Angel's Mark

Thirty-one

Some of the worst feelings in life included: stepping on a lego, bumping a hip on the corner of a counter, a scooter knocking against your ankle, and others much worse. Nothing was worse, however, than when Cian was angry at me. Not because he yelled, but because he didn't. Because he avoided me, and when he couldn't avoid me, he didn't talk to me at all. A sparse amount of side glances were all I was getting from him at the moment. I couldn't even remember the last time I'd made him so angry.

I'd lied to him. I was still lying to him. And it was destroying both of us.

In the morning, Cian went off to work at the Pizza Palace, in another pair of emaciated jeans. I caught him in the foyer as I was heading to the kitchen, but as I'd expected, he barely looked at me. I told him, "Have a good shift."

He frowned at the doorknob, which he gripped white-knuckled. "Thanks."

Then he was gone.

I made Nura breakfast. She wanted pancakes, but I made her oatmeal because it was healthier. She complained, but ate the whole bowl of it just to make me happy. And it did.

When Nura was fed, I stepped out into the hall again. The parlor's light was on, a sliver of gold through the shadowy hallway. I took one glance, thought about going in. But, in the end, there was nothing behind that door I hadn't seen before, tried to fix before. An open wine bottle, sunken cheeks, downturned mouth. She put herself into a drunken stupor, a few hours of forgetting, and when she came to her senses again, she would act like everything was okay. So I would, too.

I wandered outside, where morning dew clung to yellowing grass, where perennials began to crinkle themselves against the colder weather. The porch was quiet and still, and so was I as I sank down against the front steps.

My fingers shook as I dialed Lucie's number.

If I kept it in any longer, I'd surely burst. But if it couldn't be Cian, it had to be her.

"Vincent Sylvester!" she cried, so loudly that half her voice was static. I winced, and not because of the noise level. "What a pleasant surprise. So what's the deal? Are you calling to invite me into another one of your stupid, highly-likely-to-get-one-or-all-of-us-killed plans?"

I took a breath. "No."

There was a pause before she spoke again, and when she did, any amusement had gone from her voice. "Jesus," she muttered. "How serious is it?"

"More serious than usual."

She exhaled a long, heavy breath. I could see her dark eyes flitting towards the floor, her thumb and index finger worrying at a curl of her hair. "I'll be waiting for you, then," she told me. "I'll make cookies. You sound like you need some."

I didn't think any amount of cookies was going to make this any easier. But I just said, "I'll be there soon."

I walked to Lucie's house, because I had no other options. I was afraid teleporting myself there might freak her out, and Cian had the Mini, so my only other mode of transportation was my two feet. It wasn't unbearable. The air was temperate, the bay a kiss of wind on my cheek and in my hair. Besides, I could focus on the motion of one foot after the other rather than on what I was about to say.

When I rung the doorbell, Lucie flung the door open immediately, as if she'd been waiting there for me. Scents of sugar and chocolate wafted outside, along with a cloud of flour as Lucie dusted it from her jeans. "Hey," she said.

"Hey."

"Are you okay?"

"No."

She bit her lip, leaning against the doorjamb. "Do you wanna come in?"