A Gift of Wings (45 page)

When Zeke had disappeared, Lucky was once again alone in a field of white. After a time, she noticed that the blank whiteness was taking on a ruddy hue. Soon she was enveloped in golden-red light, and she found herself on a familiar hilltop facing a familiar tree. A crow cawed three times, and then a man-sized bird rose up from the ground in front of her. He regarded her with Malachi’s amber eyes, cocking his head from side to side as he studied her. Without warning, he lunged forward, pecking at her chest with such force that his beak sank into her heart. She dropped to her knees, gasping in shock, a trembling hand rising to press against the bloody wound. The crow took a few backward steps away from her, before studying her once again with cocked head. She could see the wetness of her blood on his shiny black beak. Then, lifting his wings, he cawed three more times and flew away. When the bird’s black wings had disappeared in the sunset sky, Lucky looked down at her chest. There was no blood, no wound, but she could hear the crow’s caw with every heartbeat.

Sensing a change in her surroundings, she looked up to see the redness fading from the sky, leaving the blank, white field behind, as all the color was drawn to a spot a few feet from her, where it condensed and dropped like blood into a vial that appeared to catch the droplets as they fell. A hand appeared to clasp the vial, and then a body attached to the hand, and Lucky heard an eerie sing-song voice proclaiming over and over, “Both Naphil and not Naphil, she will unwind the threads. Light and Dark, she will unwind the threads.”

Sambethe marched toward her, the vial clasped in her outstretched hand, her pale eyes unfocused, seeing not Lucky, but something beyond. When Sambethe reached her, she thrust her free hand into Lucky’s hair and jerked her head back. Tipping the vial, she let a drop of liquid fall from its lip onto the center of Lucky’s forehead. Lucky drew in her breath with a hiss, feeling as if acid were eating through her skull. The pain intensified and she cried out, falling back onto the ground. She could still hear Sambethe’s sing-song chant as she faded from consciousness.

Lucky awakened to find that the pain in her forehead had lessened to a slight tingle, of an intensity to match the temperature of the amulet on her breast. Or the bruised tenderness of her heart. Or the warmth in her bones. Or the sense of being embraced by protective wings. In addition, she felt a sharp, burning pain in her abdomen and back. Her hand had located the source of the pain by the time she focused her eyes on it: a sword was run through her body, the hilt and an inch or so of the blade protruding from her abdomen. Clenching her teeth, she grasped the hilt with both hands and pulled. A scream ripped from her lips, and she collapsed panting, her hands falling away from the sword that still pierced her. As she lay there, a glowing hand closed around the sword’s hilt and the weapon was withdrawn. Immediately, she felt as if she were floating in sea water. Warm and silken, it surrounded her, buoyed her, cleansed her, soothed her. The sensation faded, and she was left lying there, with a small ache in her abdomen to add to her list of new awarenesses.

“Lucky!” She heard Malachi’s muffled voice in her head. And then his hands were on her shoulders, shaking her, and she heard him with her ears. “Lucky, come back now. It is time.”

“Did I call them all?” she mumbled.

“I believe so. I did not see what you saw. I only know that I am among those you called to you, and that the veil around you had cleared by the time I called you back. How many others were there?”

She thought for a moment. “Five, besides you.” She frowned. “But one of them was G-Ma. How many are there supposed to be?”

“Generally, there are seven altogether.”

“But I only saw six. And G-Ma can’t possibly be one of them. Even if she somehow managed to get to the Making, it’s not like she has a palm sigil.”

“It is done. You called whom you called. The Making will be as it will be.”

“Thanks, Malachi. Cryptic is just what I need right now.” Lucky swung her legs out of bed and stood, grabbing onto the nightstand when her balance threatened to desert her.

“Still weak I see,” Malachi remarked. Opening the door, he added, “Your attire is on the end of the bed. Call for me once you have changed. I will be just outside.”

The attire he’d referred to turned out to be a simple, backless, red linen sheath. When she slipped it over her head, its hem fell to her ankles, but there were slits to just above her knees on either side. She preferred not to think about the reason her back was left bare. Once she had put on the dress, she sat down on the side of the bed, winded. Her weakness, she feared, did not bode well for the coming ceremony. Her hands shook as she removed the Light-Bringer’s Medallion from around her neck and placed it on the bedside table, and her heart accelerated its rhythm as butterflies clustered in her stomach.

Then she heard the echo of the crow’s caw in her heartbeats and felt the other tiny pains and awarenesses that witnessed to the Makers who had revealed themselves to her. Somehow, she found the subtle reminders reassuring, as now were the cryptic words Malachi had uttered earlier, which repeated themselves in her head. The Making would be what it would be. They had done all they could to get her ready for it; the outcome was out of her hands.

She called Malachi’s name, and he was through the door in an instant. “I realize that you would prefer to do this on your own, but we do not have time for that. I hope you do not mind being carried.”

Before she could respond, he was already scooping her up in his arms as if she weighed no more than a feather. Lucky replied anyway, “I don’t mind. Much as I hate to admit it, I’m not sure I could make it down the stairs on my own right now.”

They were halfway down the stairs when she spoke again. “Malachi?”

“What is it, Lucky?”

“Thank you. For everything you’ve done for me. I really am grateful.”

“I am sorry for the necessity of some of it, but I am glad I could help.”

Lucky tightened her grasp on Malachi’s shoulder and rested her head against his chest. She sensed that was as close as she could get to hugging the Naphil; an outright embrace would probably make him uncomfortable. She brushed her cheek against the fabric of his shirt and settled more closely against him. She might have imagined it, but she thought he tightened his hold on her in response.

