Tristan was tucking his mask into the breast pocket of his tux jacket when I emerged from the vestibule. “See you in a couple hours, Amir.”
The guard grunted as he drew the door open.
I stepped glumly past him into the dawn-tinted courtyard, leveling one last look at the statue gracing the middle of the fountain. A discrepancy on the woman’s shoulder made me circle her. Cracks and chips peppered her back, which was odd in comparison to how well preserved her front was.
“She used to have wings,” Tristan said, coming up behind me, “but Jarod destroyed them the day his mother died. Took a hammer to the statue screaming that angels were assholes.”
A chill seized me.
“He lost both his parents by the time he was eight, so you can imagine how it destroyed his faith in fantastical higher beings.”
“What about you? Do you believe in higher beings?”
A kind smile tipped the corners of his mouth. “Il y a bien trop de merde dans ce monde.” There’s too much shit in this world. “If anyone’s looking out for us, they’re doing a crap job of it. But, hey, if you believe in something, I’d be the last person to judge.”
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
For restoring my faith in humanity. “For being nice.”
His smile turned a little brisker. “That’s usually not the adjective associated to my person.”
Beyond Tristan’s shoulder, a set of heavy drapes rippled as though someone had parted them before letting them fall. Was that the window in Jarod’s study or in the den infested with incubi?
“Our ride is outside.” Tristan’s voice stole my gaze from the house.
“Our ride?”
He started for the porte-cochère painted blood-red on the inside, too. “Jarod asked me to take you home, so I’m taking you home.”
I hurried to catch up. “I can walk. I’d rather walk.”
He opened the door. “I’m sorry, Leigh, but if I disregard Jarod’s command, I’ll pay for it.”
I blanched. “Pay for it? How?”
“Don’t you worry your pretty little head with how Jarod punishes insurgents.”
“You can’t say that sort of thing and expect me not to worry.”
He walked over to a dark town car not unlike the one that had brought his friend home. Perhaps, it was the same one.
I trailed after him. “Tristan, do you fear for your life? I could help you get out—”
His brow furrowed, and then he burst out laughing. “I owe Jarod my life, Leigh. Besides, I enjoy what I do. Some might even say I’m good at it. If they were still around to speak about my feats.”
He winked at me as though what he’d said was funny, but if the people were no longer around, then—I shuddered.
He nodded to the back seat. “Get in.”
I wanted to refuse, especially after his last comment, but I swallowed my refusal and dipped into the car, incredibly grateful for being un-killable.
Once Tristan had settled in beside me, the white-haired driver glanced at me in the rearview mirror. “On va chez vous, Monsieur Tristan?” We go to your house?
“Non. We’re going to drop off my companion. Saint-Germain, right?”
I gaped. “How—”
“That’s where tourists usually stay.”
Oh.
The driver pulled away from the curb. “Où à Saint-Germain?” Where in Saint-Germain?
“Odéon,” I answered, recalling the name from the map.
Tristan ran his fingers through his silvering black hair. “Odéon is a subway station, Leigh.”
“It’s close to where I’m going.”
“It’s five o’clock in the morning,” Tristan said. “I’m not dropping you off in front of a subway station.”
“I walked all the way here.”
“I didn’t know you then.”
“Really, Tristan, it’s fine.”
“Leigh . . .”
Ugh. “Fine.” It wasn’t as though I would ever see him again after today. “Cour du Commerce Saint-André.”
The thought dampened my already low spirits. No wonder no one had ever succeeded in reforming Jarod Adler. I mulled over every minute he’d allotted me. Could I have done something differently, or would he have tossed me out whatever I’d said? I was still contemplating this when the driver pulled up to the curb of the Boulevard Saint-Germain.
I got out, and so did Tristan.
“You’re not planning on walking me to my door, are you now?” Our quartz residences only appeared to angel-bloods, so it wasn’t as though he would see anything besides a normal human entryway if he peeked inside the guild, but still, I didn’t think my fellow Fletchings and the Ophanim would appreciate sinners knowing where they lived.
He raised another brazen smile. “I pride myself on being thoroughly courteous.”
His chivalry was beginning to weigh on me. “You’re relentless.”
“They don’t call me the Pitbull for nothing.”
Goose bumps rushed over me. “How did you earn that nickname?”
“Because I never let go.”
I absorbed his answer slowly. “Is that because you’re scared of where you’d land?”
His smile faltered. “What?”
“People usually hang on because they’re terrified of falling.”
I started down the narrow, winding street, hoping the analysis of his psyche had been so unwelcomed he wouldn’t follow. But soon, the faint click of my heels wasn’t the only sound echoing on the cobblestones.
“I’m not afraid of anything.” Tristan trapped my shoulder and spun me around.
I inspected his face. “Everyone’s scared of something whether consciously or not.”
Wetting my lips, I thought of how I feared failing my angelic training in time—and I wasn’t talking about Asher’s nuptials. I was talking about the fourteen months I had left before my wing bones vanished from my undeserving back.
I sighed. Eighty-two . . . I’d only lost one feather, yet my wings felt ounces lighter. “But fear isn’t inherently bad. Not if you use it as fuel for your goals.”
