Free Phoenix Contract: Part Three (Fallen Angel Watchers) by Melissa Thomas Page A

trailed on his heels, seizing on the excuse to get in out of the rain. “Well then, I feel dwarfed beside you, old man,” Matthew shot.
    The Celt grumbled a response, but it was lost beneath the pounding of their feet in the concrete stairwell.
    “So, is this a social call?” Matthew suspected the visit wasn't casual before he even asked the question. The priest retrieved a wool sweater from the closet and hurried to stand by the fire.
    Magnus lingered near a bookcase, absently stroking one gloved finger over a leather binding. “I wanted to see how you’re doing,” Magnus replied. He stopped fiddling with the book but remained standing in his corner, present but apart. The Celt’s fidgeting and distance pointed to a restless mood.
    “I’m doing better than I was, but then I suppose you’d know that, considering,” Matthew said. He opened the antique pipe cabinet on the mantel and removed a Teddy Bent Billiard, a masterfully crafted smoking piece.
    “Considering?” Magnus asked sharply. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
    The priest filled the bowl with tobacco and fit the pipe’s bit between his lips. He lit it and inhaled deeply and with great pleasure, then he slid into the leather armchair by the fireplace.
    “Come now, old man, you brought me back from the dead. You know what that means,” Matthew said with vinegar sarcasm. It wasn’t the first time they’d gone rounds over what exactly Magnus had done to him, but Matthew had yet to receive a solid explanation.
    “I jump started your heart,” Magnus replied, sounding stiff and guarded. “It’s the same as if Aiden or one of the med techs had performed CPR.”
    “No, not precisely the same,” Matthew drawled, puffing contentedly on his pipe. “You used magic or—”
    “Infused you with power,” the Celt corrected.
    “Your own essence? I honestly had no idea you could do such a thing. Is that how I'm still alive?”
    Magnus only shrugged.
    Matthew sighed. “I'll take that as a yes.”
    “Yes,” Magnus bit off.
    “So, technically, I suppose that I’m already dead,” Matthew said, aghast at the discovery. He considered it no surprise that the Celt hadn't wanted him to know. “Is that why you’re always hovering about? Waiting for the power to give out so you can do your job?”
    Magnus’ entire body stiffened, and the material of the leather cloak cracked as he whipped around. “You know better than that!”
    “Of course I do,” Matthew replied mildly. “But it doesn’t negate the fact that you’ve been hanging around an awful lot lately.”
    “You’re going to die,” Magnus said, equally uneasy and angry. The frustration of being powerless over death roiled through the Celt like a storm.
    “Ah, yes, I am,” Matthew agreed. He possessed a degree of serenity that Magnus would never comprehend or attain. One had to be human to understand mortality.
    “Doesn’t that make you angry?” Magnus demanded.
    “I have... regrets,” Matthew admitted softly. “I’ve lived my life, but there are things I would do over.”
    “I can make you immortal.”
    The offer knocked him off balance. Matthew looked wide-eyed at the Celt who met his gaze with unwavering defiance. The Celt had made the same offer once nearly thirty years before when Matthew had been gravely injured and on the verge of death.
    Matthew shook his head. “Becoming undead is not—”
    “It doesn’t have to be like that,” Magnus interrupted. “I’m not undead, and I’ve already given you some of my power, enough to keep you alive for a while, but I can give you more.”
    “What would that cost you?” Matthew demanded. He sat up stiff and straight in his chair, his forgotten pipe gripped in his hand.
    “I’m not sure.” The Celt shifted, and the priest immediately sensed the lie.
    “What? Your health? You’re still recovering from being burnt to a crisp!” Matthew slammed his fist down on the arm of the chair, furious with Magnus for even introducing