Demon and the Fox - 7. Monochrome World

When Sasha got back to the ex-coffee shop, he saw that Hazel and the others had pulled out the worn-down wooden table and chairs to the center of the room. They’d also found some candles in the back room, lit and placed them in the center of their makeshift dinner table. It was a late dinner at this point, and the take-out Chinese food they’d ordered was only half-eaten. Some rice and chow mein remained untouched in the greasy cartons. Sasha could smell it as he closed the door and stepped further inside. It made his stomach growl longingly.

The werewolves—and Nick—were discussing quietly in the candle light. They seemed to be asking Hazel what she would do if Kevin Snow chose to attack them, but they stopped when Sasha came in.

Seven pairs of eyes stared at him. Hazel was the one to break the silence. She was twisted around in her seat so she could address him, holding the back of her chair with a pale, delicate hand.

“Hey Sasha, what’s up?”

Charles replaced his glasses. “Where did you go?” he asked.

Sasha looked only at Hazel. The candle light made her pale hair tint gold.

“Yeah, um,” Sasha cleared his throat, “look. That stuff about your father possibly attacking you. Might happen sooner than you think.”

Hazel’s gray eyes hardened as she grabbed the back of her chair and pulled herself up. Everybody else rose to their feet in unison. If Sasha hadn’t felt so cynical he might have found their loyalty to Hazel beautiful.

But then Jackson got weird. “Is that a threat, werefox?” He pointed at Sasha. Jackson liked to do that a lot. Pointing at people. Gentlemanly of him.

Sasha said, “First of all, we prefer fox spirits. And one more thing,” he looked at Jackson’s fancy black suit, “your fly is open, dude.”

Watching Jackson’s cheeks and ears flush a deep shade of red as he hurriedly zipped up his black dress pants, Sasha felt immensely amused and his lips twitched into a smirk.

“Sasha,” Hazel snapped, “this isn’t funny. What are you talking about?” Standing next to her, Nick said nothing but he took her hand and squeezed it.

“I’m talking about Mister Fancy Pants’ best bro going tattletale on you guys.” When they just stared, Sasha rolled his eyes. Dumb wolves. “Kyle is betraying you. He went to report everything back to your old pack leader. You’re not safe.”

Jackson’s eyes narrowed. “And you would know this how?”

“I have my ways,” said Sasha to mess with him even more.

It worked, too.

“He’s lying.” Jackson looked at the others like he was waiting for their support. “Kyle texted me earlier.” He snatched his phone from his pocket. “He just left because he wasn’t feeling well. I can show you the text,” he said to Sasha.

“Newsflash,” Sasha said, “people lie.”

“Not Kyle. Not to me. He wouldn’t do that.”

“Well.” Sasha lifted his hands in the air in surrender. “I said what I came here to say. I can sleep with my conscience free of any werewolf death that occurs tonight.”

He started to leave. He mostly felt bad for Charles and Amanda’s parents. They looked really frightened. Their father kept running a hand through his thinning brown hair nervously. And their mother looked cold even though she wore a long knit jacket.

“But what if he’s right?” she was whispering to Charles in a worried, high-pitched voice. Everyone could hear her of course.

Something stopped Sasha from opening the door and getting out, though it wasn’t Charles’s mom.

He heard Nick speak for perhaps the first time tonight.

“Why would he make this up?” Nick said.

It wasn’t much, but it stirred something inside Sasha. Nick was defending him, in a way. It made Sasha realize how much he missed him. He missed Nick’s voice—deep and masculine, soft as velvet. He missed the way Nick used to look at him, with a fire in his eyes. He missed his smile. Nick used to be freakishly handsome whenever he smiled at Sasha. But all of that was gone now. Gone.

“Let me talk to him,” Nick said, and Sasha’s eyes opened wide. They were going to have a one-on-one now? Great. Just great. This night kept getting better.

Nick’s fingers slipped from Hazel’s hand as he came toward Sasha. Nick opened the door and they slipped outside together. The unusually strong night wind welcomed them, making their hair fly in all directions. Nick pulled his slim black leather jacket tighter around himself and crossed his arms. He looked to the side as a white limousine drove by. Sasha cleared his throat, shoving his hands in his jeans pockets. The jittering sounds of circulation didn’t distract from the lingering silence between them.

Well, this wasn’t awkward.

Nick brought his attention back to Sasha and cut to the chase. “So Kyle’s a traitor.”

“Seems so.”

Sasha shivered as the wind seemed to get suddenly colder. The dark sky was so blurred by city lights that not a single star was visible. But the moon shone bright, a reminder that the next night would be the Full Moon.

A group of barely clothed girls strolled by with their high heels and tiny glossy purses. They teetered along the sidewalk as they laughed and talked loudly. Girls on their way to a party, surely. They didn’t look cold, that was for sure.