He released me. “What is it you fear?”
“Not succeeding at what I was born to do.”
“And what is that?”
How could I explain it without giving away any secrets? “Helping people become better versions of themselves.”
He squeezed one of his eyes a little shut. “You were born to become a saint?”
“Saintly.”
“Well Maman hoped I’d be a cobbler, but I chose differently.”
I had a brief flash of Tristan shaping stiff hide into shoes but blinked it away. “In my case, there’s nothing I’d rather do.”
“Are your parents missionaries?”
“I suppose you could call them that.”
“So they’re imposing their way of life on you?”
“No.” I said this so quickly it made his slightly closed eye reopen. “It’s a choice.”
“Are you sure about that, Leigh?”
“Of course, I’m sure.”
He made a sound like he wasn’t convinced.
“What?”
“A choice is when you have more than one option. Do you have other options?”
My other option was becoming mortal and useless. “I’m not interested in another option.”
“Then it isn’t a choice.”
“Geez, you really are a pit bull,” I grumbled.
He grinned, clearly proud even though I hadn’t meant it as a compliment.
“I’d love to explain my life to you, but I can’t. Besides, after today, we’ll never see each other again.”
“Never say never.”
“Let me rephrase myself then. It is tremendously unlikely that we’ll run into each other again because I’ll be leaving this city before the end of the day, and I won’t seek you or Jarod out to say adieu.”
The corners of his mouth kicked up higher. “I’ve
heard that speech a thousand times, and yet women find their way back to me all the time.”
I rolled my eyes. “Bye, Tristan.”
I turned and started down the street. This time, he didn’t follow, but I sensed him watching me until I disappeared inside my world of quartz and feathers.
Chapter 11
As I navigated through the Atrium toward the dormitory section, I crossed paths with two early risers. I said hi. After cocking their eyebrows, they returned my greeting. I didn’t bother with introductions since I was about to pack up and leave. It dawned on me that before the day was out, I’d be another two feathers lighter. Ugh.
Pushing into my bedroom, I muttered, “Worst. Decision. Ever.”
“What is?”
I screeched a little. “Celeste? What are you doing here?”
She folded a T-shirt, then rolled it up, and stashed it away inside a drawer. “Turns out, there are a lot of sinners in this town, and one of them needed some saving.”
Once the shock of seeing my friend wore off and my pulse decreased to a somewhat normal rhythm, I asked, “You didn’t pick a Triple, did you?”
“Nope. A fiver.” She eyed me cautiously. “So, what was your worst decision ever?”
I walked over to my bed and flopped back onto it, arms outstretched. The mattress bounced twice before molding around my tired body. “Picking a Triple.”
To think I’d done it to access Elysium quicker. Perhaps, this was why my mission had been fated to fail from the get-go. Because I hadn’t come here for Jarod; I’d come here for myself.
“Didn’t go so well?”
“I lost a feather.”
Celeste’s heart-shaped mouth popped open. “You’ve never lost a feather.”
“My point exactly.” I groaned at my stupidity or was it naivete? “To think I’m about to lose two more.”
“You’re quitting?” she exclaimed.
“He doesn’t want to be changed.”
“Since when do sinners want to be changed?”
“He was rude.”
“Since when are they nice?”
“He made me lose a feather.”
“How?”
“He angered me so much I lied about something.”
“What did you lie about?”
“He asked if there was anything up there”—I set my gaze on the skylight that gave onto Elysium—“and I said no.”
The mattress dipped, and then a soft hand set on my arm. “It’s not as though you could’ve told him about us.”
“No. But I didn’t have to lie. I could’ve deflected his question by saying I believed in some higher being.”
Celeste didn’t speak for a while. Then, “So you’re giving up because he made you angry?”
“He made me lose control. I’ve never lost control.”
“Recover the control but don’t give up.”
I exhaled a short breath. “Did you miss the part about him not being interested in my services?”
“No, I got that, oh moody one, but the way I see it, you sign off now, and you lose two more feathers, which will make you . . .”
When she started ticking her fingers, I supplied, “Eighty-four feathers away from Elysium.”
“He’s a Triple, so he’s still worth a hundred feathers.”
“Great math skills, oh teeny one.”
She flicked my rib cage. “So how about you give it another sixteen feathers before throwing in the towel?”
My eyes snapped wide. “You’re encouraging me to lose sixteen more feathers?”
“I’m encouraging you not to be a complete coward.” She shot to her feet and went back to unpacking her clothes that looked so small on the hangers, almost doll sized. Then again, Celeste was five feet nothing. “Did I ever mention how I looked up to you? And not because you’re a foot taller.” I wasn’t six feet tall—only five seven. “It’s because you don’t give up. So, don’t you start now.” She side-eyed me. “And if you need extra motivation, everyone back home expects you to quit.”
“What?” I sat up so fast my vision swam. “Who thinks I’m going to quit?”
“Everyone.”
Eve surely didn’t think I’d quit, so it couldn’t be everyone. Maybe, everyone minus Eve.
“I’m hungry. Want to go grab breakfast? I heard pains au chocolat are real tasty around here.”
