Chapter 39
THIRTY-NINE
Never expect to be given what you want; you must be prepared to take it.
CELINE
I should be thinking about tomorrow. Planning what I’ll say and how I’ll react.
But I’m too relieved.
At first, I thought it was some weird reaction to being home, now, I’m pretty sure it’s them.
Luca, Alistair, Malach, Ciprian, and Riven.
Here with me, preparing to fight by my side.
And they’re all safe, at least for now. It settles something inside me that hasn’t been able to rest for a long time.
I’ve never been this at peace in my childhood bedroom before, but that doesn’t mean there’s no awkwardness.
We’ve never shared a bed with Riven, and everyone is thinking about it.
Ciprian’s lips keep twitching as if he’s holding himself back from making an inappropriate joke.
Alistair is eyeing the bed like he’s mapping out an ideal arrangement.
And Luca keeps glancing at Riven like he expects him to run from the room screaming.
Only Malach doesn’t seem to care, and he’s clearly preoccupied. I plant my feet and roll my shoulders back. The only way to deal with this is head-on. “Riven won’t bite,” I say.
Ciprian chuckles. “He doesn’t look like he spoons either. How will I stay warm?” He winks at me, and I smile as Luca and Alistair jostle him between them.
No one will get cold tonight, not in this bed or any other.
The celestial realm is temperature controlled.
Everywhere you go, inside or out, the environment has been manufactured to remain ideal.
There’s no bitter wind chafing your face, only a gentle breeze, scheduled to blow at random and give the appearance of spontaneity.
It’s supposed to be paradise, but I wonder if that’s the greatest lie of all.
Day in and day out, angels travel between the echelons—the magical pathways programmed to allow entry into pre-approved sections of the realm.
Clearance to the thatsha tier is the hardest to come by. If you aren’t a radiant family, you have to work for one, which creates a legacy of sorts for families like Lyklan’s, who have worked for Malach’s family for generations.
As a thatsha, I was born with clearance to all the other tiers, but I’ve never been lower than Lyklan’s home on the guardian echelon. Even if I had wanted to go, S’lach wouldn’t have allowed it, and I was more concerned with avoiding his wrath than travel.
The work done on the lower tiers keeps the upper tiers operating.
The entire celestial realm is essentially a stacked vivarium of echelons: thatsha, misha, zephra, varek, salum, orik, and eluun.
The laborers in eluun have the largest population, and they’re the only ones who live on the realm’s base.
They churn real dirt and pump the underground water system that powers much of the technology for all seven nish.
Legend has it, we built up to make room for everyone. The realm isn’t large, and the population was growing too fast. Instead of imposing restrictions, our ancestors decided to think outside the box. Since we had wings, it made sense to see how high we could go.
One of my tutors once joked that the thatsha only got the top floor because if we slipped off the edge, we were the most likely to survive the fall due to our bigger wings. My father overheard, and the next day my tutor didn’t show up.
A week later I had a new one, and it was never mentioned again.
But I knew. Even at seven years old, I knew why she was gone.
Not on a philosophical level, I was just a kid and never the smartest in the room, anyway, but I knew she had displeased Father.
That wasn’t allowed, and I understood that perfectly well.
And Mom . . . Shit, Mom was fading even then.
A silver ribbon, hazy and insubstantial, glides past the foot of the bed.
I stiffen as it takes shape. A female figure, shoulders held high with her chin dipped in submission. She’s wearing a long dressing gown knotted neatly below her breasts.
No. No. Not now. I can’t face her right now; I need to sleep. Clearly, closing the door to the spine wasn’t enough to contain her echoes.
Luca gasps and puts his body between me and her. “What the fuck is that?”
“Umm, that’s my mom.” I cringe, unsure how to explain better.
“Baby, your mom is dead . . . right?” Luca shudders as the silvery shape comes closer, than darts back to her original spot.
“Yeah,” I force the word out. I don’t want to talk about Mom, but they deserve to know why there’s a specter in our room. “Her radiant word was echo.” I clear my throat. “She was powerful. I’m not surprised there’s still a trace of her here.”
The echo flickers and splits to show Mom and me playing on the floor of this very room. I’m holding a doll, making the wings flap with my other hand while I lead the toy through a variety of aerial maneuvers.
Mom throws her head back and laughs, then runs her fingers through my hair.
Alistair steps closer to the scene—his curiosity overriding his caution. “How does she do it?” he asks. “It’s incredible.”
I gulp and focus on him instead of the projection.
“Her presence always carried a weight,” I explain.
“Moments of strong emotion became more than memories; they embedded themselves in the room they happened in. In this moment, she was happy, and the room remembers. I think my return activated them. The echoes want to be heard again.”
“She’s not actually here?” Ciprian asks.
“She’s long dead,” I say bluntly. “Her magic just outlasted her.”
“I wonder.” Malach tilts his head as he studies the echo. “If she haunts him.”