Nick stepped to the edge of the sidewalk to make way for the girls. He was looking at them. The way a straight guy looked at cute girls.

“Looking for a new girlfriend already?” Sasha arched an eyebrow. “I thought you and Hazel were getting serious.”

“We are.” Nick’s gaze swerved back to Sasha. He spoke sincerely, almost pleadingly: “She’s such an amazing girl. I care about her. I love her.”

Sasha faltered. Nick’s words hurt more than he’d thought they could. Like a paralyzing poison spreading from his chest and all through his veins. Sasha looked down at his converse shoes. Different color shoes. He’d been in such a hurry to warn them about Kyle.

He couldn’t look at Nick. Not right now. Couldn’t look at his stupid leather jacket, couldn’t look at his windblown raven hair, couldn’t look at his face. Especially not his face.

“Yeah.” Sasha’s voice was even raspier than usual. “All the best, okay? Be careful with the whole… werewolf pack drama… thing.”

Sasha turned away. He walked away as fast as he could without looking like a crazy person. Or maybe he did look crazy, but he didn’t care. Nick didn’t say anything, didn’t call after him or try to stop him. Not that Sasha was hoping he would. Well, in any case, he didn’t, so… It was over. He didn’t even want to see Nick again. Not ever. He couldn’t.

Tomorrow night was the Full Moon. The thought calmed him a bit. On the Full Moon he had no choice but to transform. There was a sort of serenity to that, a helplessness. It was out of his control. And when he transformed into his fox form he felt at peace. It was definitely an escape from the anxiety-packed human emotions. A much needed escape. If only tomorrow night could come faster, Sasha thought as he made a turn on 34^th Street.

He passed the familiar apartment buildings and little shops lining his street. Everything was closed, and the sidewalks were pretty much empty, but there was still a fair amount of cars and cabs driving by. The apartment he shared with Gabriel was in a tall plain brown building with black tinted windows.

Once inside, Sasha glided across the lobby and let the elevator engulf him, letting out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. Sasha was alone in the elevator as it took him to the fifth floor. He liked being alone in the elevator. He didn’t like being in the elevator with a stranger, or even an acquaintance from the same building. That was always awkward.

I care about her. I love her

Damn it. Fuck. He couldn’t stop thinking about what Nick had said. It was pointless trying to think about other things.

I love her. I love her.

It was just like when the song you hate the most gets stuck in your head on repeat and you tell your brain to stop but it won’t listen to you.

She’s such an amazing girl. I love her. Nick’s pale brown eyes, honest and open, and his voice, deep and soft and sincere. I love her.

When the door opened Sasha stumbled out of the elevator. He ran across the carpeted hallway and unlocked his apartment door with shaky hands. All the lights were off. Gabriel was already asleep. Good. That was good.

Sasha closed the door as quietly as he could, and then he traced the wall with his fingertips to guide his way to his bedroom in the dark, walking on the tip of his toes.

At last he threw himself in his bedroom and shut the door behind him. His fingers reflexively found the light switch and flicked it on. A powerful white glow illuminated the small messy bedroom.

Sasha blinked. Someone was waiting for him on his bed.

A British someone, blonde and skinny with tight black clothes and combat boots. He seemed to be a black and white contrast to the green and blue stripes of Sasha’s bed covers.

“Cyan.”

“Hello there!” Cyan looked up from his book. He’d been reading Sasha’s copy of Catcher in the Rye. Sasha was supposed to read that for school.

“Brilliant novel, but,” Cyan mused, “that Holden fellow just needs to get laid.”

There were many questions Sasha could’ve asked. Like what Cyan was doing here, for starters. Or if there had been any developments with the Kyle investigation. And why he hadn’t taken off his boots before sitting on Sasha’s bed like that. Not very considerate. His bedroom might have been messy, but it was clean. Sort of.

But Sasha didn’t say a word. Instead he stepped toward the bed quietly. Feline-like. He eyed Cyan’s lean, black-clad body, the way his long legs were crossed, his small waist, and square shoulders with long pale strands of hair falling on them. Then their eyes met. Cyan’s eyes were pale blue, almost turquoise, and Sasha wondered if that was how he’d gotten his nickname. Without really realizing it, Sasha placed one knee on the bed. He looked at the pale freckles on Cyan’s nose and cheeks. He really thought those were kind of cute.

Cyan looked confused. Understandably so. And he opened his mouth to say something.

But Sasha kissed him.

