Page 52 of May: Bloom & Bane

“I don’t feel special,” I admit, a small watery laugh breaking through. “I feel like a messy ball of everyone else’s feelings and my own endless questions. How can I save someone else when I don’t even know myself?”

His eyes crinkle at the corners. “I don’t think you have to know, Eden. I think you’ll just… feel it.”

I lean my head back against his shoulder, watching the way Nook continues to adjust for us. A box of tissues appears next to the bed. Thank you, Nook.

“You’re very certain for someone who’s only been awake for a year,” I whisper.

“And you’re not nearly certain enough,” he murmurs, his wings beating steadily in their giant cocoon around us.

My stomach gives a small, traitorous growl that echoes through the quiet room.

Sage freezes, his eyes widening in mock-alarm. “Do you think the Horsemen are back? Or is the house growling at me now?”

I bury my face in his neck. “That was me. Apparently, all these feelings have worked up quite the appetite.”

“Then we shall see what the house has provided for its favorite guests. I hope you like surprises, mí’vashé, because I have no idea how to operate a stove.” He scoops me into his arms. As we round the corner to the staircase, the wood groans a sound that sounds suspiciously like a chuckle.

The polished wooden floor bends beneath Sage’s feet before smoothing out. The planks melt together into a seamless polished surface that slopes sharply downward.

“It’s… a slide,” he breathes, his eyes widening in confusion as his feet lose purchase on the slippery surface.

“Sage!” I gasp, tightening my grip around his neck.

We tip from side to side as he tries to right himself. His wings fan out behind us in a desperate attempt to create drag. We speed down the hallway, our laughter echoing against the ceiling as the walls blur into a streak of dark oak and glass.

The slide takes a sharp curve and then ends abruptly, spitting us out onto the kitchen floor in a tangle of limbs. Sage is sprawled on his back, his head propped up by his own wing, looking up at me with a bewildered smile that breaks into full-blown laughter.

“I think my relationship with this house is becoming a little toxic.” He winks at me as he huffs a breath, trying to blow a wayward strand of his hair from his face.

I can’t stop laughing long enough to get a full breath in. My chest heaves against his. I watch him try and fail four times before I finally reach out to tuck the long lock of dark hair behind his ear.

“There,” I whisper, my giggle fading into something softer. “Now you can see your toxic house clearly.”

His eyes darken slightly, the lavender deepening until it looks like storm clouds in a twilight sky.

“I can see everything quite clearly now, Eden,” he murmurs.

A copper kettle on the stove lets out a soft, cheerful whistle.

“Do you smell that?” I ask, glancing around the kitchen. It takes a moment before I find a glass bowl of honey-soaked peaches. “Want to make a peach cobbler, sous-chef?”

He raises an eyebrow, his wings giving a playful emerald shimmer as he helps me up from the floor. “Sous-chef? I believe I was a King in at least one of my past lives. Though we can’t know for certain, surely I outrank sous.”

“Sure,” I tease. “If you can show me how to make the crust. You can be the head chef. Sound fair?”

He glances at the bags of flour and the block of butter as if they’re ancient hieroglyphs he can’t decipher. He picks up the whisk, holding it with the same focused intensity one might use to wield a sword.

“The crust,” he repeats as his brow furrows. “I assume…” He clears his throat. “We just… command it to be firm?”

I can’t help the snort that escapes me. “Command it, Sage? It’s flour, not a legion of soldiers. You have to mix it. With the whisk.”

He looks down at his fingers. “Who needs a whisk when you have claws?”

This should be good.

He plunges his iridescent claws into the bowl.

“Sage, wait—you’re supposed to be gentle!”