Chapter Three
“Move!” I shoved toward Nia but was pushed out of the way. Slate-gray arms scooped her from the floor and carriedher from the claustrophobic mudroom to the living room. Azrames settled Nia onto the enormous gray couch that had clearly been made for lounging and entertaining. While Kirby loved plants and cluttered gallery walls, and I’d gravitated toward every minimalist aesthetic that juxtaposed with an upbringing one mile below the poverty line, Nia had settled into a functional mid-century modern space. Two brown leather ottomans created a comfortable resting space for one to prop up their feet. Upscale seventies art and intentional pieces dotted the living room.
She was the most functional adult I’d ever known, and I’d swiftly unraveled her life.
Kirby began pacing in the space that connected the sitting room to the kitchen, disappearing in and out of view as their torso peeked through the peephole that allowed a rectangle of sight into the sixties-style kitchen—the only time capsule in Nia’s otherwise modernized, cozy home.
“Mar!” Kirby scolded as they crowded me. “You gave me an entire speech about jump scares and horror flicks! Where was Nia’s warning? The crow hit the window in this godforsaken scary movie withno foreshadowing!”
“Don’t you need to go shower?” I snapped at them.
They flipped me the bird as they pushed past to washaway the blood and guts. I assumed the need to get clean was tied with the need to take space to process all that had happened.
I didn’t have more time to think about the detriment I was causing my friends as the men began arguing.
An elbow hit me in the ribs as the angel jostled me out of the way, deflecting Kirby’s insults and ignoring my attempts at positional dominance. He didn’t beat around the bush as he said, “I’m the expert in healing, here.”
“And Marlow herself has called me the Patron Saint of Women, you motherfucker. Get off her.”
Silas snapped, “You’re a murderer, Azrames. You solve problems by killing. Don’t let your pride get in the way of healing.”
Azrames growled back, “I heal just fine. You were only needed when it wasyour kindto blame.”
“You don’t fix.” Silas bared his teeth. “Yousavethrough violence and destruction.”
“Oh my god.” I rolled my eyes. “Shut up, both of you. You said Caliban was just securing the perimeter, right? Where is he?” I asked, looking to Azrames. I knew my Prince could heal the body in any realm.
The question was enough to jar Azrames from his bickering, which instantly worried me. Az shifted his weight before saying, “The world now knows who and what you are. And as we suspected, the display with the Phoenicians has had a ripple effect. The gods know. Which means Caliban has his work cut out for him in order to carve a path for you.”
My heart sagged. “He’s not here anymore.”
Azrames surprised me with the insult on his face. “He’salwaysthere for you. But you have to understand, your needs ramped up from zero to a thousand when you came out of your sacrilegious closet. No one in all of the realms is cut out for the job of protecting you like Caliban is.”
I looked at Silas, if only because I was searching for someone to blame. “How does the world know, exactly?Caliban has to sprint out ahead and do, what, PR? You were the only angel there when I stepped into my power.”
Az flicked a finger to interject. “As much as I’d love to throw your angel under the bus on this one, it’s not his fault. The fulfillment of prophecy sets wheels in motion for all of us. Every pantheon knows we’ve turned a corner.”
I dared a question. “You all just…know? Like a supernatural software update?”
“Preternatural.” Azrames gave me a lopsided half-smile—the kind that told me that no additional answer would satisfy me.
“I can’t tell you the specifics of who knows, what they know, how they know it,” he said. “That’s for those realms and their lore to explain. All I can say is: They know. And even if this particular issue isn’t Silas’s fault, I’m sure we can find something else to blame on him if you give it a minute or two.”
It was too much information to absorb. His words were cotton lightly brushing over me, carrying no meaning. I blinked simply, tilting my head to the side.
“And Caliban? Is he…?”
Azrames pinched the bridge of his nose as if warding off a headache. “Your safety is his primary concern, and the threats…are too big for the immediate physical protection that myself and this bundle of angst and sparkles can provide. Even though I am very strong. And handsome. And humble.”
Silas was unamused. “It seems the Prince is negotiating with the powers that be.”
“You said he was here.” I narrowed my eyes at Az. “Are we really lying to each other again? Already?”
“Hewashere.”
Silas urged us to stay focused. “You need help on an inter-pantheon level. The King of Hell will be hard at work advocating for you, but the Prince is the only one with firsthand knowledge of your willingness to participate in the prophecy.”
“The prophecy,” I repeated, spitting the words out like bile.
