I almost felt my lip curl.
It didn’t fit him.
It wasn’t right.
He was a raging sea, not someone who read a book for all to hear. He was the kind of man who wrote his own book, scratching it into the cliff faces unforgivingly.
I was wrong about him. About his intentions, his reason for being here. Nothing felt right. I needed to stop and listen more. Find the answers between his words because that’s where they would be.
“No,” Azrael said, that lilt in his voice much stronger now. “I met a little mouse, and I foresee being summoned soon to solve her little maze. It’ll be such fun. I do love puzzles.”
“Me too,”I wanted to say.“Give me the puzzle, I can help you solve it.”
Thomas clicked his tongue twice. “I hate mice.”
I followed him, one step behind, although my feet begged me to stay just to get a little more information on his mouse. Was it actually a mouse or was it another Favorite just like his daffodil? He liked to help his Favorites.
“I wouldn’t speak ill on my little mouse,” Azrael hummed just as I passed him, causing Thomas to stop which forced me to stop.
My breath hitched. It was the closest I had ever been to him. When I saw his shoes, they were less than a foot from mine. If I leaned even a little to my right, I might feel his chest. Then I would know for certain how young he was.
The old men had wrinkled, soft chests that bristled with unruly hair. But young men? I would think their chests were firm. Their skin was tight over their bones and muscles, like mine. They might have some hair, but not like the old men.
The sea surrounded me. Maybe he would break up against me like the waves against the cliffs. Maybe he would save me like he saved his Favorites.
No, of course not. That was the dream of a child. The dream of someone who had no right to imagine.
“Look up,”I heard the sea whisper.“Meet my eyes, show me your fire.”
Thomas turned to Azrael.
I was close enough to see his hands.
He had a ring on his right hand, the one that gripped his cane. It was silver. Thick and big. There was a bird skeleton on it, a large bird. His hands were beautiful too. Tanned, with veins running through them, thick ones. They looked strong. Much stronger than Thomas’s. Compared to Azrael’s, Thomas’s hands were frail, sickly, I would say.
His hand, his long fingers, tightened around the top of the cane, flexing, as if it pained him that I was so close.
Or made him angry.
Maybe he hadn’t considered me as a Favorite because he hated my very existence.
“Look. Up.”An order.
“Don’t tell me what to do in my own church,” Thomas threatened. “I know you think that you’re daddy’s favorite little toy, but make no mistake, you’re only as good as what you bring to the table, which is your job. I’m taking over when he dies. She will marry me and give me a son who will then be the next Pastor.That’show this story is written. This place has no room for someone of impure blood.”
Impure?
He was impure?
I didn’t know that anyone who wasn’t a Favorite could be impure, just Favorites. Only the Favorites could lose their purity. Only the Favorites could break the laws sent down from the holy God above. Only the Favorites could sin.
I didn’t realize anyone else could too.
But if anyone could sin…
I was stuck between my betrothed and the sea. Who would win?
He leaned in, close enough to disrupt my hair as he looked down on Thomas.
