"Ganner."
O'Shea had not moved. Behind him, three of the security officers had their hands on their holsters, and two more had stopped with their hands halfway there, because James was standing between them and the thing with the wings.
"What is that?"
James still had Ronan's shoulders. Cillian had his feet. Neither of them put him down.
"Turiel," said James. "He's reanimated. He's mine. He does what I tell him."
"The announcement said—"
"I know what it said. I killed him, then I raised him." He turned his head without letting go. "Turiel. Don't move. Don't speak. Stay exactly where you are until I tell you otherwise."
Turiel did not move. He stood at the back of the platform with his wings half open and his eyes on James, and the hatred in his face was very quiet and very patient. The broken pieces of his halo hung behind his head in the white light of the recovery room, and nobody in the room could stop looking at them.
"He won't touch anybody," said James. "Let them work."
