"Trsiel," I gasped. "Sword. She—"
He shot up just as the Nix dove for the sword. Too late to grab it, Trsiel kicked it aside and threw himself at the Nix. He caught her by the shoulders and they went down.
I struggled to focus on them, but pain pulsed through me, each throb bringing a split-second blackout. I fought to stay conscious. Across the room. Trsiel almost had the Nix pinned, but she wriggled out of his grip, rolled, then darted toward the sword. Trsiel took her down again.
I forced my body to turn, and tried to see the sword through the flashes of darkness. There! By the door.
Biting my lip, I managed to push up on all fours, then stumbled toward it. When I was still a few feet away, I felt my limbs tremor, threatening to give way. I threw myself forward, onto the sword. I felt the heat of it burn through my shirt. Then everything went dark.
I awoke in something like a bed, soft and comfortable. Trsiel leaned over me. I struggled to sit, but white-hot pain forced me down again.
"Nix," I whispered.
"Gone," he said. "She teleported out as soon as I had a good hold on her."
"Amulet. Found—"
"It's right here."
"Good. Wh—" I gasped as fresh pain ripped through me.
Trsiel's arms went around me, one sliding under me, and his hands moved up to my neck. I gasped again.
His hands were nearly as hot as the sword. As soon as his fingers touched my skin, the pain ebbed. He massaged the back of my neck, and I slowly relaxed into the bed as the pain gave way to soft waves of soothing heat. I felt myself drifting toward sleep, only dimly aware that he was talking. I struggled to listen, but could make out only the hypnotic sound of his voice as he reverted to his angelic tone.
"Better?" he whispered.
"Ummm. Getting better."
A soft chuckle. "I'll keep at it, then." His voice sobered. "I can't tell you how sorry—"
"S'okay."
I stretched, then lifted my head and looked around. I was lying on a divan. He'd pulled up a chair beside it. Both were big chunky pieces, postmodern furniture, more comfortable than they looked. Two more chairs flanked a fireplace, and another two were by a window overlooking a cityscape. Art gallery and museum posters decorated the walls. Across the room was a floor-to-ceiling bookcase, crammed to overflowing, with books shoved into every space and more piled on the floor underneath. On my right, magazines covered a low-slung table.
"Your room?" I said.
He nodded. "Not much like the other angel quarters, is it?"
I picked up a copy of Entertainment Weekly. "Not much."
His cheeks heated.
"I'm teasing you," I said. "Your room is much nicer. That other one? Kinda creepy."
He gave a soft laugh. I continued flipping through the stack of magazines. Some, like Time and National Geographic, I recognized. Others, I wasn't even sure what language they were written in.
"I suppose this answers the question," he said, sweeping a hand around the room. "Though I'm sure you already knew it."
"Hmm?"
"What Dantalian meant. About me. His… insults. You said you didn't know what he meant, but I know you do."
I flipped onto my back and looked up at him. "That you're part human. Or so he says."
"He's right. Which you also know. Not that I can prove it." He swept a lock of my hair off the pillow, fingers sliding to the end, his gaze fixed on this diversion as he continued, "I told you I'm from the last group of full-bloods. The Creator—He saw problems with the older ones, the first angels and even the seconds. As the world grew, they couldn't keep up. They went from thousands of years of watching over hunters and gatherers to a world that seemed to change every time they blinked. When we—the last group—were created, we were taught to immerse ourselves in the human world—to keep up with its traditions, its language, even its fashions, so that we could better understand those we served."
"Then that's the explanation, isn't it? The training. Not that you're part human."
He shook his head. "That's the rationale, not the reason. We all know it. Some of the older ones try to be more like us, and some of us try to be more like them, but it doesn't work. The difference goes deeper."
"So you think the Creator gave you some human blood? To make you more human?"
Trsiel released my hair from his fingers and nodded. "And when Dantalian brought it up, I saw my reaction, and I hated myself for it, for what you must have thought of me."
"I don't—"
"What a hypocrite, right? One minute I'm telling you I see nothing wrong with humans, and the next I'm flying into a rage when some demon accuses me of having human blood." He shook his head fiercely, eyes blazing. "What a damnable—"
I pulled myself up. "I don't think you're a hypocrite, Trsiel. I saw how those other angels treated you.
That's the problem, isn't it? Not having human blood, but having them think you do."
"I care about what it makes me in their eyes. I know I shouldn't—"
I ducked to meet his gaze. "It's okay. You don't have to explain it to me." I gave a small smile. "I'm a witch, remember? I know all about being treated like a second-class citizen when you know you aren't."
I pulled myself up. "But, blood or training aside, whatever the experiment, it obviously worked. You understand and fit into human culture far better than those other angels could, so why the ascendeds?"
"Not all the angels in the last wave are like me. Most aren't. They… assimilated."
"Succumbed to the pressure to fit in. But you didn't."
"It's more like 'couldn't.' It isn't in my nature. And I'm certainly not the only one. There are a few like me."
"Just not enough to fight this new 'only ascended angels in the field' rule."
A slow nod, gaze shuttering, but not before I saw the sadness there.
"But if I ascend," I said. "If I do this quest, and they offer me angel-hood, I'd need someone to teach me the ropes, and Zak… Zaf—"
"Zadkiel."
