Though we got off on the wrong foot, part of me feels sorry for Tyrael. I’m sure when he agreed to being Michael’s guardian angel, this wasn’t in the job description. He tends to walk away from practice sessions with all manner of bruises and scrapes. One afternoon, he looks so beaten up that I pull him aside afterwards to apologize.
“Don’t worry about it,” Tyrael murmurs though a swollen lip. It’s a shame he doesn’t talk more often; his voice is soothing and gentle, reminiscent of Nick’s. He’s probably a perfectly nice guy, who I’ve randomly decided can serve as my guilt-free punching bag.
“Are you sure?,” I ask nervously. “I’m worried I’m going to kill you one of these days…”
“Don’t worry, ma’am. Angels are notoriously hard to kill.”
“Oh? And why is that?”
“I shouldn’t say…”
“Oh come on, how does one go about killing an angel?”
Tyrael looks around, and shifts his weight from one foot to the other. “Michael wouldn’t want me to tell you. I’m sorry.”
I wasn’t expecting that kind of answer. I’m honestly a little hurt. I ask, “Why wouldn’t he want me to know?”
“Michael may like you, but he knows better than to trust you with such information. He says you’re too volatile.”
Okay, maybe more than a little hurt. But I can see Michael’s point; I’ve been more in control lately, but that doesn’t change the fact that I did go a little overboard when he first pitted me against Tyrael. Maybe it’s for the best that I don’t know what it would take to kill him.
As if I don’t have enough problems to deal with, every once in a while I’m forced into uncomfortable conversations with Agent Rivera. I’ve learned to dread answering calls from restricted numbers; he only wants our communication to be initiated on his terms. He peppers me with questions about what I want to do with the clan; change up old rules, sell old real estate, negotiate with other clans. I don’t know why he cares as much as he does. There are only two of us left. Well, three, if you count Nick, which I don’t.
“Do you at least have an idea for what you want to call this clan of yours?,” Agent Rivera asks after a long and frustrating discussion.
“I don’t,” I tell him. “Because I don’t care.” And I don’t. All I want to focus on right now is getting through Michael’s training. Everything concerning the tattered remains of the Caelestia clan will have to come later.
We’re a few days into September by the time Michael is satisfied with how well I fight barehanded. Or, rather, I’ve learned everything he can teach me in that department; evidently, hand-to-hand combat isn’t his specialty. That would explain why he never spars with me himself. He knows plenty about the art in theory, but finds himself lacking in practice. When Michael breaks the news to me, my only question is, “What are we moving on to?”
Michael looks almost jovial as he says, “Starting next week, I’ll be personally instructing you in armed combat.”
“Armed?” My mind automatically jumps to the specialized pistols Krystal left in my care. Surely he doesn’t mean those?
“Yes. Even as a Nephilim, it would be unwise to send you into combat without a proper weapon. So on Monday, you will accompany me to retrieve the greatest gift I can give you.”
“A weapon? Golly gee, Dad, it’s what I always wanted.”
Michael’s cheeks flush, and he stares at something over my shoulder. “You’ve never called me Dad before.”
Evidently, Michael still hasn’t been around humans long enough to learn how to detect sarcasm. But he looks happy, if a little embarrassed, so I decide not to ruin his moment. Instead, I shift gears, and ask, “Does this mean I have the weekend off?”
“Yes. You can spend the next few days doing as you please.”
I suppose to a normal person, that kind of news would be amazing. But I’m confused; if I’m not going to be training all day, what am I supposed to do? I already spend my nights reading, and have finished most of the interesting pieces in Michael’s collection. I could spend some time with my mom, or Alyssa, but the former is firmly engrossed in her manuscript, and the latter spends too much of her time around Nick. I think what I need is to get the hell out of here for a while. But how?
