“Rosemar.” His voice was deep. Although his mouth hadn’t moved, she heard him with perfect clarity. He watched her with bright silver eyes that seemed to emit their own light. Long blond hair spilled over his shoulders. She shivered as though it wasn’t almost a hundred degrees on the street. “I don’t know who that is. Are you Seere?” His scowl deepened. “I am Eliakim. God rises.” He stood several inches taller than she, even bigger than Wystan. She tried not to cower. Eban hadn’t said the angel was dangerous, more of a nuisance, but the sword suggested otherwise. “It’s nice to meet you.” She eyed his clothing, which was unlike anything she expected an angel to wear. He looked as though he’d copied any passing cowboy in worn boots, dark brown duck pants, a rough cotton shirt, and with a bright red bandana circling his neck. His face was shaded by a wide, floppy-brimmed hat.
