Chapter Twenty-Two #2
“He’s my Prince,” Azrames said. “And he’s right. It doesn’t matter that Silas was on our side. It doesn’t matter that he fought for us. The truth was: You didn’t think he would.”
“I don’t need a speech from you,” I said, looking sharply to the corner of the room.
“Don’t you?” he said, squeezing my hand. “Because the way I see it, you’ve alienated yourself from your biological family, you’ve cut out the Nordes, Heaven wants you dead, and you just gambled against Hell.”
I looked up at Azrames with wide, pleading eyes. My lower lip quivered.
He tightened his hold on my hand. “You have your s?lje. Call Fauna the same way you’ve been calling Silas. And clearly, you know how to call Caliban. You won’t be truly alone. The angel isn’t going anywhere. Or…whatever he is now. I know Hell won’t take him. But apparently, you will.”
“Az—”
He pulled away. “I’m hurt too, Marlow. I’ve tried my best to be understanding when you pushed away the one I love most in all the worlds—one who loves you too, might I add.
You haven’t shown a lot of sympathy or compassion when others have made mistakes that hurt you.
I was understanding when you insisted on pairing us with an archangel, even when his people hurt Betty…
” His lips twitched at the memory. “But you can’t keep alienating your allies.
You won’t win the war if you’re playing for yourself. ”
“Please.”
“It’s just time to think. That’s all.”
He turned from me. With a humph, he took a few quick steps to Silas and planted his hand against the side of his face.
Silas blinked awake, shock falling from his eyes like scales.
Azrames shot me a final look, barely giving me the time to part my lips and raise a finger before he stepped out of the mortal realm, leaving me alone with the fallen angel.
Caliban brushed a kiss against my lips. “I’ll always love you.”
He took a step into the void, jumping between realms. I stumbled toward the empty space, grabbing the air to ensure he wasn’t just invisible as he’d been before he’d unraveled himself from our binding contract. But there was nothing. I was alone with the man who was once an angel.
Two beings with no allies and no realm.
***
The bed was my cave now. I kept the covers bunched around me, doomscrolling on my laptop through mindless videos for hours.
Every once in a while, I’d stumble across a video of Geoff Christiansen’s announcement and reactions to trusting the shady Merit Finnegan.
I couldn’t always scroll away before the damage to my psyche was done.
Some tried to draw connections between my appearance at the Vexa concert and my recent doxing, but none of their speculations made sense.
Either way, for half the internet: I was evil and untrustworthy.
But for the other half…gods were out of the closet, and they were listening.
(Marlow) Hey…do you guys still love me? No reason. Not spiraling or anything.
(Nia) You need me to commit a murder? Idc I will gut Heaven and Hell. Let me at ‘em.
(Marlow) lol. You’re my reason for living. Thanks for being you.
(Marlow) Kirbs? Not that my self-esteem and mental health hang in the balance or anything, but I’m feeling pretty alone, and Nia and I haven’t heard from you…
(Nia) I haven’t heard anything from them on my end, either.
Not since they headed to meet with some Egyptian underworld god.
If you do, though, please do something because I think the valkyrie’s girlfriend is ignoring her.
Estrid is fucking terrifying. I know I said I’d kill for you…
but I think Estrid’s willing to kill YOU for HER girlfriend if they don’t check in soon.
(Marlow) Great. Another thing that’s my fault.
Fuzzy phone clips of a broad set of wings and a horned man filled my feed, evenly spliced with Poppy and Dorian as she grew a tree in the middle of the studio in real time.
The algorithm supplied me with witches around the world discussing their pagan deities and pastors begging people to repent, for the end was near.
Our stunts had worked. The world was talking.
I didn’t turn when the soft knock came at my bedroom door.
“The delivery guy left these at your door. Are you going to eat this time?” Silas asked.
My stomach grumbled loudly enough for him to hear.
“Marlow, you have to eat something. Your hunger strike isn’t going to bring them back.”
I twisted to grab a pillow and chuck it at him. He snatched it easily from the air and approached the bed. He balanced the delivery bags on top of the duvet as he took a seat.
“Get out of here,” I grumbled, grabbing my remaining pillow and shoving it over my head so he couldn’t see me. “I hate you. You ruined my life.”
His muffled chuckle enraged me.
“What is so funny?” I demanded, sitting up to glare at him.
“Other than this teenage temper tantrum?”
“This is goddamn serious,” I grumbled.
He ignored me as he tore a hole in the plastic bag rather than unravel it. He procured three Styrofoam boxes and popped them open. Cayenne, slow-cooked meat, onion, and lime filled my bedroom. My mouth watered on the spot. “Chicken, shrimp, or carnitas?”
I extended my hands wordlessly for the pork. I dumped as much pico de gallo on the tacos as I could before wolfing them down.
Between bites of meat and tortilla, Silas asked, “Is your plan to sit out the rest of the apocalypse?”
“I think I’ve done enough,” I said without swallowing my mouthful of food.
I looked at the coffee-brown eyes where his golden halos had so recently been.
He’d riffled through my guest bedroom until he’d found the shrine of my ex’s belongings I’d never returned.
He’d slipped into a pair of gray sweatpants and a navy-blue T-shirt, abandoning the hardened, neutral battle clothes that I’d come to consider his second skin.