For a while after Michael gives me the weekend off, I lie on my bed, staring up at the white stucco ceiling. On a whim, I pull out my phone, and decide to pass the time with a game I haven’t played in ages. While the app loads, it occurs to me that I haven’t used my phone as a phone in quite a while. The only person who calls me regularly is Agent Rivera. My next thought brings on a wave of excitement. I’d completely forgotten; I do have people I can hang out with, relatively nearby. And they’re only a phone call away.
I pull up my contacts list, and scroll down until I find the person I most expect to be free. The phone rings, and before long, a familiar voice asks, “Hello?”
I smile into the receiver, relieved that she actually answered. “Hey, Rachel. Are you doing anything today?”
***
At first, when I look at the address Rachel gave me over the phone, my instinct is to fly right over. I’m fast, I could make it in under an hour easily. Then I remember Michael’s explicit instructions: “Never fly over populated areas. I’ve learned that most humans don’t take kindly to things outside of their understanding.”
I’m still sorely tempted, but I know that Michael’s right. Flying into a city would be way too risky. But Michael doesn’t own any cars, and even if he did, I never bothered getting my license. I ponder over how I’m going to get all the way to Rochester for a good five minutes before I remember that I’m a spellcaster. I could just teleport over to where she is.
I pull up an image of Rachel’s location on Google Streetview so I can at least have an idea of where I’m going. What I find is a brown brick apartment building roughly near the center of Rochester. I focus my energy there, and before long, my physical form is transported to the right location, and my feet crunch against the gravel on the roof of Rachel’s building. Within seconds, I spot the door leading into the building itself, and start my journey downward. Before I forget, I retract my wings, hardly even flinching as they disappear into my skin. I repair the fabric on the back of my shirt, and as I do, I realize that Michael was right; I barely notice the pain anymore.
A few minutes later, Rachel pulls open the apartment door when I knock, and silently gestures for me to back out of the doorway. She follows me outside, and whispers a greeting before explaining, “Landon’s fighting with the director of a gallery in Indianapolis.”
“What’s the problem?,” I ask in a hushed voice.
“He wants to sell more of his pieces so we can afford the rent, but the director is claiming that they’re not his to sell anymore.”
“He could just paint more.”
Rachel looks at me as if I’m insane. “He hasn’t exactly been in a creative mood lately. His parents were still in Tudor City when New York… you know. And there’s a hold up with their affairs being handed down the line, so right now we’re both just poor and grieving.”
I nod my understanding. I keep forgetting that I’m not the only one who’s been through hell these past couple of months.
Seconds later, Landon steps out into the hallway to join us. “Hey kid,” he says to me with a fake grin plastered on his face. “Feel like going for a drive? I need to get out of here.”
“I know the feeling,” I reply. “Let’s go.”
Landon leads the three of us to the parking lot, and I have to jog to keep up with his furious pace. With the push of a button, he unlocks a cherry red pickup truck, and I climb into the backseat while he and Rachel take up the driver’s and passenger’s sides respectively. The engine roars to life, and in a few brief minutes, we’re on the road, turning onto the highway heading east. Once we’re traveling at the appropriate speed limit, Landon asks, “What have you been up to? None of us have heard from you or the others in weeks.”
“It’s nothing,” Rachel says. “I just thought you and Nick were gonna be together for a lot longer.”
“And I think it’s high time you branch out a little,” Landon chimes in. “I love Nick, but you might be just a little too tough for the poor guy.”
I’m sure my cheeks are bright red by this point. I’m not hearing this. “Guys, please-“
Rachel punches Landon on the arm, and asks, “Who could possibly be more of a match for her than Nick?”
“I can think of one ex-goth who’s been patiently waiting…”
I pinch the bridge of my nose between my fingers, and ask, “Can we please talk about anything else? I’m begging you.”
Landon sighs, and flashes me a brief smile in the rearview mirror. “Sorry about that. What would you rather talk about?”
“What have you two been up to?”
