“Then how about the truth—you can sometimes trust me because there isn’t anyone better doing this work. Others are out there, and you’ve already met some of them.”
I nod, remembering Hopkins’ strange acquaintances that come by after the shop is closed. They go directly to his office or down to the library.
“Only I don’t know a single other person working as I do. Everyone else has an agenda. There may be others who can teach you more and train you better, but I can promise that my instruction comes without bias. I’m sworn to it. How’s that? Does honesty make you feel any better?”
Dad’s truck comes around the corner, and I wave. “Not particularly.”
Hopkins stands. “For what it’s worth, I am sorry. It wasn’t something I enjoyed, making you handle this on your own. I could only set the stage… Everything was up to you. I knew the gargoyle liked you—he only roused when you were near. Bleeding on him and bonding with him was entirely your doing. And if it’s any consolation…” He hands me a small satchel. “Take this—no obligations about the job. It will help you recover. Just review my written instructions and be sure to follow them to the letter. For best results, I recommend performing the ritual when you’re alone. Dusk is auspicious. Saying a few prayers beforehand helps. They like that.”
I keep my lips tight, refusing to give him a reaction. I accept the satchel as Dad drives up, watching Hopkins warily. Standing, I give him a nod while Dad parks. Hopkins helps me into the truck and then walks away.
Dad glances at the satchel in my lap as he starts the truck. “What did Hopkins want? What’s that you got there?”
“A gift. He wants me to stay on, give me more responsibility.”
Dad’s quiet for a long stretch. We haven’t talked about my circumstances, not plainly. He knows how unusual I acted in the weeks leading up to the “earthquake.” He discovered a blood-splattered museum and me, laid out in the basement—and I still don’t understand howthathappened. Mom might be able to turn the other way; Dad has been paying attention.
“So a promotion?” He sighs. “It’s risky, isn’t it, whatever he’s asking of you?”
“Yes. I think he wants me to be his assistant, maybe apprentice…”
“Are you sure that’s a good idea?”
“No, I’m not,” I reply, turning the satchel over. “I’ll have to think about it.”
“Do that.” He’s silent for another long moment. “And if you accept the job, can you do me one favor?”
“Sure, what is it?”
“If shit is going to hit the fan again, can you at least give me a warning?”
“I’ll do what I can.”
With grunting acceptance, he turns up the radio.
Later that evening, I retreat to my bedroom.
It’s strange, returning here, with my skylight above and the balcony where Zuriel once intruded. The stars painted on the ceiling remind me of better days when I believed in magic and happy endings before responsibilities whipped that away.
Sitting on my bed, I open the satchel and review the contents.
It’s the angel talon wrapped in translucent hair, one of Hopkins’ exhibits. His handwritten instructions are to unwrap the hair, twine the talon with one of mine, and wait. That’s it. It doesn’t say what will happen.
They like prayers.
A little spooked, I clutch the talon harder. These angels… made Zuriel. They made his punishment—the failsafes, first of stone and then of a death I forbade him from taking. Despite all of this, he never told me exactly what they were. Only that they’re structured into a hierarchy and only the lowest could intervene on Earth. Like demons, too much light would require balancing, and so they used gargoyles, an intermediary, to anchor loose demons.
I study the red-dusk sky, spinning the talon in my hand, wanting to believe it is a way to communicate with Zuriel.
My heart drops.Perhaps this is my way to say goodbye.
Whatever this is, using it requires trusting Hopkins not to screw me over. Again.
He said I had good instincts. I think he’s right.
Deciding to trust myself when I have nothing else to go on, I tease the translucent hair aside, twine mine in its place, and hide the talon under my pillow.
I fall asleep faster than I have in months, forgetting all about the prayers.