He closed his eyes and felt the softness of Cyan’s lips against his. They were neither warm nor cold. Sasha slowly moved closer to him as he deepened the kiss, cupping the back of Cyan’s neck with a hand. Cyan’s silky hair tickled Sasha’s skin. He felt a shiver run down his spine as he loomed over Cyan and folded his legs on either side of him. Sasha grabbed Cyan’s waist and pushed him back against a soft green pillow as he kissed him hard. Sasha was in control. He led the dance. And Cyan’s lips followed the motions expertly. They leaned into each other’s touch, erasing the distance between their bodies, and then their hips touched, and—

“Stop.” Cyan gasped for air.

“Why?” Sasha was still holding him in his arms. Still really close to him. He wanted more. He didn’t want to stop. “Cyan. Why? Please.” Sasha’s heart was pounding.

“Not like this,” Cyan whispered, his gaze unfaltering. “You don’t want me.”

Sasha bit his own lip, feeling frustrated. “I do want you.”

“No. All you want is a round of angry, post-breakup shagging with me.”

For a moment there was nothing but the sound of their breathing. The strong wind slipped in through the slightly open window, rustling the green nylon curtain. Sasha’s messy dark blonde strands fell in his face, but he did nothing to push them away.

“So?” he said. “So what? Isn’t that what you want, too? I know Raven hurt you.”

Cyan said nothing.

“Why else—I mean,” Sasha added quietly, “why are you here?”

“I only wanted to make sure you were all right, I—”

“Bullshit.”

Cyan reached out to tuck Sasha’s unruly hair behind his ears. He stroked the skin around Sasha’s new piercing in the process, and Sasha winced. His ear was still sensitive.

“Sorry,” Cyan said.

Sasha’s voice was soft. “It’s okay.”

“What about Nicky?” Cyan blurted out. “I’m still quite sure he’s simply experimenting, and—”

“He told me he loved Hazel,” Sasha said, “tonight. He told me.”

Cyan let out a quiet sigh, and he slowly wrapped his arms around Sasha, pulling him closer. He held him like this for a moment. Cyan always knew when Sasha needed physical contact the most. Like that time after the whole Devin Cook incident.

“You killed Devin for me,” Sasha whispered against Cyan’s neck. “You saved me from becoming a murderer.”

Cyan’s hold tightened around him, and it felt good. Sasha relaxed into his touch.

“You smell nice,” he told Cyan.

“Dior Addict.”

Sasha laughed. He wasn’t too sure why—he never was with Cyan—but he started laughing pretty hard. He was trying to be considerate of Gabriel sleeping in the next room but he couldn’t help himself. He laughed so much that his ab muscles hurt. And it was contagious, because Cyan was laughing, too. He could feel the vibrations of Cyan’s chest against his own.

On a whim, Sasha kissed Cyan’s neck. The laughing stopped, and instead Sasha heard Cyan breathe in sharply as he leaned his head back against the pillow.

“I need this, Cyan,” Sasha whispered.

“Are you sure?”

“I am. And I don’t care how long you’ve been dead,” Sasha whispered, half-mocking. “If you smell that good, I’m okay with it.”

“Nearly a century now,” said Cyan, but Sasha ignored him.

“And I don’t care if you’re not real. You feel real to me.” He kissed Cyan’s pale skin again, near his collarbone.

“I… I am real. But I am a demon.”

Sasha smiled. “Dark Angel.”

Cyan smiled back. “Same difference.”

This time, Cyan didn’t try to stop Sasha when they started kissing again, their eyes closed, arms around each other, lost into one another’s touch.

 

…

 

Sasha sat back against his fluffy blue and green pillows as he watched Cyan getting dressed. He wished Cyan had stayed in bed a little longer. The bedroom was getting colder and colder with that crazy wind outside. Sasha was too lazy to get up and close the window. Instead he clutched the soft turquoise sheets to his chest. Gabriel had gotten him that set for his bed. Gabriel was always so good to him. God, he hoped they hadn’t woken him up tonight…

Cyan was turning his back to Sasha as he slid his long legs in his tiny black jeans. The task didn’t seem effortless. Sasha eyed the scars on Cyan’s back.

Two vertical lines of pale-white skin ran along his back, where his wings came out when he deployed them. They were like healed scars. And between his shoulder blades was an old and faded small round scar—from a stabbing wound probably.

As though feeling Sasha’s inquiring gaze on him, Cyan whipped around. Across his chest ran a long stripe of red skin. A more recent scar, that one. Like he’d been cut deeply with a blade, from his left shoulder to his right side. Sasha winced just looking at it. He’d seen the scars before, but hadn’t said anything.

“Have you seen my shirt?” Cyan asked, pushing his hair behind his shoulders. “Can’t find anything in this mess.” He tossed at random crumpled clothes on the floor with one foot. But he didn’t find what he was looking for, so instead he grabbed his black boots and sat on the bed to put them on.

“Hey,” Sasha poked Cyan’s back with his foot, “does it hurt when your wings come in and out?”

