Grace and Glory (The Harbinger 3)

“Don’t just stand there, girl,” the Crone, whose back was to me, called out. “I’m not getting any younger. You can have the seat to the left.”

Goose bumps prickled my skin as I walked forward. Obviously my appearance wasn’t a surprise. I swallowed and went to the chair she indicated, then sat down, able to see her more clearly. The Crone was old, like had seen the turn of the last century kind of old. Hair the color of snow, and her rich brown skin was heavily lined and creased, but her eyes were as sharp and as shrewd as ever. My gaze dipped to the front of her purple and pink shimmery shirt. It read DAYS THAT END IN AY ARE WINE DAYS.

I met her stare. “You were expecting me?”

“Of course I was.” The Crone smiled, and the creases deepened. “Don’t you remember? I told you the last time I saw you that you’d bring me something I’d never seen before. A real prize.”

Another wave of shivers broke out over my skin. “You did say that, but I... I haven’t brought you anything.”

“Not yet,” she replied, picking up what I suspected to be, well, a glass of wine. “But you will when you bring me the Fallen.”

14

Disbelief thundered through me as I stared at the Crone. She’d known. I didn’t know if I should be mad that she hadn’t given me just the tiniest heads-up or if I should be freaked out.

Probably freaked out.

“I know what you’re thinking,” she said, reaching over and patting my hand as I blanched. “Not literally. Mind reading has never been a skill I wanted to learn, but I knew the moment I saw you that you’d bring me something very special.”

I started to respond, but became aware of a presence—a warmth against my skin in the cool air. I turned to look to my left and squinted, unsure if I was seeing what I thought I was.

It appeared to be a small...boy coming our way. A kid with a pile of golden curls on his head. As he drew closer, I saw that he couldn’t be older than ten or eleven. I watched him take the seat opposite of me, wondering if he was lost and if we needed to find his parents, call the cops or whatever it was that you did when you found a random child somewhere no kid should be.

Then I saw his eyes.

I jerked back with a gasp of surprise, my hand slipping out from underneath the Crone’s. His eyes were a vibrant blue, like a Warden’s, but the pupils were all white.

His little face broke out into a smile. “Hello, Trinity.” He extended a small hand, his arm barely reaching the middle of the table. “I’m Tony. It’s good to finally meet another like me.”

My gaze dropped to his hand and then rose to his face. “You’re a...”

“I’m not a Trueborn, but I do have a whole lot of angel blood kicking around in me, more than most,” he said, and I blinked. He looked like a kid, sounded like one, but he spoke like an adult. “My grandfather was an angel. A Throne.”

A Throne.

Oh. My. God.

Was it the one who—

“Visited you in the church?” he finished my thought. “And gave you the lowdown on how you can help Zayne?”

I blinked again. “Can you read thoughts?”

“No.” Tony giggled, and he sounded very much like a small child then. “But I’ve seen this already.”

He was prophetic. A seer. A real one, and not one of the 1-800-Hotline-Psychics. It made sense that he had a Throne in his family tree, with the whole seeing the future thing, but a grandfather?

“Yeah, angels tend to bend the rules when the sin benefits the greater good,” he answered the question I didn’t speak. “Just like your father did. Just like many more have done.”

He wiggled his fingers then.

Slowly, I reached across the table and took his small hand in mine. The moment our skin touched, there was a jolt that traveled up my arm, raising the hair.

Tony grinned, squeezing my hand before letting go. I watched him pick up a glass. “Apple juice. It’s amazing.”

“Yeah,” I whispered.

The Crone chuckled, drawing my gaze. “You came here for a reason, didn’t you, Trueborn?”

“Yeah,” I repeated, sitting back. It took a moment, but I pulled myself together. “Yes, I am. You know what has happened to Zayne?”

“I know that he was given his Glory and that he Fell.” The Crone sipped her wine.

“I told her that,” Tony announced.

“He did,” the Crone confirmed as my gaze darted between them. “Of course, he did so in the vaguest possible way.”

“Hey.” Tony lifted his empty hand. “I can only help so much. Them’s the rules. I didn’t make them, but I personally think that’s what I said, which was, and I quote, ‘One born of the blood of the holy sword will hold in her hand the heart of one born after a second Fall.’” He snapped his fingers. “Pretty obvious, right?”