“Oh, my God, I love that movie!”
“I’m sorry?”
“When Harry Met Sally.” Lassiter slapped his bare knees as he grinned. “Carrie Fisher as Marie. It’s a classic.”
“Oh. I’ll have to watch it sometime.”
“It’s a love story.”
“Just what I’m looking to avoid at the moment,” she muttered as she refocused on the scribing temple with its closed, ornate doors.
The angel reached out and took one of her hands. “If you want to live a different kind of life, then make it happen. Purpose is like clay, Lyric. Mold it with your choices and your efforts. Sculpt the hours andthe nights and the months and the years you have… to create what you want. You have the strength and the determination. And listen, I gotta tell you—you are not someone who needs to record the lives of others. That’s not who you are, and you know it.”
“I’m so tired.” Her voice cracked. “I’m so… lost. How am I this young, but feel so ancient.”
“Well, you know how they say that every friend was once a stranger?” When she nodded, he continued, “The same is true for the new ‘you’ you’re becoming. It takes work to develop any relationship and that’s tiring. Once you get to know who you really are, though, you’ll feel like all this confusion was just part of learning your landscape. You’ll be glad you persevered.”
“You sound so sure.” She exhaled with defeat. Then realized, of all the people she could have said that to, he was the one person who was in a position to be clear about life advice.
“That’s ’cuz I am.” Lassiter leaned in and lowered his voice, like he was sharing a secret. “I’m like Farmers.”
She blinked in confusion. “I’m sorry, what?”
“I know a thing or two…’cuz I’ve seen a thing or two. “ He squeezed her hand. “Trust me, Lyric. You are going to do extraordinary things.”
“How can you be sure,” she murmured to herself.
“Do I have to prove it to you?” the angel said in an odd tone. “Well, then, I guess I gotta. Because your true purpose is coming for you, sooner than you think, and you’re going to have to be ready.”
Frowning, she sat forward on her lounger. “What do you mean—”
Lassiter rose to his full height, and the sheer presence of him was like the ringing of a gong, something that went through her with a vibration: No ceremonial robes, no great hall, no gaggle of sycophantic attendants. And yet the profound nature of the audience suddenly resonated through her and left waves of awe in its place.
His voice abruptly warped in her ear. “You’re going to resolve to evolve. It’s your destiny.”
With that, the landscape began to rotate around her.
Or rather… she was the one set into a violent spin. And as she was sucked away, her last vision of the angel was one where his gossamer wings extended out over his shoulders and his hair was down and flowing, and his body was hung with gold.
The grim expression on his face terrified her.
It really did.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Back in Caldwell, in the rural outskirts far from the city’s gritty center, Qhuinn walked through the various security doors at the rear of the Audience House. When he got to the one with the little pinpricks in the ceiling—that were just like the teeny fuckers at the training center—he refused to look up. Goddamn Rhage. The queasy tension as he stood under them was worse now than before whatever the hell he had had a name.
Tinyholephobia. Or whatever the fuck the brother’d called it.
As the last door opened and he burst into the kitchen, all he smelled was fresh baked goods, and his stomach came to attention. He didn’t know what it was, but he couldn’t eat when he was out at Blay’s parents’ house anymore.
Ah, fuck that. He knew why. Food there made him think of hismahmen-in-law—
The instant his presence registered on the cooking staff, all kinds ofdoggenchefs turned to him.
“Sire, may we get you aught—”
“—may we do for you—”
