by Lola StVil
“I’m sure it’s only a matter of time. And you know what? Good for her. She’s like Sparks, you know, so selfless. Pryor and Sparks, they both have these giant hearts. I mean had. She had a giant heart.”
“I know you miss her. We all miss Sparks.”
“Tell Pryor that she’s amazing every day. She forgets sometimes,” he says.
“You can tell her.”
“No, I won’t be here to say anything to her or anyone else.”
“Silver, you’re freaking me out.”
Don’t worry; I won’t end my life. Pryor would kill me. But I am done. No more team. No more missions. No more Noru. No more silver wings,” he says.
That’s when I notice his wings have changed from silver to black. His soul is gone. He has hurt too many beings with a soul. Now he can never go into the light.
“Silver…” I gasp.
“It’s okay. I don’t want to go up there. I don’t want to be near any fucking light. You think I can actually find peace up there? Bex, when she died, I died. I’m like the humans on the Black & Blue Express. My soul is dead; I’m just gonna go somewhere and wait for my body to catch up. You tell your brother, I ever lay eyes on him again, he will die. Slowly.”
“Don’t walk away, Silver. It would break her.”
“I already broke her. I made promises and then…she deserves better. Tell her…I’m sorry.”
He starts to take off into the air. I call after him and ask him why he doesn’t say goodbye to Pryor face to face.
“Because, Kon, I don’t know how.”
It’s been two months since the night at the park. Hunter suffered fractured ribs, broke his right arm in two places, and his left wing had to be mended. All in all, he got off easy. I did, however, strip him of his title. He is no longer next in line. I banished him from the castle and all of Germany. He no longer has the protection of the Omari or myself.
We have all seen what happens when angels break and give in to rage, but never in the history of angels has one of us gone on such a rampage. Silver has not been heard from at all. He sent his last text to Diana, telling her he was sorry he didn’t protect their child like he should have. And that she needs to go on with her life and find love. Diana wasn’t as upset as we thought she would be. The two of them understand each other in a way that is still foreign to us.
The Twins are helping East through the craziness of the past few weeks. East is turning into a very skilled Noru. Randy is taking self-defense classes because he’s tired of being put in a holder. Although we could put Randy anywhere right now and he would be happy, because he got what he has wanted ever since I met him.
Last week out of nowhere, Key came down the steps and into the living room. She stood in front of Randy with two different outfits and asked him to choose. He asked where she was going and she said, “I have a date with this really sweet, hot guy.”
Randy looked hurt.
Then Key said, “But I’m not sure which top he likes better. So I thought I would come down here and ask him.”
It took Randy a minute to piece together that Key was talking about him. When he finally got it, he was beside himself. I guess the date went well, because they’re now on their fifth one. I’m happy for her. Randy treats her well, and she lights up a little when he enters the room.
Pryor, on the other hand, isn’t doing so well. She thinks she has failed as a leader. She feels that Sparks was just as much her responsibility as the other members of her team, so she blames herself. She also isn’t over the fact that Silver left and that he didn’t say goodbye. I think that really hurt her. When I try to talk about it, she shuts down. It sucks because I really miss how open she used to be with me, with everyone.
Another being who is closed off is Diana. She gets out of bed now, but she’s not the same. Sometimes she’ll be fine, laughing and talking to a member of the team, and suddenly she will see something that reminds her of Sparks and she’s depressed for the rest of the week. That’s why I’m here at the house today. I knock on Diana’s door. She opens it and lets me inside.
“Why is there a giant frog on your bed?” I ask.
“That’s Mr. Frog. Randy says he’s mine until ‘I learn to be hopeful in my face’—Randy’s words, not mine.”
“Any chance of that?” I ask.
She shrugs. She’s really trying not to give up, but she misses her daughter. It’s in her stance, her tone of voice, and in her eyes.
“Diana, I can’t make up for what’s happened. But I’ve been talking to a few healers and they created this. I thought it would…help,” I say as I hand her a black leather box.
