Page 34 of Angel Lost (Fates Academy #3)

Chapter Thirty-four: Zephyr

I’ve resisted up until now, but by the Fates I need an escape. Clutching the tiny vial in my pocket, I storm toward the observatory. The artificial one. Despite Lorelei’s promise, she’s never taken me back to the ancient, powerful one. The one just under our feet. I stomp hard on the ground with my next step. Too caught up with her aether, like she’s the only important one. The others too. If I just got a chance to practice somewhere like that, then I wouldn’t need the Angel’s Delight in my pocket. The power down there would be enough.

My key slides into the lock, and with a shower of sparks the observatory opens for me. A feeling of coming home settles over my bones. I let one wing pop out, then the other, stretching them, ruffling the feathers. I crack my neck and pull out the tiny vial, holding it up in the half-light. Blue liquid swirls inside the glass. Innocuous enough. The professors take it; it has to be safe. By the eternal stars, Lumis even encouraged me to try it, to get past my block.

My fingers trace the slave mark at the back of my neck. I’ll never be the seer I was meant to be while this cursed bond stains my skin. But maybe, just maybe, this tincture will help.

I crack the vial and down the liquid before I can second-guess myself.

Fire sears through my veins as Farrell’s compulsion writhes under my skin, tightening like a vise. I drop to my knees, forcing my thoughts into order. Angel’s Delight is a tool for seers. My professor recommended it. It’s part of my studies .

It’s enough—barely—to slip through the cracks of Farrell’s ridiculous compulsion. Slowly, the clawing need to tear my skin off, to purge the liquid from my system, begins to fade.

Damn Farrell.

I can make my own decisions. I should be able to make my own decisions. This stuff might be addictive, but I need it. For my studies. Sort of . Mostly, I need it to escape. To quiet the constant weight pressing against my mind. Farrell. Always there. A presence I can’t shake, like a hand on the back of my neck, a shadow I can’t step out of. It’s worse because he’s my friend. A friend who doesn’t trust me. And behind him, his father, buried deep in my mind, deep in my psyche.

I grit my teeth. I’m doing this to prove them all wrong. Despite his stupid slave bond, despite his control, I am worth something.

Shoving my possessions into the locker in the vestibule, I shrug on one of the clean cotton robes and open the door marked for the observatory. The walls of the dome are crafted from a stunning silver metal. My fingers itch to trace the intricate carvings of the constellations. They flicker and glint, reflecting the light from the Gothic torches. Three arched windows reach upward, draped with translucent dark blue curtains that ripple as if there’s a breeze I can’t feel. Each window frames an otherworldly view, while above, the glass dome ceiling reveals the night sky. My chest expands and I reach upward, trailing a finger through the fine mist. The stars are so close I could almost reach them.

My pulse slows and my thoughts clear as the Angel’s Delight works through my system. I wander slowly, in ever decreasing circles toward the scrying pool in the center of the room. One bare foot in front of the other, following an invisible spiral, it pulls me in. The shimmering surface reflects the magnificence of the stars, and the air is heavy with the scent of aged incense, fresh pine, and something ethereal, something I can’t pinpoint.

I sink down in the chair beside the pool. I need more, I need my first time here to be legendary. The velvet-draped chair seems to mold itself to my form as I crack open another vial, dropping the precious liquid onto my tongue. The room shimmers, the edges melt away, the starry sky twisting, merging past with present and future. A lone flute plays a haunting melody as I turn to face the windows, to watch destiny unfold.

There’s a screech, obnoxiously loud, terrifying. Right behind me.

My wings snap out and I flap for the top of the nearest tree, my heart pounding, hands trembling. In the silence, I peer down through the branches, ready to take to the sky, ready to escape.

“It’s just me,” Hewie cries, his voice plaintive. “Didn’t mean to scare you, but I’ve been searching for you for ages!”

Stupid screecher. Spoiling my chill, breaking the calm. The pleasant buzz is gone. I glide to the ground, scowling.

“What do you want?” My tone is anything but friendly, and he flinches.

“Thought you might like the company,” Hewie says, trying to loop an arm through mine.

I snatch my arm back. “I don’t.”

He doesn’t seem to register my bad mood. “What with the others all away on important business, Kai too! Thought you might be feeling left out.”

My feathers droop. “I wasn’t aware until now. Thanks for that.”

Hewie looks a little deflated, smoothing down the immaculate lapels of his blazer. A silk cravat—royal blue, because of course it is—rests perfectly against his throat, and a leather satchel hangs from one shoulder, probably stuffed with all the latest gossip alongside whatever nonsense he considers essentials.

