“Marlow,” Silas interjected, face crinkled, “the King of Heaven was already after your friends. He’ll be gunning for you. And the realms know that if Heaven falls…”
“The other gods will follow,” Azrames completed.
I couldn’t help the bitter retort. “Like Fauna always wanted.”
Fauna. My guide. My friendship soulmate. The goddamn manipulative, lying mother of monsters and Norse goddess of the end of the world.
Except, none of it was real. I was her mark.
I expected Azrames to retort, but he merely looked away. The distraction was all Silas needed to plant his palms on Nia’s forehead. It took a few seconds of whispers before she shifted on the couch, the overstuffed cushions contorting comfortably around her as they swallowed her. The slow flutter of thick eyelashes preceded Nia’s glazed eyes rolling from fuzzy semi-lucidity to consciousness. The moment she bobbed from recognizing she was alive and safe to understanding she was being held by an angel, the panic returned.
“Oh my god, Silas, get off her.” I bodychecked the fully armored angel of the Lord as I forced him away from my friend.
Her eyes fixed on me as she mouthed,What the fuck.
“Babe.” I frowned, slumping into the space beside Nia. “Do you remember when I said it was about to get worse?”
She nodded from the pillow cocoon swallowing her, still disoriented. Given that an angel had fully healed anything physiological, I was confident that all disorientation came from the presence of an ethereal being inches from her face. Her eyes flitted to Silas momentarily before returning to mine. “Mar,” she said slowly, “that Fauna girl…”
“Yes,” I said, doing my best to keep the acid from my voice. “She is one of them.”
“That tracks,” Kirby said. They’d returned to the livingroom in a fresh pair of Nia’s clothes, scrunching a towel into their wet hair. They took three steps toward the couch and sank into the crook of the arm, giving Azrames just enough time to make room, unbeknownst to them. “That Fauna chick was out of this world.”
“I hate her right now, but yes. I’d generally agree with you.”
Both looked at me inquisitively, but I shook my head. I looked at Azrames, who raised a single shoulder, one arm still slung over the back of the couch. “Nia, I need a Sharpie. I have to vandalize you.”
“I know where her markers are,” Kirby peeped from their side of the couch.
The squeak of a drawer, the shuffle of loose objects, and the purposeful weight of stomping feet were the three acts of a play leading up to me changing their lives forever.
“Who wants to go first?” I asked, grimacing apologetically.
Kirby extended their arm. “How much worse can it get?”
I pouted at them. “For you? Who blushes whenever someone attractive enters the room? I’m not sure you can handle it.”
Kirby wiggled between Nia and I and bounced their arm excitedly. “Give it to me.”
I pinned their arm against my body, pausing only to reference the perfect circle, the large, collapsed arrow, the angular eye, and the flame at the twelve-o’clock position. My marker hovered above Kirby’s skin before I completed the final shape, ensuring it matched my tattoo exactly. I looked at them seriously and said, “Close your eyes.”
To both my gratitude and surprise, they complied. I finished the shape and then said, “Before you open them, I feel like I should prepare you for what you’re about to see.”
They squeezed their eyes dramatically, tapping their finger rhythmically against my thigh as they asked, “I’ve already seen a twinkly man pop out of nowhere in the middle of traffic. How much worse can it get?”
Kirby opened their eyes. They paled and reddened all atonce, blood draining from everywhere else in their body as it rushed to their cheeks.
“Breathe,” I whispered, unsure as to whether they’d whack me over the unhelpful command.
Azrames propped one arm on his knee, extending the other forward in a handshake as he offered a dazzling smile. “Nice to formally meet you,” he said. “I’m Azrames.”
Kirby looked at his stone-and-iron shades as their eyes dragged from his hand to the black jacket folded up to expose his muscled forearms. I watched their gaze trace disbelieving lines over his tight white shirt and the chains that, unbeknownst to them, ended in a deadly weapon, stopping on the gentle curl of his black, polished horns. They didn’t fully lose their shit until their gaze settled on Azrames’s face.
“I need a drink,” is what they tried to say.
What they succeeded in saying was, “Imma drink need me one moment okay,” as they stumbled up from the couch, one foot catching behind their ankle in an ungraceful departure from the living room to the kitchen.
“That bad?” Nia called uncertainly from the couch. Worry used a generous brush as it painted itself from her eyes to her mouth. She retreated slightly into the all-consuming cushions.
