by Susan Ee
“No.” The word slips out of my mouth as I watch, mesmerized.
Two hellions with black axes fly in from the dark outside the spotlights. Their axes are stained with layers of old blood. They position themselves behind either side of Raffe’s wings.
There’s a moment when I think Raffe will come up with a way out of this as he stares down the Pit lord.
Then he gives a single nod.
Without warning, the two hellions simultaneously lift their axes and slice through Raffe’s wing joints.
They lift their axes and slice through Raffe’s wing joints.
They lift their axes and slice through Raffe’s wing joints.
They lift their axes and slice through Raffe’s wing joints.
They . . .
. . . his wings . . .
I don’t know if Raffe yells out in his pain, because all I hear is my own scream.
Raffe falls.
Two of his Watchers swoop down and catch him before he can crash onto the bridge.
Raffe’s snowy wings land with a thud on the concrete.
A second after that, his sword clatters onto the ground, cracking the concrete with its weight.
THE MORNING LIGHT tinges the sky above the San Francisco skyline. It’s forever changed, but I’m starting to find it familiar, if not comforting.
Boats roam the bloody bay, collecting the last of the drowning angels and humans. The boat guys wanted to put the rescued angels into cages and shoot them to debilitate them for a while. I’m sure they would have been happy to gauge how long it would take for them to recover and maybe even see whether they can recover on their own without food and water. But not surprisingly, Josiah and the Watchers insisted that the best they can do is deprive them of blankets and the warm drinks the rescued humans get.
Now that Uriel is dead, they have a shortage of archangels. Raffe seems to be unofficially in charge by default, only he’s going in and out of consciousness as we race down the bay to the nearest working—or at least standing—hospital.
The Watchers are executing Raffe’s orders and reporting back to him when he’s conscious. The angels are so shell-shocked that they’re just following orders.
I get the impression that so long as it sounds reasonable to them, they’ll do what Raffe says, at least for now. This is a group that’s so used to following orders that they probably wouldn’t know what to do without someone in charge.
The humans have mostly left the bridge. I’m using Josiah and the Watchers to relay messages for me too, just because it’s easy for now. I’m too worried about Raffe to help much with the logistics of making sure the humans get to shore. In theory, they’re following my orders, but in reality, they’re doing whatever the Tweedle Twins tell them.
I glance over at Raffe for the hundredth time as I huddle with Pooky Bear beneath a coat that someone gave me. I’m shivering as if it’s zero degrees, and no matter how much I hug myself, I can’t get warm. I can barely see his dark hair blowing in the wind among all the Watchers and angels surrounding him. He’s lying on one of the bench seats of the speedboat that the twins found for us.
The angels and Watchers move aside and look at me expectantly. Then they all take off into the blue sky. Raffe is conscious and looking at me.
I walk over to him. I’ve been trying not to be a big baby by insisting on holding his hand in front of the angels, but the urge is strong. I don’t want to embarrass him even when he’s unconscious.
But now that the others are gone, I sit beside him and hold his hand. It’s warm, and I pull it to my chest to warm me up.
“How are you feeling?” I ask.
He gives me a look that makes me feel guilty for reminding him about his wings.
“So? What’s the deal? Are they making you the new Messenger?”
“Hardly.” His voice is raw. “I fought against them, then conjured up a Pit lord. That’s not much of a campaign for election. The only thing that saves me in their eyes is that they think I sacrificed my wings to save them from the angelic pestilence.”
“You could have had it all, Raffe. Once Uriel was out of the way, you would have been back with the angels. And they might have voted you in as their king.”
“Messenger.”
“Same difference.”
“Angels shouldn’t have a Messenger who used to have demon wings. It’s unseemly.” He winces and closes his eyes. “Besides, I don’t want the job. We’ve sent word out to Archangel Michael to get his stubborn ass back here. He doesn’t want the title either.”
“There sure was a lot of fuss over a job that no one wants.”
“Oh, lots of angels want the job, just not the ones who should have it. Power is best held by the ones who don’t want it.”
“Why don’t you want it?”
“I have better things to do.”
“Like what?”
He opens one eye and looks at me. “Like convince a stubborn girl to admit she’s madly in love with me.”
I can’t help but smile.
“So if it’s not a pig farm that you want, what is it?” he asks.
I swallow. “How about a safe place to live where we don’t have to scrounge for food or fight for it?”
