Ignite (33 page)

“I’ll have to be more careful where I leave my weapons,” he says with a light laugh. If he were Azael, I would expect some sort of unsavory innuendo regarding weapons and swords and where it is best to keep them, but this is Michael, and all I receive is his smile.

“A little responsibility goes a long way,” I mock, walking over to the nightstand next to him and sticking the tip of the blade into the wood.

He reaches up and catches my arm, pulling me towards him, but I put up my hand, blocking his kiss.

“I need to get dressed.” I look down at his chest. “And so do you.”

“The stars?” he asks excitedly.

“You like hiking, right?” I quirk one side of my mouth up in a slanted smile.

“More and more every day.” He jumps out of bed and lifts me up, spinning me around. “And I can’t wait to see your stars.”

Chapter 27

We leave The Aria while the sun is still sinking into the sky and walk down the same street we did last night. It’s not quite dark yet, so some of the offices are still open, but most of the people on the street ignore us, clutching briefcases in one hand and pressing cell phones to their ears with the other as they hurry down the sidewalk towards the parking garage.

I flex my fingers in the cold air and Michael slides his hand into mine without a second thought, the warmth of his hand gloving mine. It’s so strange to feel my hand in Michael’s. I’m used to holding Azael’s, his bones sharp and his fingers long, cold, and calloused from battle.

Michael’s hand, though, is warm and soft, his skin new and unscarred. Without meaning to, I find myself wondering how long it will stay that way. With the way Azael’s been raving about the forthcoming war, I fear it won’t be too much longer.

I marvel at the way Michael holds my hand. It’s new to me and so unlike holding Azael’s. Who would have thought a simple gesture could mean something so drastically different when shared with someone else?

When Azael and I hold hands, it is to guide the other where we want them to go or to drag them along behind us. Sometimes we would even hold hands to protect each other. His grip always felt like a warning to those we fought, saying, “She is mine, and I will destroy anyone who says otherwise.” I feel the same sense of possession over Azael, and my grip is equally as fierce. After all, he is my brother, and the need to protect each other binds us together. It’s helped us survive. It’s not like that with Michael.

The way Michael folds my small hand into his is almost intimate, like we can’t stand to be parted from the other’s touch for even a moment. Our fingers laced together are not fighting for possession, for dominance. Our grip isn’t even about protection, really, though I do want to keep him safe. But that’s not why I hold on to him, and that’s not why he holds on to me.

The pressure of his hand on mine is reassuring, a reminder that I am not alone because he is here, next to me. I can feel his pulse in his fingertips and it travels up my own arm into my chest. He’s alive, he is here, and we are together.

Tied to Michael like this, I’m not telling the world “He is mine.” The way we touch each other, cling desperately to the other’s hand, tells the world “We belong to each other.”

I squeeze his hand in mine and we run faster down the street together, my amulet bouncing against my collarbone as we weave between men and women dressed in stiff suits who step out of our way with annoyance. When we get past the crowds, I turn and look behind us to see shoulders of gray, black, and blue wool jackets bounce away from us, hunched against the cold.

“We’ll fly from here to the mountains,” I say, looking up at Michael. His nose and cheeks are flushed red from the cold. I wonder if my face is as rosy as his and try to imagine how shocking the red looks against my pale face. “And then we’ll walk. I don’t want you to see the stars until it’s completely dark.”

“As you wish.”

We run a few paces, still clutching each other’s hands, and jump, our wings sprawling out behind us as we lift higher into the darkening sky. I look back down to the ground at the shrinking people and see that no one noticed our wings, let alone us flying miles above them in the sky. They’re so focused on the tiny glowing screens they hold between gloved hands that they don’t look up. I wonder how much of the world passes before them unnoticed. Do they look up at all? Do they know what they’re missing?

Michael and I fly over the sky-scraping city, watching as the tall buildings bordered by busy streets ebb away, the buildings shrinking and growing farther apart from one another.

Eventually, the urban cement of the city softens into sprawling, rural farms, the ground patched in shades of yellow, red, green, and even swatches of lavender. The streets become wider and emptier until eventually it tapers off into one winding road that slips between rolling hills before disappearing into a carve in the mountain.

I point to a green bridge that hangs above the road, feeding one mountain to another.

Let’s land there
, I tell him.

He nods and we turn towards the bridge, setting down on the green metal mesh that cages the walkway. The chain of the cover rattles against metal supports as I stand up, looking out over the road.

Between the two shelves of the mountain, I see the edge of the sun drop behind the sharp peak of a distant ridge. I glance up at the sky and notice a light dusting of stars begin to appear across the quickly darkening sky like freckles.

I grab Michael’s hand again and pull him roughly across the bridge. We jump down and into the woods, onto a narrow and steep dirt path that curls its way away from the road and under the canopy of trees.

“No cheating,” I say over my shoulder. “Don’t look up.”

He laughs and puts his free hand over his eyes, blocking his view. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

I pull him up the path and through the trees, making sure he doesn’t twist an ankle on the exposed roots. I run a little farther down the path and it levels, no longer rushing us up the side of the mountain.

It’s darker in the woods, hidden under the thick branches and colorful leaves. The moonlight shines through the backs of the leaves, exposing the intricate veins of the foliage, but I can’t see the stars anymore. I want to keep them hidden from Michael until we get to the top of the mountain, and the trees provide the perfect veil to the glittering sky. A gentle breeze whispers around us, lifting my hair and shaking the leaves, making it look like they are waving at us.

I turn back to Michael and remove his hand from his eyes. “You can look now.”

He brings his hand down and brushes a curl of my hair behind my ear. “You’re right. It is beautiful.”

