Page 46 of Wings of Strife
I nod. “Let’s get out of here.”
Principal Cael finally removed the new rule that had us signing out of school whenever we left. Which leads me to believe they either found who they suspected was the inside man or realized no student would be so foolish as to let demons onto the property. Hell, it’s not as if we could even adjust the wards ourselves so they’re way off base. I hope they found proof that asshole Uriel was involved so he can be replaced. Whatever, I’mjust grateful not to feel like a wayward teen trying to sneak out at night.
We leave from her balcony, wanting to avoid as many other angels as possible. The sun is high in the sky, not a cloud to be seen as we make our way to the Fallen district in a peaceful silence. I’m curious to see what she thinks of our house, knowing what she does about the rest of the district.
The entire Fallen district used to be designated entirely to the guild, but over the past few decades, things have begun slowly changing. Now the guild has only one section reserved for lieutenants. Likely a way to keep them close, at their beck and call, but still. Dad lucked out and received a pretty sweet plot of land a while back, and I’m kind of surprised they haven’t tried to take it from him yet. If they do, I’ll know things have officially gone to shit.
“Holy crap,” Hayliel says, stopping to hover over the houses below. “Is this the guild neighborhood? It’s sofancy.”
“Have you not been to Theo or Raphael’s family homes yet? This is nothing compared to what the Pures have, but we can’t complain.”
She shoots me a look, and I know it’s because I didn’t say anything cruel or harmful about her boyfriends. Look at me, growing up.
“How do you know which house is yours? They all look the same from up here.” She scans row after row of black roofs, searching for some distinguishing mark to tell the difference.
“Habit, I guess. When I was younger, I nailed a colorful pair of dad’s boxers to the roof so I’d find it more easily, but the guild nearly had a conniption. They only stayed on for two days before they removed them and I got a slap on the wrist.”
Hayliel laughs, and I want to tell her more of my childhood stories. I want her to know me, the real me, more than I’ve wanted anything in a really, really long time. Part of me stillfears her rejection, but she hasn’t turned me down yet and I’mtryingto take angels at face value. If she doesn’t explicitly tell me she’s not interested, I shouldn’t put words in her mouth or assume.
“Come on. We’re almost there.”
We land in front of one of the many houses with white sliding and red doors. The same as all the others and yet so different. The house I grew up in. I watch in fascination as she takes it all in. There’s a small wraparound covered porch that goes from the front door around the left side to the back door. Mom and Dad used to spend quiet moments together on this porch every morning. They’d drink their coffees out back, with Dad’s arms trapping Mom between him and the railing. I remember looking out and watching them, hoping that one day I’d find a love as perfect as theirs. Now that she’s gone, Dad barely spends any time out there. The memories are too painful.
As if sensing the turn of my thoughts, Hayliel grabs my hand and squeezes. “I know we came here to do badass things, but would you mind giving me a tour first?”
“I was hoping you’d ask,” I tell her honestly, because I want her in every room of this place. It feels creepy to say, but when I come home to visit Dad, it’ll help to know she’s been here.
From the entryway she can see most of the first level, including the kitchen with an open space in the wall over the sink that peers into the sunken living room and the informal dining room that Dad and I rarely use since Mom died. I point out small things like the patio door off the kitchen, and the closed door down a short hallway where Dad’s room is as we walk by. The garage and workshop are off the dining room and even though I open the door for her to go inside, she doesn’t budge.
“Oh, hell no. If you got to see my room, it’s only fair I get to see yours.” Her eyes twinkle with humor and something else I can’t quite place.
“I didn’t know you wanted in my bedroom so badly, hummingbird. You should have said something earlier.” Tossing her a wink over my shoulder, I head back toward the entrance and continue past it to a set of three doors.
“That’s a guest bedroom and bathroom,” I say, pointing to the door on the right and the one at the end of the hall. “And that one is mine.”
She waits patiently for me to open it, which is surprising given how excited she seems to check it out, and when I finally do, I motion for her to step inside. I follow her into the tidy room with a bed that looks untouched. I can’t even remember the last time I stayed here for more than a few hours. Has it truly been since before the semester started?
Hayliel walks around the room, trailing her finger over my dresser and the shelf filled with medals and awards from my past. She stops at one near the end, glancing at me over her shoulder.
“You were in flying competitions?”
“I was,” I say, smiling sadly.
“But not anymore?” Hayliel asks tentatively.
“Not anymore. Flying was something I did with my mom. She was one of the fastest flyers the guild had ever seen, and I had hoped to match her. We were always playing around on her days off, practicing maneuvers or testing for speed, but it never felt like I was competing, if that makes sense. Racing on that island was actually the first time I’d done anything like that since she passed.” A sudden pang takes over me. Mom would have loved that island.
“I’m sorry,” she says, her body rigid like she wants to come over and comfort me, but she’s stopping herself. “If I had known …”
“It’s alright. To be honest, flying with you felt the same in a way. Carefree. Fun. I think it might have been good for me.”
She looks like she wants to say more but chooses not to, turning back around to continue her trek around my room. Once again, she stops, but this time she stares at the photo in the frame on my bedside table.
Even though I’m not next to her, I have that picture memorized. It’s of me and Mom on the last good day we had together before she was taken. We’d gone to the park and played with the tiny boats on the pond, then grabbed ice cream on the way home. It’s been so long now that parts of that day are beginning to fade in my memory, and it fucking hurts. I can’t even remember which ice cream flavor we had.
I don’t know how long Hayliel has been at my side, but she grabs my hand. “What was she like?”
“The sweetest. Like, eat too much candy and need to throw up, kind of sweet, but everyone loved her. She thought of others in everything she did, always trying to make someone smile or help ease the strain from someone else. She was too good to have gone out the way she did.”
