Authors: Eveline Hunt
I shouldn’t have.
The ground looked as
if
it were miles away. I inched closer to the edge of the roof and then, terrified, scuttled back, stumbling into Hunter. We were on top of an abandoned one-story warehouse, the sky a perfect expanse over us and the wind stirring our hair, freezing our fingertips and pricking our cheeks. Or, at least,
my
cheeks. My face was about to freeze off.
Giving a nervous laugh, I turned around
. “This is a terrible idea, you know that? Um—”
His voice was as soft as steel. Which is to say: it was hard and cold. Not so
ft. At all. “Jump off,” he said. “Try to land in a crouch. If I don’t see good form while you’re falling, or if you look like you’ll splat to the ground, I’ll catch you.”
This is ridiculous. “Okay, you’re crazy. I’m not going to
do this. I get it. I’m Nephilim. I’m better at jumping off buildings—so what? I don’t care. The probability of me having to do that while in battle is, like, zero to none. So this is useless.”
“It’s not about whether this is useful. You
need to be aware of your abilities. A test, I suppose, of sorts.”
I crossed my arms. “I’m sure there’s another way
to prove my so-called physical prowess.”
But it was as
if I didn’t speak. “We won’t leave until you do as I say. Jump off, or stay up here. Forever.”
As if. “I’ll call 911 and they’ll
get me down. We’re in America. The land of freedom. The land of cheese sandwiches. And McDonald’s. So—you lose. Ha. Ha. Ha-ha.”
“Oh?”
I clenched my teeth. “Take me home.”
“You sound like an infuriated date. Was I not gentlemanly enough?”
“Would you
please
—” I groaned. “Okay. Fine. I’ll jump. But no matter what you say, I’m probably going to break a leg.”
“You’re not going to break a leg. You’re not going to break anything.”
“Yeah, well. We’ll see.” Suddenly, I took a step back. He’d edged closer—too close. His inked neckline was level with my eyes and it was the only thing I could see. “Um, what are you doing? I thought you were going to wait for me at the bottom—”
“I need t
o do something first.”
Gently, h
e grabbed my hand and brought it up to his face, pressing his lips to the inside of my wrist. I stayed frozen as he whispered something in a soft language I didn’t understand. A silver curl wisped out from the point of contact, slithering around my skin and blooming into a sleek, shining design. I watched, wide-eyed. Hard edges, tapered points. It didn’t look like a rune. More like a futuristic carving. Abstract and senseless.
When he pulled away, I
took my arm back and cradled it against my chest. “What the hell was that?”
His gaze was steady.
“It’ll give you the temporary gift of invisibility.”
“Your kiss?”
I tried not to look both disgusted and surprised. Just surprised. “Are you serious?”
“I could pla
ce it somewhere else if you’d like.”
“Uh.
Um. No, thanks. I’ll pass.” I looked down at my forearm. “Why do I need to be invisible, anyway? No one would see me this far out. There’s literally nobody around.”
“I’m aware of that. But I’m still not willing to take any chances.”
“Hm.” Wonderstruck
, I held my arm up to the light. “You know, this is really cool. What do you angels call it? Let me guess—the kiss of invisibility?”
Faint amusement tugged up
the corner of his lips. “It’s a
vaehn
mark. It can be given by an angel to anyone—another angel, a human, a Nephilim, and even a demon—for the purpose of making them invisible.”
I stared up at him. “But with your mouth?”
“It’s
one of the most personal points of contact. Because of that, it also happens to be one of the most powerful.” Before I could stop him, Hunter curled a finger under my chin and tilted my face up. “Like I said,” he murmured, leaning down. “I can place it anywhere.”
I tried not to recoil.
Another test? “Wait, what are you—”
He brushed
his lips against my jawline, down my throat, whispering the same soft, musical words across my collarbone. I froze, terrified, before reaching up to shove him away.
“Relax,” he said,
looking amused as he straightened to his full height. “I just gave you another one. Want to see?”
Frowning,
I clasped the side of my neck, where a cool tingling sensation had spread. Probably the effects of the still-fresh mark. “That was completely unnecessary.”
He didn’t
respond. Instead, he created a
ceahel
pane and slid his hand across it, making light ripple over its surface. Then he held it up, and I was surprised to find that it was now a mirror. My reflection stared back at me. All wide eyes and messy hair and pale cheeks. The opposite of blushing, I guess.
