Page 8 of Wings of Lies (Daughter of the Seven Circles #1)

Chapter

Seven

O liver and I left the hotel with a complimentary muffin. Per usual, he filled the silence with his chatter until we found a store that fit Oliver’s needs. When I interrupted him and asked how we were traveling to Elora, he said the last thing I wanted to hear. Camping.

Last night, I slept on a soft, warm mattress with a thick, cozy comforter. Now, we’d have to suffer with the hard ground. The metal table was enough. Not to mention, my legs weren’t in hiking shape. They were twigs awaiting a gentle breeze to snap them in two.

My glare followed him to a superstore called Everything You Could Want & More.

“Think they’d have your memories?” Oliver laughed as we walked through the sliding doors.

Tiny feet skittered up and down my arms, begging me to scratch as I fused my drilling gaze to Oliver’s cheek. Oblivious, he took a cart and led me to the area labeled hiking clothes. “Go grab something…” He grimaced, scanning me up and down. “I’ll get the rest of our supplies.”

“Fantastic,” I mumbled.

I perused racks of tops and bottoms, letting my fingers glide over the fabrics until a dark floral pattern caught my attention.

The joggers were thick but stretchy, promising warmth without restricting movement.

With the joggers, a green long-sleeve, and a black coat in hand, I headed to the dressing room, snagging a pair of hiking boots on the way.

After changing and yanking the tags off, I went to find Oliver.

He changed into navy khaki pants and a green quarter-zip sweater.

Oliver surveyed my new outfit. “I like it.” He paused. “You’re definitely aging before my eyes.”

“Thanks for the kind sentiment,” I said dryly, handing him the tags to my clothes.

He winked. “Anytime.”

At the one and only cashier, Oliver paid the outrageous amount and packed our stuff.

“Let’s buckle up and make some mischief!” He handed me a backpack and shrugged on his own, leading the way out of the store.

Within five minutes of our walk, Oliver paused in front of the café from last night. The gall he had for bringing us back here. We didn’t do anything crazy, but I’m sure our faces weren’t long from their memory. No way was I going in.

“Do you want some food? Those blueberry muffins did nothing for me,” he said, rubbing his flat belly with his other hand on the door.

“Is this the only café?” I huffed.

Oliver laughed at my discomfort. “Probably. Not coming in?”

I shook my head. “Nope. ”

“Fine, I’ll buy you something. Not my fault if you don’t like it,” he sang back.

Rolling my eyes, I removed my pack from my already sore shoulders and leaned back against the brick face.

For how late it was in the morning, I was surprised not as many people were out and about.

A few elderly couples strolled by, walking hand-in-hand, smiling and laughing.

They were oblivious to anyone around them, happy to give all their attention to each other.

“Here.”

I jumped. Oliver slapped a warm, wrapped sandwich into my chest, taking me out of my thoughts. Melted cheese and meat wafted into my nose.

“Thanks.”

“Yeah.” Oliver turned and strode away.

“Wait!” I heaved my backpack back on and rushed after him. “Where’s the fire?”

Oliver barreled on, ignoring me. I jogged, trying to keep up with his long legs. As much as I wanted to hurry to Elora, I didn’t have the stamina to sprint the whole way.

“Oliver.” I grabbed his bicep. “Slow down. What’s the rush?”

He shrugged off my hand. “Nothing.”

I frowned. “Did I do something wrong?”

He went into the café smiling and came out almost… bitter.

“No, but if we want to get to Elora, we can’t dilly-dally.”

True, but his words lacked their usual pizazz, and it was his fourth sentence within ten minutes. On the way to the superstore, a short walk, Oliver practically recited an entire book. But he had a habit of not talking when I wanted him to .

Did I pry more? With one look at his sour expression, I decided against it.

“Okay. But slow down. I’m half your size and was just in a coma.”

He considered that and continued.

Oliver couldn’t keep a slow pace to save his life.

