I nod. “Line me up!”
Malach dives. My stomach leaves my body entirely. The dripping ball of trash and liquid-angel passes on my right, then I find myself face-to-face with the crawling angel.
I kill him. The chill spreads from the pocket of arteries behind my eyes to the patchwork of thicker veins in my limbs. I shiver, violently, the kind of full-body shudder that belongs on a snow-capped mountain and nowhere near Las Vegas.
My feet skim the ground, and I force my knees to bend. It’s hard. Harder than it’s ever been before. Fear grips me. Will I be stuck this way forever?
Malach groans and adjusts his grip on me. “One more,” hesays. His voice is strained, his accent more pronounced as he supports our combined weight.
I blink lethargically and try to focus on the final angel as my eyes water. He isn’t screaming anymore, and he’s pieced together what I can do. Instead of looking at me, his gaze is fixed on the ground. He’s digging ferociously in his bag. Gods. If he hurls one of those death balls at us from this range, we’re fucked.
“Drop me on him,” I demand.
Malach’s arms tighten instead. I open my mouth to argue.
Then he throws me. Brittle and achy, I collide with the angel, grabbing his hair and forcing his head up. He tries to close his eyes, but he’s too late.
I petrify him, and it feels like I’m petrifying myself. His stone face blurs, and I roll to the side, the pavement unbearably cold against my bare feet and arms.
Breath. Don’t stop breathing.I beg my body to listen, focusing entirely on the grinding rise and fall of my chest. In. Out. In. Out. I’m not ready to die.
My throat spasms as I swallow, venom-laced saliva trickling down my esophagus. It’s bitter, but unmistakably liquid. I’m not a statue; not yet at least. Relieved beyond belief, I force my arms and legs to move, wiggling them until the stiffness turns to pins and needles.
“Luca!” Celine drops to her knees at my side.
Her fingers are scorching against my face.
Satisfied that the cold burn behind my eyes is gone, I pry them open. Stars wink down at me, pure white and crisp, without the fuzzy yellow halo.
“I’m okay, baby,” I murmur, squeezing her hand.
Black spots blot out the stars, and I can’t hear her response over the deafening roar inside my head.Spoke too soon.
Celine’s worried face is the last thing I see.
TWENTY-ONE
Unspoken rule of the Fringes #19:
Don’t show your neighbors anything too interesting to ignore.
CELINE
Mouth open, Luca’s head lolls to the side.
His skin is paler than I’ve ever seen it, chalky and lit only by my wings. They’re flaming like a bonfire, and I can’t fix it—I’m too furious.
Angels hurt him. And it’s my fault.
“Luca will be fine,” Malach says, maintaining a healthy distance from my flames. “You must control yourself, My Truth.”
I hear him. I do. But I can’t calm down. It’s too late for that.
Overheated, my hairline damp with sweat, a red tinge creeps along the edges of my vision. I’m not sure if it’s from the flames or if I’m that mad. The longer I stare at Luca’s slack face, the stronger the rage gets. It’s the safest choice. If I stifle my anger, the emotions churning behind it might getfree.
Air brushes my bunched thighs.Someone is here—they’ll take him from me.
I spin and crouch protectively over Luca.Kill them.
