Angelborn

by L. Penelope

  “I — I don’t know. Keep an ear out. Let me know if I do something wrong. If she’s unhappy.”

  Boys. So clueless. I don’t know much about love or souls, but I watch people a lot, and I listen. Caleb and Genna were literally made for each other. He’s probably closer than he thinks.

  “So what’s your plan? Have you even told her? About being angelborn?”

  He shakes his head. “She isn’t ready to believe me.”

  “But you could show her. She’d have to believe it if she sees you flying around or something.”

  “You’d be surprised what humans can convince themselves of. Full angels with far more power than I are denied again and again. It almost never works the way you think it would. If she remembers me, I’d have the best chance.”

  “Remembers you? That can happen?”

  “Most humans don’t have access to their past lives, but it isn’t impossible. I don’t have the power to make her remember, though some angelborn could. But with enough time, her soul should recognize me.”

  “But time is working against you.”

  He nods sadly.

  “How will you know they’re coming?” The reality of his situation is just sinking in for me. He’s fighting a battle with odds so steep, they threaten to crush him.

  “I won’t. I can’t see angels in this form.”

  “But if you could? I mean, what do they look like?”

  “The Vultures present with wings. In the Wasteland, they fly everywhere. Their angel forms are black in the same way that the Deaths are reddish. Each guild takes on a color. The Vultures often travel with angelfire instead of the portals. It’s faster, but rather unpleasant.”

  “Angelfire? Is that black, too? I think I’ve seen it. The dead who leave, they always disappear in a blaze of black fire.”

  He seems a little in awe of me. Something in my chest swells, expanding like a balloon. “Yes, that’s it. I suppose it makes sense that you can see it as well. Your gift is truly remarkable.”

  “It’s not a gift.” That little reminder is a pin stuck through me, deflating the tiny bit of joy his esteem had brought.

  “Maia,” he says, a light flashing behind his eyes, “if I knew when they were coming, if you could warn me when you see them, I could remove your Sight before they take me away.” He takes a step closer to me. My legs want to move backward, but I stay in place.

  “If Genna agrees to bind with me, I can take on my angel form and do it. Then, it won’t matter if the Vultures find me, I’ll be reborn.” He pauses. “And if she doesn’t, I’ll still help you … before I go.”

  I don’t want to believe him, but Caleb doesn’t lie. Contrary to just about everything my life has taught me, I trust him.

  “She’ll do it,” I tell him. “I know she will.” His eyes crinkle, though the smile doesn’t make it to his lips. “Shake on it?”

  He waits a second before taking my hand, so long that I feel self-conscious, but then his palm slides against mine and a shiver goes through me. I can’t peel my eyes from the sight of our joined hands, and it unsettles me. I pull out of his grip and stuff my hand in my pocket.

  I chance another look at him. He seems puzzled, as if something just happened that he doesn't understand either. I walk away before he can stop me and hope like hell he binds with her soon. I’m wanting things I have no business wanting. The sooner they bind, the sooner I can go back to not wanting anything at all.

  Chapter Nine

  A STRANGER RESPONDS with a smile when I greet her.

  I walk by the hospital, instead of going four blocks out of the way to avoid it.

  I meet a lonely old man feeding the pigeons in the park. He has a daughter and grandson in San Jose and shows me their pictures in his wallet.

  The streets are blissful and quiet. Serene. Full only of the living, going about their days, interacting with one another. For the first time, I am, too.

  I look people in the eye as I pass them. Smile. Pick up a stuffed elephant dropped by a toddler and return it. Stop and listen to a street musician and give him a dollar.

  Clouds roll in and a light rain begins, but I’m so carefree, it’s like that song — even the raindrops can’t make me complain. I feel like a soap bubble, lighter than air. Ready to float away and soar. Ready to burst.

  The clouds grow gloomy and agitated. Shadows emerge around me, vaguely taking on the shape of people. The shadows solidify, the sky darkens, and the world changes.

