I CARRIED ELLIE UP to my apartment and tucked her in my bed before texting Castor to call me when he could. I hadn't trusted myself to use the phone in the car, nervous wreck that I was, but now it was four in the morning, and no sane person would be awake at this hour, and—
My phone rang immediately. I jumped in surprise, nearly dropping it.
"...Hello?"
"What happened?" Castor demanded.
He didn't even sound tired. Okay, scratch that assumption. Angels clearly didn't fit under the 'sane people' category, go figure. I hesitantly recounted the night's events, from the phone call to the bait and switch with the aspirin. He didn't interrupt or ask any questions, and there was a long silence when I finished.
"...you're still there, right?" I whispered.
"...Jesus, Simone," he finally said, and funny, now he sounded tired. "You're telling me you have his Ambr in your possession, right now?"
"Yeah, but he doesn't know I took it. Like, he suspects. But he doesn't know. I don't think."
"I don't think I need to tell you this was not the plan," he reminded me, voice tense. "It was brave, and... I'd be lying if I said I wasn't impressed, but the only thing more illegal than a rogue angel having Ambr is a human having it."
"Well, I want nothing to do with it," I argued, my whisper growing heated. "You can come pick it up whenever you want. But you said you couldn't take him into custody while he had access to Ambr. Now he doesn't. We aren't relying on him to change his own mind anymore, right? You know where he is, just... send your people there."
"It's not that simple," he sighed, frustrated. "Look, it's late, and you've had a hell of a day. Get some sleep. I'll send someone to pick up the Ambr in the morning."
"What? No, Cast—" the phone disconnected. I swore. If angels kept hanging up on me, I was going to absolutely lose it.
Normally Saturday mornings were my favorite, sleeping in until the sun came up and I had to get ready for work, but after a few hours of restless tossing and turning, I got up at six and made coffee, letting it brew while I took a scalding shower. A half hour later, I lingered at the door with my keys, unsure whether I should wait for someone to show up for the Ambr or head to work.
My manager might actually kill me if I was late again, especially without school as an excuse. Castor hadn't responded to any of my texts, but leaving the vial by the door with a note didn't seem like the best idea. I resolved to take it with me. He would call me back eventually.
I left a note for Ellie, still fast asleep, and went to work feeling uneasy.
"Take a break, honey," Marion rested a comforting hand on my shoulder, making me jump nearly a foot in the air. People really needed to stop touching my shoulder when I wasn't paying attention. "You haven't stopped moving in hours. You're making me anxious."
"W-what?" I paused, turning to face her. "O-oh, alright."
She went to the back and brought my lunch out for me, dropping it in my lap as she took a seat across from me.
"You're wound tighter than a spring today," she told me disapprovingly, staring at me over her reading glasses. "That boy still giving you trouble?"
It took me several seconds to remember Ellie had told her I had a mostly harmless stalker.
"Um, not exactly," I averted my eyes, feeling my face turn pink. Her mouth fell open, aghast.
"Don't tell me you're starting to like him," she said reproachfully.
"No, I'm not, I just think maybe I've been a little... harsh? I guess? He tried to help my friend yesterday and I was really... unkind."
I had no intention of giving her the full context, but it did feel good to talk to a neutral party about what was going on with Bacil. Marion crossed her arms, her frown melting into a deep scowl.
"Well, if you don't want him as part of your life, his feelings about you are his problem," she told me plainly. "You have dreams, honey. Dreams and a sick father. As long as you aren't being cruel, the semantics of these situations aren't so important. Were you trying to hurt him?"
"No, of course not. I was trying to... I don't know, convince him to leave me alone, or at least make friends with other people who had the time for it."
"By being 'unkind,' as you put it," she guessed, and I nodded.
"Well, I'm an old woman, so how you kids pick your friends these days is lost on me, but I'll tell you this. When I was a girl, women always needed to be a little sharp when getting unsolicited attention from men. Sure, it's flattering for a little while, but being kind gives them hope that they have a chance. You had to hurt their pride a little to convince them to move on. Personally, dear, you're doing him a kindness and saving him time in the long run."
I smiled weakly.
"You really think so?"
"I've been married for twenty-eight years, dear. I know so. How is your dad doing, by the way?"
"He agreed to get an MRI. We're waiting to hear the results."
She gasped.
"The man who believes chemotherapy is a conspiracy created by insurance companies has finally caved. I didn't think I'd live to see the day."
I stared down at my lunch, eyes beginning to burn.
"We fought about it for weeks," I admitted miserably. "We used to do everything together, and now I just wear him down with arguing until he finally agrees to see a doctor."
Marion reached across the gap between us and rested a gentle hand on my knee. "Men are not like us, Simone. They are simple and stubborn as all hell. But they love their daughters with a vengeance. Doctors or no doctors, he'll fight to stay with you. I can promise you that."
