Mouth tight, he exited, then returned to the clothes closet for a second look, his aim to find something that would give this child solid form in his mind.
At first, he saw nothing. Just bland tunics and pants that gave no clue as to gender or personality, the colors brown and black. He was about to move on when the beam of his phone flashlight picked up glints of silvery white on the shoulders of a black tunic.
Heart thudding, he reached out and picked up the fine, fine threads. Only, they weren’t threads at all. “Shit. Shit.”
35
Aodhan was by Illium’s side in a split second. “What?”
Illium just held up the long hairs, the icy white hue a recognizable symbol to anyone in the angelic world. For white hair in immortals was a genetic marker. A thing of family, not of age.
“Lijuan’s kin.” Aodhan took the hairs from Illium. “But Suyin knows of no other members of the extended family who have vanished or died in mysterious circumstances.”
“How sure is she of that?”
“Very. Tracing the members of her family was a task she took on while she healed after her rescue. Andromeda used her research skills to assist, while Lady Caliane put her in touch with genealogical scholars among our kind; the end result is that she managed to trace each and every individual.
“Even the ones said to have gone into Sleep did so in a way that makes it impossible for Lijuan to have disappeared them. Not that she used such subterfuges. When she took Suyin captive, Suyin just vanished without a trace. And,” he added, “theirs is an old line. No new births for over a millennium. There is no one young enough for those texts.”
It was a good reminder. Living as Illium did in the Tower of a young archangel, and surrounded as he was by relatively young immortals, he occasionally forgot that immortality was an endless thread.
“Then maybe it’s not a relative.” He held his sword ready by his side even as he thought. “Hairs could belong to Lijuan herself.”
“That would mean she came here.” Aodhan turned, examined the semidark space. “If you strip away the absence of sunlight and the lack of freedom, it’s a comfortable setup.” His voice was tight, and Illium knew he’d had to force himself to say the words.
Because no prison was ever comfortable.
But Illium saw his point.
The bed was large and plush, the blanket and comforter folded at the end of fine fabrics. The rest of the furniture was equally well made, if in an antique style. There wasn’t any food, but when Illium walked over to examine the round table in one corner that held an empty metal pitcher, he found a couple of tins of high-quality tea.
“This tea”—he held it up—“Lijuan drank that.”
“How do you know?” Aodhan’s forehead crinkled.
“She came to New York once, back before she lost her freaking mind,” Illium muttered. “She was a guest, and Raphael asked me to source some of this.” He’d forgotten that random piece of information until he laid eyes on the tin.
“So,” Aodhan said, “the child in this place might have nothing to do with her bloodline.”
“Makes sense if Suyin isn’t aware of anyone who’s missing.” Crouching down, Illium opened a small cupboard. “Empty. No food.” He stood. “Lijuan could’ve arranged for fresh meals to be sent through from the stronghold.”
“Signs are that she closed it up a while ago.” Aodhan’s voice held a creeping darkness. “The hamlet, Blue. In the middle of nowhere. It could’ve been started specifically as a kitchen for this child—and as the home of the guards. It’d also explain the rage behind the massacre. To the child, every resident of the hamlet was their jailor.”
The ugliness of an entire community conspiring to hide this unpardonable secret . . . Illium clenched his gut, fisted his hand. Raging would do no good, wouldn’t erase all that had been done. “If the guards deserted their post after Lijuan’s death, the child would’ve been left to starve.”
“That bread roll,” Aodhan murmured, “it’s old, but surely, it would’ve disintegrated or been in a far worse condition if it was lying there for a year?”
“Yeah, you’re right.” Illium chewed on that. “Could’ve been Suyin’s arrival in the region that spooked them.” Picking up another book, he flipped the pages to check the language. English. Another proved to be in French. “An angelic halfling could survive such a short starvation.”