“It’s yours.”
“That’s it? All I have to do is ask?”
“No. There’s a price for everything.”
“I knew it. What is it?”
“Me.”
I swallow. “I need you to be very clear right now. I haven’t slept in forever, and I’ve been living off of adrenaline, which isn’t the best lifestyle for humans. So what are you saying?”
“Are you really going to make me spell it out?”
“Yes. Spell it.”
He stares deep into my eyes. It makes me squirm but also makes my heart flutter like a schoolgirl’s. Oh, wait. I am a schoolgirl. I blink a few times, wondering if that’s how I’m supposed to bat my eyelashes.
“What are you doing?”
“What?” Ugh. I suck at this.
“Are you batting your lashes at me?”
“What, me? No, of course not. What . . . spell it.”
He squints his eyes suspiciously at me. “This is awkward.”
“Yes, it is.”
“You’re not going to make this easy on me, are you?”
“You’d lose all respect for me if I did.”
“I’d make an exception for you.”
“Quit stalling. What are you trying to say?”
“I’m trying to say that I . . . that I . . .”
“Yes?”
He sighs. “You’re very difficult, you know that?”
“You’re trying to say that you’re what?”
“OkayIwaswrong. Now let’s move on. Where do you think would be the best place for the angels to stay until they leave?”
“Whoa.” I burst out laughing. “Did you just say that you were wrong? Was that the word? Wrong?” I smile at him. “I like the sound of that coming out of your mouth. It’s lyrical. W-r-o-n-g. Wroooong. Wrrrrong. Go on, sing it with me.”
“If I didn’t love your laugh so much, I’d kick you off this extremely noisy and bumpy vehicle and let you shiver in the freezing water.”
He loves my laugh.
I clear my throat. “What were you wrong about?” I ask in all seriousness.
He throws me a glare, looking like he might not answer. “About Daughters of Men.”
“Oh? We’re not all freakish, repulsive animals who sully your reputation?”
“No, I was right about all that.” He nods. “But it turns out that’s not always a bad thing.”
I give him a sideways glance.
“Who knew?” he says. “I had no idea that someone could be such a thorn in your foot during a death march and still be
irresistibly attractive in some magical, undeniable way.”
“So is that what people call sweet nothings? Because somehow, I expected it to be a little more . . . complimentary.”
“Don’t you know a heartfelt declaration of love when you hear one?”
I blink dumbly at him with my heart pounding.
He caresses a lock of my hair out of my face. “Look, I know that we’re from different worlds and different people. But I’ve realized that it doesn’t matter.”
“You don’t care about the angelic rules anymore?”
“My Watchers have helped me realize that angelic rules are for angels. Without our wings, we can never be fully accepted back into the fold. There will always be talk of taking a newly Fallen’s wings and transplanting them onto us. Angels are perfect. Even with transplanted wings, we’ll never again be perfect. You accept me just the way I am, regardless of whether or not I even have wings. Even when I had my demon wings, you’ve never looked at me with pity. You’ve never wavered in your loyalty. That’s who you are—my brave, loyal, lovable Daughter of Man.”
My heart beats so fast I don’t know what to say. “You’re staying?” With me?
He moves to kiss me but winces. I lean over to him and pause just as our lips are about to touch. I like the heat and electric tingles on my lips from his closeness.
His warm lips press against mine. My hands spread out over his hard chest and slide down around his taut stomach to his lower back, trying to avoid the cuts. We hold each other close. He feels so good. So warm. So solid.
I want this moment to last forever.
“Aw, true love.” Howler lands on the boat, rocking it. “It makes me want to puke. Doesn’t it make you want to gag too, Hawk?”
“I never thought it was a good idea in the first place,” says Hawk as he lands beside Howler. “Eternal damnation is what I get for listening to you lot.”
“How’s the flesh wound, boss?” Howler shows off his forearm that glistens with his raw, skinless muscles. “Want to compare and see who gets bragging rights?”
I don’t want to ask, but I have to. “What about the angels?”
“They’ll find Michael,” says Raffe. “They’ll go back home and elect him as the new Messenger. They should manage to corral him eventually. He’ll make a fine Messenger, even if he doesn’t want to.”
“We’ll be safe from them?”
“They’ll all be gone soon. Your people can start rebuilding your world.”
“What about the Watchers?”