“I tried to call, but your phone must be dead,” he says, pouting slightly.

“I took the battery out,” I say, holding up the stupid lump of plastic. Might’ve jumped on it a few times, too .

Hewie gasps like I just strangled a kitten. He snatches the remnants from my hand, his manicured fingers trembling as he turns the pieces over, wide-eyed. A series of tiny, distressed screeches escape him. “It’s wrecked , Zephyr!” he wails. “Although…maybe Raff could fix it?”

I bat the thing out of his hands, sending bits scattering across the floor. “No! I don’t want it fixed, Hewie. That thing was blocking my magic.”

His gaze flutters between the broken phone and me, fingers twitching like he’s resisting the urge to gather the pieces and cradle them.

Sighing, I force my wings back in and paste on my best hippie-dippie smile. “I just don’t vibe with its energy, man. Anyway, I’m all about tuning into higher frequencies, not broadcasting my every move to the universe.”

Or letting Farrell—and the rest of my so-called allies—track me whenever they damn well please.

Hewie toes the screen. “Kind of handy to ask you if you want to go grab drinks though, no?”

A smile tugs at the corner of my mouth. “That’s what you came to find me for?”

He nods.

“You know me, I’m all about the good times. Let’s go.”

Maybe a few glasses of fae wine will bring back the remnants of the high.

Soaring through the sky, I relish the wind against my wings, the camaraderie of my fellow angels beside me. Flying with these guys is like nothing else I’ve ever experienced. Angel class is the only one worth bothering with.

A searing pain rips through my body. Intense, agonizing. My wings fold and I plummet, spiraling out the sky, the ground rushing up fast. Too fast. Suddenly my classmates are at my side, under me. Six of my troop grab hold, slowing me down. Just enough. We hit the ground in a tangle of limbs, white feathers exploding around us .

Farrell.

That pain wasn’t mine. With barely a muttered thanks to my troop, I bolt. Fates. What has happened to him?

By the time I reach the wyvern training ground, the pain has subsided almost completely. Farrell stands, poker straight, supervising some of the younger kids sparring part-shifted.

“Farrell, what the hell? I felt your pain!”

He signals the first-years to continue and strides over, expression impassive. “Are you high again?”

“You arrogant ass—” Another wave of agony crashes over me.

Farrell grabs me, lowering me to the ground, worry marring his brow. If it’s not his pain…

“Not you…your father!” I hiss, gripping my side where an invisible blade is being rammed between my ribs.

Farrell’s face hardens. “The Virrey is in the king’s custody.”

“Divine light,” I splutter, “When were you going to tell me? He’s being tortured. Somehow he’s sharing it down the slave bond.”

Farrell nods, crouching beside me. The stabbing eases off, and he claps my back. “Good. He’s channeling his pain. It should stop him from breaking.”

Good? In which dimension is that good?

Farrell must read my expression. “You’re helping the rebellion, Zephyr. Thank you.”

“The rebellion can thank my dead body if that happens while I’m flying again.” I gesture to my ripped uniform, the blood oozing from my knees. “Thank Fates my angel troop was there to cushion my fall.”

Farrell’s lip lifts in a snarl at the mention of my classmates. Not this again. They saved me. Not all angels are the enemy.

“You should spend less time with them, Zephyr,” Farrell says standing, dusting himself down, brushing angrily at where my white feathers have stuck to his trousers .

From my place sprawled on the floor, I gaze up at him. “Sure, I’ll just stick with you and your rebellion. The one where I no longer have the title of Hand, instead, it’s punch bag.”

I flap lazily through the sky, keeping a close watch on Lorelei. She’s training. With Kai. Again. Her eyes scan the woods—sharp, alert. She knows she’s being watched.

That’s my girl.

I roll onto my back midair, drifting behind a cloud. I’ve been keeping an eye on her more and more. Farrell’s slacking, Chano has his own mess to deal with, and really…can I even trust them? It’s bad enough she’s alone four days a week in the Gifted Academy. I grit my teeth, tucking my wings in, and shoot toward the ground, landing with a soft thud.

Keeping to the shadows, I trail them until Kai splits off, then I drift after Lorelei. Would she be mad if she knew? Probably. But she doesn’t need to know. I’m an angel, aren’t I? I can be her guardian angel.

She makes her way back to the dorms, pausing on the top step, glancing warily over her shoulder one last time before stepping inside.

My pulse picks up. My blood hums.

