Page 153 of Tracking Snow

I grin at her before popping next to her and grabbing her in a tight hug.

"You were there for all the hungry years," I say. "When I was whiny and envious of everyone instead of being satisfied with myself."

"Is that what you think that was?" Ariel pulls back and searches my face. "Snow. Part of you was taken before you could even miss it properly. You spent fifteen years grieving magic you didn't know was yours. Of course you were hungry. You weren't envious. You were remembering."

Remembering.

My whole body goes still around the word. The hunger that dragged me to this bar, to snack cakes, to every mage who'd let me stand close to their light. I thought it was a flaw I couldn't train out of myself. It was a memory I couldn't put down.

I spent fifteen years believing Rosie got sick and died while I failed to save her. Then I almost lost Ariel.

For one awful second, I can see it. Ariel too still, eyes closed. Ariel's skin gone gray while I scream her name and get nothing back.

My arms constrict around her until she makes a small oof sound.

"I'm going to get paint in your hair," Ariel says, but her arm folds around my back.

"If anything happened to you, I would lose my fucking mind."

"I know."

I let her go and reach behind the bar. I pick out a bruised apple from the garnish bowl, hold it on my flat palm, and let Rosie's magic lift it into the air between us, slow, spinning, defying physics.

Two girls wanted more than beige pajamas and lights out at nine. One of us had to carry the wanting for both.

"She’s always with you," Ariel says, voice thick. "That’s so cool."

The apple drifts down into my hand, and it fits. "Yeah, it is," I say with an equal roughness in my words.

Four appears beside us and holds a steaming cup of coffee out to Ariel.

She accepts the cup and peers at the label. "Extra hot caramel latte, oat milk, two shots?"

"I watched them make it," he says. "Then heated it another ten degrees."

Ariel takes a careful sip. "Your application for forgiveness remains under review."

"I’ll draw you another bath tonight."

"Extra hot?"

"I’ll boil you like a little lobster."

"Progress," she says, lifting the coffee in approval.

The Seven has been staying at our apartment since we recovered all my friends. He loves the tiny kitchen, the fire escape, and the fact that Lucifer joins him on the roof in the middle of the night. Lucifer’s new flutterbun friend, Angel Puff Puff, has moved in too.

I found them asleep together on the couch this morning again. Angel Puff Puff had his head tucked beneath Lucifer’s chin. I can’t believe I actually called Lucifer cute for that. But with a new friend and a couple cans of tuna, things have taken a real turn for the peaceful.

Four heads toward the collapsed shelving unit blocking the hallway. His eyes flash from red to purple as Two takes over. He phases through the twisted frame, grabs it from the other side, then pulls it free of the debris.

The Seven has been doing the work of at least seven men since cleanup started.

Which feels fair, since he is seven men.

He also hasn’t stopped apologizing.

He apologized at Brightpath while cutting everyone free. Again at the hospital while the doctors checked the chemicals in their systems. Then individually once we were back at Poison Apple.