The Children of Wisdom Trilogy

by Stephanie Erickson

  He ignores me and goes on. “Where are you from? Why don’t you ever talk about what your life was like before moving here?”

  “I do. I told you about my sisters,” I say carefully.

  “What happened to them?”

  “They’re still at home, where they belong.”

  “Where is home?”

  I don’t answer him. We’ve danced around these questions before. Andrew hasn’t persisted until now, and I prefer it that way.

  “Or maybe the better question is, why aren’t you comfortable telling us?” Andrew studies me, but I look out over the street, admiring the beauty I see before me.

  “I would love to share that part of myself with you,” I say after a moment. “But there are a lot of reasons why I can’t. Anyway, you’d probably think I was crazy if you knew the truth.” I chuckle, trying to shake Andrew out of his inquisitive mood, but his sidelong glance tells me it isn’t working tonight. I swirl the wine in my glass and sigh.

  “Would it change what you think of me? Truly? Besides, what are you thinking? That I have some big, dark past as a drug addict, murderer, or child molester? That I used to be a priest? A hippie? A battered soldier? Does it really matter what my life was like before I met Aida and her family?”

  Andrew thinks for a moment. “I mean, some of those things are pretty intense. Got to say, I wouldn’t want you being around my kids if you were a few of those things.”

  I nod seriously. “Rightfully so.” My expression gives Andrew pause, and I laugh. “Wow. Good to know I can shake your opinion of me so easily.”

  Andrew smacks me, and we’re quiet for a few moments.

  “No. I guess it doesn’t matter,” he finally says.

  I glance over my shoulder. Kismet has her back to us as she washes dishes in the sink. I can just barely hear her singing a tune from the latest musical she’s headlining. Her next job will be on Broadway. As I sit next to her match, I know that both of their dreams are coming true, and the thought fills me with a feeling of satisfaction.

  “You’re a good man, Andrew.” I hold my glass out to my friend, and we drink a toast to them, their lives, and their future.

  But as I do, something nags at the back of my mind. Something I haven’t thought of in a long time. I don’t know if it’s Andrew’s questions, or if I’m just mentally comparing the friends I’ve made here with the ones I had in the heavens, but Michaela’s pained expression flashes through my mind again as I swallow the wine. I wonder if she’s resolved her problem, whatever it was. Something in the pit of my stomach tells me no, but I ignore it. After all, she’s out of my reach.

  10.

  Two weeks before the wedding, the world turns to ash around me. Everything I thought to be true about heaven and Earth is turned upside down in an instant.

  Andrew didn’t come to work that morning, but I didn’t even realize it until lunch came and went. Despite the fact that our month-long agreement elapsed quite some time ago, Andrew has continued to buy me lunch every day. When I said something about it a few months ago, he just shrugged and mumbled something about how he owes his happiness to me.

  I start asking around about Andrew once I realize he isn’t there, but no one has seen him. In fact, Cedric hasn’t even heard from him, which is very unusual.

  The truth becomes clear the moment Kismet walks into the store. Death can be the only explanation for the complete and utter anguish etched deep into her face.

  I have never known grief. I have no concept of it. Nor do I know how to handle it. So after Kismet confirms the ugly truth—he’s gone forever—I hold on to her right there in the storefront, both of us sobbing, until Cedric comes out and ushers us into the back. He also calls Kismet’s parents and arranges for them to come to New York on the next available flight. But I’m not paying attention to all that. Kismet is the only being in my world right now. That, and a huge, empty hole my friend once occupied.

  I don’t understand. How could this have happened? I saw Andrew’s thread, and it was long enough to match Kismet’s.

  “This isn’t right,” I keep saying to anyone who will listen. They all think I’m just grieving the loss of my best friend.

  “No, it isn’t right. He was too young,” they say. “So much potential, wasted.” Or “It’s such a shame.” They don’t understand. Not like I do. Something has gone terribly wrong, and I have to find out what.