I ironed out my annoyance that everyone was betting against me.
“Did I make you mad? Your eyes just went Abaddon-black.” There was a lilt to her tone that made me think she wasn’t the least bit repentant for the anger she’d caused me.
My lips were squeezed too tight to allow words out. Jarod’s stupidly-long lashed gaze zipped behind my lids. I couldn’t go back there . . . Tristan would tease me, and Jarod would—What would he do if I showed up on his doorstep again? Have his huge-bouncer-slash-bodyguard Amir toss me in a landfill?
The corners of Celeste’s eyes tipped in time with the ones of her mouth. “Will you have breakfast with me before you head back to New York?”
“What’s with the look?”
“What look?” She feigned innocence.
“The ‘cat who got the canary’ look.”
She blinked as though she had no clue what I was inferring. “Whatever do you mean?”
“You came out here to make sure I didn’t quit.”
She dropped the weird look. “Because I want you up there, not Eve, not any other Fletching. And from what I saw at the guild party, so does Seraph Asher. So please, please, please don’t give up.”
I twisted my lips, remembering my fallen feather glimmering atop the black marble.
“I know I’m pushy, Leigh, but I want to see you succeed. Which you will. You always succeed.”
I was like a winged version of Tristan. As the image of a flying pit bull materialized in my mind, I almost cracked a smile.
“Promise to give your Triple another chance? Or sixteen chances?” Celeste watched me with such wide, hopeful eyes that I sighed.
I draped an arm over her narrow shoulders. “I won’t sacrifice sixteen feathers, but I’ll try one more time. Now, let’s go hunt down those pains au chocolat. I’m going to need sustenance if I want to survive the coming day.”
“By the way, I snore,” Celeste said.
I laughed. “Good to know.”
Her chestnut eyes sparkled. I didn’t have siblings—at least, none that I knew about. We were tossed into guilds after our first celestial breath, so our true family wasn’t the one we were born to but the one we forged during our formative years. Some Fletchings deemed these relationships simple friendships, but there was nothing simple about the bonds woven in the guilds.
At least, not for me.
My relationship with both Celeste and Eve was deep and intricate, glossed by tears and whittled by laughter, the sort of bonds that would last as long as we did.
An eternity.
I squeezed Celeste’s small body against me. “Thank you for coming out here and kicking my butt.”
Her freckles darkened.
“So, tell me about your mission now,” I said.
As she touched on the thieving boy, I wondered if Eve would’ve come had she not been busy with her own mission. And then, I wondered if she’d already succeeded, but stopped wondering and focused on Celeste, who was the one here.
The one who’d come for me.
Chapter 12
After wandering through the crooked streets of Paris for the better part of the morning, Celeste went to meet her sinner, and I took a nap that turned into hours of sleep. When I awoke, the elysian sky was purple with stars, which meant night had fallen over Paris, too.
I didn’t get up right away, too busy contemplating the stars and the dire choice I’d made. Had I really signed up to take on a Triple? Had I really gone to his house and met him? Had I really lost a feather?
I turned onto my side, finding a small lump emitting soft snores and topped by a tangle of long brown hair in
the bed next to mine—Celeste.
Sighing, I threw the sheets off my legs and tiptoed around the room as quietly as possible. As I ran a brush through my hair, which looked shot through with copper and gold in the angel-fire lighting, I popped open the two top buttons of my black dress because my breasts were straining the cotton. Had they grown again? I turned sideways, inspecting my body. The bodice was definitely too tight, but opening any more buttons would make me look like one of the women from Jarod’s party, and although I wanted to be invited back into La Cour des Démons, I didn’t want to be confused with one of his special guests.
I was there for business, not pleasure.
I set the brush down, grabbed my bag, and left the bedroom, closing the door gently behind me. Unlike this morning, many Fletchings were out and about. I got my fair share of stares again as I walked through the guild.
“Bonsoir, Leigh,” Ophan Pauline said as I passed by her.
I smiled and wished her a pleasant night. I heard Fletchings ask her who I was—“a transfer from Guild 24”—and then I heard Asher’s name fall from many sets of lips. He must’ve given his speech already. Was he still around or had he departed? And if he’d left, had he given anyone a lift? As I exited into the dusky night, jealousy coated me like a cobweb, barely there but present nonetheless.
I jerked to a stop.
Jealousy had cost Eve a feather. I prayed it wouldn’t cost me one, too. I shut my eyes, waiting for the sting to come. Three pain-free lungfuls of oxygen later, I lifted my lids and pirouetted, checking the cobblestones around my bronzed heels.
I must not have been jealous enough to lose a feather. I took the subway this time, figuring it would be quicker than walking, but regretted my decision when I caught the reek of sweat rolling off the humans scurrying through the tunnels.
A woman with ripped clothes, dirt-stained cheeks, and a sleeping child cradled in her lap extended a paper cup filled with coins. “Shivouplait,” she said, jingling the cup.
It took me a couple of seconds to figure out she meant, “S’il vous plaît.” Please. I dug a blue bill from my bag and stuffed it inside her cup.
Feather (Angels of Elysium Book 1) Page 6