Illium hadn’t pointed out that tiny, fierce Holly had her own following. But that was the thing—in New York, immortals were part of the rhythm of life. Not the same as mortals, but still woven into the city. He knew the current levels of interaction had a lot to do with Ellie, but New York’s immortals had never been this remote from the rest of its people.
Here, a film of fear colored every contact between mortal and immortal. Even Rii, who appeared at ease with angels and vampires, had given the slightest flinch when Illium resettled his wings.
As if bracing for a blow.
Illium didn’t know how Aodhan had lived with it for so long; his friend’s personality was such that he tended to keep his distance from most strangers, mortal or immortal, but neither one of them was comfortable with obsequiousness. That wasn’t how you built a strong people, a strong city.
None of this, however, was Suyin’s fault. She couldn’t just erase the memory of her aunt’s heavy-handed rule. It would take time for the new culture to form and then permeate the population.
Leaving the young woman in Rii’s safe hands, Illium rose into the sky. When a flash of color caught his eye, he looked down to see Kai carrying out a tray of food to an angelic security team on break. It was the yellow scarf she’d used to tie back her hair that had caught his attention.
When she looked up, he dipped his wings.
Her smile held a playful impudence to it this time, and it caught at his heart, made him remember another woman, another smile. Kaia had beamed at him with bold flirtatiousness from the first. He’d blushed from the pleasure of it.
“Will you walk with me?” he’d finally screwed up the courage to ask.
Basket of flowers held to her side, she’d given him a saucy look. “If I have the time.” Then she’d giggled and walked off, a lovely young woman unafraid and intrepid.
If he had been Cassandra, able to see the future—if he’d known the heartrending loss to come, would he have chased after her as he’d done that day? He’d flown over her, doing aerial tricks until she dropped her basket of flowers and clapped, and he’d known he’d won her.
Then he’d lost her. In the most absolute way possible.
As he was now about to lose Aodhan. “But I can’t force him to be my friend,” he rasped to the night sky. “I can’t hold on to him if he wants to go.”
We’re all a little broken. No one goes through life with a whole heart.
—Keir, Healer
18
Yesterday
Aodhan flew toward Eh-ma’s house. Illium had stayed with him at his house the previous night, and Aodhan’s mother had baked them sweetcakes and his father had taken them for a walk along the top of the gorge.
Aodhan had been so happy. So had Illium. Especially when Aodhan’s mother let them eat three sweetcakes each! She’d seemed to like being with them, and his father hadn’t been distracted by his books. Those were Aodhan’s favorite times and he’d felt proud to have Illium see how his parents could sometimes be.
“Your ma is nice,” Illium had whispered before they went to sleep. “And your pa, too. He has a lot of books.”
“Yes. Like Eh-ma has paints and brushes everywhere—even in her hair!”
They’d giggled at that and slept.
Aodhan had thought Illium would stay in the morning, too—Aodhan’s papa had promised to make honey oats for breakfast and Illium loved those—but then Raphael had come and taken him away and Aodhan had a knowing in his heart that something was very, very wrong. But when he’d asked his parents, they’d just said, “Oh, Aodhan. This is a thing for adults.”
That was wrong. It wasn’t a thing for grown-ups if Illium had been taken away. Aodhan’s best friend wasn’t a grown-up.
So he’d waited and waited and waited until his parents were busy with their books, and now he flew toward Eh-ma’s house in the evening light. Yesterday, on their walk, he’d found a pretty stone that he’d thought she’d like. He’d give it to her, and he’d ask her what was happening. Eh-ma would explain. She always explained things.
But it wasn’t Eh-ma who came to the door. It was a far taller and thinner angel, her hair the color of chestnuts after his father roasted them, and her eyes soft. Aodhan had known she was kind the first time he’d seen her, even before she’d ever said a word.
“Aodhan.” Smile as soft as the feathers of a color like pink—but deeper—that he could see over her shoulder, Teacher Jessamy knelt in front of him. “I’m afraid you can’t visit Lady Sharine today.”