Page 22 of Property of Prophet

“I woke up in the snow with no memory. I heal faster than I should, understand shit nobody taught me, and apparently used to have wings. My standards for surprising are pretty fucked.”

She laughs under her breath, but it dies quickly. “Do you believe in Heaven?”

I sit down and lean back in the chair. “Ask me a few weeks ago, I’d have told you I didn’t know. Now?” I rub a hand across my chest, trying to ease the strange pressure sitting behind my ribs. “I remember somewhere I belonged. Somewhere I knew exactly what I was, and every part of me wants to get back there even though I can’t remember the fucking place.”

Her expression softens. “That sounds a lot like believing.”

“Yeah.” I look at her. “I think it does.”

Lily watches me for another second, then says, “Wait here.”

“Wasn’t planning on sprouting wings and flying off.”

“Prophet.”

“Going nowhere, Doc.”

She crosses to the shelf beside the reading chair and starts pulling books free, stacking them against her chest until she comes back to me.

“What the hell is all this?”

“Possible answers.”

Lily dumps the stack on the table. There’s a field guide swollen from getting wet and drying out too many times, a couple of medical references with cracked spines, and buried underneath them two old books with worn covers.

I pull the first one free. “A theological encyclopedia?”

“My grandmother’s.”

“Your grandmother kept an encyclopedia about God?”

“She thought everyone should own at least one book about Him, whether they believed or not.”

I look at the second book. Angelic tradition in the early church.”

“Also hers.”

“And you read these?”

“First chapter of each.”

I look at her.

“I got bored.”

A laugh gets out of me before I can stop it. “Good to know my entire fucking existence might be explained by books you couldn’t be bothered finishing.”

“You’re welcome.”

We start with the field guide because neither of us is ready to open the God books yet. She finds an entry on ravens and turns it toward me.

“Look familiar?”

The drawing shows a big black bird with its head cocked, watching the world as though it knows something everyone else missed. I shake my head.

“Ravens have been associated with prophecy for thousands of years.”

I lift my eyes to hers. “My road name is Prophet.”