cup, though. “Might be because most men are after your body, and I’m after your soul.”

Naya wiped her cheeks. If the situation had been reversed, I would’ve tossed away her hand a long time ago, but she wasn’t like me. She was all gold ringlets and cherubic innocence. “You shouldn’t give up, Celeste.”

“I only have two and a half months left, sweetie, and a whole bunch of feathers to earn. Trying isn’t even an option anymore.” The other children hissed as though realizing they were in the presence of a future nephilim. Naya’s skin tone competed with the acres of stone surrounding us. “Pick a Triple.” I cocked my head to the side. “You know about Triples?” “I know they’re not all monsters.”

“Apa!” Instead of letting me go and running to him, she tugged on my hand, whirling me around toward a group of three angels standing on the threshold of the atrium. I waited for the male ishim to open his arms so that his daughter could jump into them, but it wasn’t the ishim’s arms that opened. It was the archangel’s. A nerve twitched beside Asher’s left eye as he sank onto one knee. Like a windblown ribbon, Naya’s hand glided out of mine, and she dashed toward those open arms.

Asher, though, was totally oblivious to his big angel energy.

I was going to kill this bird-man! My wing bones tightened and pushed a feather out. Asher trailed its descent. “Thinking of me?” “Oh, you have no idea,” I whispered darkly.

“Scared the ishim will see you manhandling a fellow angel?” I spat, fighting his vise-like grip. “No.” He lowered his mouth to my ear and released a heated whisper. “I’m scared they’ll hear me confess something that could destroy her . . . and me.” “Her?” I tried to pull away but had zero leverage what with my hands tied behind my back and a huge body bent over me. He breathed, just breathed, each pulse of air harsher and hotter than the last. “I saved her soul.”

He was gazing downward at the sprawling city I wasn’t brave enough to look upon. The only thing I was brave enough to peek at were the rivers of stars above. “Ask your questions, Celeste.” I blinked away from the sky. “Here?” Cool sweat iced my skin in spite of being nestled against a colossus-shaped brazier. “There’s nowhere to hide in the sky. Especially on clear nights.”

“Did you also save him?” “Yes.” Surprise pared my face from the suede. “They’re together in Elysium?” “No.” “They’re not together? Or they’re not in Elysium?” “Both. Neither.” “Is one of them in Abaddon?” “No.” The gleam of faraway stars edged the stubble coating his rigid jaw. “Where are they, then?” He nodded to the world below. “In Paris?” “On Earth. Not in Paris.” “Are they together?” “No.” “You separated them?” I didn’t believe in soulmates, but Leigh had, and she’d believed Jarod was hers. Asher’s attention inched away from the shimmering city and set on me. “I had no choice.” No choice? Or was he still trying to get Leigh for himself? I set that question aside for later. “Since, to my knowledge, souls don’t float around Earth, I take it you implanted them into human wombs?” “No.” My eyebrows jolted up. “Then—where?” “If I’d placed them inside wombs, they would’ve been someone’s child. I wanted them to be raised inside guilds so their wing bones could develop. So they would get a second chance.” He squinted past my ribboning hair. “How much do you know about reincarnation?” “Just what they teach in the guilds. That malakim must embed the soul in the womb sometime in the first trimester of life. And that if it’s not done, a new soul will form, providing the world with a necessary balance of new and old.”

“Just remember that I can fly faster than you can drop.” “How . . . comforting.” His smile grew a little wider, sloughing off dozens of worry lines.

