Wake

Chapter 2

Cian

We were already out for much longer than I'd been planning, the clock ticking dangerously close to midnight, the sky black above our heads. The streets were narrow, bright red and gold lanterns strung from roof to roof. Stone dragons, perched atop buildings, watched us, their cold gray eyes seeming to trail Vinny and me as we waded through the shops and stands. There were fruit stands and cramped clothing shops, herb vendors and street food. Perhaps if Caprice hadn't seemed so bothered, I would have paused to enjoy this new side of San Francisco I didn't get to spend a whole lot of time in—Chinatown had never been a part of my post when I'd been in the business of directing souls.

Vendors shouted at us, begging us to take one last look at their merchandise. To each I shook my head, giving a half-hearted "sorry, don't have time," before speeding up my pace.

Despite the fact it was late, the crowds were thick. I reached back, clawing for my little brother's hand. He didn't fight me when I latched on, beginning to drag him. "Come on," I urged. "The building's coming up, and I don't want to be here all night."

Vinny had to yell over the merging voices, most speaking in foreign tongues such as Mandarin and Cantonese. "What did she say was wrong?"

"She didn't say," I shouted back. I squinted up at the road signs, recognized the street name Caprice had told me, and took a sharp right turn, closer to the sidewalks. "I don't know what's wrong."

We had entered a narrow alleyway, the loud scents of spices smothered, yet not killed—star anise, cinnamon, fennel. My eyebrows crinkled as I tried to shut the voices out; I was getting out of breath. Damn you, Caprice.

A cat scattered out of our way as we walked, the moonlight further from us, the dark even more foreboding. I could taste sweat and blood on my tongue; my hand slipped from Vinny's.

"Cian," he said, as the alley opened up again, the thick air assaulting my lungs. When I didn't reply, he said again, "Cian."

I glanced back at him. "What?"

"If you're not strong enough, we can go home. We should go home."

"No, we should not," I hissed. I lifted a hand to shield my tired eyes from the onslaught of gold light, scanning the vacant backstreet we'd entered. A green door, tired and ancient, winked at us from across the street—just as Caprice had described it. "I may not take care of souls anymore, but I'm still an angel. It's my job to help Caprice; she's one of our own."

"You're crazy," Vinny groaned. "You're all crazy."

A motorcycle drove by, its headlights splitting the darkness into black and gold quarters. I waited, letting it pass before I scampered across the street with Vinny in tow. As I climbed the front stoop, an old woman watched me with dim eyes, wrinkles like fine fault lines in her face. There was something haunting about her silent gaze, but I ignored it, clutching a fist against my chest as I shouldered the door open.

"Caprice?" I called into the foyer, which was less like a foyer and more like a doorless hall closet. "It's Cian. Everything okay?"

There was hectic rustling from somewhere around the corner, and a lot of clanking. An aggravated grunt sounded, likely from Caprice's mouth. "No, clearly not! I wouldn't have called you if everything was just peachy keen! Get your one-eyed ass in here, right now! Oh, that stings, that stings!"

Vinny and I shared a wary glance in the ill-lit hallway.

Okay, he was right. We were all crazy.