But that wasn’t what held my attention. The
vaehn
mark now curled across my throat and disappeared behind my ear, glimmering a breathtaking silver. I reached up to brush my fingertips against it, awed by its crisp contours and exquisite craftsmanship. I couldn’t deny it. The invisibility kiss-thing was cool. A little weird, but definitely cool.
Hunter stared down at me, waiting for my reaction.
The eternally icy wall of his eyes softened. He could tell I was impressed. I hated that I was.
“So…” I said, meeting his
gaze. “Now I’ll be invisible for a longer time?”
“Yes.”
I stared at it some more. “Okay, so you’re awesome. Can I jump now?”
“Be my guest.”
I stood on the edge of the roof for a good half-hour, not sure how to go about this. Hunter waited at the bottom. Silent. He’d lit a cigarette sometime in the last five minutes and it sizzled to ash between his lips.
Backing away from the
brink, I took a deep breath. Think about the reason you’re doing this. Right? Weapons. Training. You’re a weak little shit, Hazel. You don’t know what the hell you’re doing, and you need to learn. You’ve been defenseless for way too long. Thinking you could fight them. As if. Tiny kitchen knife and your stupidity were the only armor you’d had.
Think about it again. Wouldn’t it be
awesome if you could patrol the night, hunting lower demons, jumping from building to building? If my Nephilim genes allowed it, I could do anything. I could be a sexy huntress alongside Hunter, infuriating but nonetheless good-looking angel sidekick.
The vision was too good to pass up.
So I mustered up all of my strength, tightened my mouth, and barged forward. When my feet left the edge, there was the terrifying feeling of suspension and the sensation that I’d done something wrong. I’d given myself too much momentum and flipped backwards, boots rising to meet the horizon. A scream bubbled up as I plunged down—
Hunter caught me and, not breaking stride, glided up to the roof. Like an idiot, I clung to him, breathing hard.
“Let’s not do that again,” I said, heart pounding a thousand beats a minute. “Please, please don’t make me do that again—”
“K
eep your feet parallel to the ground,” he said simply. “Try to land in a crouch.”
And I did try. About twenty more times. Hunter caught me every time and—to my disbelief—managed to be really,
reeeeally
patient, putting me back without so much as an irritated huff. Not that he was one to give irritated huffs. I’d yet to see him angry. I’d yet to see him sad or anything other than secretly amused. I didn’t know if his self-control was an admirable trait or if it made me want to kick him in the throat.
I’m not sure if I kept count correctly
, but it was on the thirty-seventh time that I managed to crash down on my feet. It wasn’t a good land—I toppled back onto my butt, about to cry out in pain when I realized that there
was
no pain. A slight sting ran through my soles and my legs trembled like jelly, but other than that, I felt fine.
Hunter set me on the roof again. I hesitated, held my breath. And then I squeezed my eyes shut and opened them and
flew forward and I jumped—shakily tumbling to the asphalt below. Repeat. By the time I finally landed in a half-smooth crouch, it was two in the afternoon. It was taking a long time, but if I worked hard, if I trained every day, I could become just as good as Hunter or even Ash. Maybe I couldn’t throw knives to save my life, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t learn.
After the fifty-sixth jump, I asked if he’d let me climb
on the roof by myself, if he’d let me find a way to get up there without his help. He nodded and stepped back. Sweat beaded my brow. My heart pumped inside my chest. Still, I didn’t feel physically exhausted. Not yet.
Glancing around, I measured up my choices. The lot was empty and littered with glass. There was nothing I could use as a launching pad. But c
ould I jump? Was it as simple as that?
It
was an entire floor, though. About twelve feet. More than double my height.
Think light
, I thought, bobbing from foot to foot, as if I were about to start a marathon. I stretched my arms over my head and rolled my shoulders.
You can do this.
“Any time now,” said Hunter.
“Why don’t you suck my balls,” I said, backing up. I needed momentum. Something that would allow me to make it up there.
After a deep breath,
I took off at a sprint. And then the most amazing thing happened.
As I flashed forward, lungs pumping inside me, time slow
ed down. But I was speeding
up
, going faster than any human ever should, and then I tried to jump and I did jump and it felt like I was flying—shit, I
was
flying—and I wrapped my hands around the edge of the building, flipped around like an expert acrobat—
And that’s when things went wrong.
Everything flew by too fast. I skidded across the roof like a madman tumbleweed and soared over the opposite end. My arms and legs flailed midair. I tried to catch myself, tried to work gravity to my advantage and once again land in a crouch, but I helplessly plunged down and crashed into the earth.