Lorelei’s safe. Which means it’s time for my reward. Time to go back to the observatory.

Who needs sleep when you can see?

“Get up, now!” a voice shouts in my ear.

I jolt, blinking hard, dragging my head away from the scrying pool—away from the future.

Feet crunch around me. Swearing muttered between heavy breaths .

“What the hell is this?” More crunching. “Why is he surrounded by glass?”

My earthly senses drift back, sluggish, unwilling. Smoke, citrus, and pine. Farrell.

“It’s drugs, idiota . He’s using again. Whatever the hell this is.” That voice isn’t Farrell though. Accented. Still, familiar.

“He can’t be, Chano. I compelled him not to.” Smug bastard.

Chano . That’s the deeper voice. The demon. A shiver rakes through me, followed by a dull, creeping ache.

The world sharpens. The cold bite of shattered glass against my palms. The metallic tang of blood in my mouth. The whisper of the scrying pool still pulls at the edges of my mind. More distant now. Fading.

I try to lift my arm—pain slams through me.

“He’s found a workaround, Farrell, he’s sparko.” Big fat fingers click in front of my face and I snap at them, teeth clacking shut on air. Chano flinches. “The puta is as high as a kite.”

They haul me up, arms slung over their shoulders, and frog-march me out of my precious observatory. First time I’ve left in… How long? My mind wanders, time folding in on itself. What’s already happened? What’s still to come?

A hand pries my jaw open. Something warm and sloppy shoves down my throat. My stomach lurches, cramping hard. When did I last eat?

“Crap,” Chano bellows. “He’s pissed himself.”

Farrell’s disappointment presses down on my soul.

They drag me into the shower, fully clothed. Only Farrell stays. Strips me and directs me to wash. My brain stumbles over the simplest task. I get stuck, hand halfway to the soap, stall mid-rinse, stare at the towel with no knowledge of what I’m supposed to do with it. Patiently, Farrell talks me through it all.

Then he and Chano take turns forcing liquid past my lips, reminding me to swallow .

Reality settles back into place—wrong, jarring, too sharp around the edges. A hollow ache opens in my chest, and I grind my teeth.

“I’ll have to compel him again,” Farrell mutters.

“Because that worked so well the first time,” Chano drawls.

“It did. For a while.” Farrell paces the room. “The professors push this crap to boost visions. He must have been asked to use it for class. Something let him bypass my compulsion.”

Chano exhales sharply. “So, if the slave bond is broken, you think he’ll spiral?”

Farrell stops pacing. “I know he will. But with my father in royal custody, killing him to dissolve the bond isn’t an option. Is it bad that I’m almost relieved?” He groans. “He’s obsessed with Lorelei, hooked on this stuff, and getting more unhinged by the day. Chano, he’s stalking her. He’s not safe to be around her—not alone.”

“It’s not for us to decide who Lorelei chooses. She’s already gotten Maverik and Cuelebre into bed.”

“Yes. Strong, dependable men. Not flakes.”

Farrell’s words splinter something inside me. Suddenly, I’m one hundred percent with it.

“You’re being unfair,” Chano grumbles.

I’m not sticking around to hear this shit. I stand, staggering slightly. Farrell whirls like a dervish, catching me around the waist and pinning me to the bed. He grips my chin in one hand, wrenches my head sideways, and presses his other thumb to the slave mark on the back of my neck.

“I compel you, Zephyr Engill, not to use any earthly addictive substance for any purpose,” he growls.

The familiar slither of compulsion crawls over my skin, creeps into my flesh, burrows into my bones. Farrell lets me go and I roll over, retching up the little fluid I had in me.

“Was that necessary?” Chano snaps .

Farrell looks down his nose at me, on my hands and knees on the floor, in a puddle of my own spittle. “Yes, very.”

I can’t take the derision, the judgment, not for a second more. Not from him.

“Just as necessary as making murder a personality trait?” I hiss. “Or re-titling me rebellion punch bag?”

Pushing to my feet, I move shakily to the door. Neither one of them tries to stop me.

I stagger to the café, force some breakfast into my shrunken stomach, and down two cups of black, black tea. The leaves in the bottom of my mug shift and move, and I soften my gaze, letting my vision blur. Tea is talking to me now? Slowly, the pattern settles, and with it my mood drops a little lower.

Isolation, loneliness, loss.

Awesome. Even the tea leaves don’t think I have it in me. I sweep the mug off the table and it smashes into a million pieces. Standing, I stride through the broken crockery, out of the cafeteria. Not. My. Problem. I have enough.