“You’re aware that some new souls don’t always . . . make it?” “You mean, stillborns? You . . . you resuscitated a stillborn?” “Two.” “By giving them souls?” “Yes.” “You can do that?” “Archangels can perform some miracles.” “Why didn’t you resuscitate Leigh and Jarod, then?” His lids slid closed. “Their hearts had stopped beating for far too long by the time I reached them.” I didn’t think death distressed archangels, but I also didn’t deem seraphim capable of playing hide-and-seek. Goosebumps suddenly pimpled my skin. Goosebumps that had nothing to do with the ambient temperature. Leigh had died four and a half years ago, and Naya was . . . “Naya . . .” I half-gasped, half-whispered. His lids rose, and his eyes, which didn’t resemble Naya’s, searched mine. “She’s—” Heat streaked across my face, through my chest. “That’s why—” My throat tightened, and the pinpricks of stars bled together until Asher was haloed in light. “That’s why she knew my name.” A slow beat passed. “I was afraid of that.” “Afraid that she’d know my name?” “That her soul would recognize yours.” My heart stumbled midbeat. “Didn’t you cleanse it before placing it inside her new body?” “I did, but your souls had a deep connection, and that isn’t something that can be removed. At least not without causing irreparable damage.” He said this so matter-of-factly that my gape turned into a wide-mouth stare. “You two were soulmates.” “What? I thought—Jarod . . .” “He wasn’t her soulmate.” “But—” “Mate means frie...

“Do we have more than one soulhalf?” “No.” “Did you meet yours?” He slanted me a look that might’ve made me snicker had I not been at his mercy. “You’re not still pining for Leigh, right?” His mouth curled in disgust. “Of course not! Why in the worlds would you think such a horrid thing?” “You wanted to marry her—” “Because her soul was beautiful. It was never a matter of physical attraction.” “She’s not your biological daughter, Seraph, so technically—” “She’s a child.” “Children grow up.” He shuddered. Like, actually shuddered. “She may not have my blood, but she is my daughter in all the ways that count, and I would never desecrate that by pursuing her. Never.” He shuddered again, and it was so powerful, it made my own body shake. “Please never insinuate such a thing. It’s repulsive.”

So, what happened to Jarod?” “I entrusted him with an ophanim from the Viennese guild,” Asher explained. “Tobias.” “And this Tobias . . . he knows?” “Yes.” “And you trust him?” “With my wings.” Little was as precious to an angel as wings. “Will you introduce the children someday?” “Not until I’ve had the law about nephilim souls amended.” “You’re trying to have it changed?” “Not actively yet. Once the children prove their worth, once they both ascend, I’ll begin my crusade. As for introductions, although I hope they don’t meet for a long time still, you found your way to her. I imagine he’ll find his way to her, or she to him, once they roam the world freely.” His chest rose with a ragged sigh. “And I imagine their souls will recognize each other in some way.”

“What’s Jarod’s name this time? Lucifer?” Amusement smoothed his tensed face. “Would’ve suited him.” “It would also have painted a target on his back.” He stared at the dark city below. “Tobias named him Adam.” “Adam and Naya. I like the sound of that.”

“Here I thought archangels were above blackmail.” “Coercion is our specialty, along with fire and impressive wingspans.”

“I’d preselect sinners. Sign you up to them without you having to drop by the guild. Save you as much time as possible.” “It’ll be a full-time job, Seraph. Don’t you have to rule Elysium?” He didn’t smile. No, he was frighteningly serious. “Until your wings are complete, I will be at your side.” “Planning on holding my hand, are you?” His torso and arms grew rigid. “I, uh . . . I—” I rolled my eyes at his discomfort. “Relax. I was kidding.”

“When I was a child, I believed stars were souls that had drifted away from Elysium, tired of both the human and celestial worlds.” Asher’s face was turned upward. “When an ophanim explained they were balls of burning hydrogen and helium, I wept.”

“You probably can’t imagine I ever lost a feather during my fletching years.” I frowned. “Did you? Lose any?” “Many.” “Not as many as me, though, right?” “I believe you hold the record for most feathers lost.” I raised a proud smile. “You also hold the record for most feathers earned off duty.” “Off duty?” “Not on a mission.” “Huh. So this means that by the time I ascend, I’ll have earned almost two full sets. This should at least give me access to the rank of malakim.” His throat bobbed. “I promise that once you ascend, I’ll fight to give hybrids the same rights as verities.”

“Mimi didn’t ask to come back, did she?” A quiet smile drifted across his face. “No. She’s waiting for you.”