The impact rattled me to my b
ones. My breath rushed out of me. Something hurt—my ribs, my head, I couldn’t tell—but it wasn’t as intense as it should’ve been. I’d bitten my tongue in the process, and I tasted blood, its sticky saltiness clinging to the top of my mouth. A pained moan escaped out of my lips. I curled up on my side and tried not to feel.
A
moment passed before two unbelievably gentle arms scooped me up from the ground.
“It’s okay,” I managed, stumbling out of Hunter’s grip. “I just—”
When I tried to step forward, I buckled. He moved to grab me again. I waved him off.
“I’m Nephilim,” I said, and made a show of puffing my chest, standing straighter, and looking like
a lame comic book superhero. “I’m unbreakable. I’m unbeatable. And I’m going to kick your ass as soon as I get the chance.”
The edges of his eyes softened with amusement. “Is that so?”
“That’s right. That’s…” A
drop of blood trickled down the side of my face. I reached up to touch it and muttered, “Oh, hell.”
“Here,” he said, reaching out
. “Let me fix that.”
I caught his hand and, dropping all pretense of comic-book
badassery, eased it down. And then I did something that surprised even me. I reached up and cupped his cheeks. He grew still under my touch.
“Thank you
,
” I said, and smiled. Standing there, half-broken, with my tattered clothes and bloodied temples, I drew him to me and curled my arms around his neck. I closed my eyes and breathed the words into his shoulder. “Thank you so much.”
For telling
me who I was. For helping me. For being an asshole but for secretly being kind. For letting me jump onto a damn roof and almost break my leg in the process.
Thank you,
I thought.
Sincerely. Thank you.
As was typical of Hunter, he said nothing. But he returned my embrace, circling his arms around my waist and burying his face into my hair, and that spoke louder than any words ever could.
We trained every day.
Ceaselessly. I wasn’t complaining. After that first lesson, two more demons attacked, as though they knew that I was out to get them—not waiting here for them to get me. I got rid of them with a kitchen knife, but I wanted more. A bigger weapon. And a definitely bigger dose of I-can-kick-your-ass-without-batting-an-eye.
It was
only after the fourth lesson that Hunter let me wield an awesome feather sword. Not a short blade, but an
actual
sword. My grip was pathetic and I kept dropping the stupid thing. He’d created a
ceahel
stick, and he gave gentle taps to my weak points, urging me to relax my knees, put my elbows like this, keep my feet like that, and—
“Would you just
show me how to stab it through a demon?” I demanded, trying to stay still as he rounded about me, his eyes taking in my posture. “God. This is so not helping.”
“Patience, little mouse,” he said, propping his
ceahel
rod on his shoulder. Once again, he went around. A drop of sweat pooled on my temple and streaked down my cheek.
At last, he said, “Needs more work.”
And this is how we spent most days. Him pushing me. Telling me I needed to fix this and that. I hated it. But at the same time, I wondered if he was doing it right. You don’t learn from being told what you’re doing correctly. Sometimes, when I happened to do something well, he simply said, “Good.” Then he went back to destroying me. Was it bad that I half-admired him for it?
After a couple of lessons, he sta
rted to don a sword himself. He took his sweet time teaching me. I stumbled and dropped the weapon and was an all-around difficult person to train. Though infuriating, he was patient. Sometimes he stood behind me, guiding my hand as he spoke quiet instructions into my ear. I’d watch in wonder as sunlight bounced off the blade.
The days grew hard and cold, though snow had yet to fall. I learned that I could push
out the effects of the weather—a handy little trick—and I trained with tank tops and tights. It was easier, helped me move and aided me in doing that awesome flashing-as-fast-as-light thing I’d seen Hunter do. He taught me how, and now I could do it, too. Whenever I wanted. However I wanted.
I never thought I’d love not being human so much.
In the afternoons, Hunter and Ash and I hung out at his house like the three grand idiots that we were. I suppose we grew closer. Hunter was just as unreadable, Ash was just as man-whore-ish, but what was it about them that was so…addicting? Their company was…I don’t know, it was fun? It certainly made me want to kick a tree, but maybe that was what I liked. They pissed me off, which amused them, which pissed me off more. It was a delightful cycle.
