Page 15 of Even Angels fall
Léandre doesn’t wait for anyone to talk, and like the giant rooster-shifter, he engulfs me in a bear-hug.
It’s different, though.
Léandre is my best friend, and his hugs feel as if he pours all the love he has for me into them. They don’t happen often, but each time, I feel it.
Last time he hugged me was when he found me crying after my latest ten lashes.
Like always, I managed not to cry when my father manned the whip, but once I was alone again in my room and Léandre joined me to help clean the wounds, I burst into uncontrollable tears.
Careful with the wounds on my back, Léandre hugged me as if his arms could hold my broken pieces together.
It feels a bit like that today, and if I don’t pay attention, I’m going to be crying this time, too.
Except this hug isn’t just a hug.
I feel Léandre slip something inside the back of my pants and cover it with my loose shirt.
“There’s no extraction plan. Do what you need to survive and never come back. I’ll find you. In this life or the next,” he whispers so low that I barely hear him.
He releases me, and under his usual smile, I can see the worry he has for me.
Then it’s Anne’s turn, and I think she’s going to stick with a handshake—formal and strong—but I’m surprised when she pulls my hand to her and circles my shoulders with the other arm. I feel her stick something to my shirt and then, like Léandre, she whispers under her breath.
“It’s a tracker. Get rid of it when necessary. Your father expects you to die tonight.”
That’s all she says, and then Ariël pushes her to the side.
“You’re a shit etiquette teacher,” I mutter for myself, and I know he heard me when a light chuckle escapes him.
“Etiquette won’t help you survive,” he says, even lower than Léandre and Anne did. Weirdly, I can’t even see his lips move. The only thing that confirms he truly said anything is the way he looks at me.
He holds his hand in front of him, waiting for me to shake it.
I comply, finding it odd that he’s the only one not trying to hug me, but I realize people would find it weird for him to do so.
He’s not known to be one to show his feelings, and until this week, he was a stickler for etiquette. He closes his other hand over our shaking hands, and I feel something ridiculously small slip between them.
“Not everything is as it seems,” he says cryptically, his lips still not moving.
It’s kind of creepy, but really cool at the same time.
Then, all of a sudden, he releases my hand, and I have to react fast not to lose whatever he slipped between us and tuck it between two fingers.
Before I know it, Léandre hugs me again, but this time, it doesn’t last.
Douchebag half-vulture number one grabs Léandre’s shoulder and separates us.
He holds my bag for me to take.
“It’s time.”
I only nod at his command and release my friend.
But before he turns his back to me, I whisper, “In this life or the next.”
I don’t care if the vultures heard it. It doesn’t sound like anything other than a goodbye.
They can’t know that Léandre and I promised to find our way back to each other even before I turned into a crow. They can’t know those words are like a secret handshake for us. A wish upon a star.
