The Lost (Celestial Blues, Book 2) - By Vicki Pettersson Page 0,12
a clanking of metal, fine slim blades marshaling anew. “Get behind me, you piece of celestial waste. You won’t touch her or me, because I am also one of God’s own.”
“Pure and God’s child?” Icy derision funneled Kit’s body in a mini-tornado. She shuddered in Grif’s arms. “Not possible.”
And the rush of wind rose again. Grif shifted, slivering the air with wings that’d gone blade-sharp, and Kit heard a sound like roots grinding beneath a relentless saw. Then there was an elongating cry, one stunted with the fluttering of pebbles and dead leaves, like debris roiling in a twister. The sound whipped around her, fed into the walls, and then, inexplicably, retreated out the front door.
Kit’s ragged breathing was suddenly the loudest thing in the room. Grif’s grip softened on her shoulders, but remained there to steady her. Eyes squeezed shut, Kit didn’t move at first, but then she risked a glance over his left—wingless—shoulder, and found Jeap exactly where he’d been lying when she’d entered the room.
“Wh-what was . . . ?” But there were no words for what she’d just seen. Irises like opaque stars in eyes that moved independently of each other. Breath like a storm. A voice alive with the sounds of a forest.
“That,” Grif said, jaw tight, “was an opportunist.”
“It touched me, Grif. Just for a second, but . . .” She looked at him. “It felt like death itself.”
She searched his face for reassurance, yet all he did was nod.
“Is he gone?” she asked, panicking all over again.
“Yes,” Grif said, voice strange. “It’s gone.”
Kit noted the word choice, and shuddered. “It butchered him, Grif,” she told him as steadily as she could. “Jeap lifted his arm and I saw bone. I saw—”
Grif cut her off with the shake of his head. “No. Jeap did this to himself.”
“No way!” Pulling away, she pointed at the motionless teen. “Look at him! He can’t even sit up. He’s lying in his own feces!”
“Because he didn’t do it today.”
Kit shook her head. Though simple enough, the words didn’t compute.
Something in her expression made Grif soften. “I told you it couldn’t be stopped.”
“You mean Jeap has been like this, by himself, for more than a day?” She shook her head, like that could make it not true.
“More than many days from the look, and smell, of things.”
Horrified, she met Grif’s gaze. “Jesus. Someone just left him here?”
“Likely someone as strung out as he was, yes. And that’s what I need you to do now, too.”
She nodded. “We’ll call an ambulance. They can help—”
“Can they?” Voice raised, and angry now, Grif cut her off. “Look at him, Kit. The flesh is falling from his body. Gangrene. Can’t you smell the rot?”
Kit’s chest tightened, and bile soured in her throat. It was the very thought she’d been trying to keep at bay. “I thought it was that thing—”
“That thing was an angel, Kit.”
“No way.” Jerking away, she stepped back. “That was nothing like—”
“Nothing like me, no. But it was horrifying and awesome and destructive. There are angels out there who are all of those things.”
Kit glanced down at her shaking hands. She needed a cigarette to get her nerves back under control. “I don’t understand.”
Grif clutched her shoulders again, but this time he gave her a little shake. “And I don’t have time to help you. Take my phone, Kit. Go make your call, but I need to help him before, or in case, that angel comes back, and I can’t do that unless you leave.”
“Leave him to die?” Her voice cracked on the last word, and the shock she’d been fighting off finally found its way into her limbs. She began to shake.
“He’s afraid, Kit. But he’s also holding on because you’re here.” Grif closed his eyes, and his nostrils widened as he filled his lungs with the filth and poison in the room, along with something else Kit knew she’d never be able to smell. “He’s ashamed. He wants to let go, and knows there’s nothing left for him here, not even his own body, but he’s not going to listen or come with me as long as you’re in the room.”
“How do you know that?” Kit whispered, slowly shaking her head.
Opening his eyes, Grif met her gaze. “Because I know death.”
Kit stared at Grif like she’d never seen him before, but finally turned to slowly pick her way across the destroyed room. She’d return the flashlight to her trunk, get that cigarette, and call for help that would