“Well, I’ve been trying to find a real job while selling most of the art I’ve already got. Spoiler alert: it’s not going well. And between that, and paying rent, and eating three times a day, and making sure we have cable and wifi… Being a real adult is even harder than it looks. Avoid it at all costs.”
I laugh, and ask, “What about you, Rae?”
“Well, my job search hasn’t been any more fruitful,” she says. “But I’ve been thinking a lot about what I want to do with my life.”
“Yeah?”
“I think I want to be a vet. I love animals, but I’ve hurt a lot of them in the past because of the full moon… I feel like this is one way I can learn to live with that part of me. To make up for what I’ve done.”
I try to imagine Rachel in a white lab coat, her fiery hair tied up in a bun while she prepares to give some poor dog surgery. It’s easy enough to picture; Rachel might make a good veterinarian. “Have you guys joined a pack yet?,” I ask.
“Kind of,” Landon answers. “Once in a while we hang out with these guys who call themselves a pack. Really, they’re just a bunch of weres in college who like to let loose and chill as a group.”
“Yeah. Come to think of it, didn’t they invite us to something?,” Rachel asks.
“Mhmm. This guy Scott invited every ‘freak’ from here to Syracuse to a house party. You in, Heather?”
“Sure,” I mutter. “I could do a party, I guess. Who’s gonna be there?”
“Anyone who’s ever howled at the moon, drank a teaspoon of blood, did some weird spellcaster shit, brewed a potion, or done anything distinctly frowned upon by the general population. It’s gonna be great!”
To be honest, this party is sounding more and more appealing. It’ll give me something to do tomorrow night, and I’ve been starved of social interaction for so long. It’ll be nice to be around people who have no idea who I am, or what I’ve done. “Where is this party going down?”
“We’ll pick you guys up,” Landon says.
“You guys?”
“Yeah. Alyssa’s invited too, if she wants to come.”
“No way! We have to invite Nick too,” Rachel argues.
“He doesn’t need to be everywhere she goes!”
“Neither does the little goth who could-“
“For the last time, she’s reformed! And now that Lily’s out of the picture-“
“You really trust someone with her judgment to date my best friend? Real nice.”
“I was the one who pushed Nick into asking her out in the first place! Was that a bad call?”
I groan, and lean back in my seat. I know they mean well, but I’d rather not hear this conversation. I stare out the window, thinking about tomorrow night and what it’ll hold. Best case scenario, it’ll just be a fun night with some of my favorite people. Worst case… I’d rather not contemplate the options. I just pray that nothing will make me regret leaving Michael’s property.
8
For the first time since arriving in Huron, I feel like I may have packed a little too lightly. Getting dressed has always been a simple matter; usually, I’m only heading off into the woods to train with Michael, and I’m miles away from anyone I’d ever need to impress. I’ve never had to look good. But now, as I rifle through my meager clothing selection, I regret tossing aside that black dress after the funeral. It’s probably long gone by now.
I flop down on my bed, cursing myself for waiting this long to figure out what to wear. Landon and Rachel will be here with the truck in an hour. I’m running out of time. I decide to stick with the black tank top I have on now, and throw a plaid shirt over it, leaving it unbuttoned for the moment. I struggle into a pair of ripped jeans I haven’t worn since high school, then check my reflection in the mirror.
It takes less than a second to determine that I don’t look quite right. On a whim, I use a spell to remove the bottom half of my tank top, so that my stomach is showing. Getting closer to what I want. Next, I sever my old pants so that they become a pair of shorts that only cover half my thigh. As an afterthought, I slip on the necklace Michael gave me as an infant, and arrange the winged pendant in the middle of my chest. I’ve taken to wearing it on occasion, as opposed to leaving it hanging by my bed. I’m still not used to actually wearing the necklace, but it’s about the only piece of jewelry I have.
I check myself over, and shrug at my own reflection. It isn’t perfect, but it’ll have to do. I slip on my dirty black Converse, and head downstairs to wait in the living room.
