Alma was neither shocked nor offended. “I didn’t say you were” was her mild response. “Though I’m not sure such a thing would be bad for either of you.”
I made a derisive sound. “My life is complicated enough. I don’t need to add the indiscretion of falling in love with an angel.”
Her smile—so rare and so unexpectedly mischievous—caught me by surprise. “Oh, I don’t know. There’s nothing quite like taking an angel lover. Some things are worth the inevitable pain.”
My eyebrows could hardly go any higher. “Someday we’ll have to sit down and talk about your interesting past.”
Still smiling, she waved a hand to speed me to the door. “Someday,” she said. “Right now, you’ve got more important things to do.”
I climbed the stairs and entered Corban’s room with a breezy step, determined to pretend as if there had been no wrenching confidences the day before. Evidently he had made the same decision, for he met me at the door with a brisk but friendly greeting.
“Good, you’re here,” he said, turning immediately toward the central table. “Let’s eat quickly so we can go outside.”
“This will be a good night for flying,” I noted, some of my tension easing at his reasonable tone. I set the tray down and served us both. “The moon’s still close to full, there’s only a light breeze, and it’s a little warmer than it’s been the past few nights.”
“I hope you brought a jacket, even so,” he said, spooning up some soup.
“Yes, thanks so much for your concern.”
“Because I want you to come with me when I fly.”
I suddenly remembered the part of the previous night’s conversation that had led to my emotional confession. I laid down my spoon and said, “I told you, I don’t want to do that.”
“Yes, I know, you hated it when you tried it, but you have to admit that wasn’t a typical incident,” he said. He was very carefully not specifying why I had been in an angel’s arms once before, and I grudgingly gave him credit for that. “Flying is—an indescribable thrill. And so many mortals never get the chance to experience it. Shouldn’t you attempt it at least once, with someone you trust—to wipe out that old memory, if nothing else? And maybe to find yourself enthralled and delighted? Moriah, don’t you want to go flying?”
His voice was so passionate and at the same time so pleading that I had to laugh. The pictures he conjured were sorely tempting, but all I said was, “What makes you think I trust you?”
“Well, I know that I trust you,” he replied, sounding a little hurt. “I’ve had to, these past few nights. I would be distressed to learn you didn’t feel the same about me.”
“Oh, that was very good,” I told him. “You practiced that, didn’t you?”
He grinned. “Not out loud.”
“Corban, I—”
“Will you?” he interrupted. “Please? I have to keep pushing myself, testing myself. Maybe, once I get stronger, I can hire someone to be my guide, but right now I’m not ready to do that. You’re the only one who can help me. And I really want to do this.”
“You’re a manipulative bastard, has anyone ever told you that?” I demanded.
“No, because I never had to manipulate people back when I could see,” he said. He didn’t seem offended at my insult. “I could just do what I wanted without asking for help. But now you’re forcing me to beg—to humiliate myself—as a kind woman would not do—”
“You don’t sound humiliated. You don’t even sound humble.”
“But you’re kind, aren’t you, Moriah?” Now his tone was wheedling.
I exhaled an exaggerated, long-suffering sigh. “Let me finish my meal,” I said. “I need to fortify myself against the night air.”
“Yesssss!” he exclaimed and slapped a palm to the table. Then, in case that seemed too triumphant, he hastily added, “Thank you most humbly. I hope you will enjoy the experience, but I know you’re a little anxious—”
“Just eat,” I said. “Let’s not waste any more time.”
Fifteen minutes later, we were back on the roof. I had buttoned my jacket to my throat and pulled on a pair of gloves Corban lent me, but even so, I wasn’t really warm until he picked me up and settled me against his chest. It wasn’t just his body temperature that sent a spike of heat through my blood. It was excitement—amazement—nervousness. Attraction. I’d never been this close to a man and not kissed him.
“Put your arms around my neck,” he directed. “I’m unlikely to drop you, but that might make you feel more secure.”
“Unlikely?” I managed to ask, not sounding too breathless.
