I step out into the darkness, shedding my jacket as I do so. Once I am safely hidden in the alley, I release my wings. Followed by a scream. Fortunately, this time of night—or morning—there are few people around to notice.
Blackened feathers fall to the pavement all around me. Why am I not healing?
“Your powers change once you leave the celestial realm. Trust me.”Maddox’s words have haunted me every day. But hebrokeone of his wings when he came here and it healed within a few hours.
Hellfire is one of the only ways to kill an angel. The last angel who attempted to fly through it made it back to the celestial realm—because the Almighty willed it so—but died screaming. Not even she could save him.
I wrap my wings around my body. They are in no better condition now than they were five days ago. How is this possible?
A single flutter is all I can manage before the pain drives me to my knees. My angelic powers were back to full strength quickly. I cut my finger on the bag of kettle corn this morning, and the skin was unmarked within the hour. But my wings… they could take weeks to heal at this rate. Months even.
I stare at the penthouse windows high above. They’re warded to keep prying eyes out, but they hold a subtle glow. The others—Kunchin, Dion, Maddox, and Killian—are still there. Talking. Laughing. Drinking.
I passed the evening in relative silence. I did not belong. Zoe hugged me when I left, and I could have used my gifts to sense her emotions—to determine if she truly was happy to see me, but I did not want to know the answer.
I find a hotel off Market Street, hand over Sinclair’s credit card, and get a room for the night.
In the past week, I have tried pretzels, pizza, french fries, tacos, borscht, schnitzel, and kettle corn. I have ridden on a roller coaster, watched the sun rise and set, slept on luxurious sheets and a dirty Greyhound bus. I have talked to hundreds of people around the world. Their joy and pain have fueled me. Given me purpose. But they have also left me hollow.
I need more. Perhaps that is why my wings have not healed. Perhaps in some deep, dark part of my mind, I do not want them to. Because when they do, I will have to go home. I’ll return to the celestial realm for all eternity, and I will never feel like this again.
NINE
Willow
A subtle buzzing tickles my throat. The pacemaker-like device implanted below my collarbone sends a tiny electric current up one of the nerves in my neck. It’s supposed to increase the blood flow to my brain. And boost my whisper’s power.
I refused the WCU—Whisper Control Unit—for two days. But no matter how hard I tried or how angry my whisper got, we still couldn’t turn the pages of that damn book.
She also started waking me up at night again. With how much a session at the cathedral takes out of me, it just made sense to stay in AURA’s luxury apartment. I pass out almost every time, only waking up once I’m back in the unfamiliar bed with Hannah watching over me.
I run my fingers over the slight swelling under my collarbone. An inch-long incision. Four butterfly bandages. The procedure only took an hour, and while the wound is tender, it’s not terribly painful.
With one type of current, the WCU can send my whisper away, and with another, it can give her a kick-ass power boost. Since AURA’s magic dampener seems to have failed—mywhisper has been waking me up multiple times a night since our first session at the cathedral—I let Hannah send her away before I went to sleep last night. I haven’t seen her since.
I think she’s angry with me. I suppose I’d be mad too if someone zapped me into oblivion. Hannah swore it wouldn’t hurt her, but I won’t feel steady until I see her again. Despite turning my life completely upside down, she’s not evil. She doesn’twantto hurt me.
We follow Isaac through the rectory door. As always, it’s quiet this time of night. The church is locked up, the votive candles have all burned down to nothing, and only the frescos are still lit. I shiver whenever I see them. It’s like they’re warning me away from the antechamber below. Or perhaps I’m just afraid that I’ll fail—again.
Nausea crawls up my throat. Being here tonight feels wrong. I’d give anything for one of my strawberry candies right now. Or even my crossbody bag. Something to hold onto. Somethingnormal.
The closer we get to the antechamber, the more my hands shake.
“Hurry up,” Isaac says and pulls the drape aside. He’s been tense all day, snapping at some of the techs in the lab and looking over Hannah’s shoulder as she calibrated the WCU.
Tonight, he aims both floodlights at the vault door. I’m drawn to it again, though unlike the last few days, I can still breathe when I press my hands to the ancient metal.
A cough catches in my throat. The incision site throbs, and my eyes water. But when I wipe away the tears, my whisper is standing right next to me.
“She’s here.”
Hannah checks the WCU’s screen. “You’re at Level Two. Can you touch her?”
I reach for my whisper’s hand, but my fingers find only air. “No. She’s still…a ghost.”
Her glare chills me to the bone.
“Sorry. Still…not corporeal. Is that better?” I ask.