She looks at me curiously and opens it. She finds a blue shimmering tonic inside a small vial.
“Is this…?” Diana starts, but she’s too stunned to finish.
“Yes. You’ve more than earned it.”
“This can’t be. Is this a vial of Ivy?” she asks.
“Yes.”
Diana screams with delight and shock. She embraces me tightly and then jumps up and down like a kid. The team comes running up the steps to see what’s going on.
“What’s happening?” Randy asks.
Diana is too excited to stop and explain. So I do it for her.
“Diana has a vial of Ivy. It’s the only mixture in the world that can regrow wings. It’s next to impossible to get because you need to harness a drop of soul from the body of a leader. A Kon or First Guardian or Noru…”
“Yes, and I knew no leader would ever give me a drop of their soul, no matter how little. Kon, did you really do this for me?” she asks with tears in her eyes.
“What’s a little soul between friends, right?” I reply.
She embraces me again. The team cheers for her to drink the vial. She pulls away from me and brings the vial to her lips. We watch in awe as Diana’s wings begin to grow. Suddenly, the Kaster who Malakaro grounded and stripped of her wings is now airborne.
Pry and I watch as the team joins Diana for a flight with her new wings.
“Bex, this is perfect. It’s exactly what she needed,” Pry says.
“Well, she may not be able to give Mr. Frog back yet, but she’s on her way.”
Epilogue:
Silver Speaks
Don’t ask me what day it is, because I have no fucking idea. I also don’t know how long I’ve been lying on this cheap-ass mattress on the floor. I may have been here for weeks. Hell, it could be months. It’s hard to tell one day from the next when you’re always piss-poor drunk. Luckily for me, I don’t really give a rat’s ass what day it is or how much time has gone by.
I look up towards the window, in between the ugly rags that pass for curtains, and find the slums of Rio de Janeiro looking back at me. There are endless colorful, dilapidated, crime-infested buildings piled one on top of the other. Here, hardworking human families fight to keep their loved ones safe from the rampant drugs and high crime rate. They fail—often.
Rio itself is a beautiful place. But I chose to stay in a part of the city that is gutted, falling apart, and filled with despair. Why not let my outside match my insides? There’s another reason why I choose to stay here: everyone minds their damn business. If they don’t, they end up shot in the head or sliced open in the middle of the street and left to die like dogs.
I peel back a little of the curtain. The sunlight peeks through and shines onto the nearly empty dingy hovel I call home. Letting the sun in was a mistake, one I quickly correct by pulling the curtains back together. Now the room is completely black. Just the way I like it.
When I first got here, I stayed inside, drinking for days on end. The problem was I could never get drunk enough to keep the past at bay. In the past, doing manual labor helped get my mind off things. Having a task that had to be performed allowed me to focus on something else besides whatever was eating away at me.
So I started working at a construction site nearby. I handle cement wheelbarrows, hauling blocks, boards, and other materials. I do d
rywall, roofing, and carpeting. I work until I’m too exhausted to think or feel. Being a Noru, getting tired takes time. So I normally work long after the construction site closes.
The humans marveled as they watched me work and asked how it was I got to be so strong. When I didn’t reply, they all assumed I’m taking some kind of illegal drug. They whispered about it in Portuguese as I walked past, thinking I couldn’t understand what they were saying.
Every day a parade of women would find it absolutely necessary to walk by the construction site and stare at me. They somehow all needed to run errands just about the time I would give in to the heat and take my shirt off.
The guys at the job loved having the women come to them instead of having to shout out their usual crude comments.
The women weren’t shy either. They asked for my number, they asked me out to dinner, and one woman actually climbed over the fence, grabbed me, and pulled me in for a kiss. It might sound like a good thing to have happen, but the fact is I didn’t give two fucks about the women or their offers.
