She clapped her hands together a tad dramatically. “Shelistens!”
Considering Eve had recounted the story a trillion times, of course, I’d heard it. I bet all the American guilds were aware of the courtship between the first female archangel and the Fletching known as sixty-five, because that was the number of feathers he’d been missing the day he’d met Eve’smother.
His ambition to be considered as a potential suitor drove him to complete his wings in a month, which was how long he’d had until the courtship period expired. This accomplishment made him a legend in his own right because no other Fletching had ever earned more than twenty feathers in that amount of time—my own average was around ten, and that had been a particularly hecticmonth.
Then again, rare were the Fletchings who picked Triples—sinners worth a hundred feathers. You had better luck teaching a ladybug to spirit away their spots than make a Triple atone for theirsins.
Eve slid a lamé gown adorned with pearls harvested from Elysium’s Nirvana Sea off a hanger, a birthday present from her mother. “You should wear the dress I gotyou.”
I slurped down the rest of my shake, then went to throw it out in our bathroom’s angel-fire incinerator before heading back into the bedroom. I popped open my own closet and dragged out my rack of clothes. The ivory dress Eve had bought me stuck out like a sore thumb amid my mostly gray, black, and navy outfits. The only burst of color in my wardrobe was my prized collection ofstilettos.
I magicked away my wings and unzipped my sodden dress, then removed my booties, and tossed everything in the hamper that suctioned closed before warming with the angel-fire that would char off the grime. At least, doing laundry waspainless.
“I was thinking black,” I said, making my way back to the bathroom and slipping into the shower where the water was always at the ideal temperature. Spending time in the human world had taught me never to take these perks for granted. After lathering up more than once, I dried my soap-scentedbody.
Eve popped into the bathroom, brandishing the cream dress. “You’re always wearing black. Please wear thisone?”
Sighing, I relented. As the cool silk settled over my curves, I glanced at my reflection in the bathroom mirror. The fabric matched my skin tone better than any foundation I’d ever bought. “You don’t think it washes meout?”
Eve appeared behind me, tying a beaded sash around her tiny waist. “On the contrary. It makes your hair and eyes reallypop.”
My hair and eyesalwayspopped. I finger-combed my long waves, settling them over one shoulder. Out of all colors, why had I been saddled withorange?
Eve plucked a black kohl pencil from her makeup stash to accent her hazel eyes. After artfully smudging the lines to create a smoky effect, she twirled toward me, the gold fabric of her dress swishing around her willowyform.
Jealousy pinged through me at howunangelic my full-figured body looked beside hers. Sure, my waist was defined, but my chest and hips were so . . . so,ugh.
An archangel winged you, Leigh,I reminded myself. Unless Eve was wrong, and he’d just been flaunting hiswings.
She popped her lips together, evening out the red tint she’d applied. “Promise to fill out your wings quickly? I don’t want us to be apart toolong.”
“I only have fourteen months left, so I better fill them out fast,” Imurmured.
If Ifailed. . .
Ishuddered.
Failure wasn’t anoption.
Chapter 2
Ophan Mira’svoice boomed through the guild, asking us all to make our way to theAtrium.
I debated whether to even attend the celebration since I wasn’t eligible—I was missing way too many feathers. Besides, I didn’t even want to be an archangel’s wife . . . if that was in fact the reason for Seraph Asher’svisit.
Although archangel consorts were key social figures in Elysium, the equivalent of First Ladies, they couldn’t travel to Earth. My ambition was to enter the Malakim’s ranks in order to shepherd souls from one body to thenext.
Ophan Mira’s voice reverberated again from the guild’s intercom-system. “Fletchings who do not show up to greet our honored guest will lose afeather.”
Groaning, I closed my book and rolled off my bed. I slid my feet into a pair of crimson stilettos, then strode through the starlit quartz maze. In the Atrium, I sidled against the vines of honeysuckle racing up the quartz walls. The veins of angel-fire irrigating the stone made the tiny blooms glow as brightly as the girls smolderingAsher.
Like moths to aflame.
“You think they’re attracted to him because of his status or his looks?” The voice belonged to Celeste, a fifteen-year-old wisp of a girl with hair the same chestnut brown as her tipped eyes and spray offreckles.
I studied our guest of honor as he threw his head back and laughed at something one of my peers had just told him. “Power makes people more attractive, doesn’tit?”
Although five years separated me and Celeste, I sometimes found I had more in common with her than I did withEve.