“They’ve chosen to stay with me. They never had the prejudices against Daughters of Men anyway, which was their problem to begin with. I’m afraid your people might have their hands full with them.”
“But only because the women will prefer us over their own men,” says Howler.
“Is that right? You’re so sure we’ll all want an ex-angel over regular ol’ men?”
Howler shrugs.
“We may not be as perfect as we used to be,” says Raffe, “but it’s all relative.”
I try to give him a dirty look, but I can’t help but laugh. “Yes, I’m laughing at you.”
Raffe pulls me closer and kisses me again. I melt into his taut body. I can’t help myself. I’m not even sure I should try.
My whole world turns into Raffe sensations as our lips explore each other.
I WALK DOWN the center of the street in our old neighborhood. I recognize the cracked building with the graffiti of an angel that has the words “Who will guard against the guardians?”
Every door now has a feather dipped in red paint nailed to it. I guess one of the gangs won the turf war since we left and it’s all their territory now. I suspect there are still regular people hiding in attics and basements, though.
This is now the southernmost end of the peninsula that hasn’t been burned down by the fire from the blood hunt. Many of the walls are dark with soot, but the buildings still stand.
My sister rides ahead on one of her locusts. She calls out to people that the angels are leaving and that they can come out of hiding. She’s been talking more as her stitches heal, letting her move her jaw more freely. She’ll always be scarred, but at least her body will be fully—well, more than fully—functional.
She’s regaining some weight now, finally moving beyond broth and eating solid foods. Laylah worked on her, hoping that Raffe would say a good word for her to Michael when he takes over. Whatever she did to Paige, it seems to be working. My sister still prefers raw meat and doesn’t like vegetables, but at least she’s not picky about what kind of meat or whether it’s dead or alive.
My mother clatters behind me, rolling her grocery cart. It’s full of empty soda bottles, old newspapers, blankets, flyers, and cartons of rotten eggs. People come out of hiding more for the rotten eggs that she passes out than the flyers, but Dee and Dum have assured me that that will change when people start feeling more human and less apocalyptic rat.
Mom is convinced that the hellions and demons will be taking over soon, and by the look of the small crowd that follows her around these days, a lot of people believe her. They flank her with their own grocery carts full of junk and rotten eggs. They have no idea why Mom carries the garbage around, but people are guessing it could be useful someday the way her rotten eggs were useful, and they don’t want to take chances.
As I leave a flyer under a windshield wiper, I catch sight of Raffe gliding with Beliel’s old demon wings above me. He refused to take part in such “human work” as leaving flyers on cars and doors but keeps an eye on us anyway.
The flyer is for another of the twins’ shows. This time, it’s a minicircus. They’re convinced that a freak show will bring everyone together, and have there ever been more freaks than at the End of Days?
My mom yells at someone behind me. I spin with my hand on Pooky Bear, ready to pull out my blade. But it’s just my mom throwing rotten eggs at someone who took an empty soda bottle without asking.
I run my fingers through the bear’s soft fur, telling myself to stop being so jumpy. The war is over now. It’s time to bring the survivors together and rebuild.
Even Pooky Bear still needs some convincing to trust. She still hasn’t let Raffe hold her since the blood hunt, but we’re making progress. He says she’ll eventually figure out that just because he doesn’t match the perfect image of an angel anymore, it doesn’t mean that he’s not worthy.
A horn honks down the street. The twins wave out of the window of their grand prize RV. There was an official winner, but somehow, they managed to end up with it anyway. I didn’t ask for details, but I’m pretty sure it involved gambling since their new slogan is “The House Always Wins!”
My mother is conking the thief over the head with the empty plastic bottle he tried to steal.
“Mom!” I trot back to see if I can keep the peace.
MANY THANKS TO my fabulous beta readers, who helped take the book to the next level: Nyla Adams, Jessica Lynch Alfaro, John Turner, Aaron Emigh, and Eric Shible. And of course, a huge thanks goes out to the readers of the Penryn & the End of Days series for their wild enthusiasm and support.
SUSAN EE IS the author of the USA Today bestselling books in the Penryn & the End of Days trilogy, Angelfall and World After. Her books have been translated into over twenty languages, and her short films have played at major festivals. She used to be a lawyer but loves being a writer because it allows her imagination to bust out and go feral.
Visit her at www.susanee.com or follow her on Twitter@Susan_Ee.
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