A Gift of Wings (35 page)

Aidan lowered himself onto the piano bench, his face settling into grim lines.

“The toxin will kill Josh,” Lucky explained, her voice hushed, “and worse than that, it will make him become a Wraith when he dies.”

“A soul sucker?” Aidan interrupted, shocked.

A muscle working in his clenched jaw, Malachi nodded.

“The only cure is the blood of a Naphil who is also a relative.” Lucky watched Aidan as she spoke, and she knew the exact instant that the full import of her words sank in. His mouth tightened, his eyes blazed, and his hands clenched around the edge of the bench, as if to keep him from launching himself off it. She paused, giving him a chance to speak, but he maintained his silence, just staring at her with those blazing eyes.

“I’ve agreed to go through the Making.” The way he was looking at her made her feel like she was confessing to some kind of crime. Still, he said nothing.

Zeke’s voice cut through the palpable tension. “I will contact Uriel and arrange for the Striking of the agreement. It should be done as soon as possible. I fear we do not have much time.”

“Even if the Striking is tomorrow,” said Malachi, “the Making will be four days from now. Do we have that much time?”

Although he spoke in general terms, Lucky knew what he meant: Did
Josh
have that much time?

“Sambethe has given him a tonic that will alleviate his current symptoms, and we have placed him in a stronger stasis that will keep the toxin from completing its work for a few days, perhaps even a week. I will communicate the urgency to Uriel and request that the Striking be set for tomorrow.”

“She has agreed to the Making, then?” Sambethe’s voice startled Lucky. She hadn’t heard the oracle enter the room. The woman moved silently across the floor to stand beside Zeke.

Aidan made a strangled sound, and his hands clenched so tightly around the bench that his knuckles were white knobs. “Of course, she’s agreed,” he said, each cold word as hard as a bullet. “What else could she do? You must be very happy about that, since it’s what you’ve wanted all along.”

“Aidan,” Zeke cautioned.

Uncurling his fingers from the bench, Aidan threw his hands up palms out. “I’m not arguing. The decision’s made. I’m just saying….”

“He is correct,” Sambethe said coolly. “You all know that is true. The circumstances are somewhat less than ideal, but the outcome? Yes, it is what I have wanted.” When no one replied, she continued, “The stasis is stable, and the young man is sleeping comfortably, so I will take my leave now. Should the stasis become unstable or his condition change for any reason, I will know, and I will return immediately.”

“Thank you,” Lucky said, as Ben slipped by Sambethe to get to the guest room and Josh.

The oracle brushed away her thanks. “It is the least I could do,” she said.

Zeke looked at her with a strange expression on his face, but when he spoke, he only offered his own words of thanks and farewell. Lucky watched him as Sambethe dematerialized and saw that a small frown had settled on his forehead. She refrained from asking him about its source. She didn’t need anything else to worry about at the moment.

“I must depart as well,” Zeke said, his tone heavy. “If we are to arrange the Striking for tomorrow, I have a long night’s work ahead of me.”

Before he could dematerialize, Lucky went to him and, laying a hand on his arm, stood on her tiptoes to place a kiss on his cheek. “Thank you, Zeke, for everything.”

Cradling her cheek in his hand, he regarded her with serious eyes. “I do not know that I deserve any thanks in this, my dear. Like you, I do that which must be done.” Redirecting his gaze to the tall, dark man who had risen from his seat on the couch, he added, “Do whatever you can to help her, Malachi. She is too valuable to be lost.”

Malachi silently inclined his head in assent, a gesture that struck Lucky as oddly formal, even somehow ceremonial. Then Zeke was gone.

“It seems we must all leave at once,” Malachi said, looking at Lucky. “I have some studying to do in order to determine how best to help you with the Making. We will begin our work together tomorrow after the Striking ceremony.”

Holding his hand out to Aidan, he added, “Until tomorrow, Commander.”

Aidan raised a questioning brow as he clasped his friend’s outstretched hand, and Malachi added, “I thought you could use a reminder of your status.”

Aidan smiled wryly. “Yeah, Sambethe and I—well, I guess she sort of brings out the rebellious teenager in me. I’m attempting to work on that.”

