Chapter 29
“This is the best shower ever,” I groan, standing in the streaming hot water for far longer than necessary. Despite the fact that I may appear clean, there is something especially soothing about bathing myself after everything. To breathe in the steam. Breathe out my troubles.
When I get out, though, I’m just as restless as before.
My head is still pounding as I dry and braid my hair, moving slowly to minimize the pain. By the time I’m done, it’s not quite early enough for dinner, and there’s only so much time I can spend staring at my weird irises in the mirror.
Eventually, I decided to just embrace it.
At least I fit in with the rest of the angels now, with their creepy, unnatural eyes.
And I’m a lady, too, so I can play it up with makeup.
Make it look more intentional. A bit of gold dust along the lids, some sharp black eyeliner, an extra dose of drama…
The contrast, as it turns out, creates a stunning effect. Very goddess-like.
I step back and look myself over in my ornate, full-length mirror.
Dare I say it, but I don’t think I’ve ever felt prettier. Even with the bulky, unearned muscles and disturbing scarification, it all comes together, somehow. I might even be in love with myself.
All I need is a good dress, and I’ll be unstoppable.
I venture over to the more formal side of my wardrobe, skimming my hands along the fabrics until I find the perfect one.
It’s a glistening, black, silky material, and it feels absolutely divine as I slip it over my skin.
With a V-shaped, plunging neckline, it also grants the world a good view of my new scar.
Which is fine, I tell myself. I’m making a debut of it.
But fuck high heels. They don’t pay me enough for that.
In a nice, comfy pair of flats, I make my way down to the castle. My muscles are definitely weak from underuse, and I almost slip down the stairs, but I do eventually make it there in one piece… only to find myself hesitating outside the dining hall.
An abundance of commotion is coming from within the room. Laughter, even. My brain struggles to process it; I don’t think anything in the Abyss has ever sounded so lively before. And they must have started dinner early, too, which means I wasted a whole bunch of time for no damn reason.
I’m cranky, starving, and now fashionably late to the apparent party I have to attend with a throbbing headache. Already off to a great start.
Pushing the doors open, I don’t even consider mentally preparing myself for the shocking sight of so many angels.
The sheer quantity of them sitting together is startling, giving me pause.
Almost every seat is occupied, with all kinds of new faces and a rainbow of wing colors.
There are women in the mix, too. About damn time.
At the furthest end of the table, I spy a chair open next to Abaddon, presumably reserved for me. But it’s the opposite end, the one closest to me, that really catches my attention.
There’s a face I would have been content to never see again—and he stares at me, intensely, from the moment I enter the room.
Touching my hand to the star over my chest, I do my best to summon my pride. Would my soul’s shadow want me acting like a little bitch in front of Michael? No, no it would not.
I begin to move towards my seat, and… shit.
The room loses all of its colorful noise in an instant, all eyes turning towards me.
It’s obvious that I need to appear confident. So painfully obvious. They look at me with nosy curiosity, wondering about the girl who transcended her humanity. I cannot show weakness now. My only option is to fake it until I make it, yet again.
You should be looking at me. I am a goddess. Be envious.
I float by, my dress swaying with each step, and slide into my chair.
Dusk sits across the table from me, and the distance feels too great. I could use more of a buffer between Abaddon and me. We have unresolved business between us from the last time we were alone together.
Thankfully, though, I have Raphael on my other side, who I greet with a polite nod and a “good evening,” which he kindly returns.
I couldn’t have asked for a better alternative to Dusk.
If he won’t tell me how to stop the apocalypse, I can still pepper him with all of my obnoxiously detailed medical questions.
Some chatter reignites in the room, and I begin to fill my plate with appetizers from the platters in the center of the table. As I do, I’m keenly aware that Abaddon’s gaze has dropped lower, staying firmly fixed on my chest—on my brand.
After devouring a jalapeno popper, I finally deign to address him. “Care to fill in some more details about the events of the past month?”
“You’ve been marked,” he utters, seemingly genuinely stupefied, which is surprising in itself. I would have thought the King knew about it by now, but I guess Raphael takes his patients’ PHI very seriously.
“Obviously,” I bite back. Maybe he can’t tell I’m bristling with impatience, so to make it extra clear, I raise one annoyed eyebrow at him. “Will you answer my question?”
