Cian
I was getting really tired of this—walking a line between conscious and unconscious, never really one and never really the other. My life at the moment was a few intermittent bursts of purity and clarity in what was otherwise terrifyingly blurry.
I didn't remember a thing, didn't know a thing, really, besides what Vinny had told me. I'd woken up in chains, shuddering, an empty spot in my chest were something had been. My link—my link was gone. I'd known it the second I'd came to, that dullness in every bit of me, an extinguished flame in my fingers. Dry ash. Nothing.
It was going to take a lot of getting used to.
I'd graduated from where I'd been restrained and now sat alone in the chapel, facing the altar. I'd chosen a pew near the back, where I could see the dark hall in my peripheral, hear the drifting voices of Caprice and Vinny outside. I wasn't sure where Lucie was; she and the other two new companions (neither of which I'd met, I didn't think) had disappeared a few minutes ago.
Distantly, there was the thunk of a shutting car trunk.
"Cian?"
I turned, my eyes meeting Lucie's. She stood at the edge of the pew, a ragged wool blanket tossed over one arm, a rueful grin at her mouth. God, how much I'd missed this, missed her, missed the little catch in my breath whenever I laid eyes on her. It was a little comforting, how no matter how wrecked the two of us were, the tug we felt towards each other was still intact.
"Hey, muffin," I said. My voice was hoarse, my throat aching. I didn't really remember screaming, but considering I'd screamed when my link had been put there, I must have.
She proffered her blanket. "Are you cold? You look cold."
"I am a little cold," I allowed, taking the blanket from her. I tossed it around my shoulders, eyeing Lucie as she came to sit beside me. She still moved a little warily, like I might snap at any point in time. I wasn't one hundred percent sure I wouldn't, either. "So, how does it feel to be one of those people they write books about? You know, the whole 'out of body experience' trope."
"Honestly," said Lucie, drawing her legs up and folding them underneath her, "liberating. I know that sounds cheesy, but it's true. I don't want to be morbid, but being in that coma was kind of...hell. I knew I was slipping, but I had no control of myself. I couldn't wake up no matter how hard I tried."
My eyes fell towards the floor. "Yeah. Sounds kind of familiar."
Lucie let out a long exhale, leaning herself over the pew in front of us. Her hair, ethereal yet so real I could feel the curls' buoyancy without even touching them, spilled upon the wood underneath her. "But you don't remember anything," she observed, then hesitated, shifting her head a bit to look at me. "Do you?"
I shook my head. "Not really, no. But I think I knew something was wrong. Somehow. I just—I don't even want to think about it."
"What did Vinny tell you?"
"He said I became a demon," I answered, and shuddered just thinking about it. The very things I'd been taught to avoid at all costs, the very things that caused a lot of angels to become fallen when they became too wrapped up with them...I had been one of those. It still didn't make sense. "That I was emotionless and did whatever I wanted."
Lucie shivered and looked away.
I was afraid she'd do that.
I reached out, brushing her shoulder before I could stop myself. There was nothing underneath my palm, really, and she didn't turn. "Lucie," I begged, and the glance she gave me was pained. "What exactly did I do?"
Lucie opened her mouth, shut it again, and shook her head fervently. "No, Cian. I won't—"
"You killed my father, for one," came a small voice from the corner. I nearly jumped as a little girl seemed to materialize from the hall, her expression oddly simple for the statement she'd just spoken. Leaning against the wall, the girl folded her arms. "Maybe as target practice for your own dad."
I couldn't seem to find words. I wanted to say something, but all that I found within me was a tangle of guilt and grief and utter confusion. All that came out of my mouth was a choked sputter.
Lucie got to her feet. "Nura," she snapped. "We said we were going to take it easy, remember?"
Nura shrugged in response. "He asked, didn't he?"
"Nura—"
"Want me to tell you how you did it?" Nura went on. Her expression twisted then, into a mix between profound grief and almost...humor. I didn't like it. "I was there, you know. I watched you do it."
"Nura," Lucie said. "That's enough."
"Sit down, Lucie," I said calmly. It was all I could do to keep my voice steady. Everything else was shaking. "I think I should know."
Her eyes met mine, and it was almost a glare, but I read the message underneath the frustration: Are you sure?
I nodded at her, and she sank back down in the pew, drawing her knees to her chest, willing herself not to tremble.
My eyes slid towards Nura, and I nodded at her to go on. "You were personable at first," she told me matter-of-factly, "which is cruel, if you ask me. You told him he was strong, asked about his bar and how well it was doing. Then you skewered him, right through the chest."
There were tears in Nura's eyes, and in mine. I fisted my hands to keep them from shaking, squeezing my eyes shut. I just couldn't see myself doing that, looking right into someone's eyes, watching the life drain from them—the life I had taken. Worst of all, I'd enjoyed it.
"Cian," said Lucie sadly.
"No," I replied, turning away from her, from Nura, from everything. "It's okay. I'm fine. It wasn't me. It wasn't me."