My problem is named Farrell. Although, my allegiance members are up there too. Screw them. They don’t even know me. Not anymore. Don’t know how powerful I’m becoming, despite Farrell’s stupid compulsion. My hands tremble, and by the time I reach the observatory I’m slicked with sweat.

I settle into what’s quickly become my velvet chair and palm a vial. The blue liquid swirls, screaming at me. My body aches. I have to try . I have to, or this withdrawal is only going to get more vicious. I snap the neck of the vial, tip my head back, and force myself to swallow. My stomach heaves. I roll off the chair onto my hands and knees, retching again and again until every drop of Angel’s Delight has left my system. Along with my breakfast.

I huddle on the floor, pulling a drape around my shoulders, unable to move, whole-body shakes racking my frame .

Slow, ponderous footsteps move through the vestibule, toward the main observatory. I should move. I should clean my mess up. It’s an affront to destiny. But my legs won’t respond.

“Zephyr, my boy! What’s wrong?!” Professor Lumis crouches down to my eye level.

“Withdrawal, s-s-sir,” I force out.

“You shouldn’t just stop Angel’s Delight, even if you think you’re taking too much. And you were. It was on my list of things to do—address that with you.”

He slicks my hair back from my face.

“You need to cut down more slowly, Zephyr.”

“Tell that to my allegiance. He compelled me to stop. I can’t take any now. I tried and…” I gesture to the vomit at our feet.

Professor Lumis growls. “I told you they don’t have your best interests at heart.”

“They’re doing what they think is right,” I say. But I don’t have the heart to defend them properly. Not now.

“You’re a grown man. You should be able to make decisions, even if they think your decision is a bad one.”

I should be able to make my own mistakes. I run a hand through my greasy hair. “I’m beginning to think you’re right, prof.” The words are out before I even decided to voice them.

“Professor Lumis, Zephyr, or sir.”

I nod, and he helps me to stand. At least this time I kept the vomit off my clothes. And there’s no piss. We make our way slowly to the infirmary, where he explains the situation to the medics. Or the situation as he knows it. They decide the easiest thing is to give me more Angel’s Delight, then titrate the dose down across the next few days. Except, of course, it comes straight back up. Then they try something else to take the edge off and my body rejects that too. Finally, an exasperated doctor in a white coat inserts a cannula into my arm and sets up a drip. I sigh with relief as it starts to trickle directly into my bloodstream.

I wake with a start, the machine beside me alarming. My arm is on fire. I peer down. It’s twice the normal size, the skin swollen and puffy as if the medication is being expelled from my vein. I shift in the bed, edgy as all hell. It is, isn’t it? My body is rejecting this. Fuck this. Fuck Farrell.

Beside me, Professor Lumis clears his throat. “Perhaps you need to tell me what exactly your supposed friend said when he compelled you. I’ve never seen a compulsion quite like this.”

My jaw works, and I bite my tongue. I can’t even tell him about the slave bond, can I?

“He knows some tricks,” I explain. “He compelled me not to take any psychoactive substance for any reason.” Farrell’s puce-red face swims back to me. I mimic his high-and-mighty tone. “No earthly addictive substance, for any reason.”

The professor simply stares at me as the medic fusses, removing the tissued drip, bandaging my arm.

“Those were his exact words? Then there might be a way around it.”

I sit up against the pillows, my prickling skin forgotten.

“There is another agent I use to help me dissociate. You could take a little of that instead.”

I start to shake my head.

“Let me finish. It’s made of stardust.” He pauses. “Not earthly…”

Slowly, it sinks in, and my hope blossoms. Maybe I can keep up my training.

“This stuff is potent, and expensive. Very expensive. I can lend you enough to come down slowly. After that, well, you’d need to buy it. I can source some, but it is rare. Even if you could afford it, you’d need to use it only for important visions. You’d need to stop your current use.”

“I can stop. ”

“I believe you can. You’re strong. Stronger than your allegiance gives you credit for.”

The surprise compliment throws me, and I stare at him, fidgeting with the bed-cover. “I’ll come down from Angel’s Delight without help.”

The professor nods, pleased.

“Then, once my body has recovered, I’ll take you up on that stardust stuff. Only when I need to work through a challenging vision or when my progression is stuck.”

“Very well. I see your determination. It’s important sometimes to know we can do things ourselves. Perhaps we can come to an arrangement whereby we pay you for visions, in the stardust drug, in Nebulite.” Professor Lumis stands. “Just know I’m here if you need me. For you and your sisters too, if the need arises.”