"I'm sorry," Ashen says. His voice is quiet but it still feels startling. The wire coils tighter across my heart. I look at him with an expression that asks what for, even though I'm not sure I want to know. "The old man was right. I knew it last night. I should have been more careful in the Shadow Realm. With you."
I'm not a fucking porcelain doll. I'm fine. Nothing happened. And I can look after myself. I have my sneaky vampire ways, you know, I write, and I give him a wink when he looks up from my note.
"Those crawlers tried to attack you. And that is not even close to the worst of what the Shadow Realm has to offer." Ashen looks away from me, his hands pressed tight across the edge of the stone as he stares at the sand below. "I know you can't see it, but you shine like a lantern in our realm. It's not just the Reapers who have their eyes on you there. I should not have taken a risk like that, taking you out at night. Giving you that much alcohol."
To be fair, you did owe me after I sniffed that dog dick. You were only upholding your end of the agreement to provide copious amounts of booze in compensation.
"Still. You don't belong there, as tempting as it is to believe otherwise."
I hold onto his words. I roll them around in my mind. Is it tempting? Is it something he wishes were true, that I could belong in their realm? I suppose he's right, it's not the best place for me, with all its creepy vibes and tripod dogs-that-aren't-dogs and the lack of tanning opportunities. That and the problematic issue of being a high-prized kill in their midst. I really got away with that one the last time. My luck probably won't last so I'd better not push it. But the Shadow Realm is not all bad. And I'm starting to believe it's not really where you are that matters. It's who you're with.
I tap my pen against my notebook, trying to work out what's worth saying and what's worth keeping hidden away. The lid of the box in my mind keeps slipping when Ashen is around. Thoughts I shouldn't have keep escaping, and they're the kind that can get you killed when you let your guard down.
When I look up he's watching me, waiting for some smartass response I'm sure. I feel the wind in that sail, just like Mr. Hassan promised. But even with it spurring me to flee, even knowing the risks, when I look at Ashen I want to try. I want to keep my eyes on the shore, my anchor down.
Do you? I write, turning my note to Ashen.
"Do I what?"
Belong there?
The journal faces him and he takes longer to read my note than two words can take to understand. He meets my eyes. A thousand thoughts seem to surface in his, like the sediment of time is washed away by an unexpected flood. He opens his mouth to respond, but he doesn't have the chance to utter a word.
There's a bright flash in the distance. A pillar of light erupts from the top of the Pyramid of Userkaf, reaching into the sky. It disappears almost as quickly as it came. But by the time it's gone we're already up and running across the sand, heading to the Alley of the Sphinxes, hoping to catch a glimpse of what has only been a myth for a thousand years.
We run down the ancient causeway, slowing as we draw near to the Pyramid of Userkaf where the entrance lies on the north side, facing us. When it feels like we're close enough to see without being seen ourselves we stop, hunching next to one another behind an eroded slab of limestone.
Do you think we missed it? I write, tapping Ashen's knee with my pen.
"I don't know," he says, glancing down at my note. He meets my eyes and the flame comes alive in his pupils. His sword is drawn, but he keeps the smoke and hellfire at bay. I can tell he doesn't like this. At all.
We look back toward the entrance of the pyramid, and just as I'm starting to think we must have imagined the light, a figure emerges.
It's tall. A man. White pants and tunic, both pristine despite the desert dust. His face is obscured by a white veil that tucks beneath the high neckline of his shirt. It clings to the features of his face, almost like a slick second skin. His limbs seem just a little too long, as though they slow his movement as he walks with the immortal grace of another realm, radiating light. As he passes from the shadow of the ancient tomb the sun illuminates his wings. They shimmer, translucent. One moment they catch the light to scatter it, the next they are invisible. It's a mesmerizing display of iridescence and trickery.
It's really fucking cool.
See also, FUCKING TERRIFYING.
That thing vibrates with power. You can feel it from a distance. Like a hum in the air, the buzz of static before a storm.
I draw my dagger and turn to Ashen, making a stabby motion and mouthing kill, kill, kill with a menacing smile.
"No fucking way," he whispers.
Come on, I whisper soundlessly. It'll be fun.
"I do not agree with your assessment of fun."
I give him a pout and my saddest puppy eyes and Ashen smirks in response. His gaze lingers on my lips when my expression collapses into a smile. I can feel the heat of his gaze tingling in my skin. We're so close in the sand that our legs touch as we huddle behind the stone. It would take barely any movement at all to lean forward and press my lips to his. I see him swallow and I wonder if he's thinking the same thing.
There's a flash of light so bright I'm not sure if a star hasn't exploded in front of my eyes. I'm pushed into the sand. I scramble to find my bearings but I can't see. It's gone from bright light to utter blackness. I smell tobacco and ink. The blindness of the flash fades just enough that I can see my fingers in the sand. I'm covered with smoke.
"Stand down, anunnaki," I hear Ashen say. He is not fucking around. I can hear the ripple of fire on his sword as the blade scorches the desert air.
"I have no quarrel with you, demon," a deep voice says. "I am merely curious."
"Curiosity fulfilled. Now leave," Ashen says.
I push myself up to stand behind Ashen, my kaiken ready in my hand. The angel is perched in his bare feet on the stone we were just hiding behind. Ashen glances over his shoulder at me. A streak of worry flashes in the fire of his eyes and he turns back to the angel, raising his blade.
"So, it is true. Werewolves making hybrids. Vampires saving Reapers. The Living Realm crumbles before my very eyes," the angel says. I can't see his face behind the veil, but I hear the mockery in his voice as he turns his head toward me. This outfit of his is very haute couture with his weird, shroud-like veil. It's like he's cosplaying a mummy in Chanel.
Ashen moves his free hand behind him, trying to push me further back into his shadow. "You know about the poison."
"Of course."
"Who gave it to the wolves?"
"I have some ideas."
"Care to share?"
"No."
The three of us stand, unmoving and uncomfortably silent. I have a super inappropriate urge to start dancing, or maybe make fart noises. The angel tilts his head as he looks at me and I try to subdue the smirk that's creeping across my face.
The angel raises a gloved hand and points.
"They need one like her to make another. She would be safer in our realm," he says.
Hellfire surges across Ashen's blade. "No."
The angel draws his arm down. His wings stretch behind him and he stands to his full height on the stone. "Suit yourself, demon. It will be your own demise,” he says. With a flash of light and movement and a crack of sound, his wings draw to the front of his body and slap both our faces. I fall to my knees as the angel takes off into the sky.