He didn’t even smell like himself anymore.
“You know what really bothers me? Apart from all of it.” I still clutched my third taco, half-eaten, paper crinkling beneath my hand. “It’s that I didn’t even do anything wrong. You are on our side. You saved the fucking day. I made the right call.”
He discarded the empty container of chicken tacos and started in on the shrimp. “Did you, though?”
I shot him a look.
“Come on! You’re the one person who’s supposed to be on my side right now!”
“No one is mad that I helped. They’re mad that you thought I was the enemy and still summoned me.”
“I know why they’re mad,” I grumbled.
“Even I know it was a bad call. A dangerous one, even. I’d be mad, too. Hell, I am mad. How could you really think I was working with your mom after everything?”
I abandoned the taco completely, wiping the grease on the overly generous supply of napkins.
“What do you mean, how? You were working with her. You showed up at the house with her forever ago when I was there with Fauna. Then when you pushed me through the realms, you sent me to her house. And when she said you’d made certain promises, things were suspicious. ”
“Then you shouldn’t have called me.” He dusted his hands off.
I stared at him, my chipmunk cheeks filled with unchewed food.
“I didn’t have any autonomy to say no when I was sent there the first time—the time with Fauna that you’re mentioning.
As far as how you tumbled into her house?
I don’t know, have you ever heard the word miracle?
Those assholes were making it rain blood and sending locusts to your friends for days, and you didn’t think they could hack a realm jump and send you down the channel to your praying mother?
As far as what she said…since when have you known her to be honest? Or to have a firm grip on reality?”
I slowly resumed chewing.
“Are you going to finish that?” he asked.
“Don’t touch my tacos.”
“I knew you were hungry,” he said, getting up from the bed. He collected the Styrofoam boxes and looked down at me. “When you’re finished sulking, we have to unfuck your mess.”
He was right, and I hated him for it.
I didn’t want more lectures. I wanted to be told that I was kind and perfect and that it was a small accident but everyone understood. I didn’t want accountability.
But I wasn’t going to fix anything from bed.
And on the one hand, I wasn’t convinced I deserved to have anything fixed.
Caliban had always been too good to be true.
But on the other hand, I smelled like onions.
It wasn’t exactly a cure for my depression, but I hated when my bedroom smelled like food, and sometimes any reason to get out of bed was suitable.
I lit a candle and dropped the box of greasy paper and used napkins off on the island before disappearing into the bathroom.
I avoided my reflection, unwilling to face myself.
I stepped out of my clothes and ran the hot water, checking the temperature before I lowered myself to the shower floor.
I pulled my knees to my chest and sat beneath the running stream as it plastered my hair to my face, my shoulders, my back, praying for the wounds, the shame, the self-loathing to swirl down the drain.
Maybe if I was lucky, the water would wash me away, too.
A knock came at the door, but I ignored it.
I stayed on the ground, fetching one product at a time from the ledge. Much to my dismay, the soap, shampoo, and conditioner did nothing to alleviate the pain.
Another knock. Would this man never leave me alone?
“Mar, did you die in there?”
“Unfortunately, no,” I grumbled as I got up inelegantly from the bathroom floor.
I scrunched the moisture out of my hair, then wrapped the towel around me before emerging from the room, preceded by a cloud of steam.
It took me two minutes to step into oversized sweats, fluffy socks, and a hoodless sweatshirt: the depression uniform.
I made it halfway down the hall when I slowed.
Silas was leaning backward, resting against the island while crossing his arms. He’d dipped his head just enough to cradle his chin.
It looked like he was hugging himself. He didn’t so much as move, blink, or breathe as I approached.
He didn’t see me until I was right in front of him, then jolted as if startled by my presence.
I tried to mask my concern with a half-smile. “Feeling a little lost there, buddy?”
His quiet laugh held no joy. “You could say that.”
“Is it about…us?”
He laughed through his nose, a soft huffing sound, but said nothing.
I wouldn’t push. Not about this. Not to my last ally, who, objectively, I should not have fucked. Now it just hurt to look at him.
“Did you make coffee?” I asked, the scent tugging my gaze to search for the French press, only to find it empty.
He shook his head. “I can. Do you want some?”
“I’m fine,” I said quietly. I did want coffee. But I realized the smell was coming from him. He no longer smelled of thieves’ oil. I gestured to the couch, and he followed. I sank onto the cushions, hugging a pillow to my chest as the quiet pressed in on us. “So, what do we do?”
He closed his eyes for a moment before asking. “That depends on the outcome you want. What are your goals, here?”
I frowned. I knew the ultimate goals, but that wasn’t what he’d asked. He wasn’t looking for war strategy. He wasn’t asking how to move forward with fostering allies, how to stir the sirens’ armies, how to get more gods to come out from the shadows. He was asking what I wanted.
“Because,” he said quietly, “I know my answer. I made my choices. I knew what they would cost me. I have no title, no kingdom, nowhere to go. That’s a separate set of problems.” He looked at me for a long while before saying, “I didn’t just do it for you, Marlow.
I did it because it was the right thing to do. But…”
I swallowed. “But?”
He took a step close to me and lifted a hand. He tucked a lock of hair behind my ear as he said, “Thousands of years of servitude all came to a crashing end when I met you.”