My fake girlfriend just added me to a group chat with her real boyfriends.
This ought to be fun.
21
Iroll out of bed two days later, feeling less than refreshed.
Sleep eluded me last night as I laid in bed thinking about how I should handle today. We’re heading to the mountains to drop off our feast offerings to the Archangels, and that means flying.
Fuck. I should have told my parents about my wings the moment I arrived on their doorstep.
Hauling myself out of bed, I jump into the shower with hopes I’ll find answers beneath the hot spray of water. I know I have to tell them. That’s non-negotiable. But how can I do it without ruining their entire day?
When I’m dressed, I head upstairs, my feet dragging like I’m walking through sticky caramel. My parents have always accepted me, so why is it I feel this sense of dread, like maybe that’s going to change? Gray wings are one thing, butgold? Maybe that’s the metaphorical straw that will snap their support.
“Morning! We’ll be taking off in fifteen minutes, so make sure you grab something to eat before the flight,” Dad tells me when I enter the kitchen. He’s sitting at the table, finishing his coffee and muffin while Mom puts the last few touches on our gifts.
Nausea builds in my stomach, but I chew through my banana-nut muffin and pretend that I’m not about to vomit.
“What’s wrong, honey?” Mom asks at my side, pushing the hair from my face.
I can’t stop the tears from welling behind my eyes or the tremble in my lip. Shit, shit, shit. Why am I so emotional about this?
“Before we go to the mountain, I have something to tell you.”
“You know you can tell us anything.” Both of my parents eye me with a mixture of worry and excitement, the latter of which I can’t quite figure out what they’re hoping for. Here goes nothing.
“I haven’t been completely honest with you about what happened during the attack,” I start, unsure how much to tell them. I can stick to the change in my wings, or I can tell them everything. About the way demons targeted me at school, the light my friends saw when I emerged from the safety of my wings and that it was me who killed those beasts in the end. Which option puts them in less danger?
Neither of them interrupts as they wait for me to continue. Taking a deep breath, I push on.
“My wings sort of transformed in battle, and I think that’s what killed the demons.”
Utter silence follows my words and brings apprehension to my chest.
“Transformed how, exactly?” Dad asks, before sharing a look with Mom.
“It’s easier if I just show you.” I stand from the table and move until there’s enough room for my wings to break free without knocking anything over, then I take a deep, steadying breath.
On my exhale, I let my wings out.
“My word,” Mom says, her eyes wide.
Dad looks equally shocked as he rubs his own before adding, “Mari, are you seeing this?”
I laugh nervously and wait for their disbelief to fade.
“You still weren’t hurt during the battle, though, right?” Mom finally asks.
Her question causes my eyes to sting. Of course, she’d care more about the fact that I’m unharmed than anything else. What did I ever do to deserve these two?
“Nothing that didn’t heal. I’m just a little more different now, that’s all.”
“Has anything else changed?” Dad asks, pursing his lips. “I didn’t go to a fancy school or anything, but I’ve never heard of any angel transforming before, let alone killing demons with it. As far as I know, the Guild has the only thing capable of killing them.”
“I don’t think so. They itch to be let out more, but otherwise I just feel more whole somehow. And maybe I feel a little stronger, but that could just be all the training I’ve done at school over these last few months.”
Mom rushes to me, pulling me into an embrace, and I melt into her arms. “I wish you’d have told us sooner.”