I roll my eyes. “You can’t even see them yet.” I let go of him and start walking up a sloping path, making sure to stay under the arches of the trees. “Come on.”

He chuckles and follows after me, his shoes crunching across acorns and small twigs that litter the ground. “What is your favorite thing about Earth?” he asks.

“Snow,” I answer without having to think about it.

“I would have thought it would be the stars, what with the way you’ve been speaking of them.”

“Stars belong to the sky.” I look back and smile. “You asked what my favorite thing was about
Earth
. It’s snow.”

“I’ve never seen it,” he says. “But I’ve heard it’s beautiful. It’s just like rain, right?”

“It’s better than rain. When it snows, it’s like the sky is dropping tiny white crystals that stick to everything—roads, trees, people, anything that’s still long enough to be covered in a dusting of snowflakes. And right after it snows, there’s always this moment of absolute silence where everything seems like it is sleeping, tucked under the thick blanket of pure, white snow.”

“Maybe next you’ll show me snow,” he says hopefully. “After the stars.”

“Could be a while,” I answer. “It has to be really cold to snow. And it’s not that cold yet. Maybe in a month or so…”

He’s quiet as we continue to walk, the back of his hand brushing against mine, sending sparks of electricity up my arm.

“Snow is very particular,” I go on. “Everything has to be just right, but it’s worth the wait. Az hates it. You wouldn’t though. There’s nothing else like it.” I smile to myself. “You’ll see.”

“Good things are always worth the wait,” he says meaningfully, glancing at me sideways.

I bite at my lip and let his words hang in the air and lift through the trees, carried away by the wind.

***

We make the majority of the hike up the mountain in silence. Michael hums occasionally or whispers lines of poetry that he doesn’t think I can hear. I didn’t know he knew any poetry. I know he mentioned that he would keep books with him when he was locked away in his room, but I thought it was just a way for him to pass the time. I didn’t think anything he read would leave much of an impression; Heaven doesn’t place much value on mortal literature. They’re all about the sacred texts written by powerful angel historians and scribes. For him to remember lines of poems he’s read, to recite it here for the shadows of the woods with such reverence, is surprising.

I look down at my fingers, remembering the dark stains my books would leave on their tips after days of reading. My mouth twitches, fighting a smile. I wonder if Michael’s fingers were ever stained from the ink of the words he memorized.

He doesn’t try to start a conversation as we walk, and neither do I. I just stay quiet, listening to him closely, attempting to pick up the lines he’s reciting.

It’s not an uncomfortable silence. Being around Michael is so easy that it’s scary. I’ve never been comfortable around anyone but Azael before. But even around Az I have to mask my real self. With Michael I can just be me. There are no pretenses, and I don’t have to try to be anything I’m not. It’s as effortless as breathing, as weightless as flying.

Michael seems equally at ease. He runs his hands across trees we pass and looks around in awe at the twisting branches that stretch deep into the dark woods like lonely fingers seeking a companion.

A small part of me expected him to be nervous at night. I thought he would be searching the darkness for shadows that move a little too quickly or intelligently, waiting for something to jump out and attack him. But he doesn’t seem jumpy, doesn’t seem worried at all. He’s relaxed and unconcerned as we follow the dark, secluded path.

It’s confusing. For the entirety of his short, new life, he had been fed lies about what was past his bedroom door, what was beyond the gates of Heaven. It wasn’t long ago that he was worried about the monsters he thought stalked the night. He’d lived on a curfew that he believed would protect him from these monsters, and now he’s here, walking through the woods in the middle of the night, alone with a demon.

I’m surprised he is so quick to throw away what Heaven has told him. He doesn’t seem to have an alliance to anyone but himself. Maybe he really doesn’t belong anywhere.

“Just a little farther,” I say to him, breaking the silence.

He looks at me, his eyes bright and excited. “Really?”

I nod. “The trees end where the dirt thins out and the rocks of the mountain begin. That’s just around this corner up here. You’ll have to close your eyes again.”

Immediately, he snaps his eyes closed and holds out his hand out for me. “No cheating,” he promises.

I smile as I take his hand in mine, guiding him out of the woods and onto the hard surface of a flat shelf of the mountain that falls away in a sheer drop. Beneath the ledge lies a cropping of trees that hugs the bank of a thin stream that snakes its way down a second mountain. I let go of Michael’s hand.

“Stay here for a second. Don’t move.”

I inch farther out on the flat rock, closer to the edge, and look up at the sky. An inky blackness is settled across the sky with millions of stars peeking through like found diamonds.

Part of the sky is lighter, a strange maroon color that cuts through the blackness like a ripped seam in the dark. More stars, gold and silver, peek through the tear, shining even brighter. It’s perfect.

Michael still stands at the edge of the rocks, his heels settled in the soft dirt of the woods, waiting with his eyes closed. I go back to him and take both of his hands in mine, slowly walking him out onto the ledge of the mountain. He follows me without hesitation.

“You’re very trusting,” I laugh. “I could be walking you right over the side, leading you to your death.”

His grip tightens on my hands, but he smiles. “From the way you are leading me, I think you would be the first to fall. Plus,” he adds, shrugging his shoulders, “I think my wings may be of some help should you lead me over the edge.”

“Touché.” I smile. “Okay, you need to lie down. The best way to see the stars is to look straight up at them.”

He drops one of my hands and carefully lowers himself to the ground, his hand searching around him before he lies down. Without letting go of his other hand, I lie down next to him, close enough that the entire lengths of our bodies are touching. I squeeze his hand once and take a deep breath.

“Open your eyes.”

I know his eyes are open when I hear him gasp. He shifts next to me, turning his head from side to side, swallowing the expanse of stars with wide, mystified eyes.