The only time I did care was when a girl, who couldn’t have been more than twelve years old, came to the fence. She smiled shyly and tried to summon up the courage to say hello to me. One of the guys said something particularly obscene to her. I figured the older women could give as good as they got. But this girl was just nursing a schoolgirl crush and he was out of line. So I broke his damn jaw. Ever since then, everyone at work leaves me alone.
A few days later, on my way home, a group of humans tried to attack me as I was coming back from buying a few bottles of Coy Dark. In Portuguese, they asked me for whatever money I had on me and threatened to kill me if I didn’t give it to them. I ignored them and headed back to my hole. They cornered me a few blocks later.
For the record, humans really are a pain in the ass to fight. There’s a ninety-seven percent chance I’ll snap, crush, or rip something out of their bodies, something they need to live. To be honest, I am less and less concerned about who lives or dies. I could just as easily kill them and be good with it. Yet I’d rather spend my time at the bottom of a Coy bottle, so I give them a chance to rethink attacking me. Instead of going away, they take out knives and makeshift weapons.
I shake my head and try to walk home yet again. One of them stabs my arm. It irritated the hell out of me to have to pull that damn “baby” blade out. I decided instead of killing them, it would be faster to scare them. So I turned my eyes completely black. I was in full demon mode.
They ran screaming in various directions. By morning the news had gotten out. The whole neighborhood thought I had some kind of evil spirit inside me; that made everyone stay away. I was finally at peace. Or whatever the fuck this is.
The truth is, while most days I make it to work, there are days I can’t be bothered. I think today is one of those days. I reach over for my breakfast. I put the Coy Dark bottle to my lips and gulp it down. Once I have drained every drop, I toss it onto the floor and close my eyes again.
When I pop my eyes open, I am once again unsure of exactly how much time has passed. It’s nighttime, but it could easily be a week or two later. There is one thing I can say I’m sure about—I am not in here alone.
I leap to my feet, on high alert. Although I haven’t used my wings in months, they are flapping in the air with full force. I summon up a fireball from the palms of both hands. It ignites and lights up the room. I stand with my back against the wall so that whoever is here can’t get the drop on me.
“So this is where you choose to call home?” a voice says in the dark.
I follow the sound to the corner of the room where Malakaro stands.
“Is this how you treat a guest?” he says as he nods towards the fireball in my hand.
Before I have a chance to use it, Malakaro gestures towards my hands, and the fireball instantly vanishes. Now the only light left in the room comes from the moon beaming into the window from above.
“If you came to kill me, get it over with.”
“I’m not here to kill you today.”
“Great. Get the fuck out of my house.”
“For an angel, you swear a lot. I wonder if it’s from the human part of you. Your parents were human at some point, if I’m not mistaken.”
“I swear a lot because I fucking want to. Now what the hell do you want?”
“My sister is taken with you. I wasn’t sure why until you went on your little rampage. I admire rage, when directed correctly.”
“Glad you approve. Again, kill me or get out.”
“We don’t have time for this; she is growing stronger.”
Malakaro’s tone is certain and firm, like always. But once the beam of light hits his eyes, I see something behind them, something I never thought I would see. Fear.
Malakaro Cane, the greatest evil that ever lived, is afraid.
“Who are you talking about? Who is growing stronger?” I ask.
“The being that has been gathering power surreptitiously while all eyes have been on me; the being that has managed to avoid even my detection. The same being who killed Sam.”
“You did that!”
“I was perfecting a mixture, but she made her own and was able to destroy him before I could.”
“Who?”
“She has garnered a reputation for beauty and cruelty. In the Demon world, she is referred to as the ‘Raven.’”
“I don’t know who that is.”
“Of course you do; she’s on your team…”
“Who is it?”
He comes closer and whispers a name in my ear. I fall to my knees; my chest tightens and I bow my head in anguish.
Not her; please, not her…
END OF EPILOGUE
NORU 5 WILL BE RELEASED FALL OF 2015
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Also read all about the Guardian missions that took place before The Noru; read the first chapter of “Guardians: The Girl” written below. Then download the whole book for free!
