by L. Penelope
“Desiree is one of yours.” It’s a statement, not a question.
“She’s my great-great-granddaughter, yes.”
“Your son, Micah, married a full humanborn. Your granddaughter, Clara, is technically half-angel, given the lineage of both her parents.” He pauses to gauge my reaction. I steady my expression, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of seeing my surprise. “Clara, too, married a full humanborn, coincidentally enough. And her daughter, Felicia, managed to find one to sire her offspring. Have you any idea how rare your family tree is? Desiree has more angel ancestry than you do. She is over half angel—something like an angelborn, though as she has a soul and has never taken angelic form, she is something entirely new.”
Angelborn and humanborn are rare, but perhaps not so rare as I thought. Anger burns through me to think of the slights Beetrix received because of me, slights that male angels would never bear because they almost always abandon their humanborn progeny.
Helix looks at me expectantly. I turn away from him, not liking the satisfied glint in his eye. “How do you know so much about my family? You’re not a Recordkeeper.”
He brushes off my question with a wave of his hand and continues watching Desi below. She kneels before a mother with a child in a stroller, taking pictures and chatting. The baby gurgles at her happily.
“Why are you telling me this?” I ask, turning back to him. “As fascinating as it is.”
He gives a wolfish smile that raises the hair on the back of my neck. “I have need of her.” He motions down.
“Need? Of Desi?”
“Specifically, her abilities. She has the unique power to manipulate memories. To remove and replace them. I would like for her to reveal some of mine.”
“Reveal them? What happened to them?”
“There is something I cannot remember. I sense the presence of the memory, but I cannot access it. I believe she can help.”
I shake my head, incredulous at his audacity. “How would that affect her? I've seen how fatigued she becomes restoring the memories of an old woman. What would rooting around the mind of an angel do to her? No matter your claims about her lineage, it sounds like a great risk to a human.”
He shrugs. “It has never been done before to my knowledge. But I doubt she would be harmed.”
“You doubt?” My mouth hangs open at his nonchalance.
He spreads his arms in a conciliatory gesture. “I offer you something in return.”
“Oh?”
“Rebirth.”
A chill goes down my spine. “You mean you’ll get me a soul?”
“No, I cannot do that, but when your human body dies, I can bring you back.”
My eyes narrow. His human form tells me nothing, but there’s only one type of angel who could make that claim. “You’re a Resurrection?”
He nods.
“But the order was disbanded.”
“No, not at all, our numbers have merely dwindled. I am, in fact, the last.” He preens a bit at this, proud at the distinction. I don’t know what happened to the Angels of Resurrection. They were an order of the Guild of Life until a few million cycles ago, when all of them either faded or joined other guilds in a mass exodus. It was the largest Adjustment ever recorded.
Helix studies my reaction, once again leaving me feeling uneasy. “When you die, I will bring you back. To this body and at this age if you'd like." He chuckles at my skepticism. "There is not much call for my particular skill set these days, and I find it good to stay in practice.”
A wisp of hope curls inside me, but is squashed just as quickly. "And what about the next time?"
He shrugs and spreads his hands. "I cannot promise to beat the Guardians to all of your future deaths, but I will do what I can. Another lifetime or two will buy you time to find a soul."
The deal with Ajax was for this lifetime. If I'm resurrected soulless, the clock resets and I will face the Wasteland again with my next death. I turn back to watch Desi. What Helix proposes is an innovative solution to my problem, but the price is steep. “No matter how attractive your offer is, I can’t risk you harming my offspring in any way.”
“As I said, I doubt it will harm her.”
“But you’re not certain. She's quite fragile, and it’s a chance I cannot take. Anyway, why not approach her directly? Why not charm her? Why do you need me?” His smugness dissolves and his eyes flick down. “You need my permission for some reason?” I guess.
“Your recent actions have positioned you as Desiree’s earthly guardian, so yes. By law, I cannot charm or otherwise coerce a human under active angelic protection. Even that of an angelborn.”
