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“Pendeja. That’s how you say fuck in Spanish.” Dawn rose so fast, her chair tipped over with a thump.
This woman was no fortune teller.
“Who are you?” I pounded a fist on the table so hard the crystal ball bounced once in its metal prongs. Saving Grace. A human couldn’t have done that.
The lady jolted out of her seat, grabbed a black crystal from the shelf, and placed it in front of her. I realized too late when my feathers ruffled and my head spun that she held a hematite.
I shivered and restrained from yanking out my sword. I didn’t want to spook her even more, but the crystal had me weak at the knees as I recalled how much I had suffered while I was locked up in Drevon.
“You’re not humans, are you?” Her voice grew louder, desperate. Then she pointed at my face. “Your hair. Something happened to you. Something magical changed you. Who did this?”
What was she talking about?
“You will all know suffering!” The lady held up the crystal toward us as if that would keep her safe.
Snow slumped her shoulders and shook her head. “You’re a fake. I’m so disappointed.”
“Get out!” The lady shuddered, her nostrils flaring. “Never come back. Don’t even step foot in this market.”
Snow might be right. This fortune teller might be fake, but a fake one would want to say things to gain more coins. Angels knew suffering and death well. So perhaps she sensed those feelings tenfold in us. But still …
A shiver racked my spine, and something eerie caressed my skin. Please let this fortune be wrong. I clutched Dawn’s cloak and grabbed Snow’s hand.
On our way out, I said, “Not a word of this to the boys.”
Chapter Seven
Aftermath
Michael
Using the strength and speed being an angel gave me, I poured my anger and pain into the dirt. I clawed open a hole with my fingers and buried Peter near the apple trees by the stream.
After I placed his body gently into the pit and covered him, I collected smooth, fist-sized stones from the stream and placed them around his burial site so my mother and sister could give him a proper prayer when I rescued them.
I sat on a large boulder, water lapping around it as I watched my house burn like a giant torch in the night. The red and orange flames licked at the sky in flickering patterns that took me out of myself. A happy memory from the week before swallowed me whole.
Peter shoved the front door open, excitement in his voice. “Look what Michael caught.”
The aroma of chicken soup wafted from our home as I entered behind him with a dead buck over my shoulder.
“A deer!” Abagail gasped into her cupped hands, then dusted snow off my cloak. “How did you do it?”
Mother surveyed me from head to toe, then her smile lit up the house. “Oh my, that’s so much food. Did you get hurt? Is it heavy? Do you want to put it down? You must be starving.”
I chuckled. “I’m fine, Mother. Where would you like me to put it?”
“Outside.” Peter headed to the back door. “We’ll take care of it after supper.”
Mother and Abagail bustled about the small kitchen, setting plates and silverware around the well-worn table. Peter and I scampered off to wash our hands and change into clean clothes. The aroma of freshly baked bread filled the room as I slid onto my seat.
My mouth watered at a bowl of carrots and potatoes in a steaming chicken soup in front of me. After Mother blessed us with a prayer, she handed Peter the bread basket.
Peter took out a piece of bread and placed it on my plate. “Thank you for trusting me.” He put a hand over mine. “You’re my son, even though our blood is not the same. Family can be found. And our bond is too strong to break.”
Ever since I’d found out Peter wasn’t my father, not only had I called him by his name, but I had built a wall between us. Though the foundation was slowly chipping away, his words gave me another reason to fracture it more. Something hard inside me cracked and I tore a piece from the bread I picked up from my plate.
Abagail kicked me under the table and stuck out her tongue to make me laugh. Mother shifted in her seat next to Abagail and dabbed the corner of her eyes.
