Chapter Three
“Move!” I shoved toward Nia but was pushed out of the way.
Slate-gray arms scooped her from the floor and carried her 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 with no foreshadowing!”
“Don’t you need to go shower?” I snapped at them.
They flipped me the bird as they pushed past to wash away 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 was your kind to blame.”
“You don’t fix.” Silas bared his teeth. “You save through 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’s always there 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?”
“He was here.”
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.
“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 living room 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 at once, 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.