"It's not okay," said Nura, and for a moment I thought there was anger, hatred in her voice, but it evaporated as she let out a breath. I searched for eye contact, but she looked away. "But you're right. It wasn't you, really. I'm not okay with the fact my father, the only family I had, is dead. But I know I can't blame you for it. That would be stupid of me."
"Nura," I said, and stood, making my way towards her. She seemed surprised before the expression settled, her gaze finally lifting to scrutinize my face. "Please. Blame me. Scream at me. Hate me. You should, if it makes you feel better. There's nothing else I can do. I just—I'm sorry. There's nothing else I can do but tell you I'm so sorry."
The chapel was washed in an eerie silence for a moment, nothing but Lucie in the background, Nura's fiery eyes looking up at me through her tangles of midnight black hair. The voices beyond the church's door had lessened into a soft burble, a brush of water across stone. My hand went to my chest again, searching for something. But it was just empty.
Nura shook her head at me, like I was a foolish child. I'd be lying if I said the gesture didn't take me aback. "I see it."
I hesitated, my eyebrows furrowing. "See what?"
"I see it now," she repeated. "What everyone else sees. This is why everyone worked so hard to bring you back from...the dark side, for lack of a better term. This is why. Because with or without a link, you're still an angel."
Behind me, Lucie giggled. "You should be excited, Cian. I think that's the highest compliment I've ever heard Nura give."
I heaved a long breath, a weight lifting from my shoulders I hadn't known I'd been carrying. "Thank you," I said. "Thank you for helping me."
Nura shrugged. "No offense or anything, but I was kind of forced into it."
Before I could question what exactly she meant by that, the doors to the chapel swung open. A rush of cool night air swept in along with my slightly damp younger brother, dark specks upon his shoulders where raindrops had fallen. His hair, wet and strung together in golden ribbons, curled against his temples; impatiently he swiped the strands away. "The car's all packed if you guys are ready to get out of here," called Vinny. "It's about six or seven hours back to San Francisco, so we should leave soon."
Lucie faced him, tapping her foot against the wood. "You're not going to make a stop first?"
His eyes slid to hers, quizzical. "A stop?"
"You know," she said with a nudge of one eyebrow, "a stop."
His eyes narrowed; he pointed at her. "Lucie, I already told you. I'm not talking to him. What he did—screw it. Let's just go home."
Lucie didn't budge, her skeptical expression fixed.
"Please, Lucie," Vinny pleaded, and my gaze zipped between the two of them, trying to fill in all the holes. In all, I was mostly ignorant. Vinny hadn't told me what the hell I'd been doing in Los Angeles yet; when I'd asked, he'd seemed more than a bit hesitant. "Besides," he added then, "I need to get home and check on Mom. We did just kind of walk out on her without saying anything."
Lucie huffed. "Fine. But you will call him."
"I'll do no such thing," he said, then shifted his gaze towards Nura and me. He held out his hand, a raindrop caught on one of his pale eyelashes like a jewel. "Nura? Cian? You guys ready to head home?"
I came to his side; he held the door open, allowing an open view of the rain-streaked Camaro. Caprice and the guardian—Zev, I thought his name was—were having some sort of casual conversation, apparently unaffected by the rain slowly soaking their clothes. I watched them for a moment, then turned back to Vinny. "Hey," I said. "You know you're going to have to tell me, right? Everything I did. How I ended up here."
Vinny lowered his gaze. "Cian—"
"Everything," I ordered. "I can't stand being in the dark like this."
He frowned, clapping a hand on my shoulder. "Sure," he agreed, "but later. Right now I just want to get you home, okay? I missed you. I missed you so much."
He turned a smile towards me, subtle yet pure, an upward twitch and a gleam in his eye. I was supposed to say I missed you too, but my words were gone, sunk deep inside of me by the admiration so evident on his face. Instead, I pulled him in, ruffling his hair with a laugh. He groaned at me to quit it, but I just chuckled and said, "Love you, Vince."
Nura and Lucie passed us then; I handed Lucie her blanket back, and then we were out towards the car, preparing ourselves for the long journey back. The moon hung high in the sky, a white blot obscured by blue-black clouds. The rain dropped to a drizzle, the steam warm and earthy as it rolled off the soil. Zev stood among the newly-made mud, black hair like spindles of ink against his neck.
Lucie, in the backseat, craned her head out the window. "You're not coming back?" she asked him.
He shook his head. "I've done my job, so I figured I'd do a bit of sightseeing before I head back to Fresno. Why do you ask? Gosh—you're going to miss me, aren't you?"
Lucie made a noise that sounded a bit like she was vomiting. "You're not nearly as valuable as you think."
Zev rolled his eyes at that. "Well, if you ever do miss me—which you will—Caprice has my number." He shot Caprice a wink then, but she just flipped him off, rolled up the window, and revved the engine.
Then we were gone, only the tire tracks and the echo of the engine's roar to mark our presence.