I did that?
Me?
The spark inside him burns, an ember of Seraph’s fire inside us both. So many little fires, scattered past these walls, past everything.
The Flood should have split his skull the way it did that brother, the way it did that little girl. It should have cracked him open too, Seraph’s growing pains rippling outward with an uncontrollable roar. Grief is easier to fake when you’re not allowed to show it in the first place. I’ll be glad to be rid of him.
Not yet. Not yet, I keep saying, not yet, not yet.
I get one arm under me. The other. My feet. Theo steps back, holding out a hand as if he could steady me. I waver on all fours for a moment, breathing hard. This is where my body is meant to be—Graces often stay on all fours to steady themselves, and my proportions have shifted enough that this feels natural. But it isn’t enough.
I stand.
My full height is immense. I loom over Theo, a snarled tree of flesh and bone, my wings blocking the light and shrouding us both in shadow. Theo stares up at me, eyes wide and glittering with awe. The bucket hits the ground. Water spills across the floor.
“God,” he whispers. “God.”
In the two-way mirror behind him stands the creature that lurked among the trees. The creature that slammed me through the skylight of the student union. The creature that peered at me through the window of this very room. A long tail made of sinew and spines curls at my feet. My face is unrecognizable, my eyes clouded white and the skin pulled tight against the skull. The only thing saying it’s still me is the open-wound mouth full of fangs, each tooth a finger long. I am a charred corpse wreathed in wings, nothing but armor, sharp edges, and feathers.
Hell has followed us onto Earth, and I am the monster that has brought it forth.
“See?” Theo puts a hand on my stomach. “You’re beautiful.”
* * *
The rest of the week is a blur of exhaustion, tests, and wondering if I can have a panic attack in a body like this. White walls, Sister Kipling’s office, exam rooms, over and over. The health center is on lockdown. Soldiers plaster massive sheets over the glass walls of the first floor. I have been cut off from the outside world, and the outside world has been cut off from me.
Every time the sheets flutter and I can see outside, I want to slam myself against the glass. Where is Nick? Is he okay? I don’t want to be alone here.
I want them to be okay.
Throughout the tests, Sister Kipling does not say a word to me. She takes vitals, checks her notes, and won’t even look at me.
“Meet me alone,” I say to her. Her eyes widen, and she hurries off.
Theo barely leaves my side, and Mom is almost as clingy. The general comes around a few times, and Theo’s excitement wavers when the man wanders too close. They have the same facial features except time has turned the general’s cruel. The only solace Theo finds is in me and in the lab techs he follows around like a duckling. He hangs on their every word. They share notes on the intricacies of my power: how I can bend Graces to my will, coax to life even the smallest viral load, and shatter a death-squad soldier or member of the clergy in an instant if I just put my mind to it.
“What do you mean?” Theo asks, leaning over the table as I watch.
“If you kissed the Grace at Reformation,” the tech explains, “you’ve taken in enough of the Flood to make you sick, right? That’s Flood our Seraph can control. That’s Flood our Seraph can bring to life.” The tech looks over at me with so much love. It makes my stomach, or what’s left of it, turn. “We truly have been blessed.” His voice lowers. “Now, if only we could get the prophet to see that…”
Theo wrinkles his nose. “Shush.”
I want to bring New Nazareth down—but there are so many what-ifs. What if someone who isn’t affected turns on me, what if my power isn’t enough to incapacitate someone, what if I can’t make it out in time? What if Sister Kipling’s confession was just a ploy to get me to show my unfaithfulness, even after my absolution? To show my truth as the worst kind of sinner?