Page 38 of Angel Lost

The man lifts his head. His eyes are hollowed-out shadows, his face twisted with something deeper than rage, something beyond it. He watches me, watches my trembling hands, my wide, uncomprehending stare.

And then, he laughs.

A short, sharp bark of laughter. Humorless. Broken.

“You thought this was fake, didn’t you?”

The words hit like a punch to the ribs.

“You thought none of this mattered. Every time. The villagers lose out every time one of you aethers appears through that goddess-forsaken portal. And you? You didn’t even think we were real…”

I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. I don’t need to answer. He already knows.

It takes an agonizing minute to decide. I can’t stay. My aether draws these things from the trees. I’ve done enough damage already. My steps are leaden as I turn toward the portal, fleeing.

From what I did. From what I didn’t.

“Tell me it wasn’t real,” I demand, my voice shaking.

The mage steps forward, hands held aloft, face grim. And I know, I just know. My gut churns. “The village and its inhabitants are real.” Hisexpression softens. “I suspect you already worked that out. If it helps, you did better than most. Only one person died.”

My breathing catches.I killed him. Testing my aether killed that child.

“That’s monstrous.” My words come out loud, harsh. “It has to be all kinds of illegal.”

“It’s sanctioned by the royal house,” the tallest priest snaps. This guy must be the youngest of the three, but his face is the hardest. “However rude you are, you have proven powerful enough to grant you a short audience with His Majesty.”

I freeze.

“Don’t get too excited.” He scowls. “If you’re lucky, he may permit you to remain a member of the household.” He sneers, icy blue eyes taking me in, head to toe. “Although I doubt from our readings that you’re quite powerful enough. We’ll complete the analysis and forward it to the king.”

I’m shown to a small suite of rooms to get cleaned up. I whip out my phone, typing frantically.

Lorelei: What the hairy hags was that? Who fucked up? Now I have to meet the Angel King.

Farrell: Zephyr screwed up. Don’t ask. Didn’t you just see the King?

Chano: Are you okay?

Lorelei: I’m fine. I only met his goons, Farrell.

Farrell: What?

Lorelei: Priests. I mean his priests. But I was too strong. Now I have to meet HIM.

Chano: Shit. Okay, chica. We’ll pull harder. But it’s going to hurt.

Lorelei: I can take it. Do not mess this up.

Someone taps at the door, and I slip my phone away and smooth down my uniform.

Showtime.

The old mage leads me silently through the pristine corridors of the temple. The halls echo eerily with a cacophony of voices chanting prayers to the goddesses as I trot after his stooped figure.

I shiver. It’s the twenty-first century. Are robes and creepy chanting really necessary?

Finally, we stop in front of an ornate door. Dragon carvings swoop and soar across it, and in the corners, vampires lurk, fangs out, almost hidden in the surface of the wood. The thing is a masterpiece. Created for the old royals—Farrell’s line. My line. My fingers itch to trace the carvings. The mage pulls a key from a chain around his neck.

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