Page 2 of Angel Lost

“Run,” I scream.

The kragath covers the ground quickly, on us in a second. I slash wildly with my knife, but the creature’s skin barely marks.Shit. I pause, draw my magic to me, point my palms at the kragath, and blast fire straight at it. It staggers slightly, skin smoldering, then it turns all six bloodshot eyes on me. It screeches; a noise like fingernails on blackboard and incandescent rage rolled into one. Goose bumps break out across my skin and my heart pounds. The kragath lashes out, and I shove Lottie out of the way, flinging myself after her, my body shielding hers. The claw misses my face by an inch. Panting, I lie propped on my elbows on the cold slate slabs, facing the thing, channeling every ounce of my magic—

Suddenly, I’m knocked sideways, tumbling across the paved ground, bones rattling with the weight of the body on top of me.

Chano.

He bundles me up, his back to the kragath, and sprints for the gate. I’m shoved through it, into waiting arms, and restrained.

A high-pitched scream, followed by silence.

Lottie.

My blood chills. Chano races back into the courtyard. Cursing, I strain against the hands holding me. What is wrong with them? I have to help. Have to save Chano’s sister. That monster will eat her alive.

“I canhelp, goddesses be damned!” My aether can help.

Biting and kicking, I lunge this way and that. Raff rushes past, five gray-robed figures on his heels, and I freeze, teeth embedded in the arm restraining me.

The Angelic Council.

By the time I wrestle my way out of my captor’s grip, and back into the courtyard, the Council have sealed the rip, and a crowd has gathered. I stand on tiptoes, straining to see. Between the shoulders of those in front I can just make out a small, crumpled body lying on the cobbles, congealed blood pooled under it.Is that…? No. Please no. Chano will never forgive me, never forgive himself.A somber priest reverently covers the slight frame with a plain black cloth, and guilt crawls up my spine. If only Chano hadn’t rushed me out of there…If he’d saved his sister instead…

A plump middle-aged lady snatches up a broom and starts vigorously sweeping. Another sloshes antiseptic across the cobbles. A few of the men drag the kragath away. What Chano left of it, at least. I stare at the ground, willing it to eat me up.

“What use are you if you won’t even fight?” Lottie grumbles beside me.

My head snaps up. She’s alive!

My relief melts into rage in an instant. She was the one who froze in front of the kragath. She was the one the dead guy was trying to save.

“It’s not like Chano let me—dragging me away like that,” I snarl.

“Chano didn’t let me,” she says in a high-pitched, whiny falsetto.

Chano’s hand lands on my shoulder, and he gives me a squeeze. “I needed to keep Lorelei safe. You know that, Lottie. Anyway, you fought it off.”

“Billy’s dead, and it slashed me, Chano Maverik.” She turns her head, showing us a deep, angry laceration stretching from her eyebrow straight down her cheek. “I could have lost my eye!”

Chano smiles weakly. “Blooded like a true warrior, little sis. You’ll have a scar to prove it. Welcome to the Maveriks.”

Lottie’s face crumples, and she tears up. Clutching her torn cheek, she elbows past her brother.

Chano’s brow furrows. “What did I say?”

“She’s a pretty teenage girl, Chano.”

“She’s a Maverik. We’re proud of our scars.”

“She’s proud of her looks. Or she was.”

Chano snorts, throwing his hands in the air and storming away toward the hastily constructed pyre.

It seems disrespectful to burn the hellions that killed Billy in his funeral pyre. But no one else finds it weird. They pile the bodies, insect and rodent alike, under the makeshift platform that now houses a thin wooden coffin.

Chano’s mom has released a bunch of fireflies and pinned pictures of the dead guy to the trees. The small altar is already swamped with offerings. It doesn’t take long to get a fire roaring, the flames licking up into the night. As we draw close around it, the pungent sulfur turns my stomach. Around me though, the wake is turning into a party. Not one other person seems perturbed by the distinct aroma of burning flesh. I shiver.

I get it. It’s mourning and celebrating his life, all in one. But he didn’t need to die. I didn’t play my part. I didn’t get to. Lottie’s mockery echoes in my head and I edge farther away from the bonfire, into the shadows.

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