Page 150 of Death of the Glass Angel
“Hm.” Talon ran the back of his hand across his mouth. “Where should I start?”
“Wherever you want, I guess.”
Talon took a deep breath, staring at the chandelier rather than Janus. “When I was about fifteen, I started thinking my home was haunted. I heard voices from the corners. Sometimes from outside.” He stared into the drink. “Quiet and muffled at first. Indistinct chatter later. Eventually, full words.”
Janus crossed her legs, brushing aside a few books to make room. “Was it haunted?”
Shifting, Talon faced Janus, resting the glass on his knee. “No. Nobody else heard them. Not Lark, not Valkyrie. Only me.” Talon drank heavily again, reducing the glass to half-full. “Covering my ears can block out the loudest bang, but not them. They speak in my head.”
“Like thoughts?”
“No. Not like thoughts. Like someone else, standing over there.” Talon pointed to the corner. “Sometimes I hear music. Sometimes they become muted chatter. Sometimes they keep quiet.”
Talon had stared past Janus a few times as though listening intently to someone behind her. Distracted eyes had scanned the walls, as though he stood in a crowded room, straining to listen to three conversations at once.
“I’ve. . .” Janus tried to find the right words to say. “I’ve never heard of anything like that.”
“Most people haven’t. I mean, it’s got to be divine, right? What else would it be?” Talon sounded surprisingly confident, though he had not struck her as religious. “Two men, two women. Just like the cefran pantheon.”
“You think they’re the cefran gods?” Janus tilted her head. She was not familiar with the cefran pantheon. As a Thuatian who worshiped Ellaila and Yesharu, nor did she believe in them.
“I do,” Talon confirmed. “Floraidh is kind, nurturing. Diorbhail is hardest on me, but that makes sense—she governs intelligence, too. Seoras is always encouraging me to do what I think I can’t, and Olbhreis, he. . . well, he sounds like a disappointed father.”
From what Janus knew of the pantheon, the characteristics matched their domains. Despite the absurdity of Talon’s claim, Janus believed him. Why should she not? A second woman inhabited her body, alien to her mind.
“Are they talking to you now?” Janus asked, straining to hear.
Talon let out a breathy laugh. “No. Not at the moment. I never know what makes them decide to speak. Sometimes, they chatter for hours; other days, I hear nothing.” He finished the last of the drink and set the glass aside. “You seem to be taking this in stride.”
“Why shouldn’t I?” Janus shrugged. “It makes sense. My shadow is another me, so I guess your shadow is the gods looking over you.”
Relief flooded Talon’s countenance, and he picked up the glass to drink again, only to be met with disappointment. “You know, I’ve never really talked to anyone about this before. About anything, really. Everything’s a job, every face a facade. And then I met someone almost as fractured as I am.”
“I wouldn’t say that.” Janus took his glass and returned to the bar, pouring herself a tall mug of ale. “If the only struggles you face are a few chatty gods, that’s not so bad. I mean-” She laughed bitterly. “Look at me. You’re good at everything you do, and I’m a blundering idiot.” She offered him another glass of liquor before fetching her ale.
Talon frowned. “You’re brilliant. How could you think that?”
“Brilliant? Psh.” Janus plopped onto the bed, sloshing some of her ale onto her pants. “Ah. See?” She chortled nervously as she rubbed the small stain out.
Falling silent, Talon stared out the window. Dusk pooled over the gray stone city as the sun set.
“I still don’t know much about you.” Janus pressed. “Besides your job. What were you before that?”
“I don’t like to talk about myself.”
The orange sunlight pooling in his deep purple eyes illuminated a well of emotions. He was thinking about something. Maybe many things. None of them were happy.
For the first time, Janus felt like she could read a face and glean something in silence.
A thrum tugged at Janus’s heartstrings, painful. Talon looked younger in this light. Despite his cynicism and independence, deep down hid a young man who she doubted had ever been held.
Eros used to do anything for a hug. Crocodile tears, a feigned stumped toe. Anything for the comfort he craved when the nights were cold.
Clumsily dropping her drink onto the nightstand, Janus leaned forward and wrapped her arms around Talon, and though he tensed, she held firm until she felt him relax. And she did not intend to let go.
She would avert Alfaris’ fate. She would protect Talon, instead.
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