My wings caught me. They would catch me again. I could leap, I could let myself fall. I could catch myself. The world spread out below me, the rocks and trees, houses and tiny cars. Life went on without me, the world continued to spin. And I was flying.
“Do you miss Asher?” Raven asked suddenly as we flew through a wisp of cloud.
I opened my mouth, then closed it again, a little taken aback. My instinct was to lie, to say no, to act tougher than I was. But when I opened my mouth again, what came out, simply, was “Yes.”
She looked contemplative.
“I’m beginning to think I know what it feels like,” she said softly.
“What?”
“Love.”
I stared at her, so surprised I almost stopped flying.
“You do? You do?”
“Don’t look so shocked,” she said, ruffling her feathers. “You know, I didn’t think it would be this hard. I knew Devin and I were meant to be, I knew we were fated to belong to each other.” She drew a shaky breath. “But I don’t even know what that means anymore. Now that our fate has dissolved before our very eyes, I don’t know who we are to each other.” She looked at me, and a tear slid down her cheek. “Now that I can feel, I don’t know how to.”
“Okay,” I said slowly. “Well, how do you think you feel?”
“I think I love him,” she said. “But I don’t have anything to compare it to. It’s like . . . I feel warm inside when I think of him, like I have this secret, even despite what he did to me. But it’s a secret that I shouldn’t have, or want to have. I had been ready to kill him, and he hurt me, too—I mean, he cut my wings right off my back, for god’s sake. And still, after all that, my heart feels all twisty, and I think that must be what love feels like, right? But it doesn’t make sense. How can you love someone who’s hurt you?”
I didn’t know what to say, and the wind rushed between us.
“I thought love was supposed to make you feel happy,” Raven said at last.
“I think it is in theory,” I said. “But the only people I know who feel that way are Cassie and Dan. Everyone else is pretty miserable. So maybe they’re the exception, not the rule.”
We flew silently for a couple of seconds, both lost in thought.
“It’s very confusing,” she said. “He’s a Rebel now—something I was born to hate. I still do. I think I may finally understand how you feel.” She sighed. “You love Asher, but to become a Rebel would mean turning your back on your destiny. I love Devin, but . . .” She trailed off, looking away. “I think he fell in love with someone else.”
A heavy silence hung in the air between us, full of unsaid things.
Finally, she spoke. “Anyway, I get it now.”
“I don’t love him back,” I said quietly.
“Please,” she smirked at me knowingly. Not in a malicious way, but more like we were confidants. “Like I’m afraid of a little competition.” The smirk turned into a full-blown smile. “I’m free now, after all. I can fight as hard as I want.”
“The question is,” I said, “with all that’s standing between you, What are you going to do if you get him?”
The ground was rushing up beneath us. We were reaching our destination.
Raven didn’t answer right away.
“You know,” she said. “Devin never looked at me the way Asher looked at you. As if the whole world was bottled up within him, and only you understood what it meant.” She paused, twisted in the air to face the sky above her. “I think the universe has a way of finding loopholes when you want something badly enough.”
7 
The sun hung low in the sky, and the hazy orange light cast a sepia feel over the flat, cracked streets and run-down houses. Somewhere, I thought I heard the sound of a truck backfiring—at least I hoped that’s what it was—and a chorus of dogs began to bark, followed by a siren. We weren’t in River Springs anymore.
We touched down outside of 144 Sycamore Street.
“Nice,” Raven said, raising her eyebrows.
It looked exactly like it did in my vision: a gray house, shabby, showing neglect, with a dilapidated porch, and a metal chain-link fence around the front yard. A russet colored pit bull was tied to a tether in the ground. And standing next to him, scratching his ears, was the girl from my vision.
She had the same straight-but-messy light brown hair, tied up in the same lopsided pigtails. When Raven and I pushed open the gate, she looked up quickly.
Her eyes darted between the two of us in confusion.
“Hi,” I said. “We’re friends of your dad.” I cringed as I realized that’s what creepy stalkers and kidnappers might have said. “I’m Skye.” The little girl squinted at me appraisingly, then nodded her chin at Raven.
“Who’s she?”
Raven stiffened. “I’m Raven,” she said.
“I don’t understand.” The girl had backed herself up onto the porch, one hand behind her on the doorknob. “Why would one of you”—she pointed at me—“be with one of them?” And she pointed at Raven. “Why would you be together?”
Raven and I glanced at each other.
“What do you mean?” I asked slowly. “One of who?”
“A light-haired one and a dark-haired one.”
“You know about that?” I said in surprise.
She nodded.
“You don’t have to worry,” I said. “She and I are on the same side.” The girl withdrew even farther, panic flashing across her face. “A different side!” I added quickly. “Not dark or light. Something new.”
“New?”
I nodded. “We want to stop both sides. Keep them from hurting each other, or anyone else.”
“Oh.” She looked confused.
“I’ll explain more, if you want.”
The girl twisted one of her ponytails around her finger. “Your name’s Skye?” she asked.
“Yep. What’s your name?”
She looked at me quizzically.
“Earth,” she said at last.
“What?” said Raven, just a tad too aggressively, perhaps forgetting we were talking to a small child and taking a step forward. “Are you trying to be cute or something?”
“I’ve heard of you,” Earth said quietly. Raven stopped in her tracks, and I stared.
“You’ve heard of me?” I asked hoarsely.
At the sound of a pickup truck rumbling into the driveway, Earth’s eyes grew wide. The door opened and slammed closed, and Aaron Ward came hurtling forward.
“Hey!” he shouted, bounding past us and taking the rickety porch steps three at a time—which, judging from the state of them, maybe he shouldn’t have done. “Hey! Get away from my daughter. What the hell are you thinking, coming here, out in the open where anyone can see you? Are you crazy?”
There was no mistaking Aaron Ward. He looked the same as in the picture—but older, like in my vision. His dark hair was wavy and shot through with gray, and there were lines on his face from too much time weathering the sun. The only difference was his eyes. All trace of mischief, of conspiratorial smile, was gone. It had been replaced by something gruff and surly. “Get off my porch and leave us alone,” he spat. “And you can take your spies . . .” he said, motioning toward the trees and bushes along the side of the property, “with you.”