Page 86
Story: Angel of Water & Shadow
So many things.
For starters, the Voices were freaking real. I could just see the dark humor in Gaia, the sweet breeziness of Fei, the cool indifference of Akosua, as I remembered all the times they had hacked into the sounds of the world, just to speak to me.
And my mom wasn’t just any old angel, but an archangel. The Angel of Water. Or at least she used to be, before forsaking Empyrea in the name of love. It didn’t take a huge leap of logic to understand what had happened to her. She’d been sentenced to the Fall. I shuddered and swore a faint scream bristled my ears. There truly was a punishment worse than death.
My arms plopped to my sides atop the duvet, disturbing the comforter’s feathers. A few slipped through the seams and drifted above me, stuck in the airstream from the overhead fan.
Not only that, but my mom’s betrayal also threw humanity into the middle of a centuries-old battle between two paranormal realms. One where the Voices, the Watchers, were powerless to help because, well, Mira fell for a mortal. Seemed like a steep price to pay for love. An unfair one, really.
And where did that leave me?
I honestly had no clue. I was Nephilim and a descendant of an archangel, but what did that mean? Was I supposed to take her place or something? Laughable, really. I couldn’t even control my senses, let alone my Source. How was I supposed to protect Mortal Earth?
I strained against a tide of pain that didn’t affect my physical body.
Sometimes life really did feel like hell on earth.
Maybe Chthonia had already won.
Shifting to get comfortable despite my spiraling thoughts and the ache in my bones, I pulled the covers up over my eyes and attempted to go back to sleep. A throb ran from my elbow to my shoulder at the jerk of my arms. In the darkness beneath the blankets, I pressed a hand to my heart. A hot bolt of panic shot through me when I brushed against skin, not my necklace.
I threw aside the duvet, my back freaking killing me as I twisted to check under the bed, crammed my fingers between the mattress and the bedframe, tossed pillows aside—every place as empty as the pockets of my hard-washed lilac shorts I hadn’t changed out of yet.
Maybe I’d taken it off? I jumped out of bed and beelined for my dresser, sorting through the tangled pieces of jewelry. Not there, either. Spinning on my heels, I moved to the door, but when my fingers wrapped around the cool metal handle, I stopped. My gaze traveled up the length of my arm, lingering on the dried blood and smears of dirt. Another jolt of panic zinged my core. How did I even get home? Obviously, Ryder must have brought me, but did he sneak past my dad? Had my dad been here? Oh my God, did they meet?!
I pressed my ear to the door. As the muffled sound of my dad’s talking grew louder, I had to think it meant he hadn’t been here for my homecoming—if he had witnessed me being carried in by a hot British guy in leather, knocked out, and covered in blood, I’d be in deeper shit than when the teratorn chased me. There’s no way I could walk into the kitchen now, flushed and bruised, with matted hair, as if I’d been kissing death itself. I drew in a long breath, ballooning out my rib cage.
Okay. First, a shower.
Old pipes shrieked with each turn of the knobs, triggering my nerves, an echo of pain that’d been stoking my senses ever since I left the Fall.
I entered the narrow stall, where the steam rose above the tile and enveloped me like a warm cloud. While I stood beneath the faucet and let the water hit my shoulders, I could almost taste the blood and tears of the fallen. But it was the salt from my own eyes, the fresh scabs from my own skin that whirlpooled down the drain, injuries Ryder said were not from crossing realms but from the house collapsing on me during an earthquake.
I still didn’t understand his take on the events. Like, how were our experiences so different? I’d assumed hours had passed by the time I came to, yet he declared it’d only been a matter of minutes—and that I’d never really left left; I’d just been struck unconscious.
As the water ran from red to clear, my confidence seemed to slip with it. I found myself wishing for patterns or signs or symbols in the vortex of shampoo and conditioner. But the water pressure didn’t speak to me. The vapor didn’t part for me. The bubbles didn’t change their form. It was just a shower, and I was just a girl, trying to make sense of it all.
No closer to God or enlightenment, I shut off the valve and opened the curtain to grab my robe. Dripping wet, I froze, struck by the simple, watercolor portrait of a lighthouse that hung on the wall across from me.
Akosua’s near-forgotten words danced on the tip of my tongue. “To your watchtowers,” I whispered out loud.
The Watchers may have been citizens of Empyrea, but they were guardians of this realm. Having some sort of Earthbound base for them to warp to didn’t seem too farfetched. If I could find their towers, it could lead me to them, and who knew—maybe they could help me hone my Source or explain why demons were chasing me. Fill in the pieces I was missing.
Letting the idea percolate, I threw on a marbled oversized tee and some stretchy black biker shorts. After another unsuccessful check around the bed for my necklace, I headed down the hall, nothing but the cold pressed air to fill the bare space at the base of my neck.
As my nose suspected, charred pancakes and crispy pork were the items on the menu that morning. I faltered when my bare feet reached the kitchen’s cool tile. Partially hidden behind an unfolded newspaper, his glasses slipping down his burnt nose, one crocs-with-socks-wearing foot bouncing on his knee, my dad looked every part mortal. An unwelcome pang of hurt rocked my heart. Did he know about my lineage or was he truly oblivious, as he seemed now?
Clearing my throat, I sat and reached for a plate.
“Hey, River,” my dad said like he just realized I was there. “You slept well. I’d ask if you want breakfast, but”—he glanced at his watch—“it’s almost noon. Brunch?”
I tried not to let that sting of sadness crawl up my chest into my throat, but I couldn’t stop thinking about his connection to everything. Dismissing those thoughts with a scratchy swallow, I focused on the most pressing detail for now: the watchtowers and where to find them. I kicked my voice up and plastered on a too-wide grin. “Morning!”
“Bacon?” My dad picked up a platter, stopping mid-pass. “Holy…”
My lips began to twitch, but if this was a test, I wouldn’t let my fake smile slip. His eyes widened and I couldn’t stop mine from mimicking the movement. What? What was it?
“That is one hell of a bump you got there.”
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