My heart is sore, and the vault in my head is rattling, threatening to burst open and drag me inside to face this and every other memory I’ve tried to bury.
Swallowing, I watch as Mom pulls me into her arms, peppering my face with kisses until younger me giggles.
I close my eyes to create some separation, but that’s a mistake, because the memory hits me in full color.
The pink of Mom’s cheeks, the lavender blooms on her dressing gown.
I smell roses and barely stop myself from plugging my nose.
It’s not real. She’s not here, and I’m not smelling her. I’m trapped in a memory; a memory made a thousand times more potent because of her radiant word. Stop, I beg. Don’t do this to me. I got out. I deserved to get out, and you’re dragging me back in.
Mom doesn’t respond. I don’t expect her to. She’s not here, after all, and she never will be. If I trick myself into relying on her echoes, I’ll be disappointed all over again. I wince. That was cruel. She was as victim as much as me, and soft in a way I never had the opportunity to be.
It’s not fair for me to expect her to have been what I had to become to survive.
I’m violent. I eliminate problems in a pragmatic way that’s often devoid of emotions. And my anger is never far away. I inherited those traits from someone, but it isn’t the ghostly angel playing on the floor in this memory.
“It’s fading, darling.” Riven squeezes my upper arm, sharing a slice of calm that I desperately need. “She’s gone now.”
I nod, opening my eyes and scanning the room to be sure.
It’s white, boring, and devoid of echoes. My heart sinks. It’s better this way.
“I’m sorry about that.” I step around Riven to tug the bedspread down. “I hope it won’t happen again, but this estate is saturated in her magic. You may notice other echoes.”
Fuck, I sound like a tour guide—overly chipper and ruthlessly bland at the same time.
“You have no need to apologize, angel.” Alistair kisses my cheek. “We don’t mind her echoes.”
“They’re sweet,” Luca adds. “Seeing you with her is nice.”
I wince before meeting his eyes. “The echoes form around any strong emotions, not just good ones. You may see other things.” Luca’s hazel eyes widen as he hears what I’m not saying. They could witness scenes a whole lot worse.
What will they think of me if they do? Will they see me the same afterward?
“We can take it, Celine.” Ciprian nudges Alistair to the side and drops his forehead to mine, his expression uncharacteristically grim. “Don’t worry about us. Nothing we see here can change how we feel about you.”
It’s the perfect response, and I force a smile. The echoes are painful, in part, because I don’t appreciate the reminder of my weakness. These experiences made me who I am—a fighter—but I wasn’t always that way. And there are some things I don’t want to share.
Even Malach, who spent a lot of time in this house, doesn’t know the full extent. Is it wrong that I’d rather keep some scars private? I already wear my emotions on my wings; do I have to bare my soul, too?
“Could you—fuck.” My hair is skimming my neck, and I can’t stand the feeling. Fed up, I yank it on top of my head and secure it in a knot. “Sorry,” I mutter. “But if you see an echo, could you maybe turn around and not watch? I don’t—”
“You don’t have to explain,” Riven says firmly. “I will avoid her echoes.”
I nod and force a smile. “Thanks.”
The others agree too, but their worry is as obvious as Mom’s lingering magic.
“Guardians are stationed around the perimeter,” Malach says. “There’s no reason for us to maintain a watch.” We all already know this, but I appreciate his attempt to change the subject.
Crawling into bed, I settle in the center and leave them to sort themselves out.
Malach doesn’t hesitate before curling up beside me, his thick thigh grazing mine.
Ciprian trips Alistair and dives into the spot on my other side, grinning widely as Ali hisses.
He and Luca shuffle in behind Ciprian and Riven carefully lays down next to Malach.
He’s so close to the edge, he’s at risk of falling off.
It’s not my business. If he wants to cling to the bed like a dying vine, that’s his choice.
When Malach leans over Riven to turn off the lights, a band of static rolls over his face, disrupting the smooth amber lines. Malach pretends not to notice, finding the raised strip on the wall and dragging his finger down under we’re bathed in darkness.
“I can’t figure out how that works,” Ciprian mutters. “There are no light fixtures or bulbs. Where does the glow even come from? Wait—” He yawns, burying his face in the curve of my neck and planting a feather-light kiss below my ear. “I’m too tired to learn. Someone, explain it to me tomorrow.”
Ali curls around him, and his hand lands possessively on my hip.
I let his touch ground me, pushing away all the awful things and focusing instead on how nice it is to be surrounded by the people I love most. Tomorrow won’t be easy, but I’m not by myself.
For some reason, I need whatever remains of her to know that.
I’m not alone, Mom. Not anymore, at least. I’m drifting off. I’m not sure whether I’m imagining it or if it’s just that strange space between being awake and asleep, where anything seems possible, but I’m almost positive she hears me.
It’s the first time her memory has brought me comfort in years.