“You’re exhausted, Celeste. Why don’t you go home, and I’ll—” A squealed “Apa” rang out, followed by a little blonde tornado headed straight for Asher. He crouched just in time to catch the incoming child. As he rose, he smoothed the hair off her face. “What are you still doing up, you?” My heart tripped. Leigh . . . My friend was there, in a new body, but she was right there. If I reached out, I could touch her. I had touched her. “I was trying to sleep but I had a really bad dream, Apa.” She shuddered. “It was so scary. There was this man. And he was choking me.” I sucked in a breath. Could she—could she be remembering her past life? Four years ago, a man had tried to choke Leigh, a man named Tristan. He’d been Jarod’s best friend, and so possessive of him that when he sensed he was losing his friend to Leigh, he tried to take her out.

“You can add magical hugs to your list of superpowers, Seraph.” “I don’t think she was talking about my hugs,” he said, as she rested her head against his chest again. She patted his cheek. “Your hugs are the best, Apa, but my heart is happy Celeste wants feathers again.” I met Asher’s turquoise stare over her golden head. “I’ll try my best to get them, but I can’t guarantee my best will be enough.” Her eyebrows drew together. “Why?” “Because I have a lot of feathers to earn.” I twisted back toward the holo-ranker. “Come to think of it, I should probably check how many I have.” “Three hundred and four,” the hybrid said. When both Asher and I looked her way, her cheeks ignited, becoming as crimson as her wings, which she dragged into her spine. Keeping tabs on me much? Instead of putting her on the spot, I thanked her for the information, and then I sidestepped Asher and Naya, skirting their gazes, not out of shame, but out of uneasiness.

“I never stopped helping people, you know?” I rambled on. “I didn’t sign up for missions, but I never stopped helping.” “I know. We keep an eye on our own.” Then why had no one come before? Why had no one showed an ounce of interest in my wings before Asher? “As for being proud, I was already proud of you when you rang his doorbell, Celeste.”

“Why are you being so obtuse about this?” He crossed his forearms. “Because I’ve never met an angel who refused to display her wings.” “What can I say? I’m unique.” “Celeste . . .” He was doing it again. Growling first names as though they constituted perfectly adequate full sentences. “My nickname in the guild was winglet.” “And?” “If you had a tiny penis, would you display it?” The question whizzed out before I could choose a better metaphor. For all I knew, the archangel wasn’t generously endowed. Being big everywhere could be deceptive . . . I’d found this out first-hand. His eyes widened a notch. “Wings aren’t genitalia.” “Aren’t they, though? Both erogenous zones.” Someone, take the shovel out of my hands. “I promise not to touch them against your consent.”

“The guy who showed up earlier, all angry and uptight. What’s his deal?” She had a man waiting for her but was inquiring about another? “He has a kid, Fernanda.” “I wasn’t asking for me. I was curious about the nature of your relationship with him.” I frowned. “He’s my boss.” She hoisted the chains of her Chanel bag up. “Is he possessive of all his employees like he is of you?” “Possessive? He’s not possessive. He just takes his job extremely seriously.” She grinned. “And here I thought you were the astute one.” She blew me a kiss. “Call me if you ever want to do dinner again. This was fun.” She folded herself gracefully into the cab, and then her suitor squeezed in beside her and clapped the cab door shut.

I was still trying to make sense of her parting words—about me being astute—when I walked through my dimly-lit living room and came to a dead-stop at the sight of someone standing at the railing of my terrace. A very tall, very winged someone. Whitewashed in moonlight, Asher looked like one of those angels on the covers of paranormal romances. Although most depicted us inaccurately, a few were surprisingly close to the truth, to the point where I suspected the author’s awareness of our existence.

dangerous.” “I have wing bones.” “Wing bones might keep you alive, but they won’t keep you safe.” I tapped his bicep, which hardened under my fingertips. “I have you for that.” Then I flexed my own biceps, which bulged . . . slightly. “I may look harmless, but I can cause my fair share of harm.” “Undoubtedly, but the harm you’d cause wouldn’t be with your arms; it would be with your sharp tongue.” His gaze landed on the seam of my lips, which made my tired body wake right up as though my herbal tea had been laced with Red Bull. I leaned infinitesimally closer to him. A wasp seduced by fire. My body warmed and my limbs began to fizz as though my very veins had been packed with Pop Rocks. He had to be putting out some form of angelic pheromones because never had I been so attracted to a man before.

