I rise, dip my chin in silent acknowledgment, then unfold my massive wings and burst through the ceiling, apparating to the mortal realm right before impact.
When I return to the alley, the Seraphim’s ’s body is still there. It’s cold but humming with divine energy. Carefully—so no one sees—I lift it with both hands, its unnatural weight resisting me as though the heavens themselves resent my touch.
The air bends around me as I shift planes. The world fades, dissolving into deep midnight hues. I arrive at the edge of the woods behind the big top, where the grass wilts in her presence and the moonlight dies before touching the ground.
Madame Zora is waiting. She knew I was coming, and I would expect nothing different. Her enchanted boxcar smells of warm, fragrant incense. Round emerald-green eyes take me in, landing on the body I’m clutching. Behind her, the boxcar glitters with charm wards and dangling bones hang, blowing like wind chimes in the breeze. A soft purple-streaked glow emanates from a crystal ball, leaking out through the door she left hanging open.
“I see you’ve brought me a gift,” she says, her voice a low melody threaded with magic.
I drop the body at her feet. “Payment.”
She kneels beside the corpse, one tattooed hand trailing down its blood-soaked wing. Her eyes glow softly beneath the moonlight.
“Seraphim blood is a rare currency,” she murmurs. “But it won’t buy you absolution.”
“I want answers,” I snap. “About her. Aboutus.”
Zora rises slowly, the weight of her gaze pressing into my skull.
“You want to know if she’s your soulmate?”
“Yes.”
She steps closer, lifting to point at my chest. Her eyes are filled with starlight and secrets too old for this realm.
“If he finds out, we’ll both be punished, ” she warns.
She’s too afraid to say his name—a superstitious belief that uttering his name can provoke his presence.
“Then I guess we need to make sure he never finds out. Do we have an agreement?” I ask, extending my hand.
She eyes my hand wearily, attuned to the magically binding aspects of our agreement. At last, after a long pause, she slides her palm against mine.
“Then prepare your soul, Azrael. Because what I show you cannot be unseen. And once you know the truth… the Fates will demand their price.”
“There’s nothing they can ask for that I wouldn’t give them,” I swear. But Zora only laughs—an all-knowing, eerie, tinkling chuckle, as if I couldn’t possibly be so unprepared to be wrong.
Chapter 15
Mercy
Asnap of twigs in the distance has me jumping, glaring over my shoulder at nothing. In the garden, the morning sun warms me as I tend to each row. Every sound has me on high alert, twisting to greet it with a garden spade held defensively. I suck in a breath, once again threatening nothing but air. My body is tense, waiting in anticipation for the creature to reappear. The memory of it sends my heart racing. It was hideous, with all those wings flapping and curling. Whatever it was, it intended to harm us. A shiver runs up my spine. I’m thankful Tavien was with me; otherwise, I might not be here.
“Mercy,” my mother calls from the small cobblestone patio overlooking the garden.
I look up to find her standing there with a tray full of tea. Normally, she waits for me to finish my morning chores before bringing it. I follow the small path running through the gardenrows back to where she’s placing everything on the table. I take a seat across from her and wait, dread building in my stomach.
“Mercy, you know you can talk to me about anything, right?” she asks, tenderly reaching for my hand and giving it a gentle squeeze.
I don’t meet her gaze. “Yes, Mama.”
“Well,” she pries, “I know the other night was upsetting, and we haven’t talked about that. You’ve also been off since Tavien brought you home yesterday. Is there something going on?”
I’m in shock. All I can do is blink while trying to process her question. I thought I was doing a good job of hiding my emotions, but obviously I’m not. My throat feels too dry to talk. My hands shake as I pour cream, then swirl honey into my steaming cup. Chancing a glimpse at my mother’s face, I peek at her over the rim of my glass as I bring it to my lips. The warm caress of liquid seeps down my throat, coating it in the honey, which soothes the aching dryness gathered there moments before. Her face is concerned, and there’s a hint of something else—like she, too, is keeping a forbidden secret.
“So?” my mother continues to push for a response.
There’s no way I want to discuss my kiss with her, so I opt for the easier of the two conversations. “Yesterday, when we were walking home, we were attacked. That’s why Tavien wanted to talk to Father.”