  Eventually, when the sobbing subsides, I learn that Andrew died in his sleep. The doctors find no preliminary signs of foul play, and it certainly wasn’t an overdose. For the time being, he appears to have somehow died of natural causes… at twenty-eight. Kismet discovered him when she went home for lunch. Before leaving for her early shift at the diner, she kissed him, and he smiled and mumbled I love you. He was alive. He was fine. A few hours later, he was gone.

  “I don’t understand,” she keeps saying over and over. It becomes her mantra, almost like it’s what reminds her to breathe in and out. If she speaks the words, expelling air, she’s forced to take more back in. It keeps her alive.

  Turns out, Cedric isn’t able to get her parents out until the next day, so Kismet stays at my apartment that night. She can’t bring herself to return to their empty home, or sleep in the bed where he breathed his last. I don’t relish the idea of being alone, either. So I let her have my bed, and I settle down to sleep on the couch in the living room.

  What happened to Andrew? I remember the creation of his thread so vividly, including the relief I felt when Horatia cut it so long and Galenia decided he would die peacefully in his bed with his family around him. That didn’t mean he’d slip away mid-morning in his late twenties.

  What if the same thing happens to Kismet? I sit up in a cold sweat, my heart pounding right out of my chest. I can’t let that happen. Moving as silently as possible, I get up and pad to my room to check on her. She’s buried under a mound of covers. Her mop of hair sticks out of the top, splayed over both of my pillows. I can’t see her face, but I hope she’s sleeping.

  Bringing my pillow and a blanket into the room, I make a nest by her bedside. Her hand dangles from the bed, and I reach for it as I settle in beside her. I will never let anything bad happen to her. That just isn’t her fate.

  The following day, Cedric picks up Kismet’s family from the airport and takes them to their apartment. Andrew doesn’t have much family left, and his few remaining relatives live locally. He was an only child, so the car accident that stole his parents left him with few surviving family members.

  Kismet’s parents have only met Andrew once. They flew to New York after learning about the engagement in an attempt to talk Kismet out of what they viewed as a hasty marriage. But as soon as they met Andrew and saw the two of them together, they knew it was right. They didn’t say another word against it.

  A soft knock at my door at around midday lets me know they’ve arrived.

  “Kismet, your parents are here,” I say, but she doesn’t stir. She hasn’t willingly left the blanket cocoon she’s made since building it. I wonder if she’s even gone to the bathroom.

  I open the door, and her mother greets me, red-eyed. She throws her arms around me, and I hug her back with one arm, smoothing her hair with my free hand as she weeps.

  “Penn,” Kismet’s father says in greeting as he makes his way into my small apartment.

  “Kismet’s in the bedroom,” I tell him through her mother’s mass of blonde hair.

  “I don’t understand. They were so happy together.” Her mother’s sentiment strikes me as odd. She’s acting as if their happiness somehow contributed to his death. I know she means that it only adds to the tragedy, but Andrew certainly didn’t leave on purpose. I shake my head. If I’ve learned one thing over the past day, it’s that people say odd things when they’re grieving. It occurs to me that Kismet’s mom is grieving for the life and love her daughter has lost more than she is for Andrew.

  Eventually, she pulls herself together and moves away from me.
“I’m sorry. It was a long night, having to be separated from her like that.” I nod. I’m not sure what I would have done if I hadn’t been able to be with Kismet last night. “How is she?”

  “As you’d expect.” I never know what to say when someone asks me that. The truth? She’s terrible. Her true love just passed away. The other half of her soul is gone, leaving her to wander the Earth alone for the rest of her days.

  “Has she started making arrangements?” her mother asks.

  “No,” I say simply. “It’s only been a day.”

  “Yes, I know, but there’s a lot to do. When we lost my mother, Kismet’s grandma, the hospital was immediately pushing us to get the body out, and then the funeral home wanted her in the ground as soon as possible. It was hurry, hurry, hurry. At least I had help. My siblings were very involved, which was good, because my dad was a bit of a zombie through it all.”

  “Understandably so,” I offer, and Kismet’s mother nods in agreement.