I blinked rapidly, trying to dispel the rapidly forming tears.
"Parents, right?" I answered with a watery laugh, rolling my eyes, and then thought of Bacil. "Parents and boys."
Marion slapped my arm.
"You, hey, you," she kept hitting me, ignoring my 'ow, what, stahp', "You. Look at me. Right here. Look at me. The first thing you do if a boy comes onto you and don't want it, you kill him. Remember this. But," she raised a finger. "If you do want it, then you do it, and then you kill him. Or you come tell me. I'll kill him for you."
I stared at her.
"That..." I tried to gauge whether she was joking or not but couldn't get a solid read. "Um... thanks, Marion."
She chuckled and squeezed my knee.
"Finish your lunch and breathe a little. The work isn't going anywhere."
Oddly enough, I felt a little better after our conversation and was in a better mood once we closed the shop and parted ways. It was cold out, but after the hard day's work, the brisk air was welcoming. I pulled out my phone to see if Castor had reached out and saw four missed calls from him and eight from Ellie.
Crap.
I called Ellie back first, and she answered on the first ring.
"God, Simone! Do you ever pick up your phone? I've been calling for hours!"
"I was working. What's going on?"
"I forgot my phone at your place when I left this morning and when I came back your door was open and your stuff was everywhere. My phone and your laptop were still there so I don't think anything was taken, but I've been texting and calling all day!"
"What? Are you all right?"
"Yeah, I wasn't there, but like, should I call the police?"
"You didn't already?" I asked, confused.
"Well like, you know how I have that shoebox in my closet that I told you not to worry about because it's only for Really Stressful Situations? I thought you might have like... your own version of a shoebox and I didn't want to get you in trouble, but—look—none of that matters. Just don't go back there tonight, come to my place instead, okay? I'll pick you up. It's not sa—"
Our conversation was cut off as my phone was ripped out of my hand and thrown on the ground. It shattered against the sidewalk.
I opened my mouth and a hand covered it, gagging me. A second arm appeared around my waist and I was jerked painfully skyward, the ground dropping out from below me. A muffled scream tore out of my throat and I struggled against my assailant, managing to compromise the hold I was locked in. We fought in the air, my elbow catching a rib cage hard enough to earn a pained wheeze, and I was unceremoniously dropped onto a slanted, clay tile roof. I rolled painfully, trying to find my footing, and a hand wrapped around my throat, pinning me on my back.
"Where is it?" A woman's voice hissed.
"Get off of me!" I found the space to bring my knee high enough to kick her, hard, in the solar plexus. She should have been thrown off, but instead I only felt a slight give in her grip around my neck.
Two enormous, tawny wings spread from behind her, casting us into shadow against the waning moonlight. My words died in my throat, fear bubbling up like acid in my chest.
We're not... exactly human, Castor had said.
The woman on top of me wasn't even remotely close. Her eyes were cold and cut with steel, a long blonde braid falling over her shoulder. It was threaded with tiny strands of barbed wire down to the end. Her wings were massive, each major bone ending at a wicked point mostly hidden by deceptively soft feathers. If such a thing existed as a wild animal in human form, she was a hawk, down to the way she pinned me on the roof for the kill.
"Where is it?" she hissed again, fingers tightening around my throat.
My lungs began to painfully protest the lack of oxygen and black dots started to tinge the edges of my vision. A shock of air painfully rushed to my chest as she was suddenly ripped off of me, a tumble of wings and limbs disappearing over the edge of the roof. I gagged and rolled onto my side, immediately throwing up the lunch I'd eaten.
"Come," a quiet voice appeared behind me a moment later. I felt a much gentler, but equally firm grip around my upper arm. Still coughing, I let my rescuer pull me to my feet and lead me, stumbling, across the roof to a fire escape. We dropped to the ground and he pulled me down a staircase below ground level to a small storage closet beneath the book store. He tried the door. Locked.
I opened my mouth to suggest the basement access around the back, but he took a step back and kicked the lock, the door handle snapping clean off. My mouth fell open and I didn't resist as he tugged us inside, trying not to knock over the assortment of brooms, mops, and excess cleaning products lining the shelves. He closed the door behind me, encasing us in darkness, and swore as a quiet crash sounded in the distance.
"Sit," he said calmly, and when I didn't move, pulled me against him and crouched on the ground, shifting a bucket out of the way.
"Who are y—"
He covered my mouth with his hand, pulling me against his chest.
"We have to be quiet," he whispered in my ear. "She'll hear us."
I felt his heart thudding against my back as we waited in darkness, the quiet of the night surrounding us like a thick, heavy blanket. He smelled familiar, like when it rained, or maybe we just used the same laundry detergent, or maybe...
