No. Her father would find out. He’d be all over us before I could formulate a lie ambiguous enough not to fleece me of my three hundred and sixty-three feathers.
Emmy made a sound, a choked cooing of sorts that dragged me out of my thoughts and cast me back into the human’s apartment. What the Abaddon was I doing? I needed to break up and leave, then haul ass to Chicago to meet up with the others. Not only did we have a serial killer to stop, but I also had to warn them that Naya knew of our under-the-holo-ranker activities and that our chances of getting caught by the powers-that-be had just skyrocketed.
I skated my mouth off Emmy’s and stepped back. “I can’t do this anymore, Em. I’m sorry.”
As far as breakup speeches went, I had to admit I’d delivered better.
Her jaw dropped and then dropped some more. “Are you dumping me?”
I frowned. My speech had been mediocre but concise, no? “Something came up, and I have to go home.” I looked around the living room, trying to remember if I’d brought anything other than clothes to Emmy’s.
My eyes stuck to the log-shaped ceramic vase I’d crammed with yellow roses the day she’d returned the diamond studs she’d stolen from her stepmother. She’d never confessed to the theft and hadn’t known that the bouquet was my way of congratulating her on her developed conscience.
That day had coincided with the growth of my feathers and the day I signed off from her. Exactly a month ago. I’d stuck around, because Dov had handed me a bothersome file on a family of supposed philanthropists with scores ranging from 47 to 100.
“When will you be back?” Emmy’s voice sprang me out of my head.
“Here? Never.” My fingers rolled into fists, stretching the scabbed skin over my knuckles.
“I don’t understand—”
Was I speaking Viennese German again? I sometimes veered toward my father tongue. Or French, although I wasn’t quite sure why I favored that one so much. I had a theory, that my biological mother was French, but Apa had briskly dismantled it.
Since Apa was still ashamed to have cheated on Papa, with a woman no less, I’d stopped digging.
The importance wasn’t how you entered the world but what you did once inside. My fathers’ mantra, and now mine.
If my guardian faction came with a baseline, that would be it.
“You know what? Screw my internship. I’m coming with you.” Emmy whirled and headed to the bedroom separated from the living area by a thick beige curtain. “What should I pack?”
For a dumbfounded minute, I gawped at her and then I shuffled toward the bedroom. “Sorry but I’m not taking you with me, Em.”
“Why? Because I’m not royalty like my new tenant?”
I snorted. Did she think Naya was an actual princess? “I couldn’t take the King of England home if I wanted to.”
The King had no wing bones, so I assumed he was entirely human. Unless, and this was quite unfortunate when it happened, his angel-blooded parent had failed to drop him off inside a guild before puberty, that magical age when our curved bones materialized.
“Why not?” she whined.
“Because my fathers are particular about who I befriend and bring home.” There. Not a lie.
“And what? I’m not good enough?”
“You’re a really sweet girl, and this—us—it’s been fun, but I’m eighteen and not looking for anything long-term or serious. I’m sorry if I misled you.” I spied my favorite forest-green jumper on the back of her desk chair, walked over, and plucked it up, then proceeded to dump all the other items of clothing I’d kept at her place in the lone duffel bag by the window.
After I zipped it up, I turned and wham! My cheek met an open palm.
I’d gotten slapped by one other person in my entire life—a frat boy I’d pulled off a girl at a house party and then beaten to a pulp.
Thanks to the self-defense law the Seven had implemented, which had apparently been Seraph Asher’s idea, fletchings were no longer penalized when using force to defend themselves as long as said force didn’t result in anyone’s death.
Even though I found Naya’s daddy obnoxious and unfriendly, especially toward me, angels-only-knew-why since he was buddy-buddy with Apa, I appreciated him for getting such a law passed.
Anyway, the day I’d gotten smacked, I’d enrolled in extra self-defense classes at the guild, and then, after Dov came to me with his guardian idea, I’d started profiling and nailing bunghole sinners like the frat boy who’d misunderstood the word no. All in all, that slap had done me and the human world a whole lot of good.
Cheek stinging, I shouldered my bag, wondering by how many points Emmy’s sinner score card had just increased. Hurting angels was a major no-no. “Don’t ever raise your hand on someone unless they’re trying to harm you.”
“You are harming me.”
“No. I’m leaving you. And now, I’m doing it with no regrets. Or rather, one. That I stayed as long as I did.”
Tears streamed down her face. “Get out of my house! Get out!”
“On my way.” I paused by the front door of the mews and stared down the stairwell, giving the seraphim daughter one final thought before leaving.
Getting her involved would get her father involved, and we couldn’t afford it.
Chapter 4
Naya
I awakened to loud banging. I checked the time on my phone and groaned—three o’clock in the morning. I pushed my hair off my face, my wavy strands out of control. Not that they were ever in control. Unlike most fletchings’ hair, mine was always a mess, but styling it took time and made me resemble a woman I didn’t yet feel like.
Maybe once I reached Elysium, sleek curls would be my thing. I’d have little else to do up there. Which was another reason I was putting the brakes on my ascension. I still planned on getting there within the next year or two, but unlike Apa hoped, I probably wouldn’t reach it before the end of summer.
I padded over to the door and opened it before forgetting two major things: one, I wasn’t in a guild, and two, I was only wearing underwear and a T-shirt, one of Ama’s old ones. I’d inherited her full collection at fourteen, and although I loved them all, her Eagles tee was by far my favorite.
Emmy stumbled but caught herself on the door frame. “He fucking left me,” she slurred. Her mascara was smudged, her brown hair loose and swinging around a denim jacket adorned with a dozen colorful pins. “Said he couldn’t take me home. Said I wasn’t good enough to meet his parents.”
I frowned, trying to make sense of who this he could be. I was usually sharper, but it was the middle of the night. “Adam?”
“Who the hell else?”
I rubbed my temple. “I’m sorry.”
“Are you?”
My fingers stilled. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Let me see.” She took a teetering step forward and knocked into the bathroom door.
I caught her forearm to save her from faceplanting against the beer-bottle green tiles.
“You waltz into London, and he leaves me. What did you tell him when you two”—she hiccupped—“chatted?”