I bristle at his dismissive tone. “You don’t strike me as a rule follower, Helix.”
His grin never ceases to be unnerving. “Perhaps I will find a loophole, but it would be easier to gain consent. Imagine, your powers and youth restored with each new lifetime. You would never reenter the Wasteland, if you assist me.”
With a final look at Desi, he shoots into the air. “I will be in touch, Wren. Consider my offer.”
And then he is gone.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
“Are you sure about this?” Wren asks as we stand in front of the glass doors of the bar. Inside is a trendy, modern space with sharp lines and bursts of neon light piercing the darkness. He and I are dressed appropriately as far as I can tell, me in a form-fitting dress and ankle boots, Wren in a dark button-down shirt and jeans. We look like we belong here. We’ve both been studying the twenty-first century so as to blend in better, but what waits inside is nothing we could prepare for.
Over the past few days, I’ve been forging the beginnings of a friendship with Jessye. I’ve eaten twice at the diner where she waits tables, and we met up again for coffee. Subtly and carefully, I’ve threaded mentions of Wren into our conversations in order to gauge her reaction. Tonight she mentioned that she and Desi were going for drinks at a new bar and invited us along.
Wren told me of his meeting with the Resurrection. We both agreed that the angel’s plan was a gamble—the chance of harm to Desi was too great. And even if it causes her no injury, trusting an unknown angel with an unknown agenda isn't wise. A mysterious angel, apparently acting on his own, caused Wren’s last death. Who knows what Helix is really up to?
The only sure way for Wren to avoid the Wasteland was to find a soul. I take a deep breath and enter the building. At the inner door, a bouncer asks for our IDs. I charm him into believing that we’ve shown them to him, and we walk deeper into the dark environs.
The sound of Desi’s laughter wafts over from a table against the wall. She and Jessye sit in a circular booth. Her head is thrown back in uninhibited joy, and I marvel at her. Tonight is the first time we will truly meet face to face. After a lifetime of wishing for the opportunity, I make my way over, my legs leaden, with Wren on my heels. Ripples of both excitement and unease work their way through me.
We approach the table and Jessye looks up. Her eyes brighten when she recognizes us. Her gaze flits to Wren, not able to land on him completely, but taking him in in small doses. I push away the flare of jealousy—it’s irrational and far too human an emotion. What I need to do is adopt a more angelic demeanor. My feelings aren’t relevant anymore; Wren’s life is.
Jessye makes the introductions and we settle into the round booth, she and Wren next to each other with Desi on his other side, directly across from me.
“When Jessye told me she made a new friend, I was like what? Did some clone army rise and replace my best friend with a changeling or something?”
Jessye shakes her head, allowing a fall of hair to hide her face. “You’re mixing your metaphors,” she murmurs.
Desi shrugs. “So you guys are both from LA?” I’d told Jessye that Wren and I were originally from the city of angels. Angelborn can lie easily, so I let Wren field this one.
“Yes, Los Angeles,” he says. “We grew up there.” His expression is pained.
“So, how do you like San Fran?” Desi asks.
“It’s my favorite place in the world.” His voice is wistful, and I remember first entering this world with him. All of the possibilities that were before us.
“Are you here for school?” Jessye asks.
“No, I came to…deal with some family issues.” He shrugs. “What about you?”
“I’m taking classes at City College. I don’t have a major or anything yet.” Jessye stops awkwardly, rolling a paper straw wrapper between her fingers. She’s only ordered soda, and I think back to try to remember if I’ve ever seen her drink anything stronger.
Desi breaks the unwieldy silence. “I’m studying photography at the Art Institute.” She makes a clicking sound while pressing the shutter of an invisible camera.
“What do you photograph?” I ask.
“Whatever I find interesting. I don’t have any lofty artistic statement or anything. I like real things, raw things.” She cuts her eyes at Wren and takes a sip of her drink—something dark and potent looking. “Sometimes I do nudes.” The energy at the table changes. Both Wren and Jessye stiffen. “I think Wren would make a great model, don’t you, Jess?”
