Page 87 of The Deer and the Dragon
“Which is?”
“He’s a man, right? I’ll do what I’ve always done. First, I’ll make him think he has the upper hand. Then, I’ll get him talking.”
How long had it been since I’d stood in my doorway after returning from the sulfur and blue pulp of the Cheshire-cat massacre only to see an angel in the middle of my living room? I remembered him extending a hand, making a joke about how anything could be lurking in my closet in the moments before Fauna stepped from behind the shadows. I focused on that memory, calling on it to comfort me. He hadn’t known she was in my apartment then, and surely he wouldn’t sense it now. I prayed—though to who, I had no idea—that Fauna and Azrames would remain concealed as I settled on my couch. Then I’d knelt, as I had in childhood when talking to God. Finally, I’d taken to pacing.
Candles flickered around my apartment as if I were holding a séance. The entire unit clashed between the fragrant vanilla, the cinnamon bun, the fireside, the balsam, the pumpkin pie, and the fireside embers I’d stocked and stored around the place, fetching them from every closet, every bedside table, every dusty hiding place under the sink until they were all ablaze. Hopefully, the smells would be as overpowering for him as they were for me. The room danced with shadows, while every piece of furniture, every belonging, every nook and cranny reflected orange in its dim light. I knew thatmeant he’d be able to see me, my every expression, my smiles, my frowns, my uncertainty, my pain, my fear, all with perfect clarity.
Clutching the sympathetic poppet in my hand, I followed an indiscernible intuition and pressed it against my heart. Without knowing why, I squeezed my eyes closed and whispered his name, inviting him in.
Perhaps it was my fae blood, perhaps it was cowardice, but the instinct to close my eyes was right. The room filled with a painfully white light for the briefest of instances. Perhaps if my eyes had been open, I could have written it off as the gripping claws of an ocular migraine. Instead, I knew it for what it was.
I looked up, and there he was.
“Marlow.” He said my name as if it were an apology. I’d forgotten how golden his eyes were, and a tiny tug of curiosity wondered if those magnificent irises had been the birthplace of halo lore. They darkened, the glittering light behind him folding in on itself as his muscled shoulders slumped slightly. He was in the same cream-shaded armor he’d worn before, and, knowing what I did about his rank and the controlling nature of his realm, I wondered if he was in uniform.
I took a step backward from the towering man and held up the figurine. “What is this?” I breathed, horror and offense plain on my face. I didn’t need to fake my outrage.
His eyes went from the golden statuette in my palm to me. Guilt wove itself through his features. The glitter around him gave way to the flicker of candles as he said, “I…I’m sorry. I’m doing everything I can.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked, voice trembling.
“Listen, Marlow, it’s more complicated than you realize.”
My fingers tightened around the poppet as I made an angry fist. No, it wasn’t more complicated than I realized, despite his condescending assertion. I understood so much more than he gave me credit for. I bit my tongue as I foughtthe urge to spit his words back at him, resisting my temper in favor of information.
“Then help merealize.” I failed to keep the venom from my words but decided it was fine. It was honest, at the very least, which I’m sure he could sense. So far, nothing I’d said or done had been an act. “You nearly left me to die in a basement. I had to beg you to get me out of there. Now, you’re everywhere. You’re in my apartment. You’re in my family. You’re leaving tiny gold statues under my bed!” I couldn’t help the involuntary response as I chucked the poppet across the room. He flinched as it hit the wall as if the impact caused him physical pain. I stirred my voice into equal parts confusion and desperation as I begged, “What do you want from me?”
“It’s about you, and it isn’t.” He blew out a breath. He ran his hands through his hair, and between the boyish gesture, the defeat in his voice, and the collapse of his posture, he looked positively…human. “It’s not fair that you’re caught up in this, Marlow. It isn’t. But here we are, and we can’t change the dice that have been cast.”
I took a step closer and watched him soften sympathetically as I approached. The thieves’ oil scents of frankincense and myrrh were strong enough to overpower the candles that burned throughout the apartment. Everything about his tone, his posture, his message confused me. I was ready to be angry. I was ready to befuriousas I plied him for information. I’d prepared a variety of tactics that had proven endlessly useful in my career of getting industry tycoons, actors, financial experts, and old money to open their wallets in conjunction with their lips. I sat on a vault of secrets nearly as powerful as my well of savings.
They’d prattled on to a pretty, polite, blank canvas. I’d smiled, nodded, and touched their arms supportively while they’d projected their fantasies onto me. I was a friend. I was a lover. I was a bimbo. I was an empty vase, a static television, a college girlfriend, a confidante, a nobody. Nothingthey said to me had mattered, just as I hadn’t mattered. I’d mirrored their anger, their excitement, their indignation, their pleasure, persuading them to give more, share more, reveal more. And with each secret, each whisper, each coin of information, I’d slipped it into the bank within myself and accrued more and more until I could buy myself a kingdom built on knowledge as its stones.
“Are you going to ask where I went when Fauna and I disappeared?”
He closed his eyes. “You went either to the Nordes or to Hell. I don’t know how you did it, but you did.”
I nodded slowly. “Are you going to ask what I learned?”
He took a step toward me, and I watched his hand reach for me just as it had when he’d offered the bond. It rested briefly on my shoulder, sliding down my arm with the barest of touches before he dropped it altogether. He turned his head as he looked to the wall.
“Why haven’t you told anyone?” I asked.
He met my gaze then, golden eyes flashing. I knew in my core that he understood my question. We’d cut through the bullshit. We’d skipped the pleasantries, the dances, the guessing games until I asked what I’d summoned him to ask. He’d responded to the most urgent of tiers, and he’d done nothing with it.
“Why hasn’t Heaven—”
He raised a hand to silence me, and I complied. Maybe it was the way he stiffened or the quick intake of air, but I knew with immediacy that the truth of my question couldn’t be spoken aloud. I realized my foolishness in a moment. If Azrames, Fauna, and Silas could be in the same apartment, then so could anyone. Thanks to the ink marring my skin, I’d be able to see them whether or not I was within the unit. If they loitered just beyond earshot, though, I might unravel the good Silas had done by keeping my secret.
“I called it in” came his low response.
My blood chilled. My lips parted, pulse quickening. Iblinked rapidly to try to bring moisture to my eyes, but I couldn’t. I wanted to study his face, to search for answers, to ask what he’d done, but all I could do was focus on the shallow breaths that barely kept me alive.
He’d called in the favor.
It was too late.
My lungs weren’t filling. My panting grew quicker until it was too late. I took a backward step, buckling against the pain of my bruised, purple knee as it gave out from beneath me.