When he did slow down, it lasted a couple of minutes before he sped back up.

Then, once he noticed I lingered too far behind, he’d slow.

This process went back and forth. Regardless, my pace never changed.

He couldn’t leave me behind, and I was in no shape to sprint for two days.

At least I could walk with weight. But Oliver had mentioned quicker healing abilities.

When he plowed into the clearing from yesterday bordering the forest we ran out of, I lowered the last bite of my sandwich and hesitated on the sidewalk.

“Is it safe to go back in there?” Nerves danced in my stomach, keeping my feet planted.

“I could say yes to help your fears, but it’d be a lie. Remember, we made a deal,” he called back, noticing my lack of movement. Bitterness tainted his helpful reminder.

What was his problem?

But damn, he was right. I needed to get to Elora. If going through the forest Marcus recently chased us out of was the only way, then I had to. My prickling fingers and squeezing lungs utterly disagreed. Did I want to do this?

“It’s for mom,” I whispered to myself.

It helped—only a little .

I dropped the last bite of my sandwich onto the ground, no longer hungry, and jogged after him. “Fine. But actually, slow down this time! I can’t keep up.”

“We’ll fix that in a second,” he said, striding forward with his long legs. I scratched my arms and followed yards behind.

Ass.

I almost teared up once we walked a bit into the thick trees, and the landscape changed to a more uphill terrain.

Uneven pants forced their way out of my mouth. My stamina, though better than yesterday, wasn’t enough. The speedy angel healing wasn’t some fairy godmother granting me muscle in all the places I lacked.

“I suppose we are far enough in now,” Oliver said, returning to where I stopped. “It’s time you use some of that power of yours.”

My brows caved in. “What?”

“You have angel blood. Which means you have speed, or what we call lusceler, and we already know you have some burn-metal-door-knobs power.” He rolled his eyes. “So, let’s go. Stop acting like a baby.”

“I don’t know how.” A pout threatened to form, but I reined it in.

“No worries. I’m going to give you a crash course.”

The invisible irritants were back. I scratched my arm and narrowed my eyes at his stupid, playful smirk.

“You need to find your need. When you wanted to fry off my neck, or when you flung a ball of flames at my head, why? What caused it? Jealousy?” He winked. I scratched. “Joy? Anger? Fear? You need to tap into a small part of that power and use it differently. ”

Oliver blurred as he moved from one side to the other instantaneously. “Why do you think we got out of those woods so fast? We covered miles, Lucy. That’s why they didn’t find us.” He laughed, blurring in circles around me.

Streaks of vibrant green appeared randomly in the circuit he ran, but every time I reached to poke him, my finger brushed air. My eyes couldn’t keep up.

“I know, pretty cool, right? I told you there were perks to being an angel. Or part.” His eyebrows danced.

“So, all angels have this lusceler?"

“As long as they have enough angel blood in them. Try it.”

I figured the best way to start was to choose a spot to run to. Near the hill stood a gnarled tree, dark and broken like lightning hit it. It was a short distance away and a good stopping spot to attempt this angel speed.

“So, just have a need to go fast and run?” I cast a glance at Oliver, seeking confirmation.

He shrugged, jutting out his bottom lip. “Sure.”

What a wonderful teacher.

Focused on the burnt tree, I pushed my shoulders back and sighed. I can do this.

Oliver interrupted my internal pep talk. “Any day now.”

I shot him a glare, scratching my hands, and ran.

But that was all I did.

The trees didn’t blur. My hair didn’t fly back from my face or look like a hot mess like Oliver’s did. Nope. My feet thumped against the ground like any ordinary human.

Oliver blurred to my side. “Can I ask what you were thinking? ”

I glared at the laughter in his voice. “I don’t know. Run?” Breathless, I flung the backpack off my shoulders. I should’ve taken it off before running.

“Did you feel the need to go?” he asked.

“I wanted to go.”