  The buildings become hollowed-out shells. The streets look like a war zone. Broken windows, collapsed roofs, crumbling walls and facades border the road. The cars are burned out with smashed glass and flattened, torn tires. Chunks of asphalt are missing from the street. Everything is broken or destroyed.

  The empty husks of former people surround me. Their ashen faces are desiccated, mouths formed into Os like they’re in a constant, silent scream or a perpetual state of surprise. They stagger around like slow zombies, unaware of their surroundings.

  I’m dreaming. My mind is replaying the events of the day and twisting them. It’s strange, because for the past six years, I’ve always had the same dream — the hospital, Natasha, the rain. Then again, I’ve never experienced life without my Sight before. I’ve imagined it many times, but for a few brief hours, it was mine.

  The descent back into everyday life, seeing the dead, felt like descending back into hell, or the Wasteland. It took me a long time to get to sleep, and now I have to dream about paradise lost.

  Suddenly, a sort of glittering, white silky thing drops from the sky, like milk poured into oil. It captures all of the zombie people's attention, like a magnet, and they race in its direction. At first I follow them, not quite knowing why, but drawn toward this falling wisp of light. It’s so beautiful I almost want to cry. This thing, whatever it is, releases a torrent of emotion from deep within me. Sadness, regret, hope, envy, all of them fight for dominance and pummel me on their way out.

  The people around me are affected similarly. Hundreds or thousands of them, maybe, rush into view, clamoring for position beneath the falling light. They want to catch it. Their blank faces contort in desperation, fear, and adoration. Bodies slam into one another. The cracks of bones breaking and flesh slamming is sickening.

  I’m knocked down by the horde. All desire to chase the crowd flees. I curl into a ball as bony feet kick and trip over me in their haste. On my hands and knees, I struggle to crawl in the opposite direction from the mob. Shins and knees crash into me, and my head rattles from the blows.

  The odd clarity of this dream frightens me. I’m used to being injured in my nightmares — I die each and every time — but this is different. It has the feel of permanence to it, like if I die in this dream, there’s no coming back.

  A strong kick to my ribs leaves me sprawled facedown on the crumbling asphalt. I’m trampled, pressed into the ground and struggling to breathe as pain explodes on my back. A crunch sounds, and I’m sure something is broken. Then, suddenly, I’m weightless. A familiar woodsy smell fills my nostrils, and a blanket of safety enfolds me.

  Caleb is here. His arms form a protective band around me. He carries me away from the rabid crowd. I sink into his embrace, telling myself it’s just gratitude and nothing else.

  “What’s happening?” I whisper into his neck.

  “We’re in the Wasteland.” Some part of me is not surprised. “You’ve gotten into my dreams somehow, Maia. I don’t know how.”

  “What was that thing everyone was fighting for?”

  “A new soul.”

  “I didn’t realize they made new souls.”

  “Very rarely. Too rare to even hope for.”

  We’re far away now, but even from this distance, I hear the continued agony. The shouts and cries. I’m shivering in his arms, and he grips me tighter. Then, like before, we’re somewhere else. Not the tiny pond where we washed off before — my face heats at the memory — but an endless beach. It’s sunset, and the air is warm
but not hot. He sets me down on the sand and I turn away to hide my disappointment. I’m pretty sure every emotion I have shines through on my face. I’m afraid he’ll see the storm that rages inside every time he touches me.

  I focus on the surroundings. The ocean, glowing purple and red as the sun dips low in the sky.

  “Do you dream of this place often?” I ask. His presence is warm at my back, but he doesn’t touch me again. I keep myself from leaning into him, but just barely. Caleb’s hands on mine earlier today were warm and strong. His arms around me just now were like a drug. I can see myself becoming addicted.

  “No, we’re back in your dream. I cannot walk my own the way I can with others.” He touches my shoulder, and a quiver of excitement ripples through me. I step out of his grasp out of pure self-preservation.

  “This isn’t mine. I’ve never dreamed anything like this.” I shake my head. All the good things that exist in the world seem perpetually beyond my grasp or come only for a short time. I had three hours and forty-six minutes today without seeing the dead, and then they were back.

