Free Messenger's Angel: A Novel of the Lost Angels by Heather Killough-Walden

every time, it was as if he were doing it for the first time. The magnetism of the water never lost its pull. It never grew un-grand or un-magnificent. It was never less than it was the time before. Gabriel felt a respect for the sea that he felt for little else in the world. It was older than he was. And just as deadly.
    He liked it out here, on the open observation deck, the best. The wind was cold and cut to the bone and would probably rip the immune system of a human to shreds. But he was no human. The wind hurt, but it was a begrudging kind of pain. He put up with it, and as his reward, he was allowed to stand alone, a solitary figure in black, and gaze out across the ocean’s bottomless plain.
    He needed this right now. He’d felt anxious of late. He had no idea what it meant, as it happened very rarely. But every once in a long, long while, he felt restless and uncertain and his brain felt slightly fuzzy. It was how he had felt as he’d boarded the ferry in Ullapool and headed straight to the top deck. He had known that the wind would slice through his anxiety and rescue him from the fuzzy shroud that had wrapped itself around him. He was right; it hurt, but it helped.
    Traveling by ferry wasn’t necessary for him, of course. Anytime he wanted, he could find a door and simply open a portal to the mansion he shared with his brothers and its extra-dimensionality would transport him to any location he desired.
    This time, he was on his way back from a quick trip to Glasgow to straighten things out with the banks. It hadn’t taken much: a phone call to Max explaining the situation and a fast pop-in at the main office, and everything was squared away again. Gabriel and his brothers and their guardian were used to covering their tracks in this manner. Luckily for them, Max’s ability to erase memories, clean files, and destroy evidence was always available to help them clean up their messes. And the four brothers weren’t without recourse themselves. Michael was a cop and knew how to move through the proper channels. Uriel could bribe just about anyone to do something for him now that he was a famous actor. And Azrael was famous, too, as he was in a very popular band, but he also possessed powers beyond the scope of most people’s imagination.
    In fact, Gabriel could have handled the new trouble Angus Dougal had caused for him without ever leaving the Western Isles. But Scotland was old country. Its people were steeped in tradition and culture and superstition. He didn’t want to raise any suspicions. He needed to appear, for all intents and purposes, as normal as inhumanly possible. So he took the ferry. It was worth it.
    He smiled to himself as he watched the waves crest white over a gray blue sea. Scotland would always be worth it.
    * * *
    Juliette stared out the ferry window at the gray blue water of the deep sea beyond. It looked cold. And it looked timeless, like everything else in Scotland.
    She had been in Scotland for three days: one day in Edinburgh, one in Aberdeen, and one in Glasgow. Due to various complications, Juliette had failed to obtain an Internet connection in any of the hotels. She couldn’t seem to call her adviser when Dr. Larowe was actually in the office, so she had yet to check in with anyone in Pennsylvania, answer her e-mail, or even get much work done. As a result, she’d been forced to put family, friends, and school more or less out of her mind and focus on the world around her.
    The first thing she’d done was go shopping to replace her lost luggage. She’d never been more grateful for the advance that Samuel Lambent had sent to her—or for Samuel Lambent, himself.
    The second thing she’d done was hit the streets to take pictures, speak with locals, and get as much of a feel for Scotland as possible.
    As she’d ridden the train from Inverness to Ullapool, a sobering sensation of bereavement and stark loneliness had come over Juliette. She’d gazed out the window at the