"Isn't around, so that would be you."
He shot up just as the Nix dove for the sword. Too late to grab it, Trsiel kicked it aside and threw himself at the Nix. He caught her by the shoulders and they went down.
I struggled to focus on them, but pain pulsed through me, each throb bringing a split-second blackout. I fought to stay conscious. Across the room. Trsiel almost had the Nix pinned, but she wriggled out of his grip, rolled, then darted toward the sword. Trsiel took her down again.
I forced my body to turn, and tried to see the sword through the flashes of darkness. There! By the door.
Biting my lip, I managed to push up on all fours, then stumbled toward it. When I was still a few feet away, I felt my limbs tremor, threatening to give way. I threw myself forward, onto the sword. I felt the heat of it burn through my shirt. Then everything went dark.
I awoke in something like a bed, soft and comfortable. Trsiel leaned over me. I struggled to sit, but white-hot pain forced me down again.
"Nix," I whispered.
"Gone," he said. "She teleported out as soon as I had a good hold on her."
"Amulet. Found—"
"It's right here."
"Good. Wh—" I gasped as fresh pain ripped through me.
Trsiel's arms went around me, one sliding under me, and his hands moved up to my neck. I gasped again.
His hands were nearly as hot as the sword. As soon as his fingers touched my skin, the pain ebbed. He massaged the back of my neck, and I slowly relaxed into the bed as the pain gave way to soft waves of soothing heat. I felt myself drifting toward sleep, only dimly aware that he was talking. I struggled to listen, but could make out only the hypnotic sound of his voice as he reverted to his angelic tone.
"Better?" he whispered.
"Ummm. Getting better."
A soft chuckle. "I'll keep at it, then." His voice sobered. "I can't tell you how sorry—"
"S'okay."
I stretched, then lifted my head and looked around. I was lying on a divan. He'd pulled up a chair beside it. Both were big chunky pieces, postmodern furniture, more comfortable than they looked. Two more chairs flanked a fireplace, and another two were by a window overlooking a cityscape. Art gallery and museum posters decorated the walls. Across the room was a floor-to-ceiling bookcase, crammed to overflowing, with books shoved into every space and more piled on the floor underneath. On my right, magazines covered a low-slung table.
"Your room?" I said.
He nodded. "Not much like the other angel quarters, is it?"
I picked up a copy of Entertainment Weekly. "Not much."
His cheeks heated.
"I'm teasing you," I said. "Your room is much nicer. That other one? Kinda creepy."
He gave a soft laugh. I continued flipping through the stack of magazines. Some, like Time and National Geographic, I recognized. Others, I wasn't even sure what language they were written in.
"I suppose this answers the question," he said, sweeping a hand around the room. "Though I'm sure you already knew it."
"Hmm?"
"What Dantalian meant. About me. His… insults. You said you didn't know what he meant, but I know you do."
I flipped onto my back and looked up at him. "That you're part human. Or so he says."
"He's right. Which you also know. Not that I can prove it." He swept a lock of my hair off the pillow, fingers sliding to the end, his gaze fixed on this diversion as he continued, "I told you I'm from the last group of full-bloods. The Creator—He saw problems with the older ones, the first angels and even the seconds. As the world grew, they couldn't keep up. They went from thousands of years of watching over hunters and gatherers to a world that seemed to change every time they blinked. When we—the last group—were created, we were taught to immerse ourselves in the human world—to keep up with its traditions, its language, even its fashions, so that we could better understand those we served."
"Then that's the explanation, isn't it? The training. Not that you're part human."
He shook his head. "That's the rationale, not the reason. We all know it. Some of the older ones try to be more like us, and some of us try to be more like them, but it doesn't work. The difference goes deeper."
"So you think the Creator gave you some human blood? To make you more human?"
Trsiel released my hair from his fingers and nodded. "And when Dantalian brought it up, I saw my reaction, and I hated myself for it, for what you must have thought of me."
"I don't—"
"What a hypocrite, right? One minute I'm telling you I see nothing wrong with humans, and the next I'm flying into a rage when some demon accuses me of having human blood." He shook his head fiercely, eyes blazing. "What a damnable—"
I pulled myself up. "I don't think you're a hypocrite, Trsiel. I saw how those other angels treated you.
That's the problem, isn't it? Not having human blood, but having them think you do."
"I care about what it makes me in their eyes. I know I shouldn't—"
I ducked to meet his gaze. "It's okay. You don't have to explain it to me." I gave a small smile. "I'm a witch, remember? I know all about being treated like a second-class citizen when you know you aren't."
I pulled myself up. "But, blood or training aside, whatever the experiment, it obviously worked. You understand and fit into human culture far better than those other angels could, so why the ascendeds?"
"Not all the angels in the last wave are like me. Most aren't. They… assimilated."
"Succumbed to the pressure to fit in. But you didn't."
"It's more like 'couldn't.' It isn't in my nature. And I'm certainly not the only one. There are a few like me."
"Just not enough to fight this new 'only ascended angels in the field' rule."
A slow nod, gaze shuttering, but not before I saw the sadness there.
"But if I ascend," I said. "If I do this quest, and they offer me angel-hood, I'd need someone to teach me the ropes, and Zak… Zaf—"
"Zadkiel."
"Isn't around, so that would be you."
