Eternal Light (Radiant Legacy #4)

Chapter 1

ONE

Magic lives and breathes. It can also die.

CELINE

Heat. Noise. The crackle of magical wards harmonizes with the buzz of neon lights and the heavy thud of a bass guitar. I shudder. The air is laced with the smell of beer and trash. A gust of dry wind rustles my hair, bringing with it a whiff of exhaust.

We did it. I’m finally home . . .

“It doesn’t look good, baby.”

Luca’s voice is gentle. As if I’m delicate.

Fragile. A piece of glass on a collision course with the hard, unforgiving pavement.

He thinks I’m going to shatter. I want to deny it.

More than anything, I want to roll my shoulders back, tip my chin up, and dare him to use that tone with me again.

But he’s right, and everyone, Alistair, Ciprian, Riven, and even Hyacinth, knows it.

Gods, I brought my face-shifting jailer to the Fringes, and it’s not even in my top five worries.

My fingers curl, and a drop of sweat rolls down my spine and pools in the small of my back. There’s no point pretending with Luca. The new bond between us makes it impossible to hide from him.

I clear my throat—raw from screaming—and let the pain ground me. “I won’t betray him again.” Malach. Malach. Malach. Malach. My heart calls for him with each beat, but he doesn’t answer, and he won’t. Because he’s gone.

“You never betrayed him,” Ciprian says. He grabs my right hand and laces his fingers with mine. “You left for good reason.”

My stomach twists.

They can tell me I’m innocent a million times in a hundred different ways, but I knew what my leaving the celestial realm would do to Malach.

He loved me, even then, and I knew he wouldn’t move on.

I stepped through the gateway anyway because I was desperate to create a life of my own.

I don’t regret it, but I don’t deserve his forgiveness either.

This sick terror churning inside me is exactly what I deserve.

We escaped the monster realm, but it isn’t victory to me. Gods, I’m gutted. Cut off at the knees. I’m missing part of my heart. I rub the heel of my hand over my chest, but it doesn’t help.

“This is unreasonable,” Riven snaps. “Am I the only one with functioning eyes and ears? The angel made his choice. He stood at S’lach’s side and confirmed his betrayal.”

“Don’t talk to her like that.” Alistair shoves Riven.

Riven shoves him back. “Keep your hands off me.”

“Or what?” Alistair hisses. “You’re in my domain now, Veydra. I can tear your throat out, snap my fingers, and someone will be here to dispose of you in ten minutes.”

They keep at it, hurling insults back and forth.

I open my mouth to put a stop to the posturing, then close it again.

Words are meaningless.

My feet move on their own, the uneven bumps of the asphalt familiar through the soles of my shoes. Yes, I need to move. This is good. I can do this. I’ll walk it off, and if that doesn’t work, I’ll find someone to pick a fight with and work the tension off that way.

A sign with flashing pink bulbs flickers to my right.

We’re only three blocks from the Fang. That’s good, but the jittery glow reveals things I’d rather ignore.

Nails bitten to the quick; raw, bruised knuckles; and an index fingernail stained purple, not by polish but by blood pooled beneath the surface.

A hot gust of wind ripples through the alley, blowing a strand of limp, tangled hair into my face. I tuck it behind my ear and wince as I catch my reflection in a bar window.

Bundled in a filthy hoodie, my tearstained face is covered in grit and gashes. I don’t recognize myself. The sensation of being outside my body is disorienting, as if I’m looking at a stranger. These hands don’t belong to me. These tears aren’t mine. They can’t be.

Celine is the toughest angel in the Vegas Fringes, but I can’t find her. She’s been chewed up, spit out, and glued back together as someone entirely new.

Who am I now? Do I even have the strength to find out?

Someone shouts for me.

I tune them out and keep moving, pushing my legs to go faster.

The door of the Fang is both familiar and strange, but I don’t give a shit about that. It’s only a door. An obstacle between me and the normality I need more than my next breath.

I yank it open and stumble inside.

The bass hits me, rattling my bones. I ignore it and the lingering stares, shoving roughly past several patrons.

It’s crowded tonight—fuck, I don’t even know what day it is.

My name is whispered, then shouted, stunned voices drowning out the music.

Glass breaks behind the bar. I don’t turn around.

I could use a drink or ten, but that’s not why I’m here.

I careen into the dressing room and slam the door behind me, blinking wildly.

It’s the same as always: layers of glitter caked to the floor, a line of well-lit mirrors on the right wall, and stilettos stacked in haphazard piles against the lockers.