“Why did you destroy the archangel’s list?” Instead of answering, I asked, “Could the ishim really get you in trouble for standing up for us hybrids, Ophan?” “I was standing up for my fletchings—hybrids and verities. The shine of wings has never meant a thing to me. Not in the past and not now. All I can hope for is that, one day, it will stop mattering altogether.” In silence, we studied each other. I wasn’t sure what she saw when she looked at me, but what I saw in her was a supporter instead of a detractor. “For that to happen, a hybrid would need to become archangel.” “I agree, Celeste, and I believe it’s time.”

“At least, we have a champion—Seraph Asher.” A sparrow swooped around our heads, spilling its aria into our ears. I followed its ascent toward the fake cerulean sky. “What makes you so fond of him?” Something flashed over Mira’s face, something that made goosebumps scamper over my skin. She knew. She knew about Naya . . . She’d recognized Leigh’s soul. Mira broke the silence with a question. “What makes you so intolerant of him?” Even though I wished she’d let it go, I felt like I owed her for barking at the ranker. “I thought he was my friend; I thought wrong.” She gestured to the shredded list surrounding my boots. “The paper at your feet tells a different story than the one you tell yourself.” “He’s not doing it for me.” She cocked an eyebrow. “Whom is he doing it for then?” “He’s doing it for the woman whose soul he collected a few weeks ago. The woman I tried to save from cancer.” Saying it out loud made my ego throb like a stubbed toe. Ugh. Why did his reason for helping me matter? Why did his reaction to my smoldering matter? I was beginning to think his absence might be a good thing. Definitely a necessary one. “You asked why I was so fond of him.” She gestured to the list. “I find his desire to succor souls commendable.”

“Can I borrow Naya from her classes?” She looked over her shoulder at me. “Would refusing stop you?” “No.” Her cheeks softened with a smile that barely bowed her lips. “She’s in art class, if I’m not mistaken, attempting to learn to paint purple feathers. Imagine that? Purple . . .”

“Celeste!” “Hey, Little Feather.” “Little Feather?” Ice. My blood became ice. Why on Earth had I used the nickname I’d heard Jarod call Leigh? “That name hurts my heart.” Naya untangled herself from my arms. “Sorry, I . . . I didn’t mean to hurt your heart.” “Why?” “Why what?” “Why does it hurt?” I longed to pretend I didn’t know, but it would’ve been a lie, and I was trying to preserve feathers. Plus, I didn’t want to lie to her. I smoothed my ponytail over the Eagles logo on my T-shirt, trying to think up something that made sense.

“You made my hair so pretty.” “I only painted what was there.” “And look at my eye. It’s so big.” “You’re mostly all eyes at the moment.” She gazed at her likeness. “I’m happy my hair isn’t orange.” My pulse stuttered, and my gaze flicked to Ophan Pippa, who was explaining composition to another one of her young pupils. Quietly, I said, “Orange hair is beautiful too. Every color hair is beautiful.” “But Apa has golden hair like me. And he’s the handsomest man in all the worlds.” I smiled. “And you’re the prettiest girl I know.” “No. You are.” My heartbeat slowed as I remembered a time when Leigh would tell me this. Back then, I was awkward, freckled and dimpled, and like Naya, all eyes. Not that I’d outgrown my eyes. I’d just grown alongside them. As for my freckles and dimples, they were all still there.

Pretty on the outside; petty on the inside. Crazy how a single letter could make such a difference.