Malachi placed a hand on his shoulder. “Your anger and concern is understandable, my friend,” he said, casting a quick glance in Lucky’s direction.

“I’ll take the elevator down,” he added by way of farewell, as he headed toward the door.

Lucky took a couple of deep breaths as she waited for Aidan to return from seeing Malachi out. She wasn’t sure what to say to him, and her feelings were all jumbled together. She was terrified of what she had to do, but she was equally determined to do it. She was fighting to remain positive and trust in Malachi and her own strength and determination to survive. And she didn’t need Aidan making her feel defensive. She was already scared to bits about the Making; defending her decision to do it was more than she should have to deal with.

Aidan walked slowly back into the room and stopped a few feet away from her, his hands in his pockets. “I wish you weren’t doing this,” he said. “I understand why you are. I know you have to—you don’t really have a choice—but I wish you weren’t. I just—”

He stopped, as if the words stuck in his throat, and then continued raggedly, “I don’t want to lose you.”

His fear for her safety and the pain he felt at the anticipation of her loss were reflected in his blue eyes and the muscle that worked in his jaw. Lucky felt strangely as if she were the stronger in this situation. It did make sense, she supposed. Even though the Making might be the death of her, she had made the decision to attempt it. She held the power of that decision, no matter what its outcome, while Aidan could do nothing but support her and fear for her.

Wordlessly, she went to him and slid her arms around his waist. His arms went round her in return, and he hugged her close, pressing his face into her hair. Neither of them said anything as they stood there, holding one another. Words seemed both inadequate and irrelevant, incapable of expressing what they wanted to say and too far removed from the immediacy of their feelings to matter. They needed not abstractions, but the simple reassurance of touch, the tangible evidence of life found in warm, strong arms, steady heartbeats, and the rhythmic movement of breath. They held on as tightly as they could, as if the strength of their embrace could fuse them into one.

After a time, Aidan lifted his head and, releasing her with one arm, he pushed her hair back from her face. “We should get some sleep,” he said softly. “Tomorrow is going to be a long, hard day.”

“I want to look in on Josh,” Lucky said, withdrawing from his arms. “Ben is with him, but….”

Aidan nodded. “Sure. Tell Ben he’s welcome to stay if he wants.”

Ben was standing near the bed, staring down at Josh. He looked up as she stepped into the room. Lucky glanced from Ben to her cousin. His body was encased head to foot in bands of pulsing blue-green light. He was motionless, and as Sambethe had said, he appeared to be quite comfortable. His face held the relaxed, peaceful expression of deep, dreamless sleep. Looking at him, she issued a silent prayer to whoever might be listening that she be allowed to survive the Making, so that she could save him.

“Aidan says you’re welcome to stay as long as you like,” she told Ben.

“There’s nothing I can do, so I might as well go. But tell him thanks for the offer,” Ben said. “It seems it’s all up to you. That’s a pretty heavy burden to lay on your shoulders. Thank you for accepting it.”

“How could I not?” she whispered, tears filling her eyes.

Ben bent forward and dropped a kiss on her cheek. As he pulled away from her, he was already dematerializing. When he was gone, Lucky offered her sleeping cousin a whispered “Good night” before she left the room, closing the door behind her.

The door to Aidan’s room was open. Lucky hesitated only an instant before stepping inside.

“Oh,” she gasped.

Aidan was standing at the closet, his back to her. He had removed his shirt, and she could see the lean muscles of his back shifting beneath his skin as he moved. But it was not the sight of his bare torso—impressive though it was—that made her gasp; it was the design that spanned the top of his back between his shoulder blades. Vaguely circular in outline, the symbol was an intricate pattern of interlacing swirls and loops. She would have assumed the design had been tattooed in black ink, except that it seemed to be retracing itself in gold as she watched. It was as if an invisible hand were inking the pattern in gold, which then turned to black as it set, to be re-inked in gold once more.

Hearing her gasp, Aidan half-turned toward her.

“Your back…,” she faltered.

“Oh, right. That’s my sigil,” Aidan said. “Every Naphil—and every angel—has one. It’s sort of like an angelic fingerprint. Each is unique. It’s on both my palms too; it just doesn’t show up there unless it’s activated.”