The air is sticky and sweet, a mix of hairspray and perfume.

I manage a shaky inhale, coating the inside of my nose with the smell of home.

Sitting in front of a mirror, with a tube of purple lipstick gripped delicately between her fingers, Imani meets my eyes in the reflection and lurches to her feet. The lipstick falls to the floor and rolls, disappearing inside the leg of a faux-leather thigh-high boot.

Her arms wrap around me, and I shatter exactly like Luca feared I would.

Sobs erupt from somewhere deep in my chest. The other girls gather around me, but I can barely see them through my blurry vision.

Brandy’s platinum-blonde hair grazes my arm, Ada murmurs something and curls against my back, and I fucking cry. Uncontrollably. I’m a dam with a leak. I cry until my eyes are sore and my throat burns with every hiccuping swallow.

Someone presses a bottle of tequila into my hand, and I lock eyes with Lyss over Imani’s shoulder. Her signature gap-toothed smile is nowhere in sight. The absence is jarring, and reality crashes back in, making me aware of the commotion behind me.

“You’re not getting through this door,” Ada says fiercely. “I swear to the mother, Luca Saratelli, I will put you on your ass if you try again.”

“Ada, I would never hurt Celine. You know that.”

She scoffs. “Let me tell you what I know. I know my friend is crying—something I’ve never seen her do in the three years I’ve known her.

I know that she’s covered in cuts and bruises and dirt and blood—her own and gods know who else’s.

” Ada glances over her shoulder at me and shudders, pushing the door another inch closer to closed.

“She’s dressed to spite every mirror in the realms: pocket-sized to floor-length.

It’s truly awful, I’ve never in my life—”

Luca’s hand lands on the other side of the door, keeping her from closing it all the way, but not trying to force it open either. “Ada—”

She continues talking, barreling right over the top of whatever he was about to say. “And I know that Celine disappeared weeks ago with you and Alistair. Until she tells me she wants you in here, you won’t be coming any closer. Do you hear me?”

Ada bursts into tears, but she doesn’t move out of his way.

Another wave of emotion hits me—grateful tears, this time—not because Ada thinks Luca might have hurt me, but because she’s putting herself at risk to protect me.

Almost any supernatural that might try to get in here would be stronger on paper than Ada.

Hell, she describes her magic as ‘finickier than a lit match in a thunderstorm,’ yet she’s facing down a basilisk shifter wearing nothing but six-inch heels, a thong, and nipple tassels.

I cover my mouth to stifle my sob.

I’ve been gone for weeks, and I was distant for months before that. I was trying to keep my father’s attention away from the girls at the Fang, but they don’t know that. I don’t deserve this loyalty, and they’re giving it to me anyway, no questions asked.

“H-he didn’t hurt me, Ada,” I say around a hiccup. “Neither of them did.”

Her shoulders sag, then start to tremble.

I meet Imani’s gaze and swallow hard. I love the guys. I killed for them, and I was prepared to die for them too, but I need to talk to my friends. Even if I’ve already made up my mind about Malach, I want to get their take on it.

I call Luca’s name, sniffling as he sticks his head into the dressing room, lip ring caught between his teeth. “I’ll come home soon,” I tell him. “After I explain to them what’s going on.”

His worry throbs through our bond, pulsing around my heart, but he nods immediately. “Take your time, baby. I’ll be right out here. I-I can’t—Celine, don’t ask me to go without you.”

“Okay.” My response is barely audible, but Luca hears it and steps back from the threshold, satisfied.

The door closes, and I’m led to my station. I’m surprised to see my things still neatly organized on the counter. I thought they would have given this spot to another dancer by now.

“Sal wanted to,” Imani says, answering my unspoken question. “We told him if he got rid of your stuff, we’d all walk.”

I collapse into my chair.

Brandy presses the infamous box of tissues into my hand. I’ve seen it hundreds of times—it’s fucking hard to miss—but I’ve never needed to use it before. Covered in pastel sequins, the tissues themselves are pink and purple.

“They have essential oils,” Brandy whispers. “And I added a little spell I’ve been working on. I swear, Celine, your nose won’t turn red or swell or anything. These tissues will have you walking out of here as good as new.”

I thank her and wipe my face. The tissue has a nice herbal smell that reminds me of Hyacinth, and I stiffen.

Did I lead a teenager into the Naked Fang?

I don’t know if she remembers Earth at all.

Dragging her into a strip club on night one is a bad idea.

Riven will take care of her, I know that, but maybe I should go check.

Imani grabs my hand and squeezes. “Tell us what’s going on, please.”