“Yes,” Cyan answered as he laced up his boots with long pale fingers.

“Does it bleed?”

Cyan looked up, shook his head. “But the skin gets all red and irritated, like after getting stitches, you know? Then it gets paler and fades.”

Sasha tilted his head. “Is it worth it?”

“Yes. So worth it.”

“I probably wouldn’t like it, though. I’d be way too scared of flying.”

There was a glint in Cyan’s eyes. Sasha wasn’t sure he liked it.

“What?” Sasha snapped.

“Nothing.”

Uh-huh.

“What about your other scars?” Sasha pointed lazily with a hand, still clutching his sheets with the other. “What happened?”

Cyan touched his own chest, avoiding Sasha’s gaze. Instead he looked at the posters on Sasha’s walls. Game of Thrones, Death Note, and also some funny coffee posters: ‘Coffee! (because crack isn’t allowed in the workplace)’ and ‘Coffee doesn’t ask silly questions, coffee understands.’ Gabriel hated those posters. But Gabriel didn’t understand.

“Lucas slashed me with Raven’s dagger. A weapon,” Cyan said, “I forged myself.”

“That sucks.” Sasha didn’t know what else to say.

“And the one on my back,” Cyan sighed, and finished lacing up his combat boots, “was Lucas as well. A long time ago. It’s strange for us, really. Some scars heal and vanish very quickly. Others never do.” Cyan spoke in a low voice, clearly lost in his thoughts. In his memories, perhaps. “Lucas did that to me when we fought in the Reaper tournaments. Must have been fifty years ago, at least.”

Reaper tournaments? Hell was so weird.

Cyan went on, “Maybe sixty years. Bloody Hell, I can’t even remember. I was Jun’s partner in Chicago in the late 1930’s, so that means… Well.” He seemed to snap out of it. “It was a long time ago.”

“Why does Lucas hate you so much?”

“That, mate, is a hell of a long story.”

Sasha shrugged. “I’ve got time. Do you want some chocolate?”

He reached for his nightstand’s drawer and snatched a chocolate bar from there. Dark chocolate, caramel and sea salt. It was good stuff.

“I’m all right. Thank you, though.”

Sasha tore at the wrappings and took a huge bite out of the sweet, tasty bar. Then he dangled the rest of it in front of Cyan’s face.

“Are you sure you don’t want some? It’s delicious.” He spoke with his mouth full.

“I reckon you need it more than I do.”

He was probably referring to the fact that Sasha’s stomach was growling noisily. Eating just a bit of food had woken the monster, apparently.

“Maybe you’re right,” said Sasha, chewing on a second bite, “I’m starving.”

Cyan looked somewhat worried. “Are you going to be all right? You should really eat something a tad more… nourishing.”

“I’ll be fine.” Sasha waved him off. “I’ll just make myself an epic breakfast tomorrow morning. Maybe an omelet with like, six eggs. And cheese. So much cheese.”

“Tomorrow’s Wednesday.”

“So?” Sasha licked the chocolate off his fingers.

“Don’t you have school?”

Sasha pretended he hadn’t heard that. Even though he felt a guilty pang in his chest; if he skipped too many classes, he could lose the scholarship. That scholarship meant a lot to Gabriel.

“So,” Sasha said, “you were going to tell me about Lucas?”

“Never mind that. It’s an awfully depressing story. I’ve got a much better idea.” Cyan jumped to his feet, his blue eyes all sparkly and excited. “We should go get drunk.”

Sasha made a face. “Nah. I’m way too broke for that. Like, you have no idea. The coffee shop’s closed. And the kids’ swimming classes are done for the summer. I’ll get a lifeguard job after school is over, but until then—”

“Where I want to take you, love, we don’t have to pay a dime.”

“You don’t mean—”

“Yes, precisely!” Cyan winked. He resumed the search for his black long sleeve shirt.

Images filled Sasha’s mind in flashes. A huge room that seemed to be made of black crystal, with so many Dark Angels who could stand and even dance comfortably even though most of them had their wings out. Red flames snaking out of tall black vases in each corner, casting a pleasant warmth and eerie reddish glow. Nick throwing his hand in the fire carelessly, convinced it wouldn’t hurt him. And it didn’t. The way Nick had smiled at him like nothing else mattered. Nothing else in the world.

“I’m not sure I want to go there,” Sasha said.

“Oh, come on now, little fox. You look like you could use a drink.”

The Reaper made a good point.

Sasha kicked back the covers and swung his legs off the bed. He grabbed Cyan’s shirt. Sasha had been sitting on it this whole time, and he knew it too. Grinning, he threw the shirt at Cyan.

“Thank you, really,” said Cyan as he examined the now crumpled piece of clothing. “Just the fragrance I wanted for tonight: sweaty werefox’s bed.”

