The chime let out a soft, sad clink, then fell silent.
After a second, Sunny muffled a sob with her fist. “Get the cauldron down, Feather. The one by the wall. We don’t have long.”
“What do you mean?” I shrieked. “You’re not going tounmakehim!”
She chewed at her lip, silent tears streaking down her face. “I can’t save him. He’s been growing weaker every day. I thought if you two were mates again, he might recover. You would lend him your strength.”
“Like jump-starting a car?” I asked, leaping away from the bed. “He would give me a feather, and we’d be linked? But he said he was too weak to lose one. That he’d die.”
“Of course,” she whispered. “I promised… Feather, I vowed on my wings to unmake him in the cauldron if he… if he couldn’t heal.”
I refused to look at her, knowing I’d start crying, too. And I was not going to lose my Growly Bear. Not after everything Rumple and I had gone through to get me back here. I rummaged around on the closest table, then went looking on the others.
“What about me?” I mumbled, wondering at the disorganization the Maker Hall had fallen into. “What if I give him a feather?”
She shook her head. “Normally, yes. If two Protectors mated, they would share their energy—it’s an even exchange. But only a strong High Angelus could bond with Mikhail and survive. His need is so great. Feather, you can’t be thinking?—”
“Aha!” I found the soul knife, tucked into a leather case I’d never seen before. I held it up and ran back to the bed, stopping only when Sunny grabbed me.
“What are you doing?” Her wings flared out behind her, hiding Mikhail from me, and sending bursts of glittering sparkles all the way to the rafters. She really was ready to ascend; she shone almost as much as Gavriel had. “Feather, I told you. There’s no hope. I have to prepare the cauldron so his energy can be used to power Sanctuary. I’ll lose my wings if I don’t follow through with my promise!”
I took a deep breath, reining in my temper. “Sunny, I love you. But if you don’t let me save my Growly Bear right now, your wings will be the last thing you need to worry about.” I smiled. “I vow onmylittle wings that I can save him. Just let me.”
She released my arms, and stepped back, doubt in every line of her face. “I suppose, if he dies, I won’t need my wings, will I? Sanctuary won’t have a High Angelus in it, unless Gavriel gives up on Earth and stays here. So it will fall.”
“No pressure,” I muttered under my breath as she folded her wings. “Now, how do you think Growly will feel about a hand tattoo?” I sent a prayer up to the Great Maker of All Things, and lifted Growly’s wasted hand, terrified at how cold his flesh had become in mere minutes.
Sunny sniffled. “He’ll see it every time he makes anything. He’ll never be able to hide it. The Guides will go apeshirt. Do it.”
I glanced at her with gratitude. She had obviously decided to help, and her optimism—even though she might be faking it—gave me the courage to do what I had to do next.
Reaching behind me, I pulled one of my wings forward. “This is gonna hurt like fudge,” I muttered, and set the soul knife to the base of the most beautiful, perfectly formed feather I had.
And then I cut it out.
Chapter 10
Feather
On Earth, I’d had a mother once who’d chosen to give birth to my younger brother via an untrained midwife. The woman had gone on and on about how laboring mothers didn’t feel pain in the same way as others, since this was “pain with a purpose.”
That mother had ended up punching the midwife—who kept sneaking peeks at a textbook during the labor—right in the boob.She’d left in a huff, and I’d ended up delivering a little brother at the ripe age of twelve. An experience which had made me vow never to have children of my own, if the opportunity arose. Because if all you got for that sort of pain was a squalling, red-faced poop factory? That was more than enough purpose to kill any maternal urges I might have had.
But as I held a feather-shaped piece of my soul in my blood-soaked hands, and panted almost exactly like my mother had during the last stages of labor, I understood.
This was excruciating, horrific. And yet I would cut out every single feather I had on my wings, if it meant at the end, I would save my beloved Growly.
“Now what?” I wheezed. Sunny was staring from the other side of the bed, her face slightly green-tinged.
“I think… you just put it on him. And say his name and yours?” She blinked. “You do know your whole name now, right?”
“Yeah,” I said absently, rolling up Mikhail’s sleeve with my free hand. The feather I’d chosen would stretch from the top of his knuckles all the way up his right forearm. “I had to pick a new one in the Abyss. It’s long.”
“Do you want me to leave?” she asked, watching as I lined the feather up where I wanted it. “I know names are private. Sacred.” She sniffled again.
“Do you promise not to laugh?” I gave her the most severe stare I could muster with snot running out of my nose, which I quickly wiped on Righteous’s borrowed shirt.
“I would never!” she declared, but a spark of something had ignited in her expression. She held up the naming chime. “We’re ready.”