Jessye’s face burns and she slumps down a bit further. She darts an angry glance at her best friend. Thankfully, the waitress appears at that moment to take our orders.
After she leaves, I steer the conversation to a more neutral topic. Jessye does an admirable job of engaging Wren in conversation, even though I can tell she’s terrified. My respect for her grows. And if the jealousy grows along with it, there isn’t much I can do but ignore it.
Desi orders drink after drink. She gives Wren and Jessye assessing looks from time to time, but doesn’t often join in the conversation. Jessye is focused on Wren. I can tell he’s uncomfortable with the attention, but he wouldn’t do anything to hurt her feelings.
When I excuse myself to go to the restroom, Desi announces with gusto that she has to piss. She walks just behind me as we wend our way through the crowded bar to the glossy, elegant ladies’ room.
I emerge from the stall to find her reapplying her lipstick, smacking her lips loudly in front of the mirror. Her gaze shoots to me, ferocious in its intensity. The strength of it almost makes me take a step backward.
“What exactly do you think you’re playing at?” she snarls.
I freeze. Horror over the thought that she knows exactly who I am ices my blood. “W-what do you mean?”
She spins around to face me. Though she’s a head shorter, her presence in this moment is towering. “Jessye hasn’t been able to shut up all week. It’s been Lyrix this and Lyrix that. And Lyrix’s friend Wren and how cute he is.” She sneers. “And then you get here and it’s obvious you two have a thing for each other. What the fuck?”
I gasp out loud. I’d been so certain that I wasn’t betraying anything about my feelings for Wren. I’ve been so careful not to look at him too often. My face has been schooled into a mask of impassivity all evening. How could she know? I clear my throat. “Wren and I are friends.” The words burn coming out of my mouth. “He and Jessye are…” I look away from her fierce gaze, no longer sure what to say. “They’re a good idea.”
Desi takes a step closer to me. “Is this a game to you? Cause that girl out there is my family. And if you’re fucking with her for shits and giggles, that is sooo not okay.”
I hold my hands up. “I have no desire to hurt her. I would never do that. I think they would be good together.” When I’m gone, he will need someone to care for him. My plea is sincere, and somehow Desi must feel it because her gaze softens. Empathy is one of her powers. Perhaps on some level she can feel the love between Wren and me. If that is the case, then her reaction makes sense.
I’m grateful for her protective instincts where Jessye is concerned and heartbroken that any of them are in this position. She backs off, but still looks at me warily.
We return to the table in silence. Wren glances at me; he can feel my distress through the bond, but I shake my head subtly when Desi’s attention is averted. His foot touches mine under the table, but I jerk away, curling my hands into fists to curb the desire to reach for him. His hurt flashes but doesn't show on his face. And as much as I worked for this meeting, I’m beyond ready for this night to end.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
I hover in the corner of Clara’s room at the nursing home. Remaining invisible around Desi has been harder and harder since meeting her in person the other night.
“Gran?” Desi says, shaking Clara gently. The older woman awakens mid-snore and blinks her rheumy eyes open. “You wanted to me to wake you up. You didn’t want to miss the end.”
Another black-and-white movie plays on the television. They seem to be all these two ever watch. Clara fumbles for the glasses on her bedside table. Desi helps her adjust them onto her face.
“Oh, yes. Joseph Cotton. He was a handsome man. Reminds me of my Roland. Did I ever tell you how I met my husband, child?”
“Yes, Gran. You two met at Berkeley.”
“He was an upperclassman, just as smart as he could be.”
“And he saw you from across the lawn, brushing your hair, and he was smitten.”
Clara smiles at the sweet memories. “Now how do you know that story? Did my Felicia tell you?”