Oliver hung his head as if I was the impossible one to deal with. “That’s not good enough, Luce,” he said, shortening my name further. “Wanting something doesn’t do shit. Focus your mind on the need to move, on the need to go faster. Almost like if you don’t, you’ll die. You need to hunger for it.”

I huffed. Fine.

What I needed was for my skin to stop itching. My jacket covered my arms, so I knew I hadn’t encountered any plants that caused irritation. No bumps or scrapes peppered my skin.

Ignoring my inner complaining, I eyed the rotten stump I just left. “Need it,” I whispered. “Need, need, need. What did I need?” To stop itching. Shut up, brain!

What was my need?

My mom.

I had no idea where she was or what was happening to her. If I didn’t move, I’d never get to Elora. I’d never find Magda. I’d never find my mom.

I couldn’t let that happen. I couldn’t deal with the consequences if I didn’t find my mom.

Like this morning, when I thought Oliver would leave me, something squeezed my chest, making me wild. It kicked the hidden beast awake, shoving at my skin, causing a stabbing throb and an itch.

A live wire sparked beneath the surface. I ran, and my hands burst with colorful flames .

Shit.

Oliver frowned. “You pulled too hard at your power.”

The sensations faded, leaking out of me like someone had pulled the plug. Dizziness replaced the itching and the stabbing pressure as my flames sank back into my hands.

“I felt it.” I sighed, taking a seat.

“You felt too much. Did you want to try again?”

I rested my head in my hands, needing a moment. “Not unless you want me to pass out.”

He walked over to me, boots crunching in the leaves. “Your body is still healing you, on top of keeping you upright with the little muscle you have. Which means we’ll stick with the good ole human pace that brings me so much joy,” he said dryly.

The annoyance in his emerald eyes rekindled a slight itch on my skin. At this rate, I wanted to claw it all off.

“Try to keep up, and if you can’t, I may need to carry you again.” He turned away from me and started toward the steep hill.

Could he carry me and two backpacks?

I followed. Despite the energy drain and dizziness from the run, I kept up with Oliver fairly well. Or more likely, he finally slowed down for me. The backpack thumped against my sweat-soaked back.

A friend accompanied the pout that had yet to leave my face. Oliver’s sour expression and silent treatment were back. Whatever happened at the café still bothered him.

I let him stew. If he wanted to talk about it, he would. Or not.

Hours passed, and my legs held. The terrain grew steeper, and Oliver’s mood grew worse.

He bulldozed through bushes, acting like he weighed three hundred pounds, swatting and kicking branches and sounding like a herd of angry bison.

Not that I’d ever seen a herd of angry bison—or, at least, I had no memory of it.

When a branch almost smacked me in the face, I couldn’t stand it anymore.

I rushed in front of him, surprising myself as the trees blurred for half a second, covering the few yards between us. I luscelered. But I couldn’t even be happy about it because of Oliver’s tantrum.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” I demanded. He was going to attract all the attention in the world with his noise.

His emerald eyes flashed. “Nothing.”

“Bullshit! You were just fine before the café. Then afterward, you became this tantrum-throwing child, taking out your frustration on the bushes and rocks, almost whipping me in the face with a branch.”

He stepped closer. “I don’t have to tell you anything.”

A pressure pushed behind my eyes. “You do if you want my help.” That same itch returned to my skin. Glancing down, I narrowed my eyes at my arms.

There were no flames, and my jacket sleeves remained intact. Yet, the itch relentlessly assaulted my skin, and my anger was the common denominator in each instance.

My head tilted back up to meet his sharp eyes. We stared at each other in a battle of wills. If he didn’t back up soon, I feared this itchy anger would shift to itchy fingers. Already, I tensed my arms to keep them by my sides. His face paled.

“What?” The satisfaction of making him fear me crept into my voice. Even my lips couldn’t contain the tilt of my smirk.

“Your—”

A branch snapped behind us.

“We’re not alone.”