“Shut up. My sweat smells like roses.”

Sasha stumbled his way across the messy floor—you couldn’t actually see the floor, and that was the problem—and stopped in front of his chair in the corner, next to the window. This particular chair wasn’t for sitting. It was to stack his piles of clean unfolded clothes after each laundry. Perfectly legit system.

The wind rustled his curtains and made him shiver as he picked out what he wanted to wear: dark skinny jeans and black tank top. Simplistic, emo; he’d fit right in with Cyan and his friends. After throwing the clothes on Sasha dug under the chair and found the massive black boots Cyan had lent him once.

“Oi, those are mine,” Cyan called as Sasha stepped in the boots.

“Yup.”

“And you never considered giving them back?” Cyan had miraculously found his fingerless black gloves under the bed and now he was dusting them distastefully.

Sasha faked an offended tone. “I thought they were a gift!”

Cyan rolled his eyes to the ceiling.

After fastening his large silver and black belt at his hips, Cyan asked, “Are you ready, foxy?”

“I was born ready. And I hate that nickname so much that if you ever say it again,” Sasha lifted one finger threateningly, “I might have to kill you.”

Cyan winked. “I’d like to see you try.” He stood with his gloved hand resting at his hips, waiting. His long hair was all messy and tangled—that was Sasha’s fault.

“So what now?” Sasha asked. He felt a tingle of excitement all through his body.

With two black tipped fingers, Cyan motioned for him to step closer, and closer, until their boots were almost touching.

“And now,” Cyan smiled, “you hold on to me, and you close your pretty eyes.”

Sasha threw his arms around Cyan’s waist and squeezed his eyes shut, pressing his forehead against Cyan’s shoulder.

“Your heart is racing,” Cyan told him quietly.

“It does that sometimes.”

“Don’t be afraid, little fox. You should know I’m an expert.”

“I’m not afraid,” Sasha replied defensively. “Just do it already!”

Cyan laughed.

“What’s so funny?”

“We’re already here,” Cyan admitted.

Immediately Sasha’s eyes snapped open and he pushed Cyan away, embarrassed. Well, now that Cyan mentioned it, he could tell the difference, of course. His nose picked up on the familiar scent of smoke. His ears detected the sounds of intense trance-like rhythms coming from the tower. The ground under his boots was soft. They were standing on the snowy path that led to the tower. The path was flanked with two streams of black water. As Sasha’s gaze swept up the tall black tower and reached the top—almost indiscernible with the dark, moonless sky as a background—he felt the dizziness of vertigo grip at him. His legs were paralyzed.

Sasha was used to seeing tall buildings, obviously. In the city it was different. They were everywhere and he had no choice but to get used to them. He almost didn’t even notice them anymore. But there was something terrifying about this infinitely tall tower in the middle of nowhere, with flat white lands and dark streams of water surrounding it, and forests of black, leafless trees in the distance. Sasha felt small and vulnerable.

He spun as he thought he heard the rustling of feathers and the sound of fabric tearing. He wasn’t wrong. Cyan’s large golden wings were a flash of color in the monochrome realm. The tearing sound had come from the back of Cyan’s shirt as the wings spread out; apparently he didn’t care about his shirt that much.

Sasha was reminded of the first time he’d come here, with Nick. Cyan had just taken off, flying all the way to the top, and leaving them to take the long way up. Sasha remembered the endless spiral staircase inside the tower. How Nick kept telling him to not look out the window.

Before he realized what he was doing, Sasha gripped Cyan’s arms.

“Don’t you dare leave me alone.” Sasha’s nails clawed into Cyan’s arms through his thin sleeves. “Don’t you—”

“Ow, you little bastard. That hurts.” But Cyan didn’t push him away. Quite the opposite. He pulled Sasha closer, holding his waist in a tight hold.

Sasha gasped, looking up into mischievous blue eyes.

“I’m not leaving you alone,” said Cyan.

“No!” Sasha protested as he understood what Cyan wanted to do.

“Yes!” Cyan teased him. He spread out his wings.

“Stop it, you jerk.” Sasha tried to get away. “Stop, let me go!”

As tight as Sasha had gripped at Cyan’s arms before, now he was desperately trying to wriggle free from his grasp. But Cyan’s hold was unyielding. There had to be some kind of supernatural mojo strength at play here. Sasha was in good shape; he was a swimmer, and he trained really hard, so there was no way Cyan was stronger—

Sasha’s stomach did a lurch when Cyan pushed the air with his massive wings and kicked the powdery snow with his boots at once. Sasha felt himself being lifted off the ground.

Now Sasha held on to Cyan with all the strength he had. His arms locked around Cyan’s neck as he saw the white path getting smaller and smaller with every flap of Cyan’s golden wings.

