“Good to see he listened when I told him to recover computers from major strongholds,” he’d said to Yindi when he unearthed that laptop inside a truck that held only salvaged items of tech—all labeled in Aodhan’s distinctive flowing hand with the date of recovery, plus the location.
“He insisted,” Yindi had answered, her dark blue feathers all but black in the shadowy light of the day. “Even when I argued against it because of the weight of the items.” Rolling her eyes, she said, “I feel the biggest idiot now.”
Illium had laughed at Yindi’s self-effacing tone, but inside, he’d felt a quiet delight that had nothing to do with her. It was good to know that even when infuriated with Illium, Aodhan had kept his advice in mind . . . kept Illium in mind.
As a result of all the calls on his attention, he ended up too occupied to worry at the unfinished business with Kai . . . but at night, when they stopped work for reasons of safety, he sat by a fire with a dozing Smoke snuggled at his side, and brought out the small disk he’d carried with him for an eon.
It was a pendant that Kaia had given him—a charm for protection—but it had now lost all detail. He’d run his fingers over it too many times, rubbed it too much. It gleamed a dull brown in the firelight as he stared at it and waited for the bite of pain. All he heard was the echo of Kaia’s laughter . . . and it made him want to smile.
She’d been so beautiful and bright, his Kaia. Also, selfish and thoughtless. He could admit that now, with the clarity wrought by time and maturity. He could see how young she’d been. How young he’d been. He could look beyond the rose-colored lenses they’d both worn.
It made him think of words his mortal friend, Catalina, had once spoken to him, while reminiscing of her love for her beloved Lorenzo, who’d beaten her beyond the veil.
“My granddaughter, Adriana?” she’d said as she pulled out a sheet of cookies in the small kitchen of her little Harlem bakery redolent with the smells of vanilla and butter and melted sugar. “The girl sighs over a boy. He brings her roses, and writes her poems, and all is perfect.”
Laughter, as warm and full-bodied as when Illium had first met her and Lorenzo. “So sweet, sí? How it should be for young ones.” A light slap of his hand when he tried to steal a cookie. “But you know what real love is, Illium?”
She’d plated four of the cookies, then slid the saucer across to him. “Real love isn’t so shiny and pretty as they show in the cinema. It has . . . dents in it, real love. Bandages here and there—maybe even a patched-up crack or two.”
“You’re not selling it to me, Catalina,” Illium had joked.
She’d flapped a tea towel at him. “To know a person’s bad habits along with their good ones? To see them at their worst and at their best? To fight and play with them through all the seasons of this life? And to still wake up every morning happy to see their face? This is love.”
Sorrow in her face then, her gaze going inward. “Oh, how Lorenzo drove me mad at times. My hair, it would be on fire from it. But I would give up all the years of my life that remain if I could see him just one more time, hear his voice say mi corazón as he holds me close.”
Illium and Kaia, their love had been like Adriana’s with her boyfriend. Sweet, joyful, puppy love. A thing of flowers and rainbows, no clouds on the horizon until the end. When he’d lost his feathers for her.
“It wasn’t about being grounded,” he said to a dozing Smoke, the admission an eon in the making. “If I’d been so stupid out of love, if I’d had a good reason for my mistake—then I could almost forgive myself for the pain I caused Raphael for forcing him to do that to me.”
He’d never forget the look on Raphael’s face the day he’d had to take Illium’s feathers. The archangel had held Illium after, every muscle in his body rigid. Illium had cried, not from the pain, but from the shame of having so badly wounded the man he most respected in the entire world.
I’m sorry, Rafa. A broken statement, the long-forgotten name permitted a child, coming to the fore. I’m so sorry.
Raphael had pressed a kiss to his temple and just kept on holding him tight, telling him without words that even though he’d fucked up monumentally, Raphael wouldn’t forsake him. “I was so ashamed, Smoke.” Until it was in his every breath.
When Smoke pricked up her ears, he scratched her between those ears. “But I was just a kid, wasn’t I? Hell, I was barely older than Izzy.” His eyes widened. Dear Ancestors, Izzy was green. If he made the same mistake tomorrow, would Illium forgive him?