Chapter One:
The Boy
Okay, it’s official: I’m a coward. No one is in class today but me—and the new twin foreign exchange students from Japan. The boy’s name is Rio. He’s tall, lanky, and on the cutting edge of fashion. His hair is flaming red and falls into a shaggy bob cut that usually covers his face. His lips are plum red and he has eyebrows most girls would die for.
Rio looks like a Harajuku poster boy. This I learned from Wikipedia; it is a fashion trend in Japan where the kids dress in bold colors, patterns and off-the-beaten-path clothing. I find him sexy in a dark, mysterious way.
His twin sister, Miku, is more bohemian. No matter the weather, she can be found in dresses that are usually soft, flowery, and flowing. She has almond-shaped gray eyes like her brother. Her hair is jet black, bone straight and falls down to her waist. Her bangs frame her soft face beautifully. She wears a single honey blonde braid on the right side. But where Rio stands at 6’0, his sister is nearly a foot shorter.
We’ve said hello to each other in passing, but I’ve never struck up a conversation. I wonder what it would be like if I had that kind of charm. Would I take over governments? Start wars? Or maybe, just try to get a date for senior prom?
It didn’t surprise me that the twins are here. They never miss a day of school. Since they arrived, I’ve been fascinated by the way they are with each other. They could be laughing quietly and joking around, but if a student enters the room looking worried or upset, it changes the mood of the twins. Suddenly they are concerned as well. Of course this is all me—having way too much time on my hands to analyze other people’s behavior.
Still, I imagine their lives are somehow filled with adventure. I wish mine were. I’d like my life to be as exciting as Joan of Arc’s or Queen Elizabeth’s. Their existence changed the world. I daydream about being that kind of girl. But those women were brave and defiant. Me, on the other hand, I can’t even cut one lousy class.
The reason for such a low turnout in my last cla
ss period is the weather. New York City rarely has temperatures above 30 degrees in January. But here we are just two weeks in to the new year, and it’s a blissful 70 degrees outside. So everyone said a silent “Thank you” to global warming and ditched class.
My friend Sara was trying to coax me to join her, but at the last minute, I chickened out. I never go against the rules. Not because I don’t have a desire to, but because I am afraid of the repercussions. What if I cut class and got caught? They’d call my mom and I’d be grounded. Not that I ever really go anywhere but still….
It isn’t just the weather that has made people skip Mr. White’s history class, it’s Mr. White himself. He rarely makes eye contact with the class, or even asks questions to see if we are following along with the lesson. It’s as if he’s talking to himself. He’s a one-man show, and we inconvenience the hell out of him by being there.
I raise my hand and get permission to go to the bathroom. I head down the hallway and encounter the Armani-Dior-McCartney parade. Fashionistas come towards me armed with posh handbags, perfect teeth and utter disapproval.
I am the only kid at Livingston Academy that doesn’t have old money. Actually, I don’t have new money either. My Grandfather was a janitor here for twenty years before he died. As a favor, the dean arranged it so I could get a partial scholarship. It’s still out of our price range but my Mom won’t hear of public school.
Standing there, I thought I’d get my stuff and make a break for it, but no, I walked right past my locker and into the girls bathroom. Like I said: big coward.
I look at myself in the mirror and sigh. I am so uninteresting. My face is too round, my eyes are too far apart and my cheekbones lack the height needed to elevate me to exotic. The only things that stand out about me are my eyes: they’re as purple as the stupid dinosaur. And, well, that’s just weird.
What’s even weirder is that they go various shades of purple depending on my mood. If I’m angry, they become such a deep shade of purple they appear black. When I’m sad, they lighten up and take on an electric, neon glow. I hate my eyes. They come from my father. He had encountered my mother on her way home from school—and raped her. She went to the police, but they never caught him. She tried to put that night behind her, but then I came along.