When they reached the basement and turned left into the large room that housed the Gates of Heaven, they were greeted by a torrent of words as a familiar blonde almost pulled Lucky out of Malachi’s arms to sweep her into a bear hug. “I’ve been so worried about you. I’m so glad you’re okay. Well, not that this Making thing sounds like a piece of cake or anything, but you survived getting skewered, so I’m sure you’ll get through this just fine.” Mo paused to take a breath and then continued more slowly. “You have to, you know. You have to get through this—I’m not giving you a choice. You’re my best friend. If you don’t make it, I’ll find you, wherever you are, and kick your butt myself.”

Lucky chuckled as she returned the embrace. She wasn’t strong enough to squeeze Mo back with the vice-like grip her friend had on her, but she did her best. “Thanks, Mo,” she said. “If things get bad, I’ll picture you waiting in hob-nailed boots, and that’ll scare me into surviving.”

Mo laughed, but there were tears in her eyes when she pulled away from Lucky. “Seriously, Lucky. You come back to me, okay? I can’t stand to lose you.”

Lucky’s eyes filled as she pulled her friend close again. “I’ll do my very best, Mo. I promise.”

“We must go,” Zeke said, and Lucky looked in his direction in time to see him give a small nod to Malachi. The tall, dark man ushered Mo back up the stairs as Zeke moved to Lucky’s side, sliding a supportive arm around her and helping her take the few steps to reach the Gates. He pressed his palm against the slight indentation between the huge wings, and they unfolded, flooding the room in brilliant light. He swept her up into his arms and stepped through.

CHAPTER 30

Lucky took a deep breath, relishing the feeling of relieved expansion as her body adjusted to normal after the squish of the passage through the Gates.

“Are you alright?”

Even though Zeke spoke quietly, the resonance of his voice vibrated through his chest into Lucky’s body, causing her to wonder if this was how a tuning fork felt. The sensation wasn’t unpleasant; in fact, it carried the same essence of protection that had accompanied Zeke’s visitation in her vision of her Makers.

She nodded, wishing he’d say something else—especially as the touch of Elsewhere’s unnatural sunlight reminded her of how long it had been since she’d been outside. Not that it had been sunny; it had been rainy and dark when that Power had skewered her like a kabob.

“I’m scared, Zeke.” The words tumbled out, surprising her. She had been determined to remain stoic about this whole business, to be strong and think positive.

“I would be very surprised if you were not,” he replied—and Lucky soaked up the vibrations of his voice like a sponge. “There is no shame in feeling fear, Lucky. It is a natural response—one necessary for survival. Bravery is not the absence of fear, but the willingness to do what one must even in the face of it.” He paused, looked down at her, then continued, “What you are doing is very brave. And I am more than proud of you.”

The tears that seemed far too close to the surface lately filled Lucky’s eyes once more. Swallowing the obstruction that had appeared in her throat, she wound her arms around Zeke’s neck and hugged him as tightly as she could. He wrapped her close, the protectiveness that was a part of his nature settling around her like a cloak.

When she lifted her head from where she had buried it against Zeke’s neck, she saw Aidan standing nearby. Dressed in black denim jeans and his favorite black leather jacket, he had one hip cocked, and his arms were crossed over his chest.

“Hey,” he said softly, as his blue eyes met hers. “Zeke, could we have a minute or two alone?”

Zeke set her gently on her feet, his arms tightening around her in a last quick embrace before he released her. “I will wait for you at the door to the Council Hall.”

Aidan took a few steps toward her, stopping when there was less than a foot between them. His arms now hung at his sides, his hands clenching and releasing, as he studied her in silence. Lucky understood at least something of what he must be feeling—she had no idea what to say to him either. Everything that came to mind seemed to offer too much or too little. Silently, she placed her hand against his cheek, stroking her thumb across his cheekbone. Aidan let out a shaky breath, clenched his jaw, and closed his arms around her. She wrapped her arms around his waist and pressed herself against him. She wanted to keep holding on to him, to put off what was about to happen, to ask him to pick her up, spread his wings, and fly them both out of here. But she knew she couldn’t do any of those things. So, after far too short a time, she pushed away from him and raised her face to look up into his. His hands coming to rest on either side of her face, gentle as butterflies, he bent his head and kissed her. Her own hands lifting to cover his, she kissed him back.

Neither spoke as Aidan picked her up and carried her to where Zeke awaited them. After transferring her to the Cherub’s arms, he held her gaze for a moment, before he turned to open the door to the Council Hall. He held the door long enough for Zeke and Lucky to pass through, and then, still without saying a word, he left them to head toward the stairs to their right. Zeke, carrying Lucky, moved at a slower pace, and Lucky’s eyes lingered on Aidan’s long legs as he preceded them up the stairs.

She had assumed that the Making would be held in the same room as the Striking, but she was wrong. When Aidan stopped outside the double doors to the great room, Zeke gestured for him to move farther down the hall. Bypassing the next set of double doors, which, Lucky remembered, also provided access to the great hall, Aidan stopped when he reached the only remaining door in the corridor. Lucky guessed the room it opened into must be considerably smaller than the great hall, since only this single door seemed to provide entry, and when Aidan turned the knob and swung the door inward, she saw that her assumption was correct. The room was quite small—and surprisingly empty. She had assumed there would be spectators as there had been for the Striking, but the few pew-like benches that ran down the center of the room were vacant. Perhaps, she, Zeke, and Aidan had arrived early?

Aidan stepped through the doorway—and disappeared. One minute he was there, and the next he wasn’t. The room stretched before them as empty as before.

“A small magic that offers us a bit more protection for the ceremony,” Zeke remarked. “This might feel strange,” he added, before he too stepped through the door.

At least she wasn’t squished this time, Lucky thought gratefully, as the magic that screened the doorway washed over her, leaving her feeling as if they had passed through a waterfall. The sensation of being deluged with cool water was so real, she was surprised to find herself undrenched when they emerged on the other side.