“Why?”
He looks into his mug. “Because a Fallen with an angel sword is too dangerous. Their wings change over time and eventually grow their own weapons if they survive enough battles. To have both Fallen wings and an angel sword is too dangerous a combination to allow.”
“But you’re not Fallen, are you? Why would your sword leave you?”
“The wings confused her.” He takes a drink, looking like he wishes it was stronger than water. “She’s partially sentient but it’s not like she has a brain.” He half-grins.
I sigh and put my mug down. “Your world is so different from mine. Do you guys have anything in common with humans?”
He looks at me with those killer eyes in that perfect face over his Adonis body. “Nothing we’ll admit to.”
“There’s no way around it, is there?” I ask. “We’re mortal enemies and I should be trying to kill you and everyone like you.”
He leans over, touches the tip of his forehead to mine, and closes his eyes. “Yes.” His gentle breath caresses my lips as he says the word.
I close my eyes too, and try to focus on the warmth of his forehead resting on mine.
RAFFE COMES BACK from foraging with a box of cereal and a jar of peanut butter. I wanted to get moving but he insisted that soldiers need food to fight properly. Besides, he said he needed time to think about his next step. So he took off into the night with his very handy night vision while I sat in the house beside my candles.
The cereal is raisin bran and the raisins taste like heaven—I mean, nirvana—or whatever wonderful place doesn’t remind me of deadly angels.
For once, our hands are clean, so we eat handfuls of cereal and lick the peanut butter straight from our fingers. I suppose this place probably has utensils in the kitchen but why bother? There’s something kind of fun about scooping the gooey goodness with our fingers and licking it like ice cream.
Raisin bran and peanut butter. Who knew it could taste so good? If we could just add a bit of chocolate, it would probably make a great, peanutty, crunchy chocolate bar for the high school bake sale. Okay, maybe it wouldn’t taste quite so good compared to the foods in the World Before, but right now, it tastes amazing.
“I need to go back to the aerie,” says Raffe as he scoops his fingers into the jar.
My handful of cereal stops midway to my mouth. “Seriously? The place full of crazed, bloodthirsty Neanderthals where we barely escaped with our lives?”
He arches a brow at me. Sucks the peanut butter off his fingers.
I pop the cereal into my mouth and start crunching. “Just because your people are pretty, doesn’t mean they’re not Neanderthals inside.”
“Based on what you’ve told me, I’m guessing that the riot wasn’t what Uri had in mind. Any soldier could have told him that’s what was going to happen. You dangle the apocalypse in front of frustrated warriors unclear about their mission and you have a bit of a tussle on your hands.”
“A bit of a tussle?”
“Too old-fashioned?” He scoops up more peanut butter. He seems to prefer not to mix it with cereal.
“People were torn to pieces. Literally. In bloody, little, horrible bits. That’s not exactly a tussle.”
“And I’m sorry about that but there was nothing I could do to stop it.” He doesn’t sound sorry. He sounds cold and calculating and pragmatic.
“What’s with all the cheering over the apocalypse, anyway? Oh, yay, we get to kill poor helpless humans.” I sound cranky. I dip my handful of cereal into the peanut butter, making sure I leave some of the cereal in it. For good measure, I drop a couple of raisins in it too.
“The excitement over the apocalypse has nothing to do with humans.”
“Could have fooled me.”
He peers into the contaminated peanut butter jar. He throws me an arch look and puts it back down without dipping into it. “Humans are incidental.”
“Killing and destroying an entire species is incidental?” I can’t help but sound like I’m accusing him, even though I know he wasn’t part of the plan to wipe us out.
Or at least, I think he wasn’t personally involved, but I don’t really know that, do I?
“Your people have been doing it to all kinds of species.” He grabs the cereal box.
“That’s not the same.” I grab the peanut butter jar.
“Why not?”
“Can we please just get back to how your people are partying over killing my people?” I scoop out more peanut butter.
He watches me licking the peanut butter off my fingers. “They’re celebrating the possibility of freeing their friends.”
“Angels have friends?” I pucker my lips around my finger, sucking every bit of the treat off it.
He shifts uncomfortably in his seat and glares at me. “When you fight side-by-side with other warriors, they become your brothers. Every one of us has a brother who has fallen. The only thing that offers any hope for them is Judgment Day. On that day, they finally get their trial.”
“An eternity of punishment comes before the trial?” I’m about to dip my fingers into the jar again when he dumps cereal into it. I’ll have to eat through the cereal before I can lick up more peanut butter.
“The system is purposely harsh to keep everyone in line. It’s what keeps our warrior society together.”
I poke my finger in the cereal-peanut butter mix, wondering if he’s annoyed. “And if they’re judged guilty?” My finger comes out with a dab of peanut butter on the tip. I lick it off, savoring the last of the sweet taste.
He gets up abruptly and starts pacing the room. “Then eternity gets longer.”
I know the answer to my next question, but I need to ask anyway. “And when does Judgment Day happen?”
“At the end of the apocalypse.”
I nod. “Right. The one that everyone’s so eager to have.” Being right never seems to make me feel better these days.
He takes a deep breath and releases it as if needing to blow off steam. “Let’s go find my sword.”
I hate to waste time flying to Pier 39 but both the sword and Mom’s tracker are there. That tracker is still my best bet for finding Paige. Besides, I might get a chance to see if Mom, Clara, and the others made it off the island. If they didn’t, maybe there’s something I can do to help them.
Doc had said that the scorpions would be out somewhere tonight and now I know that Beliel must have orchestrated the locusts’ flyby over the angel death rally. The Alcatraz escape should have either succeeded or failed by now. I can’t even stomach the thought of what might be happening now if it failed.
I quickly find an oversized coat and a pair of tennis shoes that fit me surprisingly well. In the meantime, Raffe picks out a wicked-looking kitchen knife and sticks it in his waistband, sheath and all.
Outside, the fog has lifted, showing a crisp night with the waning moon and stars reflecting off the ocean. Between us and the sea is a beach blanketed by pieces of wood and glass from pulverized houses.
The broken glass reflects the light from the sky like a carpet of flickering fireflies that stretches out as far as I can see. It’s so unexpectedly beautiful that I pause to look at it. How can something so wondrous come out of such devastation?
I glance over at Raffe to see if he’s appreciating the same thing. But he’s watching me instead.
I walk over to him, feeling self-conscious. Flying in his arms earlier was the business of war, and we didn’t have much time to think about anything other than escape.