Flight (43 page)

"And Gideon? Have you seen him?"

He huffs out some air and this time his words come out as a growl. "Goddamn it, Junco, I said drop it."

"So I'm alone. I have no one. Is that what you're telling me?"

"That's exactly what I'm telling you."

I swallow and turn away, hoping he'll stop me and… I don't know. Hug me or tell me he's still here for me. Or that Gid will be around soon and it'll all be OK. Or maybe, if I'm really lucky? He'll say happy birthday, sorry everyone missed it this year.

But he stays silent and lets me walk out.

I get in the Goat and drive back to school and when I get there my eyes are puffy and swollen from the tears and the wind.

Chapter One

I wake screaming, but only on the inside.

Isten.

It's the only word I know, the only one that exists in my vocabulary. When the screams cease I say it over and over.

And over.

And over.

It never stops, his name is always on my tongue and even in the nightmares, when I am consumed with the vision of my hair swaying in the red gel as it passes before my open eyes, as I relive the pain when my body writhes up and out of the tank, Isten's name is still there.

"Isten," I murmur into the silence.

"No, Junco. Isten is gone."

I know this.
I know this.

"I know, Junco."

Lucan plucks the words right out of my head with little effort. And I cannot even explain how much I appreciate that right now. That he and Gideon can hear my thoughts. Because I have no desire to talk.

Even the soft whisper of Isten's name is too much. I need the silence and the darkness.

"Open your eyes, Junco. I need to leave soon, but before I can do that, I must talk to you. I must know that you will hear me."

I do not open my eyes.

"Junco."

No.

"Please."

His request is somber, not a demand, a favor, maybe? I open my eyes but the darkness is still there. That darkness is not going anywhere.

"Thank you, now look at me." He waits a few heartbeats to see if I comply on my own before once again adding, "Please."

He releases his tight grip on my body as I turn, then repositions one hand on my shoulder while the other gently pries my chin upward, forcing me to meet his gaze.

A smile from him. "I have to go, Junco. I've overstayed my welcome." He thumbs back to the wings jutting out from his shoulders.

It's weird seeing Lucan with wings. Especially demon wings. They have no feathers, just a bat-like membranous skin that stretches taut, spanning the phalanges that mimic the bones of a hand, albeit greatly elongated.

My eyelids shut tightly at the thought of being in this room alone, forbidding the tears from escaping. I made a deal with myself yesterday. I'd give up crying if I could just count something besides heartbeats. Heartbeats aren't enough anymore. I need the counting far more than I need the tears. I can control it, it's just a temporary defense. I'll only do it when I have to.

I can control it.

So I force the tears back and open my eyes again.

Lucan is still there, waiting, watching.

"I have to leave Earth today, but I'll be back tomorrow, OK?"

I don't answer.

"We have to talk, Junco. There is a lot you need to know, but not today."

No, it's never today, is it? Today is never a very good day for anything, is it?

"Today, just try and leave the bedroom. Can you do that?"

I breathe hard for a few seconds, forbidding the tears. I forbid them because I really need to count.

And then they're gone and I nod.
I'll try.

I look up at him and know he doesn't believe me. I can't read his thoughts like he can read mine, but I can read his face.

"Gideon is here."

Isten overtakes me again and I just want to crawl under the covers and die. His memories are always there, memories I should not be privy to without him.

"Junco, I said Gideon is here."

"I know, Lucan."

My reacquaintance with speech lights up his face. "You will be OK until tomorrow? I'll be right back."

"I'm…" I cannot even bring myself to say the lie. "I'm not OK, Lucan."

He sighs. "I know, Junco. But you will be, I promise."

I shake my head as I fight back the memories.

"Gideon is here."

"I know," I whisper, irritated. "I appreciate that. I love him and I'm glad he's here to help me—"

Lucan's laugh cuts me off. "He's rather pissed off at your self-pity, actually. He'll be in here shortly to throw you out of this bedroom, so please, Junco. Just get up and get ready. He won't tolerate your moping."

Moping? Is that what he thinks this is?

"Quitting, maybe that's a better word. Quitting. You're not a quitter, Junco. You must gather yourself."

"Right. Gather myself. Just go away. I'll be fine." If there's one thing I know how to do well, it's gather myself. Push that shit down and forget about it. "It's funny though, all that gathering I've done has gotten me exactly squat, Lucan. Nothing but pain. What's the difference? Between unraveling and gathering? The problem still remains the same, right?"

His smile falters at the recollection of the chat we had, long ago, before I was violated in a tank of goo for two years.
No matter how you choose to look at things, with emotion or logic, the problem doesn't change. Only your reaction changes.
Well, big fucking deal. You still end up in the same place—either dying of cold or dying of the poison fumes from burning the wheat beetle-infested wood.

Which do you choose, Junco?
That's what he asked me.
To die or die?

I think today I'll choose… to die, yeah that's it. Today is a good day to die.

But maybe tomorrow I'll choose to die instead.

It's so stupid. Nothing makes any sense at all.

"Faith, Junco. Sometimes you just have to muster up a little faith that things will get better."

But they won't get better. I know this. I feel it inside me, in every molecule, every atom, every subatomic particle that makes up my body. I feel the wrongness of everything. "Faith is a waste of time."

"Mostly," he replies. "Yes, mostly it is. Faith always takes second chair to action. But sometimes, Junco, you're the only one playing the song and you've got no one else there to rely on. In those times, faith really does help. So you have to have a little faith."

"That's funny, coming from you." I peer up into his eyes. They are a lovely blue-green now. Not the blue like when he's in his Archer form. The need to know suddenly overtakes my prior urge for a fight about faith. "Were your eyes green as a man?"

He lets out a small laugh. "Yes, very green. Are they green now?"

I study them. No, not really green at all. More like aquamarine. I've never seen such eyes in all my life. I gather myself and continue. "You seemed pretty happy when I said my faith was gone. Now all of a sudden you want me to find it again?"

He releases me abruptly and sits up in the bed. "Will you get up, or shall I make you?"

I take a moment to think about it but he doesn't wait. He shoves me off the bed and I plunk to the hard tile floor, a sharp pain radiating up my spine as my hip takes the brunt of the force. He's in front of me now, pulling on me, and then I'm standing there, Gideon's boxers almost falling down my legs.

I tug them up self-consciously.

Lucan laughs. "You smell, you look ridiculous, and you need to sit in the sun for about a week, Junco. I expect you to be well on your way back to normal by tomorrow night when I call. We have to talk and I won't tolerate your—" He stops for a moment to reconsider his word. "Quitting."

I stare at him. His body armor is made up of tiny black scales, a very smooth metal I know from touching them over the past day or so. They clink and chink with his movements. He looks like something straight out of the angel apocalypse. All he needs is horns. "Do you ever have horns?" I hear my mouth ask.

He shakes his head and disappears.

Shit, I really wanted to know the answer to that one.

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Acknowledgments

A BIG thanks to my family for not badgering me when I didn't cook or clean for weeks. (These weeks are in addition to the ones I mentioned in CLUTCH and FLEDGE – so pretty much I did absolutely no cooking or cleaning for all of 2012!)

To
James Ledger
, for creating the FLIGHT cover artwork – he's just all-around awesome.

And ginormous thanks to
RJ Locksley
for all her hard work in polishing up my manuscripts. You're the best.