“Oi, this is like Lois Lane and Superman!” Apparently Cyan was having fun. “I suppose that makes you Lois.”

Sasha was going to kill him. Later, of course. He would kill him later when they weren’t one hundred feet up in the air.

“Shut up!” He said. “Just don’t drop me.”

“I’m not going to drop you, silly.”

Sasha’s fingers tangled in long blonde locks, digging into the stretched black fabric of Cyan’s shirt like he wanted to rip holes through it.

Hell was so strange. The inky sky was moonless and starless but Sasha could still see everything clearly. The white snow on the ground seemed to shine brighter than the moon ever could. The black tower’s crystalline walls shimmered as Cyan flew higher and higher in the sky. Sasha impressed himself as the poignant, familiar fear of heights—fear of falling, really—made way for a timid fascination.

The endless skies reminded him of something he’d seen in some space documentary Gabriel had made him watch. The more Sasha looked, the more he realized the sky wasn’t really black. He saw deep red hues, the darkest possible shades of violet, and also blues ranging from cobalt to navy. The colors were like clouds stretching out forever. It reminded him of the nebula in the documentary.

Sasha could hear the feverish rhythm of the increasingly loud trance music. Cyan’s wings brought them closer to the top. Sasha had to admit that this was faster than the stairs. They had to be at least 70-story high now. This was insane!

Don’t look down, he told himself. Do not look down.

But he looked.

Vast white lands stretched out forever beyond the tower, streaked by narrow streams of dark water that disappeared in thick forests of black trees in the distance. White-tipped mountains bordered the skyline, and that was as far as Sasha could see. Between here and there a few flashes of orange light colored the landscape; fires. People confronted their worst fear when they came to Hell. Turned out a lot of people feared fire. Sasha also saw a cemetery in the middle of a snowy valley, not too far from the tower actually. A lot of people feared being buried, it would seem. A cemetery in Hell. Ironic, Sasha thought, and kind of sad. So many thumb stones, and they looked so little from all the way up here.

The thought woke his fear and he squeezed his eyes closed, trying to fight away the dizziness.

With a start, Sasha realized there wasn’t any wind. They were so high in the air—higher than his apartment building on 34^th surely—yet there wasn’t much of a breeze, save for the air Cyan stirred with his wings. The atmosphere was so eerily still that it frightened Sasha. He tightened his hold on Cyan, and without a word Cyan’s arms squeezed his waist in return.

The air was neither cold nor hot, but Sasha could feel Cyan’s warmth. I am real, Cyan had said. Sasha held on to that thought. He was starting to feel a little better.

Don’t look down. Don’t look.

Instead he glanced up. The edges of the highest windows started to get outlined as Cyan kept flying upward. They were wide windows with no glass, so that the Dark Angels could come in and out. Sasha saw one fly out and leap over to the rooftop.

Inside the tower seemed like a whole other world, full of colors and brightness. Sasha felt drawn to the place as Cyan slowed down and adjusted his trajectory to reach one of the windows.

Sasha could feel his heart beating in sync to the music. It was somewhere in between electronic and trance, but never repetitive, and with Celtic inspirations, too. Sasha thought he heard pan flute. A strange mix, but it sure worked. Sasha wasn’t even on his feet yet, and he wanted nothing more than to join that crowd in there and dance the night away—didn’t matter if they were all demons, they seemed to be having lots of fun, and Sasha wanted in.

Cyan flailed his wings as he stopped his ascension and let his boots fall flat against the bottom edge of a window. He folded his wings behind his back and tapped Sasha’s shoulder gently.

“You know you can let go now, right?”

Unlocking his arms from around Cyan’s neck required some effort, actually. He’d been holding on so tightly that now his muscles ached. His entire body felt sore and almost paralyzed.

Do not look down.

“Your heart is racing again,” Cyan mocked gently.

“No it’s not.” Sasha pulled away from him and stepped off the ledge.

His boots landed on a dark marble floor. Cyan gracefully leaped down next to him. They were surrounded by people of all ethnicities. Over the fast-paced music, Sasha could hear bits and pieces of conversations in a variety of different languages. Most of them had wings, and wore dark clothes like Cyan. Though Cyan was the only one with golden feathers. Most of them had black wings, actually—perhaps they wanted to fit the ‘dark angel’ descriptive more accurately.

Looming at least 20 feet high, the ceiling was a vast expanse of bright silver, as if all the stars that were missing in the sky outside had been gathered here. Sasha blinked; staring at it too long was almost blinding.

There were so many of those wide open windows that the thin strips of black shimmery walls seemed more like columns holding the metallic ceiling. Gray marble countertops ran all around the dance floor. Drinks of as many colors as colors existed lined the counters in limitless quantities.