  “Kismet has us for that. Plus, the wedding will have to be…” She hesitates. “Disassembled. It’s all so sad,” she says as her voice quavers again. I brace myself for another outpouring of emotion, but she sniffs and holds back, thankfully.

  “I need to see her,” she says suddenly, sticking out her chin, as if that will help her be strong for her daughter.

  I gesture toward the bedroom and follow her in. We find her dad sitting on the edge of the bed, silently rubbing her back. Her parents share a dark look as her mom walks around the bed.

  “Kismet, sweetie. I’m here.” She kneels by the bed, sweeping the hair away from her daughter’s eyes. Tears fall silently down Kismet’s face, and I fear they will continue to fall for an eternity.

  11.

  The days that follow are blanketed in a haze of grief that makes everything difficult to process. Aida stops by to offer help and bring food. Cody calls me, but we don’t talk much. I appreciate the gesture, but I don’t have anything to say, and Cody doesn’t have any words, either, because when someone you love dies, there are none.

  Kismet gets a lot of phone calls at first, but she never answers them. I try to field them for her, but after a while, I give up. Kismet knows people are trying, but she can’t bring herself to respond to them. She can’t bring herself to do much of anything.

  Kismet’s parents end up initiating the arrangements for Andrew, and I step in to help when important decisions are needed. I give her mother the key to their place, and she chooses some pictures for a slide show. When she asks me what song to use, I smile for the first time in days.

  “I’m really tempted to tell you a song he would’ve hated, just to needle him one last time.”

  She smiles back. “You two were close, weren’t you? You were going to be the best man?”

  “We were like brothers,” I say as I leaf through some of the pictures her mom picked out. They are all good. Andrew was very photogenic, and the love he and Kismet shared is so apparent in the photos they took together.

  “Do you have any siblings? Family flying in to support you during the service?”

  “I have two sisters, but they don’t travel.”

  “That’s a shame. Family is important at times like these.”

  “Kismet, Cedric, Aida, and Cody, they’re my family now,” I say, looking at the last picture in the pile. Andrew is young, a teenager. He stands on the end of a dock, holding a fish up that’s as long as his torso. His grin is almost as big as the fish.

  “He told me he fell in right after that was taken. The fish flopped and knocked him off balance. It got away in the end,” Kismet says softly, her voice scratchy from disuse over the last few days.

  I didn’t even hear her come into the room. I pull out a seat for her, but she remains standing, as if she isn’t sure she’s ready to commit to joining us. Getting up was enough.

  “Good to see you up, sweetie,” her mom says, but Kismet doesn’t respond. She just keeps looking at the picture of Andrew. A tear falls down her cheek, following a trail blazed by thousands of others.

  I stretch my hand out to her, but she’s just out of reach. She keeps her eyes fixed on the image. I hold the picture out to her, and she takes it from me, holding it close so she can study his face, as if she’s afraid she’ll forget what he looks like. The thought pours more grief into my already-full cup, but at least I’ve given her something solid to hold on to.

  “The funeral is set for tomorrow, honey. Do you need me to go to the apartment to get you something to wear?” her mother asks. But she doesn’t answer. Not because she doesn’t want to, but because she doesn’t hear. She’s in her own world with Andrew.

  “Yes, please do,” I whisper to her mother, not wanting to interrupt her. I only have eyes for Kismet. Her beauty has been withered by grief. Her hair is a tangled mess, going every which direction, and greasy from days spent in bed. Her bloodshot, puffy eyes are exposed for the entire world to see. After raiding my closet, she’s dressed in a sweatshirt that’s two sizes too big and hangs off one shoulder, paired with sweat pants that are way too large and long. She looks like a rag doll.

  “Okay,” Kismet’s mother softly says. “The wake starts at four, the service is at six, and there will be a graveside service to follow. So that’ll give you plenty of time to get ready.”

  Kismet nods automatically, but I know she doesn’t understand. How could she? I don’t, and I’m a Fate. Or at least, I was.