“See that winged piglet on the far wall?” Asher glanced over his shoulder. “I gave it to Leon last year. Wanted to add to his collection.” My wing bones strummed. “Guess who I had in mind when I purchased it?” Another tremor echoed through the invisible bones. Pluck me already . . . see if I care. “I’m going to go out on a limb and say me.” “You spotted the resemblance too, huh?” I hated how spiteful he made me. To think I’d hugged and then smoldered him a few days ago . . . ugh. “I’m flattered.” “Flattered?” That torpedoed the smile from my face. “Why in the world would you be flattered?” “Because I’ve been on your mind for over four years.”

“Seraph, please look at where you’re going.” “I could fly with my eyes closed, Celeste.” The blood drained from my face. “If you so much as try to demonstrate this skill, I will pet your wings.” That diffused his pupils until his eyes were more black than blue. Murderous eyes. I focused on a thready cloud unspooling like spun sugar beyond the archangel’s bronze wingtips. “I should probably keep my threats for after we land.” A full minute of silence later, he said, “That was a threat?” My gaze snapped back to his inky one, disconcerted by his reaction. He couldn’t actually want me to touch his feathers, could

“I’m going to let go now.” I forced myself to slacken my death grip. He pressed his mouth into the crown of my head. “Go ahead, levsheh.” The king of Elysium and of mixed signals tucked me in closer. “I’ve got you.”

“Your hug feels like pity, and I don’t want your pity.” “Pity?” He gently gripped the back of my neck. Okay, fine. It didn’t feel like pity. At least not the part of his anatomy digging into my abdomen. Although that was probably just a physiological reaction to the friction I’d caused by squirming.

“Have you met yours?” I wanted to shake myself. My heart did it for me, though. It quivered so wildly it made my rib cage tremble. His gaze flicked to the food cooling on the coffee table, stayed there. “I have met mine.” My heart dipped and stilled, and so did my trembling. “I thought—When?” “Years ago.” His jaw ticked. Once. Twice. Years ago . . .? Had he lost her? Was this why he was so bitter about relationships? “Why didn’t you marry her?” “Because she wasn’t eligible.”

“I really don’t feel like being in the same room with you right now.” I tried to sidestep him, but he whipped out his wings until the bronze tips grazed both walls of the gallery. Yes, it was on the small side, but his wings were on the ridiculously enormous side. I stopped an inch from the fence of feathers. “Pull them back or I will plow straight through them.” He didn’t remove them from my path. I glared at him. “I’m serious, Seraph. Tuck them in. Now.” “I can’t.” “You can’t?” I spun on him and hissed, “Why? Are they cramping?” “No.” “Then why can’t you fold them up or magick them away?” “When you smoldered me, Celeste—” “I told you to forget it.” I puffed out an annoyed breath, damning my soul and skin for having lit up for him. “—when you smoldered me, did your shine turn off instantly?” “I don’t see how my smolder’s duration has anything to do with you not being able to get your wings out of my face.” “Celeste,” he growled. “What, Seraph?” “I’m winging you.”

No smoke leaked out of Asher, but the veins in his hands and along his neck were distended. I blinked at him, then at his wings, then back at him. “Why? Why would you wing me?” He shut his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Because I’ve lost my angels-damn mind.” He spoke so quietly that I barely caught his words over the thumping in my chest. When his lids reeled back up, his irises, usually so vivid and clear, were full of thunder. “Because I’m a selfish man, who has so little to offer, yet wants everything in return.”

“I promised the Seven I would concentrate on Elysium, on our people. I swore to eschew any and all distractions, especially ones of a physical nature. Yet here I am winging you.” He released a bitter laugh that gave me actual chills. “I don’t deserve to be an archangel, and if I weren’t so worried about Naya and her fate, I would’ve forfeited my seat. But I am terrified, Celeste. Terrified that she will be taken from me. But now I’m also terrified that you’ll be taken from me. I can’t lose her, but I also can’t lose you.” His voice, so steady and strong, broke on that last part. “I cannot afford a distraction, but I also cannot stomach losing you to Phillip. Or to someone like him. Like Jase.”