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6
LILIN
I waited. Waited, and rested, and waited some more.
I tried to Sense again—to reach, foolishly, for Abigor. But the effort, so soon after my last attempts, made me dizzy and nauseated, and I lay on the hard planks of Julian’s floor for the better part of an hour after that, trying to recover. He’d said he would return by dawn, and despite everything, I believed him.
Once I was able to stand, I made my way to the small sitting area. Here, I found mementos of Julian’s life with his family: a worn, hand-stitched doll in the corner; a pair of women’s shoes carefully arranged on a low shelf between two bundles of dried flowers; and two wooden chickens in the center of the kitchen table, roughly carved and smudged with children’s fingerprints.
My heart ached at the remnants of what had been. I had watched the pain of generations of humans, and it still wrenched me, seeing the lengths to which they would go to restore a part of their past. In his desperate attempt to funnel life back into his family, Julian had corrupted the lives of dozens of others.
I looked down at the ring on my finger, now cool against my skin. Serafina’s warnings had been dire and unequivocal: demons were not to be trusted. They were a red-eyed plague, the antithesis of all we stood for in the City.
And yet…
Abigor’s eyes were red, yes, but when he’d seen the villagers, they had turned bright with horror and grief. I thought of the way he laughed, of the way his expression had softened when he’d seen Julian’s home.
I promise, he’d said.
Slowly, I twisted the ring, turning it against my finger. I turned it again, gently pulling with each small movement. Three turns, and the ring slid free. How unremarkable it was, with its three red earth stones, each haloed by gems from the cloud mines. It seemed to lose some of its luster sitting in my palm. Perhaps I wasn’t ready to trust a demon. But perhaps I didn’t need protection from one, either.
I thought of Julian, the way he’d looked the moment before he cast his handful of dust into the fire: the anguish in his eyes, the hopelessness. Maybe, after what he’d been through, he had more use of a holy artifact than I did.
I placed the ring on the kitchen table, nestling it carefully between the two carved wooden chickens. “If you return home, Julian Zugravescu,” I said softly, touching the scuffed heads of each of the small toys with one finger, “may you find peace and protection.”
Then I straightened, and turned for the door.
Outside, it was still fully dark, not a sign of the dawn. As I stepped into the moonlight, a familiar voice said, “Going somewhere?”
I jumped. “Abigor!”
He spread his hands as he stepped forward out of a shadow. “The one and only,” he said. “I told you I’d be quick.”
“You found him,” I said breathlessly.
He nodded. “Not only did I find him,” he said, “I brought him back to the village.”
“You left him alone?” I yelped, instantaneously forgetting every fond thought I’d had of him. “Have you lost your head completely?”
A rumble of thunder sounded nearby, echoing my displeasure, and Abigor narrowed his eyes. “I’m starting to think you don’t trust my judgment,” he snapped. The rumble grew louder, and the air between us began to flicker.
“What judgment?” I retorted, letting my wings stretch out behind me. Abigor’s wings shot out too, and we faced each other, glaring. I could see the challenge in his eyes. I dare you, his expression said.
No. I swallowed my fury, let my wings relax and vanish. I turned away. “I’m sure you had your reasons,” I said tightly, folding my arms.
“Yes,” he grumbled from behind me, but some of the tension had dissipated from his voice. “I did.”
The rumbling quieted and faded. I glanced at Abigor over my shoulder. “Well,” I said. “I suppose I’m sorry.”
He huffed a small, rueful laugh. “Angels and demons,” he said. “The sooner we part ways, the better.”
Something about the way he said it sent a pang through my heart, but I nodded. “Yes,” I said. “The sooner the better.”
Abigor was quiet during the walk up the path toward the village. I wasn’t sure if he was lost in thought or simply trying to avoid an argument, but I took the opportunity to examine him out of the corner of my eye.
Despite the other angels’ insistence that demons were little more than hideous monsters, there was no denying that Abigor was handsome. It made me wonder if the other angels had ever actually seen a demon.
His wings were the inky black of an oil slick, deep colors shifting and gleaming as the feathers caught the moonlight. He was as well built as any angel, with broad shoulders and a trim waist; beneath his tunic, muscles corded his arms and legs. And the horns that rose in spiraling arcs above his ears were sharply ridged and gleaming, an interesting contrast to his messy black hair. I wondered if it was as soft as it looked.