“Open bar.” Sasha nodded appreciatively. “Now I get why you like this place so much.”

“Brilliant, I know.” Cyan’s gloved hand found Sasha’s shoulder, massaging the bare skin around his tank top’s strap. “Do you like raspberries?”

“Love ‘em, why?” Sasha answered without looking at him.

There were so many people. Most Dark Angel girls wore a silk scarf that was crossed at the front to hide their breasts, then tied at the back under their wings. It was actually really pretty. And sexy, he supposed, if you were into that.

Cyan squeezed his shoulder. “Course you do, little fox. Let’s go for the pink drinks.” Cyan’s hand trailed across Sasha’s back, sending shivers down his spine.

Their hands found each other and their fingers intertwined as Cyan led the way through the tide of bodies—and feathers. Said pink drinks were all the way across the dance floor.

Cyan knew people. He exchanged smiles and nods with other Reapers and Dark Angels. Two guys with glossy black hair and wearing only short shorts addressed Cyan in Chinese, and Cyan was able to answer perfectly fluently. Then a tall red-headed girl in thigh high boots exchanged a few French words with Cyan. Just small talk and polite words, from what Sasha could gather.

“How many languages do you speak?” Sasha asked when they reached the marble counter with the pink drinks.

“Just the ones you heard me speak tonight.”

They stood next to one of those tall vases with the red flames dancing in the air like ribbons caught in the wind. It was a bit quieter over here. In a silent agreement, they each grabbed a drink and swiveled round so they could lean back against the counter and watch the dancers.

“English because I am an English gentleman of course.” Cyan took off an invisible hat and bowed. Sasha rolled his eyes. “Jun taught me Chinese,” Cyan added more seriously, glancing sideways at Sasha, “and Raven taught me French.”

Sasha remembered the guy with the dark blue wings who had showed up at the last minute to help them in the fight against Liv and Lucas.

“Raven’s French?”

“Aye. His real name is Nathaniel.” Cyan said the name with a French accent.

Sasha tilted his head. “Huh.”

It seemed Cyan had no intention to hover on the subject. He raised his glass.

“Cheers, mate.”

“Cheers.”

They drank at once, a couple of sips each, and Sasha had to admit that it really did taste like raspberries, and it was really delicious. How did they even make those? All Sasha had glimpsed were forests of dead black trees.

“We have nicer forests,” Cyan said, startling Sasha. He realized he’d been staring at his drink.

“How did you know what I was thinking about?”

Cyan shrugged modestly. “I am quite a perceptive fellow.”

Sasha drank more of the raspberry drink. Nearly finished it. Yummy. He wasn’t sure he cared how it was made.

He just wanted to relax, and have fun in order to forget his problems and keep on being distracted from unwanted thoughts.

Like how he’d had turquoise drinks with Nick the first time he came here, and how he opened up like he’d never opened up to anyone before.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Cyan said. He’d finished his drink and grabbed another.

Sasha sighed and did the same. Was there even alcohol in there? Again, he wasn’t sure he cared. Wait, no. Actually he cared. He hoped there was alcohol in there.

“Unwanted thoughts. Hey, Cyan,” he said to change the subject, “earlier you said you forged Raven’s dagger yourself.”

“Practically all of his swords actually. And Jun’s swords. Except her dao. That one was not mine.”

Sasha tried to relax. He listened to Cyan’s voice, then he listened to the music. Drum and bass with added instruments like guitars and cellos. And a rhythm that slowed down then picked up again, and so on; never boring, always entrancing. The demons danced. Some of them had sweat trickling down their skin. Sasha eyed a dark-skinned girl with long black braids and metallic eyeliner that rivaled the ceiling’s intensity. Then he spotted the pale red-headed French girl Cyan had talked to earlier. And the two Chinese boys. So many skin colors. They looked beautiful together. They didn’t look like demons to Sasha.

“I didn’t know you forged swords.” After savoring one more long sip of raspberry drink, Sasha turned his attention back to Cyan. “That’s pretty cool.”

“One has to occupy oneself.”

Sasha abruptly put down his glass on the counter and Cyan blinked at him.

“I want to dance,” said Sasha.

“Then let us dance.”

This time Sasha took the lead. He grabbed Cyan’s arm and led him to the middle of the dance floor. He felt like being amidst all those smiling, beautiful dancers would make it easier to relax and let go, and forget all his problems.

But it didn’t work.

Sasha felt stimulated and energized and he did dance for a little while. He danced with Cyan but without touching one another. They just did their own thing. Cyan was a funny dancer. He could be really graceful at times and then awkward, and sometimes a mix of both. Sasha wanted to make fun of him, but he found he didn’t have the heart to laugh.