Still…I hadn’t
called out Ash on his mind-meddling, and no matter what I did, I couldn’t bring myself to. Every time I opened my mouth to ask him, something clamped up inside and I would retreat into myself, give him a weak smile and say a stupid comment about whatever the hell might be walking by at that moment. It wouldn’t matter, anyway. He’d start nudging me, telling me to go on a date with Hunter, and the words I’d wanted to say would be lost on me.
Hunter, thankf
ully, had stopped telling me to
declare
to Ash. During our practice sessions, though, he acted more…eh, lovey-dovey, maybe? A little touchy? His ‘tests’ were a thing, apparently, and sometimes he’d get too close for my liking—just to see my reaction. I’d try to stay still, to not give him what he wanted, but most of the time I caved in and pushed him away.
They
freaked me out. His quote-unquote tests. Right after he’d do some heinous thing, he’d always take out a piece of paper and jotted down a couple of quick notes. It baffled me. But the following day he’d be as he’d ever been: cool, calm and collected, with maybe amusement sprinkled here and there but with an otherwise unreadable face. And then we’d be back to where we started.
The
weeks went on like this. Training continued. I got better at sword fighting, smoother, less clumsy. Faster. It took me a while. It didn’t come naturally to me, and I had to work extra hard to get a nice swing.
During the breaks, I asked more about
Sielae and Haelvia and even Aiere, unable to get enough of them.
“Both
Sielae and Haelvia have a prince,” said Hunter one afternoon, after I’d asked him to tell me more about the royal families. We’d brought water bottles along, and he handed one to me. “I can’t tell you much about the Haelvian one, but no one knows where the angel Crown Prince is. He just…up and disappeared.”
I took a huge gulp and sat back on a slice of
ceahel
. “What? But why?”
“
Again, no one knows. The Queen didn’t let him out and not many people got to see him. I only know a thing or two about him—”
I must’ve gi
ven him an eager look because the corner of his mouth twitched.
“Well, since you asked.” He coasted around me
on a
ceahel
rectangle, his hands interlocked behind his head. “They say that when he came to the earth, he got so obsessed with music that he learned to play almost all musical instruments.”
“Even…” I couldn’t help but feel awed. “Even the cello?”
“Especially the cello. According to the stories, it was his favorite.”
“And he knew
all of Bach’s suites?”
“
How should I know?”
I had to meet this guy. “Would he happen to still be here? W
hat if he’s—holy fuck,” I said to myself, “what if he’s Yo-Yo Ma?”
Hunter laughed. It was a deep, smooth laugh, dimples on his cheeks and all, and I watched in wonder. “He’d try to
stay under the radar, if I had to guess. Becoming a famous Earthen musician would not be the best idea.”
I tucked one knee to my chest. “I hope he’s still alive.”
“That makes one of us.” When I gave him a weird look, he said, “No one cares about him in Sielae. He could be dead and the Queen wouldn’t bat an eye. Neither would the people.”
That sounded like a bad way to live and be thought of. I wondered where he was. Did he miss home?
I didn’t get a chance to ask. Hunter jumped off the
ceahel
, plucked a feather off his wing and gestured for me to follow his lead.
I had more questions, of course. Earlier he’d told me that it was against the rules for angels to have sex with humans, and that those who did got punished. So a couple of afternoons later, as I echoed his movements with the sword, I asked him if Haelvia also punished the lower demons who
came to Earth to steal souls. Maybe the crimes were parallel. In a way.
“No,” said Hunter, his arm continuing its steady trajectory. I tried to follow him. “They leave that to us. Our diplomatic agreement says that any demon who tries to
eat a human soul or heart is separated from Haelvia. An angel can kill them with no repercussions.” He spared me a sidelong glance. “In the same way, if a Nephilim—who is naturally separated from Sielae—poses a threat to a demon here on Earth, that demon is free to kill him or her. No consequences. No law says that they can’t, so no angel gets in the way.”
“Yeah, yeah, you told me,” I muttered.
The side of his mouth quirked up.
And b
efore I knew it, a month had passed. Thanksgiving came and went; Allie, who I liked more and more, attended more dinners than I could count; and still I trained every day, no matter what, no matter how I was feeling, no matter how many girls had gone out with Ash during that week.
Meanwhile, I refused to think about my secret dilemma with my mom. Or rather, I had made up my mind about it. Whether Mom was
blood-related to me or not, it didn’t matter. I loved her, lesbian or not, mother or not, high ponytail or not. She was still amazing. She was still the woman who raised me.
