“Consort,” the other woman said. “I am Isabel.”
Naasir’s partner, Elena realized, situated here to give the vampire winged backup. “Elena,” she said and held out her hand, the other woman having been away from Amanat during Elena’s previous visits.
Isabel shook it with a smile, her eyes an extraordinary dark brown, her black hair pulled back in an elegant knot at the nape of her neck, and her skin a tawny gold that reminded Elena of paintings she’d seen of Egyptian goddesses. “I’ve made certain nothing was disturbed,” Isabel told her. “Those who ventured this way took little persuading to seek other pleasures.”
A slight shift in the winds that traveled through the temple, Isabel’s blouse shaped to her body for a fleeting second as Elena’s senses jacked into high gear. The scent of decay, putrefaction . . . and below it, of disease.
Not needing Isabel or Naasir to show her the way, Elena walked into the damaged building, the roof a filigree that created delicate patterns of light and shadow beneath her feet. At any other time, she would’ve lingered, taken photographs of the effect to share with Eve, her youngest half sister utterly fascinated by the lost city come to life in a land far from its original homeland.
Today, however, she followed the scent trail in a near-straight line to halfway across the temple. The woman was sitting with her back against one of the intricately carved columns, one hand cradled in a basket of dead flowers, the basket positioned in a way that made Elena think the victim had set it down herself, her body too tired to go any farther. She wore a dress of deep red silk that flattered her femininity without being sexual, the fabric vibrant against the rich cream of her ravaged skin.
There smell was distinctive but faint, the current cold in the city having preserved the victim as she’d died.
Girding her stomach against the rush of pity and anger, Elena crouched down, her wings spreading on the icy smoothness of the stone floor. A single glance was enough to confirm that the unusually small number of sores that marked the woman were visually identical to those on the bodies of the New York victims. No other obvious injuries, but that could be deceptive.
Sadness overwhelmed her as she rose to her feet, the victim appearing a broken doll discarded by a careless child. Elena hoped she was now at peace, this lovely woman who’d spent a thousand years in Sleep, only to die before she’d ever explored the new world into which she’d awakened.
Leaving her sleeping against the stone, Elena walked out into the sunshine where Isabel awaited with Naasir. “How long was she missing?” she asked, walking down a few steps so she could spread her wings, needing to soak in the sunlight after the cold sadness within a temple clearly built to be a place of beautiful serenity.
“Eight hours at most.” Isabel’s tone was direct but it held the same heavy sadness that had seeped into Elena’s bones. “Amanat is a small, tight-knit city,” the angel continued, “and she shared a home with two cousins. They raised the alarm when she didn’t arrive home for their nightly meal.”
“Was she healthy before this?”
“It was taking her body longer to adjust to being out of Sleep than most.” Isabel walked down to join Elena in the sunlight. “As a result, though she was mortal and not averse to sharing her life force with the blood kin, she hadn’t fed anyone in many days.”
The latter comment made it clear Isabel and Naasir had stayed up-to-date with the discoveries they’d made about the disease. “Since you’ve had no other infected”—a quick glance at Isabel to confirm—“it likely means the enemy intended to use her as a carrier. Except that she was too weak to handle the virus.”
Isabel’s jaw firmed, eyes flint-hard. “Had she been stronger, she may not have understood she was sick until it was too late, thus infecting those she fed in good faith.”
Sad as the situation was, it did seem to confirm their theory that the disease could only be passed via a transfer of blood, and as Keir had stated, a certain amount of it. Otherwise, the archangel behind it wouldn’t bother with such a slow method of infection—one that meant he or she had to make contact with the human chosen as the carrier.
Of course, an archangel could wipe a mind, so it wasn’t that big a risk in the grand scheme of things, more an inconvenience. “Do Amanat’s people go outside the city walls at any time?”
Isabel’s nod was immediate. “Caliane has encouraged them to explore their new world, but they almost always go in groups and return together. Kahla, despite her relative weakness, was more intrepid—I can well imagine her going for a walk on her own.”
Kahla. Having a name, a glimpse into her spirit, made it worse.
“The timing,” Naasir said, speaking for the first time since Elena walked out of the temple, “cannot be a coincidence.”
“No.” Turning, she met both their gazes. “No one can know of this.” The archangel behind it had to believe he or she had failed in the attempt to infiltrate the city. “We also need to keep Caliane’s people within the walls for the time being.” From the sly cowardice of the attacks, Elena didn’t think the individual behind it would have the nerve to abduct and infect one of Caliane’s people in so public a setting.
“No one will leave.”
Elena didn’t push the vampire for an explanation as to how he intended to achieve that—Naasir might make her instincts bristle in self-protective warning, but he was one of the Seven for a reason. If there was one thing Elena knew about Raphael’s most trusted men, it was that they got the job done.