Walking toward her on bare feet, he held up his hands palms out. His palms looked normal at first; then a smaller version of the symbol she had seen on his back appeared on each of them. The smaller designs were not traced in moving black and gold, but appeared almost fiery, more like molten gold.

“Does it hurt?” she asked, reaching her fingers toward one of the designs.

He jerked his hand back before she could touch it. “I just feel a slight burn. If you touch them, though, they will burn you badly enough to leave a scar.” As he spoke, he deactivated the sigils in his palms, closing his fingers over them until they faded away.

“What about the one on your back? Will it burn me too?”

He shook his head.

“Can I touch it?”

He swallowed, then nodded and turned so his back was facing her once more.

Lucky rested her hand on his back, her fingers touching the sigil’s outer swirl. It was slightly raised, like a scar, and felt a tiny bit warmer than the rest of his skin. With one fingertip, she traced its outline, following the flash of gold as it moved around the design. Aidan shivered.

“Can you feel it?” she asked. “The gold part that moves?”

“Not usually,” he replied, his voice deeper and thicker than normal, “but I can feel you.”

“Sorry,” she breathed, letting her hand fall to her side as she stepped away from him.

“Not a problem.”

He moved back to the closet and pulled out a t-shirt which he tossed to her. As she caught it, she noticed that the button of his jeans was undone, and the denim hung low on his hips.

“I can take the couch this time,” she offered, a little breathlessly.

He shook his head, his shoulders stiffening. “You’re undergoing the Making in a few days. I want to be with you every possible moment until then. You’ll sleep here—with me. If that’s alright with you.”

“It’s alright with me.”

“Good.” His shoulders relaxed.

“I’ll just go—brush my teeth then,” she said.

“You know where everything is.”

Lucky escaped to the bathroom, where she readied herself for bed, brushing her teeth and pulling on the t-shirt Aidan had given her. When she returned to the bedroom, he had turned back the covers on the bed. He had also replaced his jeans with navy blue pajama pants, which rested equally low on his hips. She swallowed and tugged nervously on her borrowed t-shirt.

“Go ahead and climb in,” he said. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

Lucky slid onto the bed and under the covers, her heart threatening to pound its way out of her rib cage. She didn’t know what to expect; she wasn’t even sure what she wanted. But, like Aidan, she wanted to spend every possible minute together.

***

Aidan’s breath caught in his chest as he stepped into his bedroom and saw Lucky in his bed. She had tucked a pillow behind her and was sitting up, her blanketed legs pulled up in front of her, her arms wrapped around her knees. Her long dark curls spilled over her shoulders, and her jade green eyes were huge. She looked so fragile, so simultaneously scared and determined and brave. The thought of her going through the Making made him quake inside—and filled him with frustrated anger. He wanted to protect her from everything that could harm her, but he could do nothing to protect her from this. He respected her choice—knew she would have found it impossible to make any other—and her loyalty and strength and bravery made his heart ache as he walked slowly toward the bed.

Sliding his legs under the covers, he settled himself beside her and put his arm around her shoulders, pulling her tight against his side. She sighed as she leaned into him, resting her head on his shoulder and her hand on his blanket-covered thigh.

“Tell me about the Making,” she said in a small voice. “How does it work?”

Before he could respond, she lifted her head and looked at him, asking hopefully, “Will I have a sigil like yours?”

His lips curved even as the pain in his chest increased. The very question took her survival for granted. “Sort of,” he answered, his hand slipping under the overlarge sleeve of her—his—t-shirt to caress her upper arm. “Once the Making is over, your own unique sigil will appear on your upper back, yes, and it will burn itself into your palms as well. But you— you will have more than just the one sigil on your back.”

He stopped, hesitated, steeling himself for what he had to say next. “During the Making, a number of angels or Nephilim—who they are will be revealed to you during your preparations in the three days between the Striking and the Making—will each grant some of his or her powers to you. It’s done through the palm sigils.”

He paused again as she pulled away enough to look into his face. He could tell from her expression that she was already beginning to understand what she was about to endure.

“Go on.” Her voice was surprisingly steady.