  My dreams I can handle. My life, I’m used to. What I can’t handle are someone else’s happy dreams rattling around in my head. You can’t miss what you don’t know, right? “Take me to my regular dream, to the hospital. Wake me up. Something.”

  He walks around to face me, lifting my chin. His fingers singe my skin.

  “Why? Why would you want to go back to that?”

  “Because it’s real to me. That’s what my reality is. I won’t ever have someone risking everything for me. I’m not Genna. I don’t get the knight coming in on horseback asking for a piece of my soul. My soul is dark … that’s the way my dreams should be. It all fits.”

  I wrench my chin from his grip and take off running down the beach. The wind picks up and I imagine it lifting me off my feet, letting me fly through the air, free for a moment. But what I told him is true. This isn’t mine and I can’t allow myself to get used to it. I don’t even want to dream about it.

  When I run out of breath, he’s behind me. He gathers me close, pressing his nose into the top of my head. “I’m so sorry, Maia,” he whispers into my hair.

  I don’t know when I started crying, but my chest rises shakily against the bar of his arm, trapping me in place. I don’t deserve his comfort, don’t want his pity, but I’m tired of fighting. I relax in his arms for just a moment.

  When I open my eyes, I’m in bed. Genna sleeps soundly across the room. It’s dark, but not too dark to see Caleb’s head as he disappears through the door.

  Chapter Ten

  “WANT anything from the vending machines?” Genna asks brightly, standing up from her spot on her bed, where she’s surrounded by swatches of fabric. I look up from the book I’ve been pretending to read and shake my head. She casts a glance across the room at Maia’s bowed head before leaving. As soon as the door closes, Maia looks up. Her dark-rimmed eyes are full of pain.

  “Can’t you guys go somewhere else?” she hisses. “This is my room too.”

  I look at the door, then back to her before standing up. She holds her book against her chest like a shield.

  “What are you doing? Get back over there!” she says as I cross to her.

  “You have bruises under your eyes.” I crouch before her and stroke the tender skin there with my thumb. Her scent is all around me. It’s been that way since the dream, like I exist in a cloud of Maia, and it’s intoxicating. Sweet and spicy, lovely and brutal.

  “It’s called makeup, idiot.” She jerks her face away. “Keep your hands to yourself.” She scoots down the bed, away from me, and I sigh. Stand up. Go back to my seat at Genna’s desk.

  “Why haven’t you kissed her?” Maia’s voice is small, and when I look over, her head is once again buried in her book.

  I rub the back of my neck, trying to knead out the nervous energy. “I…”

  “It’s not 1940 anymore. Waiting to kiss someone for three weeks is considered weird, not gentlemanly. She’s getting confused. You need to speed things up — you asked for my help.”

  She’s right. I’ve been stalling, telling myself it’s out of respect, that I need to rebuild the foundation of trust Viv and I had, but I don’t have time for that.

  We sit in silence until Genna returns with something to feed her sweets addiction. Viv was the same way. She’d visit the bakery almost every day and emerge with a piping hot pastry, the icing oozing down the sides onto her fingers. She’d grow giddy like a child at the thought of anything sugary. I would save up every dime of my salary just to buy her treats and witness her joy.

  For some reason, the slick plastic packages of multicolored candies make Genna’s sweet tooth discomfiting. Whether it’s the fact that these candies have shelf lives measured in years instead of days, or that the ingredients list on the back reads as if it’s from a chemistry text, I’m not sure.

  I steal another glance at Maia before turning to Viv — Genna. For all their similarities, there are many differences. Viv was ambitious; she’d enrolled in secretarial school in the mornings and helped her father in his shop in the afternoons. She had her eye on becoming a bookkeeper and eventually selling the shop so her parents could retire by the sea. She doted on her younger sisters and was determined that they would study at university, something she had dreamed of before the war.