He blinks. “We made amends with the Profuga.”
I can feel a vein on my forehead twitch in annoyance. Or maybe with the pulsing of my ceaseless headache. Either way, he’s going to need to do better than that. “Oh, thanks, Abaddon. That really answers all my questions.”
His voice grows colder in response to my sarcasm.
“Semyaza had to explain himself to me. Not just for arriving, but for his… previous actions, long ago. Once he did, I found no malicious intent, so I forgave him for his shortcomings. He and his followers are now going to stay in the Abyss. It is a better option for them than Earth or Elohim.”
Now both my eyebrows are raised. “And the Council is okay with that?”
“No. They’d much prefer to add five archangels to their army, under their rule. But they forget that the Abyss can be an alternative residence to Elohim, if I feel inclined to allow it,” he says with a smirk.
I do a double-take.
But, yes, there is a faint upturn to his lips, and a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. I don’t think I’ve ever seen such an emotion on him. Did I ever actually wake up from my coma, or am I still dreaming? Since when did the morose Principality of the Abyss smirk?
“Well, they seem pretty friendly to each other now,” I mutter, stealing his glass of red wine and taking a long sip. It’s hardly even bitter. Enjoyable, even. Either they switched wine dealers, or my poor tongue must be truly deprived of flavor.
“To say it took a lot of discussion would be an understatement.” He looks past me, towards the end of the table, as he speaks in a hushed voice. “I haven’t seen Gabriel immaterialize his sword since they got here. ”
“Gabriel? What’s his deal?” I frown into my glass before giving Abaddon a side eye.
However, he only shakes his head, refusing to answer my question. “We’ve since learned that the Watchers acted out of love for humans, not in rebellion against God. The Nephilim they raised were an unfortunate lapse in judgment for them, and they have vowed to never make the same mistake again.”
“Which we can understand,” Raphael chimes in, making me flinch. I didn’t realize he’d been listening to our conversation. “Archangels are not all-knowing, after all.”
“Right…” Abaddon trails off, suddenly very interested in his food again. He probably can’t speak too freely in our current company. I guess I can understand that.
Trying to shake off the unusualness of everything, I look around the table, taking in the crowd.
There’s quite a lot of diversity here now, and some of the angels are very fascinating.
One of them appears to be eighty years old, while another, gruff and rotund as he is, looks like a less jolly Santa Claus.
There are women, too, but also an angel who appears to be neither male nor female—yet every bit as captivating as a high-caliber catwalk model.
Every single one of them is magnificently beautiful in their own unique way.
“Abaddon,” I wonder out loud, turning my head back towards him. “Is it possible that the more time an angel spends around humans, the more they become like us?”
He stares at the morsel of meat on his fork for a moment, dead still, before replying, “No, that’s impossible. Angels are angels, not humans.”
Dusk cackles from across the table, seeming absolutely giddy. “Oh, my emo friend, how you are so very wrong and misguided.”
“What does that mean?” Abaddon replies, looking genuinely confused, however subtle it appears on him. ‘‘Emo?’ It doesn’t translate.”
Please don’t tell me we’re about to have another choker/collar debacle—
“That’s because it’s slang. Slang doesn’t always pull through.
” Dusk leans back in his chair, grinning, and I can tell he takes great pleasure in how Abaddon’s confusion further proves his point.
“It’s technically a subculture, but that doesn’t matter.
My point is that you’re scared. We all know you have plenty of big emotions, but you’re too cowardly to show them.
All this time spent in the Abyss hardening your heart, just to unfold at the presence of our beautiful Dawn here. ”
I briefly choke on my food.
In hindsight, their previous niceties must have been a well-trained passive aggressiveness in disguise, maybe for my benefit. Because now, they’re not trying to cover up their feud at all. Quite the opposite. I’m convinced Dusk wants to cause a scene right now.
Hey, God? It’s me, Kae. Your Key to the Abyss, faithfully doing my part here. In return, could you please keep this angel of yours from getting me killed with his big mouth? I’d really appreciate it, thanks.
With a deep breath, Abaddon closes his eyes, clearly struggling to contain himself. “You’re trying to insult me, Messenger.”
Uh, yeah. It seems to be working, too.
“Seriously?” Dusk chuckles again. “You just now figured that out?”