The dreamy smile drops from Desi’s face. Her shoulders slump and her face grows pinched. Each time her grandmother forgets who she is, Desi unravels a little more. I know what’s coming—I’ve watched it happen again and again.
There are days when Clara’s memory is perfect, and others when she doesn’t recognize Desi at all. Those are bad, but I think the worst ones are when the dementia comes on suddenly like this. Each time Desi uses her powers, touching palms with her grandmother to restore her memory, it’s less and less effective. The illness devastating Clara’s mind just won’t yield any more. And Desi weakens herself from trying so hard and then runs straight to her vices.
Before the pattern can repeat itself today, I make a decision. I step into the hallway and wait for it to clear, then become visible.
“Hello,” I say, entering the room.
“Wren?” Desi stands up, pushing her chair backwards so that it scrapes across the linoleum. Her brow is furrowed, and her gaze darts around as if she expects someone else to appear in the doorway. “What are you doing here?”
“I have something to tell you, both of you.”
“How do you know my gran?”
I stare at the floor, unsure how to even say this in a way that they will accept. Humans see and believe what they want to in the face of all evidence to the contrary. That is one of the first things we learn about them in Euphoria. It is very difficult to convince a human of anything they do not wish to believe.
“I’m not sure how to say this—how to make you understand.”
Clara looks at me expectantly, while suspicion clouds Desi’s expression.
I turn to Clara. “Your father, Micah—did he ever tell you anything about his parents?”
She shakes her head. “They died when he was very young. He never knew them.”
I wince, then clear my throat. “This is going to be difficult to believe, but Clara, I’m your grandfather.”
Her smiling eyes don’t change. She looks me up and down. “So that’s why you’ve been hovering around here for the past couple of weeks?”
My jaw drops, as does Desi’s.
“Gran?”
“He’s been floating around behind you—I thought he was protecting you. Is that what you were doing?” She’s fully lucid now and in possession of her memories.
“You could see me?” I whisper.
“I see lots of things folks would think strange. Momma and Daddy did too. They said never to talk about them, and try to ignore the visions when they talk to us, but you seem different.”
“How so?”
“Not quite sure.”
Desi looks me up and down. “Gran, you really saw hi
m when he wasn’t there?”
“Of course, child.”
I look into Desi’s eyes and turn invisible. She gasps. “Do you still?” she whispers.
“Clear as crystal,” Clara says, still smiling. I become visible again and watch Desi’s reaction.
She sits down slowly in the chair, cracking each knuckle of her hand. She peers up at me again and shakes her head. “And Lyrix?” I can almost see the gears turning in her mind. "Something's different about her too."
I freeze. Revealing my secret is one thing, but telling her about Lyrix is something completely different. My impulsive decision is already coming back on me. “She’s—it’s complicated.”
“Yeah, complicated doesn’t begin to explain it. She’s like you, right? What are you?”
I squeeze the back of my neck and push the words out of my mouth. “We’re angels. Well, Lyrix is an angel, I’m only half. But it’s not like the religious mythology; the reality is very different. Humans have taken the bits and pieces they've witnessed over the years and drawn their own conclusions.”
Desi’s eyes go vacant. I move closer to her, crouching so we’re at eye level.
“Lyrix and I were separated, for a very long time. We were exiled, from both our people and yours. But she’s been watching you. All of you.” I turn to look at Clara.
“Watching me?” Desi sputters. “So I’m… I’m part angel?” She shakes her head. “What does that even mean?”
“It means you can do things that others can’t. You have abilities—things you don’t talk about. Maybe things that scare you. But this is the reason why.”
Her expression is far away. “And my mom? My uncle Albie?” Clara sucks in a breath at the mention of her children—both gone now. “These abilities drove them crazy. They’re driving me crazy.” Her mouth quivers, and tears well in her eyes.
“I’m so sorry that neither of us were able to be here for you. To tell any of you what you were and what was happening to you. If we could have…” The pain within me has no outlet. I can’t even begin to process my feelings. “There’s so much you don’t know…”