angels who did sod all to help Jinx, Dylan and me.’
Zadkiel turned to her father, ignoring her completely. ‘Perhaps, without your daughter present we might discuss this rationally?’
‘Go right ahead,’ Izzy said, heading for the door as fast as she could.
‘Izzy.’ Dad’s voice was low, soft and apparently unconcerned, but somehow she caught the barb hidden deep within her name and looked back at him. He stood there, very still, very calm, but he looked unexpectedly … tired. There was a wariness in his eyes that wasn’t there before. A chill ran over her, a ripple of apprehension in her stomach that gave her pause. ‘Don’t do anything rash. Wait and we’ll talk later. Just you and me.’
‘When?’
He tried to smile, but it didn’t seem to work. ‘As soon as we can.’
That was it then. She glared at Zadkiel again, knowing that she was treading on dangerous ground, that she ought to be terrified of him. He met her gaze with disdain and the chill inside her turned to a block of jagged ice. The cold mark on the back of her neck would have made ice evaporate in an instant. But she wouldn’t show him that she was afraid of him.She couldn’t. Not now. She schooled her face to return the disdain with disgust and then turned from the room, slamming the door behind her. In other times that would have brought a shout of outrage from Mum, but not this time.
Up in her room, Izzy threw her rucksack on the bed and stuffed her belongings into it. Her book, her purse, makeup, the new phone Mum had bought …
Then she emptied it all out again because she had no idea where she would go and leaving the house right now was not an option. Even if the angels would let her, which she sincerely doubted.
The knife nestled in the middle of the jumble of lip balms, bracelets, hair clips, small change and the other bits of detritus that made up her normal life. What she could remember of normal.
But the knife was nothing to do with normal life. It was cold iron, with a handle made of human bone. She’d used it to stab Jinx, although she had been trying to kill Holly at the time and her actions had not been entirely her own thanks to the presence of the angel Sorath inside her. She’d used it to stab herself to drive the angel from her.
That hated, hated knife.
A wave of cold came off it, sweeping up her outstretched arm and making the hair stand on end, the skin turning to goose bumps. Only then she realised that she was reaching out to it, about to grasp it and pick it up again.
And she didn’t want to do that.
Wrapping it carefully in the hand towel from her bathroom, she buried it in the bottom of the bag again and scooped everything back in on top of it. She might not want to touch it, but she couldn’t afford to be without it. Not anymore.
That knife had kept her alive.
The worst part of it was that the thing served as a constant reminder of Jinx. And Izzy wasn’t sure she wanted to remember him. Not as clearly or as keenly as she did. He was etched into her mind’s eye.
Which was just as bloody well because she hadn’t seen him for months. Three long months.
Jinx was all about broken promises. She understood that now. Perhaps she always should have known it. He was Sídhe. They weren’t exactly known for reliability.
And yet every time her shiny new phone rang, she jumped, grabbing it with eager hands. Stupid, because Jinx didn’t have a number for her. She hadn’t even had a phone when she last saw him. Mum had bought it for her when she went back to school in September.
But it didn’t stop her rushing to answer every time. Even now.
The jangling tune rang out as the phone buzzed and hopped on the bed. She seized it and saw Dylan’s name come up. Maybe he had news. Maybe he’d heard something – anything – from Silver.
She answered breathlessly. ‘Dylan?’
‘Yes.’ He hesitated, ready to say something, then paused inconcern. ‘Are you okay?’
‘I’m … crappy, to tell the
Zadkiel turned to her father, ignoring her completely. ‘Perhaps, without your daughter present we might discuss this rationally?’
‘Go right ahead,’ Izzy said, heading for the door as fast as she could.
‘Izzy.’ Dad’s voice was low, soft and apparently unconcerned, but somehow she caught the barb hidden deep within her name and looked back at him. He stood there, very still, very calm, but he looked unexpectedly … tired. There was a wariness in his eyes that wasn’t there before. A chill ran over her, a ripple of apprehension in her stomach that gave her pause. ‘Don’t do anything rash. Wait and we’ll talk later. Just you and me.’
‘When?’
He tried to smile, but it didn’t seem to work. ‘As soon as we can.’
That was it then. She glared at Zadkiel again, knowing that she was treading on dangerous ground, that she ought to be terrified of him. He met her gaze with disdain and the chill inside her turned to a block of jagged ice. The cold mark on the back of her neck would have made ice evaporate in an instant. But she wouldn’t show him that she was afraid of him.She couldn’t. Not now. She schooled her face to return the disdain with disgust and then turned from the room, slamming the door behind her. In other times that would have brought a shout of outrage from Mum, but not this time.
Up in her room, Izzy threw her rucksack on the bed and stuffed her belongings into it. Her book, her purse, makeup, the new phone Mum had bought …
Then she emptied it all out again because she had no idea where she would go and leaving the house right now was not an option. Even if the angels would let her, which she sincerely doubted.
The knife nestled in the middle of the jumble of lip balms, bracelets, hair clips, small change and the other bits of detritus that made up her normal life. What she could remember of normal.
But the knife was nothing to do with normal life. It was cold iron, with a handle made of human bone. She’d used it to stab Jinx, although she had been trying to kill Holly at the time and her actions had not been entirely her own thanks to the presence of the angel Sorath inside her. She’d used it to stab herself to drive the angel from her.
That hated, hated knife.
A wave of cold came off it, sweeping up her outstretched arm and making the hair stand on end, the skin turning to goose bumps. Only then she realised that she was reaching out to it, about to grasp it and pick it up again.
And she didn’t want to do that.
Wrapping it carefully in the hand towel from her bathroom, she buried it in the bottom of the bag again and scooped everything back in on top of it. She might not want to touch it, but she couldn’t afford to be without it. Not anymore.
That knife had kept her alive.
The worst part of it was that the thing served as a constant reminder of Jinx. And Izzy wasn’t sure she wanted to remember him. Not as clearly or as keenly as she did. He was etched into her mind’s eye.
Which was just as bloody well because she hadn’t seen him for months. Three long months.
Jinx was all about broken promises. She understood that now. Perhaps she always should have known it. He was Sídhe. They weren’t exactly known for reliability.
And yet every time her shiny new phone rang, she jumped, grabbing it with eager hands. Stupid, because Jinx didn’t have a number for her. She hadn’t even had a phone when she last saw him. Mum had bought it for her when she went back to school in September.
But it didn’t stop her rushing to answer every time. Even now.
The jangling tune rang out as the phone buzzed and hopped on the bed. She seized it and saw Dylan’s name come up. Maybe he had news. Maybe he’d heard something – anything – from Silver.
She answered breathlessly. ‘Dylan?’
‘Yes.’ He hesitated, ready to say something, then paused inconcern. ‘Are you okay?’
‘I’m … crappy, to tell the
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