Io was
as lovable as ever. Sometimes, when Asshole Number One and Asshole Number Two and I hung out, she ventured over to Ash, giving his raven tufts a hesitant tug before skittering back to my side. She still feared him. I’d hide a smile. It was obvious that she wanted to be his friend. Or something along the lines of that.
In the middle of December, Ash got a tatt
oo on the side of his neck. Edgy. Dark. Drawn with as much expertise as Hunter’s. To celebrate, they both got beers and cigarettes and did their manly smoking-and-drinking thing. I nearly rammed my combat boot into Ash’s face. And Hunter’s, too, just for kicks.
To my dismay, Ash wasn’t done. Right before Christmas, he got a piercing that hugged the corner of his bottom lip. Sleek. Soft. Silver. I just about grabbed his shoulders and shook the living hell out of him. His eyebrow, tongue, ears, and now
this
?
Not that it didn’t make me want to kiss him more, but seriously?
Christmas came and went. I gave Hunter and Ash pink shirts and two Barbie dolls, and advised them to get reacquainted with their feminine sides. They stifled laughter, but inside the doll boxes I’d put two cards that I hoped they would read when they were alone in a dark room with no contact to the outside world. The messages weren’t long. Really. But if it ever made it past them, I’d die of embarrassment. (I kind of told them I cared, blah blah, that I appreciated their friendship, blah blah, however infuriating they were…blah. In any case. Embarrassing things.)
Hunter got me an unbelievably awesome gift:
a book filled with paintings that, when you flicked the pages, showed me moving and laughing and, of course, cursing the viewer out.
No. Literally. The beginning was
of me smiling, being pleasant. Then it depicted my usual self—eyebrow quirking, gritted teeth, and middle finger flipped up. I hugged him for thirty minutes longer than I should’ve. It must’ve taken a long time to do this, and when I commented on it, Hunter tried not to smile and said, “Well, little mouse, your simple face—”
Did I let him finish? Of course I didn’t let him finish.
After giving him a doubly delicious middle-finger sandwich, I skulked away and flipped to the back of the book. He’d written a short message in his small, neat print, and I’d wanted to read it when I was alone. But when I did, I couldn’t help but stop on my tracks.
You know I don’t mean any of it
.
Right?
I stared down at the words, unable to breathe. Then
I spared him a glance over my shoulder and saw that he was watching me already, eyes barely visible under his lowered lashes. He gave me a steady nod and then turned to the other guests. It was his party, after all, and this was his house. I closed the book and kept it tucked under my arm the whole night.
Ash got me the newest version of Photoshop, which made me
hug him to death. It was a damn expensive present. But that wasn’t all. An iPod Nano—the tiny square one—waited inside the box, too, though the piece of technology wasn’t the gift.
He’d compiled an impressive repertoire of cello music that was, in his own words, just for me. A
note accompanied it, scribbled in his dismal scrawl:
Found this a couple of weeks back. Thought you’d enjoy it, since I always see you listening to your sacred music. Tons of pieces by quite the unknown composer, Laurent bloody something, who the fuck knows. It’s pretty. Hope you like it.
I might’ve crushed his lungs when I hugged him. Leave it to him to curse in a
message and still be touching at the same time.
Books for Sumi; in return, she gave me a month’s supply of Butterfinger, which
made me faint from happiness.
And then happiness did come.
On New Year’s, my mom got engaged.
To her
girlfriend
.
I think I screamed more than she did. We grabbed each other and
jumped up and down on her bed, screaming and squealing like excited little kids, our identical ponytails fluttering around our shoulders. The neighbors probably wondered what was going on, but what did I care? Mom got engaged. She was going to get married. To her freaking amazing
girlfriend
.
“So—wait,” I said, once we had flopped down
on the comforter, rosy-cheeked and breathing hard from the jumping session. “Could you, like, do it here?”
Mom held
up her left hand and admired the ring in the light. “In this state? I’m afraid not, honey.”
“Want me to
fight City Hall? Or I’ll talk to the governor or something, make him come to his senses by punching him in the throat—”
She laughed softly. “Don’t worry about it. Allie and I have a plan.
”
Plan. I think I could figure it out. Exchanging vows
by itself wasn’t illegal, and they could do it in their own party, in their personal ceremony. But then they’d have to go to another state to sign the actual papers, and that was just…it was unfair as shit.
“Sucks that
you have to fly somewhere else to get it done,” I grumbled, glaring at the ceiling. “Talk about stupid. These people need to get their priorities straight.”