Wordlessly, I stepped out of his line of sight and then out of hisrealm.
Chapter 22
Ihadn’t packedmany clothes, and although laundry was an easy task in the guild thanks to our angel-fire hampers, I found myself spending my allowance on a dress in a cute French boutique thatafternoon.
It wasn’t the sort of thing I would’ve normally picked—emerald-and-gold leopard print over two layers of gauzy black chiffon—but today was not a normal day. Today was my last day on Earth, and I wanted to wear a beautiful human creation. Besides, it seemed to be the sort of dress Parisian women sported, and since Jarod and Tristan were always so impeccably dressed, I didn’t want to stick out like a sorethumb.
As I clopped down the pedestrian street in black stilettos, the airy layers of chiffon swirled around my calves. What if Jarod and Tristan showed up in black cargo pants and blacktees?
Too late to change outfits now. Soon, Jarod would arrive, and like he’d reminded me, he didn’t like to be keptwaiting.
When I reached the main boulevard, the chauffeured vehicle, which had trailed me home, already hugged the curb, hazard lights carving the darkstreet.
My stomach rumbled, reminding me I’d skipped dinner. Then again, I’d devoured a giant pink macaron stuffed with sweetened whipped cream and raspberryconfitureafter my shopping expedition. My taste buds still tingled with its delectable flavor. Since food could be conjured into existence in Elysium, I’d wish for that pink morsel of paradiseoften.
Elysium. . . I was so close I could almost taste the brine and sunshine ricocheting off the quartz walls of the capital wreathed by the smoking Nirvana Sea; I could almost hear the celestial tongue, which would become more familiar to me than any humanlanguage.
The white-haired driver stepped out of the car and drew open the door to the back seat. I stole one last lungful of oxygen before folding myself into the black sedan. The first thing I noticed was that Jarod was wearing a black suit, which meant I wasn’t overdressed. The second thing I noticed was that his eyes were stained by shadows andfatigue.
Had he given an audience to all the hopefuls lined up outside hishome?
I touched his knuckles. “Are youokay?”
His dark gaze lowered to my bold fingers. I pulled them back and curled them into mylap.
He sighed. “It was a longday.”
“It’s almost over,” I reminded him with asmile.
He lifted his gaze from the spot of skin I’d touched and set it on me, or rather on my neck and then lower. His expression darkened as it skated back up my body. “We’re not going to the theater, Feather,” he all but growled. “We’re going to the Twentieth, one of the sketchiest neighborhoods in this Goddamn city. What the fuck got into you to wear . . .that?”
“You and Tristan are both wearingsuits.”
“I’ll give her my jacket,” Tristan offered, his fingers already dropping to thebutton.
Jarod shot him a glare before shrugging out of his own jacket and lobbing it at me. “She’ll wearmine.”
Once I’d recovered from the shock of the woolen slap, I speared my arms through the sleeves, the platinum silk lining warm against my bare skin. “Did you find anyone worthy of saving after Ileft?”
He stared out his window at the ebb and flow of cars around us. After almost a full minute, he turned back toward me, and then almost a full minute after that, he said, “Perhaps.”
My lungs filled with Jarod’s mineral, sweet scent. “Why do you always have to be so enigmatic? After tonight, we won’t see each otheranymore.”
My argument backfired. “Why would I share details of my life with someone I won’t seeagain?”
“Forget it,” Igrumbled.
We rode in silence after that. Well, not in complete silence. Tristan, at least, chatted with me, asked me where I was going next. I told himback to New York—not a lie. Then he enquired as to my plans once I got home, and I glanced at Jarod, wondering if he’d informed his friend about mybet.
“I’m not sure yet,” Isaid.
Jarod, who’d seemed lost in thought, deadpanned, “She’s going to settle down as one does at . . . how old are you again,Feather?”
“Twenty.” I ran my fingers through my hair, which lay in gentle waves against his jacket. The color might’ve been jarring, but at least, my angel-blood made my locks naturally glossy andsoft.
Tristan twisted around. “You’re gettingmarried?”
“I’m thinking about it.” But it was Asher, not me, who needed to be thinking about it. The choice wasn’tmine.