He just couldn’t really have fun, no matter how hard he tried. He couldn’t conceal himself among the demons and rave like there was no tomorrow.

Something tightened around his chest, circling his heart in a vice-like grip.

What was he doing here? What was he doing? He had a math class in the morning, and what would Gabriel think if he knew?

“Fuck,” said Sasha, raking a hand through his hair.

He was just trying to forget his problems like an idiot, wasn’t he? But it wasn’t that easy.

Such an amazing girl. I care about her. I love her.

The vice-like grip tightened, and tightened.

“What’s wrong?” Cyan asked loudly so Sasha would hear him over the crazy music.

“N-No… Nothing. You keep dancing with your friends, okay? Don’t worry about me.”

He stepped back, bumping into someone’s stupid wings.

“Sorry,” he muttered.

Without looking at anyone, Sasha crawled his way through the dance floor, trying to reach that quieter place with the pink drinks and the vase with the red flames. He heard Cyan calling after him.

“Sasha you’re my only friend here, where are you going you silly bastard.”

But Sasha kept going. When he finally stumbled away from the thick crowd, he went to crash against the marble counter, clutching it with two hands, so tight that his knuckles turned white. He breathed in deeply, like he’d been about to drown but now he was out of the water.

Cyan caught up with him and placed a hand flat against the small of Sasha’s back.

“Oi, are you all right?”

“What was in those drinks?” Maybe he should have asked that before.

“Honestly, nothing much but fruit juice,” Cyan said as he leaned closer, long pale strands falling over his shoulder in messy waves. “A lot of sugar, I think. Some alcohol, possibly. I wouldn’t drug you without telling you, Sasha.”

Great, now he felt guilty for being an ass to Cyan.

“Sorry, I just—”

Sasha felt his chest being racked with spasms. Shit. No. That was so embarrassing.

Do not cry. Do not cry. Do not—

“Cyan?”

Sasha froze as he recognized Raven’s voice. A low voice, grave and stern.

Cyan kept his hand on Sasha’s back, but he turned his head to address Raven.

“Bad timing, love. My friend isn’t feeling well.”

“Your friend?” Sasha heard Raven sigh. “Cyan, what is this? Why would you bring—? Well, it doesn’t matter. It’s good that you’re both here, actually.”

Sasha gathered himself up and roughly wiped under his eyes before turning around to face Raven.

“What are you talking about?” Sasha asked.

Raven looked tired. His deep blue eyes looked almost black, and he had dark circles under them. Like most Dark Angels here, he had his wings out, and he wasn’t wearing a shirt. Just black jeans with a multitude of blades sheathed at his belt. His pale face clashed with the darkness of his hair and feathers.

“You’re Alexander Koval Reed, aren’t you?”

Sasha frowned. “How do you know my name?” His full name, too; no one ever called him that.

“I went to Purgatory today,” said Raven, making Sasha’s frown deepen. What did that have to do with anything?

Cyan crossed his arms. Shrugged one shoulder. “So? Brought anyone back this time?”

“Yes,” Raven said, “I did. You should both come with me.”

Raven’s tone was pretty final and scary, so they followed him along the marble counter without arguing. But Cyan and Sasha exchanged confused glances. What did Raven want, anyway? This was so weird.

Stalking after Raven, they approached one of the corners of the room. There, a discreet black door was installed just behind the vase of flames thingy. Raven pushed it open. Looking over Cyan’s shoulder, Sasha saw that the door led to a small staircase. The entrance to the stairs was narrow. They could only pass one at a time. Sasha understood why most people coming to these parties would skip the stairs and just fly there.

They climbed down one level and the music became faint. They spilled after Raven into a dim, candle-lit hallway. Raven motioned with a hand to keep following him. The silence made Sasha’s nerves tingle.

There were curtained stalls along one side of the hallway. Raven pushed one of the thick curtains aside with a pale hand and waited for the two others to step closer.

So they did. Leaning closer to Cyan to get a good look, Sasha glimpsed a small space with the only furniture being a long, black velvet couch and a small wooden desk. On the desk was laid a tray with a half-empty glass of water, rolls of bandages and one white candle.

On the couch lay a dog and a boy, both sleeping soundly. Sasha had seen the big husky dog before. Koda, if he wasn’t mistaken.

And the dark-haired boy covered in bandages was—

“Nicky?” Cyan said it in a feeble voice.

“That’s impossible,” Sasha said, all in a rush, “Nick’s fine. He’s with Hazel Snow. He’s with the werewolves. I saw him earlier tonight.”

“I’m afraid,” Raven said, “you are mistaken. This,” he pointed toward the boy and the dog on the couch, “is Nicholas Russell. It appears he’s been in Purgatory for three weeks.”

Sasha felt the blood drain from his face.

Then, that meant—

Malachy.