a stone at the bottom of a hot river.
The taste of metal flooded the back of Grif’s throat, so fast and full that he almost choked. Fear, he thought, recognizing its slide beneath his tongue. The heartbeat fueling Jeannie’s body sped up. The ceiling throbbed in a rapid, unsteady beat. The curtain hemming the cubicle began a misty fade to black, which was her vision narrowing. Suddenly they were someplace that was nowhere, back in a body that no longer worked.
Grif looked at Jeannie’s face, but her gaze had hollowed out. “He knows you’re here.”
Grif didn’t correct her this time. New vines shot from nowhere to reclaim her body, and the vision Jeannie had so carefully constructed around her gave way to the darkness of the Eternal Forest. A movement caught Grif’s eye as shadow separated from shadow, and a creature emerged from the gnarled stumps and protruding brush.
Grif had never seen anything like it on the Surface or the Everlast. Pure angels could look either human or monstrous, depending on their purpose, but they were never obscene or grotesque, and that was what this was. Made of kindling and thorns, it had the gait of a giant praying mantis, but with arching bramble flaring from its back where wings once grew.
It was exactly what one might think a creature outside of God’s presence looked like: a hollowed-out husk housing withered sentience, a spirit without soul, and a splintering, endless hatred.
“So you really are both angelic and human,” Scratch said, studying Grif’s own sturdy frame and billowing wings, though it cringed from the weak glow of Jeannie’s remaining strength. “How did you manage it? Someone impregnate a mortal? God get bored with the existing species? Or maybe you’re the bastard product of some bi-worldly war?”
Grif didn’t answer because if Scratch knew his name, it knew his story. Besides, Grif’d seen hatred before, shredded resentment behind mortal and immortal gazes, but the way Scratch looked at him now was entirely new. That look was spring-loaded with spikes and teeth, and countless deadly triggers. Of course, there was double reason for this skinny, hunched creature to hate him.
Feeling large and healthy and powerful, Grif stepped forward. “Get out of this body.”
“It is rather crowded in here.” Scratch feigned wiping a hand over its brow. “Toasty, too.”
It turned to Jeannie. “You hot, Jeannie? Cuz you look like you’re burning up.”
Jeannie just began to cry.
“Of course you are,” it said patronizingly. “You’re just one big human bonfire these days, aren’t you?”
“Leave, Scratch,” Grif commanded.
It simply tapped one lean finger against its chin, ignoring Grif. “Say, it’s nice and cool in my neck of the woods. Why don’t you take my hand, little lady? I can show you the way.”
And as it extended that hand toward Jeannie, the vines around her creaked and loosened.
Grif lunged, but roots immediately shot from the floor, impeding his progress and, a second later, his view. He dodged, expecting Scratch to counter again, but the creature just watched Grif from the corner of its shimmering, starry eye.
A smile snapped over its face as Grif pulled up short.
“She’s not goin’ with you.” Grif sidestepped the root, and another shot up. This one began a slow, screeching crawl toward his ankles.
Scratch’s splintered smile widened. “But can’t you feel the heat emanating from her every molecule? I’d be doing her a favor.” Hunching, Scratch propped its bony arms on its hips, and scowled at Jeannie. “Look what you did, you stupid girl! You destroyed the only body and life God gave you!”
Jeannie began crying in earnest.
“Stop it,” Grif ordered.
“You don’t deserve to be in His divine presence,” Scratch continued, with a reptilian leer. “You don’t deserve to be anywhere good!”
“Don’t listen to it, Jeannie, and don’t judge her, you rancid bit of celestial trash. You’ve never lived. You were never born so never had the chance to fail or thrive. You don’t know the hardship of a real choice.”
“Doesn’t make me wrong,” Scratch snapped.
“No, it makes you Fallen.” Grif kept his attention on Scratch, but tried to soothe Jeannie. The fallen angel was too close to her. If its lies swayed her and she accepted its hand of her own free will, then Grif could do little to stop it. And Jeannie would be Lost forever.
“You can’t see it in this light, but there are two open sores on that thing’s back. Its wings were plucked when it betrayed God. They still bleed like a river, and they’ll never stop.”
“Wings are for the