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It was small. Barely anything at all. A split second where a male who had just promised me something might have added one more sentence, but instead he looked at the curtain.

I noticed it. I want that on the record too, because of everything that came afterward. I noticed the pause, standing right there in the cold with my hand still stinging from the slap I gave him, and I was so busy being righteous about a lie he'd already confessed that I let it sail right over my head.

"Good." I wrapped my arms around myself like a simpleton. "So what else did it cost you? Tell me the rest of it."

"Hazel…"

"Tell me the rest of it, damn it." Pushing aside all misgivings I had for appearing vulnerable in front of him I took a deep breath. "Please."

River stood up.

He did it slowly, the way an old man would unfold to avoid most of the joint pains that come with age, then walked around the chair, putting his back to me as he pulled the curtain open. The forested area around the house came in gray and deep dark green from a long way off, and the sky over the trees had that low permanent orangy red glow of a sunset.

"They needed me conscious for it," he explained to the window. "So, they kept me that way. It took a long time, and I was aware for all of it." His shoulders went up and came down once. "And I did burn out. That part was true. Just not soon enough to matter."

"River."

"You should go stand by the door."

"I'm not going to stand by the…"

"Stand by the door, Hazel."

I most definitely did not stand by the door. I’m pretty sure he knew I won’t listen.

He turned his head and looked at me over his shoulder. Whatever he found on my face made him chuckle. One breath's worth, entirely without humor in it.

"Of course, you won't," he murmured under his breath which earned him a smirk from me.

Then he rolled his shoulders back, and I heard a sound I'd only heard twice in my life, a heavy soft rush like a sail filling with wind, and seven feet of wings opened in that small dark room from one wall to the other. All the air whooshed out of my lungs.

They were black.

Not dark. Not gray, not scorched, not the deep blue-black ravens go in good light. They were black the way an abyss is black. Black like the corners of that room had been black, and the muddy orange lamplight landed on them but did not come back. Long primaries, arched high at the shoulder, filling the space between the bookshelf and the bed and bending at the tips where the ceiling stopped them.

They were still beautiful.

I have never in my life been so frightened by something beautiful.

My hand lifted on it’s own as if to touch them but I stopped myself and it dropped by my side.

I didn't say anything. I couldn't. My throat had closed up like a fist, and somewhere far back underneath everything a memory turned over in its sleep but didn't wake up. It left me with the taste of copper on my tongue with no idea why.

"There," River offered quietly. "Now you know."

Every instinct I own screamed at me to get out of that room.

The wolves downstairs would have dropped their eyes to the floorboards. My grandmother, the strongest witch on this continent, would have gone up like supernova for standing where I was standing. My own magic sat under my skin and didn't so much as flicker, because my magic is a coward about the things that could actually kill me. And no matter how nice River is to me, I had no doubt he would be the death of me one day. But not today.

So, I walked forward. Into the cold. Until I was close enough to count individual feathers.

I put my cut palm flat between his shoulder blades, right between his wings.

"Firefly." It came out strangled and a shiver passed over him. Goosebumps pebbled under my palm. "Don't…"

"Shut up," I whispered. "Hasn’t anyone told you that you talk too much?”

Chapter Four