Jeanne had another dream, a real dream, a dream about Jericho.
The creature—she still could not reconcile her form with the idea of an angel—was in a room that looked to be a dormitory, with a bed and little else. Jericho lay stiffly on the bed, staring at the ceiling, as if waiting for something. Jeanne had never seen the creature sleeping, and wondered if she even could. She was not sleeping now.
A door—one Jeanne had not noticed before now—slammed open with a sound like rushing wind. The Auditor stood framed in the threshold, lightning sparking in his gaze.
“You have been found out,” he said coldly. “There will be a trial. You are compelled to attend.”
Jericho turned her dark eyes to stare at him. Jeanne gasped to herself. Jericho’s eyes were so…dead.
“You will not take her away f