I thought by now, I’d be the only one occupying the room, but my mom is still in her claimed spot on the couch, chipping away at her manuscript. I sit next to her, and ask, “How’s the story going today?”
“Not well,” my mom says with a shrug. “Or well, depending on how you look at it.”
I double check the clasp on Michael’s necklace, and center the winged pendant above my sternum. “Elaborate?”
“I thought of something that would make the story flow so much better, but I can’t use it. Not without rewriting most of what I already have.”
“That’s what drafts are for, Mom. I don’t think any rough draft ever has been published.”
“I know. And my heart says it’s for the best, but… I don’t know. For whatever reason, I’m just holding myself back.”
At that precise moment, Alyssa appears at the bottom of the stairs, dressed and ready to go. Unlike me, she looks incredible; I envy her for thinking to bring clothes that are party-appropriate and form fitting. It’s just a light pink crocheted knit top, paired with midnight blue jeans, but it takes some effort to take my eyes off of her. To my mother, I respond, “I know the feeling.”
Alyssa walks past us into the kitchen, and asks, “Are we all ready to go?”
“Not quite. We’re still waiting on Nick.”
“Oh.” Alyssa grabs a bottle of water out of the fridge, and tosses it to me before grabbing one of her own. “Do you think you’re ever gonna cut him some slack?”
I frown, and unscrew my water bottle before answering. “Do you think we can avoid the topic for one night?”
“Fair enough.”
Nick finally comes down from his room a few minutes later, in a simple button down shirt and jeans. He glances at me once, then turns to Alyssa, and asks, “Ready to party?”
“As I’ll ever be,” she says. “Come here, let me fix your collar.”
I watch the two of them interact, and it hits me for the first time just how isolated I’ve made myself. I used to be so close to the both of them. But when I pushed Nick away, he took Alyssa as well. As she straightens Nick’s collar, I notice a couple of thin black veins reaching up the side of his neck. That’s new; the last time I really looked at Nick, the veins were only prominent on his chest. So either I’m remembering things wrong,
or they’re spreading. I vaguely wonder if this is a side effect of Lucifer’s deal. Two seconds later, I decide not to care. Nicholas Brandt is no longer my problem.
Before long, I hear a car rolling along the dirt driveway, and Landon’s impatient honking as they come to a stop in front of the house. I hug my mom tightly before rushing out the door, only to regret getting in the truck at all. Nick is already in position behind Landon, and Alyssa is holding the door open for me. I’ll have to sit between the two of them. I reluctantly slide into the seat next to Nick, and have to press against him as Alyssa hops in after me. I try to push them both aside so I can have room, but Landon just had to choose the narrowest pickup truck known to man.
Landon turns back to face us, grinning with excitement. “Buckle up, kiddies. It’s a long ride to Auburn.”
***
I don’t know what I was expecting out of this party. The last one I went to was a small event in Alyssa’s old apartment, for our birthday. This… is decidedly different. There are metahumans of nearly every kind in attendance, so many that I never see the same exact faces in the same room twice. Several of them stick out from the others; a male spellcaster with neon highlights in his hair that periodically change color; a vampire wearing golden contacts; a small group of werewolves wearing silver bullets around their necks; and my personal favorite, a bald demon wearing a shirt that says 333 (I’m only half evil).
There are even a few people I can’t place; I can recognize the distinctions between most beings with my second sight, an ability that only the strongest of spellcasters can use. We can feel the essence of the people around us, and everyone’s essence feels different. The differences are especially drastic between the “species”; humans, demons, spellcasters, werewolves, vampires, and everything else feel distinct from each other in huge ways. And all these and more surround me at the party, information flooding into me from all angles. I can feel everyone within the walls of this house, and even those a few houses down the road. At least four dozen strangers, each of their auras brushing up against mine.
Scarred (the Spellbound Series Book 3) Page 6