“You can always join us later,” I rasped into her ear when she hugged me, whispering her goodbye. “Mikhail would say the same. You’ll always be welcome wherever we are.”
She opened her mouth to answer, but darted a sideways glance at Imriel, whose brows were drawn together as he stepped close. “No, Haneul. We cannot lose even more valiant souls. As it is, our realm will forever grieve the loss of so many. I fear for the balance.”
Hope moved beside us, and hummed. “Or perhaps, Choir Leader, this is what was required to begin to restore the balance. Maybe leaving is the answer to more than one problem.”
“What did you say?” Imriel asked, his voice breaking. “Ofcoursethat’s not Her plan. This realm has always been the true destination of all pure souls.”
Hope didn’t answer. She just pushed Mikhail’s cloud bed to the gate, which was now miraculously wide enough for it to fit.
“They’ll need to go through one at a time,” Imriel instructed as she began shoving the bed through sideways.
I called Precious, but she wouldn’t climb down, and Hope said, “Whatever. Let’s try it this way.”
Imriel shook his head. “It won’t work.” But a few seconds later, the bed had gone through carrying three souls, and Hope had followed. “I don’t understand,” he gasped. I craned my neck to peer up into his glowing face. He had the most peculiarexpression, like he’d been struck in the head and could see the little cartoon birds flying around.
“With Hope, all things are possible,” I said, shucking off my robe and holding only my kazoo in one fist. “And with Feather, all things are wonderfully ridiculous. Maybe try to loosen up a little before we meet again? I have a feeling your rules have been holding you back, Imri.” He wrinkled his nose at the nickname, as I winked at him, blew a kiss to Haneul, and slid through the door.
The last time I’d gone through the Celestial gate, I’d felt a presence, a holiness. This time there was nothing like that, only a sense of expectation. But that might have been my own emotions. I got in the back of the line of singing High Angeli, eventually joining Hope at the bedside. Precious had perked up significantly—possibly because she’d goosed Imriel for power on her way out—and it was great to see her curious and looking around, rather than sleeping.
We used a little bit of power to tether the bed in the center of the space, and Hope grabbed my hand. “I’m going out with the others to shine and sing. You stay here with her mates and Precious, and just… hope as hard as you can.” She gave me a kiss that set off fireworks in my heart and in lower regions.
“Come back soon,” I told her, “and bring my best birch home.”
“I guess thisishome now.” She looked around. The fire door had vanished, and the room which had previously been bank lobby-sized was expanding as we stood there. I had a feeling Imriel was making this happen, as I saw walls going up around the bed… and a child-sized cloud bed forming next to it, decorated with music notes and glowing feathers.
“I guess it is,” I agreed. After one more spine-tingling kiss, Hope left, making a running start and leaping off the clouds.
Feather’s guys seemed to be fine, better than they had been, in fact. I wondered if that was because the door to the Celestial Realm was no longer cutting off their connection to Feather. They still looked mostly dead, though Precious had climbed down from the bed and was peeking over the edge of the leap into the void. Shadow had his teeth buried in a t-shirt of Mikhail’s we’d repurposed as a small dress for her, though, and I knew the puppy could keep her safe. He outweighed her by a significant amount already, and was always watching, with an intelligence in his shining silver eyes that seemed more than Angelic.
I settled on the edge of the low cloud wall and swung my feet out over the void next to her, prepared to wait. Only inches from my feet, I noticed a small silver line—one of the soulfire tethers Imriel had given us, stretching like a strand of cobweb across the distance. The end had been turned so it resembled a fishing hook. I peered up and down the cloud edge; there were thousands of the same hooks keeping the distant Guides connected to the Limen.
I could see the closest lights shimmering in the void, and even hear their songs. It was an eerie, haunting music, being sent out into the vastness of space like the call of a lighthouse through a fog, but melodic and filled with purpose. I opened my mouth and sang along, weaving the disparate notes that reached me into a new melody. When my throat grew tired, I lifted my kazoo, and played on it as well.
Precious hummed along for a while. When she began to sing, it was in her demonic-angelic baby language. The sounds made the cloud beneath her legs go slightly gray, and I was concerned. Was she endangering the tethers, or the Limen? But then Shadow leaned into her, adding his own plaintive howl, and I knew it didn’t matter.
Anyway, who was I to decide which songs would be the ones to bring my friend home? With that thought, I lifted my kazoo again, and began playing the one song I thought might reach her, when nothing else would.
And slowly, one by one as the song reached them, all the High Angeli who were waiting for our miracle joined in.
Chapter 35
Gavriel
Ihad been flying for what I knew must be weeks, but feared was far longer. My wings never tired, but my arms did. The only saving grace was that Feather was incredibly light. My shoulders still burned, though the wings of light didn’t hurt me at all. They were a miracle I had never expected, or imagined could exist.
From the corners of my eyes, I could see them stretching to both sides of the horizon. The creatures that I had feared to meet in the Abyss were terrified of them, and stayed far away, which was probably the only reason we hadn’t been attacked. Rafe had called Sanctuary a defensive weapon. It was that and more.
Our last words to one another played through my thoughts over and over as I flew. His promise to find some way through. My vow to never give up looking for him. If he did fall into the Abyss, I would learn the song that would gather his parts together, and I would remake his soul. I could do it. If I could bear the light of an entire realm, then what would stop me from using the voice I had been given, and the love I had formed over all my years, to recreate my beloved friend?
I had failed him once, and I would not do so again. I spoke to my beloved, though she could not answer me, and sang every song I could think of, as if I could keep her tethered to life with my voice alone.
But at some point in the flight, I felt Feather give a small sigh, then go utterly rigid in my arms. Over the next few minutes, she grew as cold as the Abyss around us. I glanced down and saw her eyelids had closed.
She was dead. There was no other way to comprehend her state. No other explanation.
My heart plummeted and my wings began to sputter, as if their power were being drained. As I careened to one side, the fire of Sanctuary responding to my panic, I felt something small shift in my pocket.
The naming chime. I’d taken it from the Maker Hall, intending to give it back to Mikhail. It hadn’t seemed like the sort of thing to leave behind. Now, I scrambled for it with one hand, holding Feather close to my chest with the other, as I tumbled into the void, pinwheeling on failing wings of light.
