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“No,” said the man whose voice made things melt inside me. He leaned closer and traced a finger along my jaw, searing me with heat. “Not forever.”
Before I could digest the intent behind those words, he stood and outstretched his hand.
“Now, come, let us get you into bed.”
I know I must’ve drained sheet white.
He laughed a full, throaty laugh. The first time I’d heard it, I somehow knew I’d need to hear that sound for the rest of my life.
“You aresleepingin my bed. Alone. I’ll escort you to class in the morning.”
I nodded, too tired to argue. As soon as I placed my hand in his, a shock of Jude armor enveloped me.
“Why are you casting illusion?”
He glanced back with a frown as we came to the side of the bed.
“Instinct, I think,” he said, as if he hadn’t realized he’d done it. Weird.
I climbed under the gray down comforter, lying on my side. So cozy, but a frightening thought frosted my heart in ice.
“What if he summons me again?” I asked almost in a whisper as I snuggled my head into the pillow. The bed didn’t smell like him at all. Just clean, unused.
Jude gave me a closed-mouth smile. “He won’t be able to. I’m going to chant you into a dreamless sleep. You’ll be safe.”
Somehow, I trusted whatever Jude told me. If he said I was safe, then I was, so I closed my eyes. He switched off the pewter lamp on the side table.
One of his hands brushed aside my hair, then remained still, covering my temple and forehead. He planted his other hand on my shoulder.
“Will I be able to sift?” I whispered.
“Sifting is a power of the angels. Only they can give this power to other Flamma.”
Eyes still closed, I asked, “But demons can sift too. He…Danté sifted.”
Jude remained quiet for a moment, his fingers brushing softly at my temple. “High demons can sift.”
My mind was already slipping into deep relaxation, but I managed one last question. “How?”
“They were once angels. They are the Fallen. Now, relax and go to sleep, Genevieve.”
Jude whispered words in Latin, lulling me into serenity. I caught some of them—haven, encircled within, wings of, hearth and home.
The chant was songlike. It reminded me of the Gregorian chant my high school English teacher used to play while we took tests. The words didn’t make sense to enhance a dreamless sleep, but none of this really made sense. All I knew was that whatever he was doing chased away the edge of fear, sadness, and confusion.
Perhaps I imagined or dreamed it, but as I slipped further into a quiet oasis of warmth, I felt someone combing my hair with feather-light fingers.
12
Mary had been right. Professor Bennett’s exam on Milton was a torture device masquerading as an assessment ofParadise Lost. After ten short discussions and two multi-paragraph essays requiring textual evidence, I thought my brain was going to melt. Bennett was such a sadist. He loved making us sweat, and he was doing a damn fine job of it today.
The exam had already begun when I’d crept in a minute late. Malcolm had given me a sharp, annoyed glance before burrowing back into his test. That was when I remembered I’d promised to call him after the incident in the French Quarter and had failed to keep that promise.
Geez, Genevieve. Can you get any more inconsiderate?
Mary gave me a two-fingered salute as she dropped her test on the pile on Bennett’s desk. Of course, Bennett wasn’t even present. His annoying grad assistant relaxed lazily in the professor’s chair, kicked back with his Converse shoes propped on the desk, flipping through some Marvel comic way too loudly.
I stopped contemplating the agony of the test. Instead, I started devising the best way to torment a certain insensitive grad assistant—the rack seemed the best option at the moment, perhaps disembowelment—when Malcolm finally made his way to the front, plopping his exam down and making a hasty exit.
