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“You’ll be the first to know.”
“Good. It’s about time Rébecca understood what is coming. Before she forms any attachments. The girl has been shielded from the reality of what being a Delacroix means for too long.”
I don’t have a chance to respond before she’s gone.
“Christ,” I say, standing. I turn to Willow who is staring at the empty space where Salomé just stood. “Let’s go.”
“What does she mean?”
“Nothing.”
“Clearly, it’s not nothing. She’s brought it up twice now.”
I hold out my hand for her and she pushes her chair out and stands.
“Azrael, I want to be prepared.”
“Let’s go outside. I could use some fresh air.”
“It’s going to storm.”
“I’m not afraid of a little rain. Are you?”
“Azrael—”
“We’ll talk outside.” She opens her mouth, but I interrupt. “I want to go to the lake.”
At that she pauses, then acquiesces, and we head out to the lake. It’s been a warm day and the temperature is still high although a storm is expected.
“My grandmother may talk, but she has no say in anything that happens to you. All right?” I tell her once we’re out of earshot of anyone listening from the house.
“Yes, sort of, but here’s the thing. Something is going to happen to me. You and I both know that. Within a year, I’ll be dead.”
I keep my gaze on the path and am silent until we reach the clearing. Strangely, since the other night out here with her, it doesn’t feel so bad to be here. In a way, I feel closer to Abacus.
“Let’s have a quick swim,” I say, pulling off my shirt.
“Why won’t you answer me?”
“Willow. Drop it. It doesn’t matter.”
“It matters a great deal to me.”
“What I mean is…” I start but stop when her gaze falls to my tattoo and I see how her expression changes, I stop talking.
“Wait a minute.” She reaches out to touch it, tracing the lines of the angel curving around the right side of my body. Did I think she would somehow not know what it was after our visit to the cemetery?
She moves around me, her fingers feather light on my back, her breath warm on my shoulder. When she comes to stand before me again, she takes my hand, opens it. In astonishment, she takes in the golden cuff inked into my skin. It’s the same as Shemhazai’s battle-ready statue wears.
All I’m missing is a cloak and a sword to be him.
To be Shemhazai.
And that’s the point, isn’t it? That was Salomé’s point.
Willow has seen the tattoo before, but she didn’t know exactly what—or who—it was.
“It’s him.” She shudders, wrapping her arms around herself. Her shoulders curve inward, and in her eyes is something akin to disbelief or disgust. “It’s the angel from the cemetery.”
“He’s a demon, not an angel,” I say because it’s true. I know it, and I think she does too. All that talk of witchcraft aside, she has a sixth sense.
Color drains from her face before my eyes. “Is that what you’ll be when you do what Salomé seems to expect from you? When you present me to that thing? A demon?”
It’s hard to look at her, but I make myself do it. She deserves that much. I brush her hair back, let my fingers move over her chest to the crescent moon on her breast, gliding lower to undo the top buttons of her dress until I expose a part of the tattoo.
It’s in that moment I make the decision. Or perhaps I’d already made it on the night of The Tithing. Maybe it was having her in my house. My bed. I don’t know. But I do know that I don’t want to hurt her. I can’t hurt her.
“Mom used to bring us here when we were little,” I say, turning away from those too-keen eyes. Because if I don’t do what I’m supposed to do, what Salomé expects of me, what will happen to my family?
“It used to be a happy place with so many happy memories,” I hear myself say, wondering how I sound remotely normal. “I often wonder why he chose to die here.”
She follows my gaze to the tree. “Your brother?”
“His name was Abacus.” A light rain begins to fall, the start of the coming storm. I pull my shirt back on, wanting to hide Shemhazai from her view. Wanting to hide her from his eyes.
“Maybe Abacus felt the happy memories too. Maybe it was a comfort for him to be here at the end,” she says gently.
I smile at her kind words. I think she means to comfort me with them.
“He was first-born, did you know that?” I look at her as we settle on a stone bench beneath a sheltering tree. “By a few minutes, but still.”
She remains silent and I’m not sure why I’m telling her any of this. I think I need to.
