But painting? If I had a paper that told me precisely where to put the colors and shading, perhaps even numbering the different sections, I might be able to make it work. Especially if I had more interesting colors of paint, shinier ones, with metallic, reflective pieces… and maybe someone who wouldn’tnotice how useless I was at painting. Who wasn’t so dang perfect at everything all the time, like Rafe and the others. A soulmate who was perfectly imperfect.
Rafe dipped into my mind, and laughed even louder. “Your thoughts are all over the place. Soulmates and paint by numbers? Be careful to keep your thoughts narrow and focused when you’re playing with the cords of energy. Sanctuary has a way of listening to your dreams and trying to make them come about.”
I sighed. “Well, Sanctuary is welcome to make me a soulmate whenever it desires.”
Rafe’s eyes went unfocused, the way they did when he was having a vision. I waited, holding his hand, while he traveled through the liminal space, between the time we were resting in now and the futures he couldn’t stop seeing. Often, these visions ended with him sobbing uncontrollably, and me holding him while he recovered. But today, his eyes were full of wonder when he surfaced.
“She’s so beautiful,” he whispered, his tone almost a melody as he spoke what wasn’t quite prophecy. “She’ll be everything you ever wanted, yet never expected. Your perfect complement, and your… nemesis? Yes. But you might lose her if you don’t recognize she was yours all along. Be careful, Gav. If you don’t live up to your vow to her, she won’t stay with you. And if she goes, you’ll lose the realm.” He sighed. “It may not be worth saving by then, though.”
When I asked what he meant—why would I not hold true to my future mate? Why would the realm be beyond repair?—he shrugged and said, “I’m just the messenger, Gav. You’ll figure it out.”
I blinked the memory away, and saw that the demon baby had flown over to Sunny. Righteous and Mikhail were still fighting, Feather watching while Perception, heedless of thesmut that encrusted her, held her up. A few Guides were unconscious, lying on the podium. Tradition was still nearby, now crouched underneath a fallen chair, silently taking in the scene with wild eyes and an open mouth.
I fought for calm as I saw what Sanctuary had become. A carnival, a comedy of errors. A ruin. A shipwreck of a realm. And I was responsible for it.
I’d broken all the rules. Most importantly, I’d broken the vow I’d made when Rafe ceded me the responsibility to hold the reins of power here—to put Sanctuary above all else. Above my friendships and my own desires. My own life. My softness toward Mikhail and Precious had clouded my good judgment.
My feet vibrated slightly, and I sensed something approaching the realm. Was the army of the Abyss coming now, through the Great Gate? Had the shadows sensed the chaos inside these walls and known the exact moment to attack?
Had someone in the Abyss been waiting for this very moment?
Rafe. Rafe, is it you?
I waited in vain. But I knew what I had to do; it wasn’t too late. I had to at least try with as much bravery and self-sacrifice as the young, silver-haired Angelus had shown. Somehow, I would hold to my vows, all of them, and regain my honor. Repair the realm.
But first… I fixed my eyes on the demon that I had allowed into Sanctuary. She couldn’t be let to wreak havoc through our halls, and there was only one thing I could do with her to keep her from damaging more than just Tradition’s robes.
I strode forward, intent on dealing with the demon child.
Chapter 32
Sunny
Iwasn’t sure how I’d gotten so lucky and unlucky all in the space of a few months.
I’d been a nobody in Sanctuary, a run-of-the-mill, slightly dirty, unremarkable Protector. Then Feather had arrived in a shower of smut and glitter and kindness, and made me into something more. She’d befriended me, and helped meunderstand what it meant to have a great soul, even if the outside package didn’t match.
She’d shown so many of us in Sanctuary that, but for some reason, most of them hadn’t been able to see. Or hadn’t wanted to. It broke my heart the way they’d looked at her, judged her. Condemned her for being tainted, when all along it was really Valor spreading corruption throughout the realm.
I stared at the blackened spot on the floor where Valor’s corpse had lain, and slapped a hand over my mouth to keep from being sick, feeling Feather and Hope’s eyes on me.
I had killed a man.
And now I couldn’t stop crying.
“You did it to protect Feather,” Hope said gently, her hands warm on my shoulders. “Sunny, think about it. She’d literally taken every bit of smut from the entire realm that she could, balanced us all. And he still chose to attack her. He’d lost more than his sense of balance—he’d lost his mind. You need to forgive yourself.”
I heard her words, but as I stared through burning tears at the gray stains on my hands, I knew these wouldn’t come off. Not for a very, very long time. I didn’t want them to. Ineededa reminder of the cost of doing what was right.
Feather grabbed my hands, and I ignored the squelching of her smut between my fingers. “I can take that, too,” she said. “It’s not like I can get much dirtier. I mean, not without the Internet.” She winked one smut-covered eyelid, and a caked-on piece fell from her lashes and hit the floor, exploding into a small glitter bomb.
“That’s true,” I managed to say, even managing to smile, though my tears fell unchecked. For some reason, she appeared both horrifically stained and brilliant at the same time. Like the Feather underneath was just one bubble bath away from shininglike the sun. “The scary thing is…” I heard an animalistic growl and glanced away, distracted.
Righteous was backing around a chair, trying to keep Mikhail from punching him in the face again. Mikhail stalked Ry like some sort of feral beast, but he wasn’t really trying to kill him. I didn’t think. He was the one growling, though.
“Ugh, why is that so hot?” Feather sighed, then shook her head like she was dislodging a fly. She squeezed my hand tighter, and gray filth oozed out on the sides of our fingers, like wet clay. But where it dripped to the floor, it turned into what looked like a cow patty of dark gray glitter.
“The scary thing is almost always the right thing—isn’t that what you said to Ashtad?”