  That night, after Kismet’s parents return to their hotel and Kismet settles into her cocoon, I lay on the floor beside her, wondering for the hundredth time what could have happened. The only heavenly person I know who seems capable of such a thing is Webber. It must have been him. But if his purpose was to get to me, why hurt Andrew? Why not Kismet? Webber knows how much I love her. Maybe he’s toying with me. Maybe it’s only a matter of time before he cuts her life’s thread too. As I think of the damage Webber’s doing to the tapestry, I’m filled with rage.

  It’s an emotion I haven’t experienced to this degree before, and I’m not sure what to do. I leave the room, shutting the bedroom door behind me. Filled with energy, I pace the main room of the apartment as I try to puzzle out what I can do, how I can stop my rival from ruining the beauty of the human world. What did Webber say? Dark threads add contrast to the tapestry, or something like that. The thought of him weaving in black thread after black thread gives me chills, as does the realization that we’re at his mercy now. All of us.

  Surely, someone will see what he’s doing. This can’t go on for long. Maybe they already stopped him, and he’s been punished. Maybe I will run into him on Earth. But that thought brings me up short. It doesn’t make sense. Webber isn’t the kind of guy to risk so much for so little gain. I have already been punished, and Webber has gotten exactly what he wants. What more does he stand to gain from killing Kismet’s soul mate? Nothing, as far as I can tell. But I have no other answers.

  I pace for a while longer, still at a loss. Then I think of Michaela. Is this why she was so upset the day I was banished? Did she somehow see this coming? It’s too upsetting to even consider.

  “A Reaper,” I say quietly to the dark room. “I have to find a Reaper.”

  Once I have a solution in mind, I’m able to settle down. I’m dozing off on the floor of my room when Kismet wakes me.

  “Penn,” she whispers.

  Despite her quiet voice, she startles me. I’ve grown used to not hearing her speak, so I’m immediately on full alert. “What’s wrong?” I sit up.

  She’s still lying with her back to me, and I can barely make out her shape.

  “I need you to dye my dress black. I want to wear it tomorrow.” The weight of what she says makes her voice thick.

  “Of course.” I get up immediately, pausing only to give her shoulder a squeeze. “I’ll be downstairs if you need me. I just need to run to your apartment first.”

  She doesn’t answer, and although I hope she’s gone back to sleep, something tells me s
he’s still awake. In fact, I question whether she’s slept at all, which means she knows I’ve been up all night too. We’re two tortured souls together, adrift in the night.

  Once I return to the shop with her dress, I sigh as I set to work, darkening the threads of her dress, hoping her life’s thread hasn’t been darkened too.

  The funeral is difficult to get through, not only because it’s hard to see my friend, who was always the picture of health, lying there dead, but also because I’m so consumed by the need to find out what happened to him. I need answers, ones that might help save Kismet.

  It’s just a week from their scheduled wedding date, and Kismet is watching her fiancé lowered into the ground. The bride wears her wedding dress, forever blackened, and slouches over with sorrow. The life that’s rightfully hers was stolen from her. And as I watch my dear friend return to the Earth, I make a silent vow to uncover the truth of what happened.

  That night, after Kismet is back in her cocoon, I ask her parents to stay with her at my apartment. I tell them I have some digging to do.

  “What kind of digging?” Kismet’s dad asks once we’re alone in the hallway outside my apartment. Her father is a kind man, but he can also sniff out bullshit from a mile away. Needless to say, he has zero tolerance for it.

  “Honestly, I don’t accept what happened to Andrew. I need to know more. I’m going to head to the hospital to see what I can find out.”

  “Penn, it’s late. Anyone who can help you will have gone home hours ago. I understand that you’re upset and you feel the need to take some kind of action, but this isn’t the right way,” Kismet’s dad says, holding out his arm to usher me back into the apartment.

  “This is just something I need to do. You’re right, I probably won’t be able to figure this out, but I need to try. I need to stay busy,” I say, hoping that I’ve offered enough of the truth to satisfy him.