I stilled. He smelled like a jacket that had been dropped over my shoulders just the night before, because I looked cold at a party. A small, nearly inaudible gasp left my throat.
Seconds ticked by, growing into minutes, and finally his hand dropped, finding my elbow and helping me to my feet.
"Go straight home," Bacil told me, before pushing open the door and walking out. I followed a moment later, trying to find my voice.
"Wait, where are you—?"
I stopped, confused, in the stairway. It was empty, as was the path leading to the sidewalk. Just as quickly as I had been found, I was alone.
My apartment was a mess when I arrived. Drawers had been pulled out, emptied, and dropped on the floor. My mattress had been flipped, sheets and pillows scattered across the room. Papers were everywhere, cast around like a tornado had ripped through the living room. The kitchen was a nightmare of its own, cabinets open and emptied, some hanging by a single hinge. All the food on the shelves had been shoved onto the floor, along with most of the dishes.
Not much was broken, thankfully, but I didn't have the stability of body or mind to make dinner without being a hazard. After locking and bolting the door, I dragged my mattress onto the frame, found my pillow and comforter, and curled up on it, fully dressed, willing my body to stop shaking.
Eventually sleep must have found me, because I woke up Sunday morning to a knock on the door, sunlight already streaming through the blinds. The events of the night before came back in a rush. I untangled myself from the comforter and stood with a tired sigh.
An urgent second knock cleared away any leftover fatigue, and I grabbed the closest makeshift weapon I could find, a rolling pin, and approached the door, peering outside the window. I recognized those shoes. They were very ridiculously expensive.
I pulled open the door.
"Castor," I said testily.
"I have been calling and texting since last night," he said irritably. "Where have you been? If I don't get the Ambr in WINGS custody it's my ass on the line, and I've been spending hours trying to convince them you didn't just run off with it to make some unsuspecting guy fall in love with you. Please tell me you have it, for the love of—"
I opened the door wider and wordlessly stood aside. He abruptly cut himself off as he took in the state of my apartment.
"What the hell is all this?" he breathed finally. "Were you robbed?"
I picked my way across the bedroom and found my bag, pulling out the vial. I returned to the threshold and held it out. When he made no move to take it, I grabbed his wrist and angrily thrust it into his hand. Realization slowly dawned on his face.
"Simone, this is not what I—"
"I want nothing to do with you or your stupid company. Don't ever come back here."
I closed the door in his face and locked it.
It turned out there weren't enough hours in a day to get my life back in order. I spoke to my landlady and was informed my renter's insurance only covered compensation for theft, so damages would need to either be repaired before my lease was up, or they'd be taken out of my deposit once I moved. I salvaged what I could from the kitchen and drilled the cabinet hinges back into place where they had been torn out, collected dishes and washed them before stacking them back into the cabinets. I made a shopping list as I went, trying to work the next two weeks of expenses into my budget. The numbers weren't great. Even if I picked up some extra shifts next weekend and was careful not to eat out, I probably wouldn't be able to make rent.
I left at midday to drive up to the hospital and asked for the MRI results for my father in person, since I wasn't sure when I would be able to buy a new phone.
I was led to a room to wait, and a doctor entered after several minutes, his expression grim.
"What do you mean, terminal?" my voice shook as the doctor watched with practiced, serene calm. "He lives alone, he's completely self-sufficient. He has coughing fits, but he still goes to work every day and he's never had any symptoms that kept him from doing anything he wanted to."
"I understand this is hard to hear. The cancer has spread to both lungs and is putting strain on his heart. We can slow the progression with treatment, but surgery would be very high risk, especially with how hard his heart is working already. There's also no guarantee we could remove all of it, or that it wouldn't come back."
"How long?" I asked through clenched teeth, heart aching.
As I left the hospital, hastily wiping tears from my face, the receptionist stopped me at the door, pushing a small pamphlet into my hand. She placed a gentle hand on my arm.
"We're here if you need us," she told me softly, before returning to her desk. I stared down at the pamphlet.
A Healthcare Guide for Survivors of Domestic Violence, the title read, with a purple ribbon below it. I glanced up at my reflection in the window, at the mottled bruises around my neck, vaguely resembling the shape of a hand.
Great, just great.
I couldn't visit my dad looking like this, and no amount of makeup would conceal it completely. I walked back to the receptionist's desk and asked to use the phone.
He picked up on the third ring.
"Did you folks forget to tell me about a miracle cure or is there another symptom I should "watch out for" on my leisurely walk to the grave?" my dad's voice demanded.
"Dad? It's me."
Silence. Then a quiet sigh.
"Hey, kiddo. I expected I'd hear from you. Why are you calling from the hospital?"
"My phone broke, I came to get the results in person."
"One hell of a way to spend your day off. I wish you'd let yourself relax once in a while."
I had to swallow the lump that suddenly formed in my throat.
