Free Days of New: The Complete Collection (Serials 1-5) by Meg Collett

stocked ammunition. Like they were preparing for another war. That’s what this entire compound felt like: people going about their duties with held breath, waiting for the other shoe to drop. It could be seen in people’s downcast eyes, in their hurried steps. Or maybe, Clark considered, they just did that around him because they didn’t want to meet his gaze.
    “Do what?” Clark asked, distracted.
    “Help Maya out of her marriage.”
    Clark snorted. “That is so not my problem.”
    “You are the leader of the Nephilim. It kind of is.”
    “Look,” Clark said, glancing over at the angel, “can you stop with the logic for a minute? My head hurts.”
    Zarachiel was silent for exactly half a minute. “Who do you think left that feather behind?”
    Clark sighed heavily as he climbed up a set of sloping, steep stairs. This part of the compound looked like an old medieval castle with thick, dusty tapestries hanging from the walls; Clark thought they were glorified rugs, but apparently they were of historical value or something. “A wee leprechaun?”
    “Come on, Clark,” Zarachiel said, sounding frustrated with Clark for the first time ever. “We all know retaliation from some of the fallen angels is coming. Not all of them are pleased to be under Gabriel’s rule now. Some are going to remain loyal to the memory of Lucifer.”
    “Why wait until now, though?”
    “Maybe someone’s organizing them?” Zarachiel offered, sending a chill down Clark’s spine. His thoughts danced to the dream he’d had about Lucifer. But the angel was dead.
    “Who would do that? Who’s left?”
    “I don’t know,” Zarachiel said, his shoulders tense. “But that smell on the roof?” Clark nodded, and Zarachiel went on, “it was a low-born demon. Camille and I didn’t recognize it at first because the low-born demons normally stayed in Hell as servants.”
    “Shit. We need to tell Liam right away. He’ll be awake by now, and those chimneys will need to be secured somehow.”
    “I can do that,” Zarachiel said easily. “You should get some sleep.”
    Suddenly, Clark had another idea. “What if the feather was left to make it look like a fallen angel murdered Jenna? And why Jenna?”
    Zarachiel thought for a moment before answering. Finally, he said, “Clearly, she was an easy target with that chimney. It’s possible that some holy angels were sympathetic to the Aethere’s rule, and they could be rebelling under the new democracy up there.”
    “This is awful,” Clark said, rubbing a hand over his face. The Descendants had a lot of enemies; attacks could be coming from anywhere. He stopped outside his apartment door and looked at Zarachiel. “Maybe you should get some sleep. You don’t look so good.”
    The angel’s face was tan enough from all the time he spent outside in the greenhouses, but he looked wane and extra stooped right then. His blazing eyes burned a little less bright, veiled behind the haze of pain he was in constantly from the mangled bones in his back.
    “I’m fine,” he said, but he smiled only with his eyes, like he was too tired to spread the gesture farther down his face.
    “If you let me try to fix your bones—”
    “I’m fine, really, Clark. It’s okay.”
    “But you shouldn’t have to live with that—”
    “The pain?” Zarachiel asked; Clark nodded. “I like the pain. It reminds me of where I came from, where I fell from.”
    “You’re not fallen.”
    “Maybe not by definition. But all the holy angels are at fault. Look at this world.” Zarachiel gestured around them, his eyes shattering with sadness. “We were supposed to protect it and the humans. Now there’s not much left of either. That’s on us. So I like being reminded. The pain makes me a better angel every day.”
    Before his time with Michaela, Clark would’ve called that a big pile of bullshit. But she’d changed him. Their friendship had changed him—she’d let him see her pain and torment. And,