  In this time, Genna and her brother were raised by a nanny. She’s never held a job and approaches her studies rather lackadaisically, in my opinion. Her major is fashion design, which I understand to be more complex than it sounds, thanks to Maia’s tutelage. Still, when I asked Genna what her plans were after graduation, she said that she did not fully expect to become a fashion designer. When pressed on what she did plan to do, she wasn’t sure. She said perhaps she’d figure it out in graduate school.

  She looks over at me now and smiles, her mouth tinted purple from the candy. Her smile melts me a little. The differences don’t matter. You can only have one soul mate and, for better or worse, mine isn’t the moody, damaged girl I can’t stop thinking about, whose dreams I can’t seem to stay out of. Who, for some inexplicable reason, can’t stay out of mine.

  My only chance is the girl with the purple mouth whose smile is like the sunshine, who greets each day as if it’s a gift, not as if it’s an extension of an ever-present nightmare.

  When I met Viv, some part of me recognized her. She was so bright, it was like she belonged in Euphoria. I was drawn to that about her, her lightness, her effervescence. It draws me in even now.

  “Where did you go? You’re always off in the clouds.” Genna nudges my arm. I reel my thoughts back in and tuck them away, smiling at her. She blinks rapidly. Maia clears her throat from across the room, and I look down to find that I’m glowing. I stop immediately, not sure how I’d almost shifted into my angelic form. My slipping control is definitely a sign that my powers are weakening much more quickly than the last time. Human form isn’t completely natural to me, so it takes a certain amount of concentration to maintain it. Letting my thoughts fly off, denying my attraction to Maia, worrying about Genna’s variances from Viv … none of that is helping. Once I lose my powers, it won’t be an issue, but then I won’t be able to help Maia.

  I need to focus on my mission and ignore the distractions. I look into Genna’s eyes, then down to her lips. They’re sticky and glossy, lacquered with some sort of product she applies regularly from a tube. I should kiss her, but Maia is sitting there, head down, pretending not to pay attention, yet hanging on our every word. I feel her attention.

  Perhaps I’ll wait to kiss Genna during one of the rare times that her lip lacquer has worn down. Or maybe tonight, at the party we’re meant to attend.

  Genna is still waiting for an answer to why my attention is so easily diverted. I spin a tale of trouble in one of my invented classes, repeating words I heard another student saying earlier in the corridor. She pats my leg comfortingly, telling me how she had that professor last year a
nd knows how tough he is. She leaves her hand on my thigh and I zero in on that, on the sensation, her long fingers and delicate wrist. Free my mind to generate rude thoughts about where I’d like that hand to go, what I’d like it to do.

  And if another vision seeps into my imagination, a darker hand with chipped black nail varnish instead of perfect pink, I don’t linger on it. I push it away immediately.

  Maia stands up suddenly and I rear back, as if caught doing something wrong. She pulls on a hoodie and stomps out the door without a word. Genna just sighs and shakes her head, giving me a look and a shrug that say, What are you gonna do?

  What indeed?

  * * *

  The cold wind bites into me, and I welcome it. I am not a good person. Lusting after Caleb is wrong, so, so wrong. He belongs to someone else, so why can’t I stop this attraction? This obsession, really, and I’ve never been one to be obsessed over boys.

  Not like Cadence, my roommate from the group home, who would primp in front of the mirror for nearly an hour. Dusting her face with powder and coating her lips with shellac, failing to realize nobody wants to kiss that shit. The sad thing was, the kinds of guys she dated would just lift her skirt and bend her over their back seat before sending her on her way. She was a tough girl — you learn to be tough quick in a group home — so I’d do her the favor of ignoring the sniffles coming from her bed late at night. The next weekend, she’d just repeat the whole thing over again. We all did what we could to survive.

  I tried it one time. Sex. I just wanted to feel normal for once. I can’t even remember his name. Jason? Jerome? I met him at the mall. He was a rent-a-cop, had his own place and a quiet way about him that put me at ease. I demanded to be on top, and he didn’t mind. I didn’t take off my clothes, didn’t really let him touch me. After it was over I just left, never said anything to him and never talked to him again. I didn’t feel any more normal.