"Dad..." I choked out.
"Hey, none of that, your old man's going to be fine. It's a nasty thing, but it's a slow crawler. The grim reaper himself couldn't keep me from seeing my girl graduate."
"They said they could slow it down," I pleaded. "If you just give treatment a chance it could be years instead of months—"
"Honey, they told me the same things. I'm not having my body pumped full of poison when I've got a life to live."
"But you would have more time, we would have more time, can you just think about it? Please?"
His tone hardened.
"This is why I didn't want that damn test, kid. We could have enjoyed these next few months without feeling like there was an axe hanging over my neck. I'm not draining your college fund to buy a year of misery. Have some faith, alright? Your old man's got a lot of fight in him, still."
Tears slipped down my cheeks one after another.
"Please, Dad," I whispered, my grip white-knuckled on the phone. "I can get a full scholarship anywhere, I'll keep up with my grades, I can take a few months off to take care of you when it gets hard and still finish my education, I can do both, it doesn't have to be—"
"Sim, I'm done talking about it. Come see me once your exams are over. We can talk more then. Try not to worry yourself to death, I'm not going anywhere."
The conversation was over, and I'd never felt more defeated.
"I love you, Dad."
"Love you too."
I thanked the receptionist and returned the phone.
"Simone? What are you doing here?"
I turned, glancing over the tall-ish guy who had said my name. Dark, straight hair, brown eyes, a light dusting of freckles over his nose. None of it rang a bell until I noticed the yellowed, healing bruises around his temple and eye.
"...Wren?"
I'd never seen him out of the school uniform before, let alone outside of school.
"Woah." He looked me over more carefully, eyes lingering on my neck. "What happened?"
"Um..." Crap. My mind was drawing a blank for excuses. "Long story," I finally deflected. "You look a lot better, are you getting discharged?"
"...Yeah, just trying to find a ride home. Parents work all the time, so I'll probably call Neal."
"You guys are... good now?" I asked tensely.
"Mm, kind of. They said his meds were off, and my mom wanted to press charges, but I talked her out of it. The investigation is getting dismissed, so hopefully that's the end of it."
I nodded, a small smile tugging at my lips.
"That's really kind of you, all things considered."
His eyes widened a fraction.
"Shit, I should've asked you. Obviously, you were in the middle of it, too. I was just trying to make things normal again, I wasn't thinking."
I shook my head.
"I told the police I was fine. If his meds were off, it really isn't his fault, you know?"
"Yeah," he agreed, relieved. "Yeah, that's good."
There was a beat of silence.
"Um, if you need a ride, I could take you," I offered uncertainly. "I was on my way out anyway."
"Really? You don't mind?"
"Not at all."
It was a bit of a drive, but Wren was surprisingly easy to talk to. We talked about music, our least favorite professors, and how he really didn't care much for football but liked being a part of a team with all his friends.
I pulled onto the grounds of his estate while he shared football stories from his first year on the team.
"...and Kolby had been trying to date this girl for weeks, right? Like, I swear all he ever talked about was marrying her, but she wanted nothing to do with him, like full cold shoulder." He made animated gestures with his hands while he talked, and I felt an amused smile tug at my lips.
"So she finally agrees to see a movie with him, and he's texting us the whole time, like 'bro, I think she's gonna let me come over after, what do I do?'
And we're making fun of him, sending completely stupid instructions, like—" he broke off, and when I glanced at him, turned a little red. He met my eyes and quickly looked away. "Well, just like... stupid stuff, right? And me and the boys go get roman candles and park across the street from her house. We knew he was going to mess up, and sure enough, when he pushed his luck and got kicked out, he's doing the whole 'walk of shame' to his car, and we lit up fireworks and cheered him on the whole way. Dude was so pissed he wouldn't talk to us for days."
He laughed and I smiled, pulling into his driveway. He gestured to the front of the house.
"You can drop me off here. Hey, I really appreciate the ride."
"No problem."
I parked and he climbed out, closing the door behind him. He walked around to my side, pausing at the window, and I rolled it down.
"Listen," he started, then stopped himself.
"What's wrong?" I asked.
"I want to give you my number," he told me, "And don't feel like you have to use it, but if you ever feel ready to name the sick bastard who did that," he nodded at my neck, and I felt heat creep into my cheeks. "I'll make sure it never happens again. Seriously." Looking into his eyes, I believed him.
"I—um, I don't really have a phone right now, but I appreciate it. Really."
He hesitated, frown deepening.
"And I'm guessing you not having a phone happened around the same time you got that?" he guessed in a low voice.
"Wren, I really don't want to talk about it, but I promise you I'm fine. Genuinely."
He nodded slowly, unconvinced.
"Right. Well thanks again."
"Of course. See you in class."
I watched him disappear into his house, then pulled out of the driveway, heading back home.
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