I could see his grin in the lavish moonlight. “Well, it’s been a while since I’ve flown with a passenger.”
“Jovah’s balls,” I muttered, then, more urgently, “Corban, if you’re not sure you’re ready for this—”
“I’m ready,” he said and leapt into the air.
I muffled a squeak and tried not to cower in his arms. His whole body was nothing but strain—muscles bunching, wings working, every bone and tendon pulling skyward. I didn’t see how he could do it, didn’t see how he could possibly lift from a stationary position to an upward arc, carrying a heavy burden, and it was all I could do not to bury my face against his chest so I wouldn’t have to watch as we tumbled headlong to the ground. But the powerful wings drove down, sending great gusts of air all around us, and suddenly we were clear of the roof, we were suspended above the dark sprawl of the school, we were high over the narrow snake of the road, we were flying.
I wrapped my arms more tightly around Corban’s neck and gazed around in rapt astonishment.
The world had never seemed so strange or wondrous. The ground below was a patchwork of variegated textures—corrugated forest, silky sand, a linen weave of grass. Everything was shadowy and mysterious, only half illuminated by the spectral moonlight. It was a landscape from a dream, unreal and beautiful.
“Oh, Corban,” I breathed.
“Not so terrifying after all, is it?” he replied.
“It is terrifying—but in a wonderful way,” I said. “I can’t explain it.”
“You don’t have to,” he said. “I know.”
He canted to one side, dipping his left wing, and suddenly the winding ribbon of the road disappeared. “Wait,” I said, slightly panicked. “I haven’t been paying attention. Don’t go so far. I have to keep track of where we are.”
He leveled out, lower to the ground, and spoke in a soothing voice. “We haven’t gone very far yet. Even if we had to land and try to get our bearings, we would only be a mile or so from the house. Do you see anything you recognize?”
“Turn around. Back that way. No, that way. If I could find the road—”
In less than a minute, it reappeared and I let out a sharp sigh of relief. “All right, let’s go back to the school so I’m sure I know where we are. And then we can set out for someplace else. The wreck of the old mine?”
“The ocean?” Corban said.
“Not tonight,” I said. “It’s too far away, and I’m still getting used to this.”
He seemed disappointed. I waited for him to try to cajole me, but he had promised not to disregard my comfort, and so he acquiesced. “Some other night, then,” he said. “Where are we now?”
“Back over the school. Turn to your left and you’ll be facing straight north. Can you find the mine from here without my assistance?”
“Yes,” he said and plunged through the unresisting air.
For this short flight, I didn’t need to watch for landmarks. The northbound road stayed always on our left, a comforting and reliable presence. Faster than I would have believed possible, we were close enough to hear the eerie, intermittent sound of the old windmill slapping against the broken roof of the collapsed mine. Corban hovered directly above the wreckage, and I peered down in fascination at the angles and splinters of the abandoned buildings.
“So when you’re here, you can still catch my voice from the roof of the Great House?” I said.
“I can’t actually hear you this far out,” he admitted. “But I know the approximate direction I have to go to return, and once I’ve flown for about five minutes, I can pick up your voice.”
“How do you know which way to come back? I would be wholly turned around if I couldn’t see the ground.”
I felt his shoulders move in a shrug. “It’s automatic, I suppose. I’m always aware of which direction the wind is blowing. If it’s at my back when I fly out, I know it needs to be in my face when I return.”
“But the wind shifts.”
“It does, but the general pattern is stable enough to steer by.”
“We should put something on the roof of the Great House that makes noise all the time,” I said. “Bells, maybe. Chimes. Something that could guide you back if I wasn’t there.”
I made a derisive sound. “My life is complicated enough. I don’t need to add the indiscretion of falling in love with an angel.”
Her smile—so rare and so unexpectedly mischievous—caught me by surprise. “Oh, I don’t know. There’s nothing quite like taking an angel lover. Some things are worth the inevitable pain.”
My eyebrows could hardly go any higher. “Someday we’ll have to sit down and talk about your interesting past.”
Still smiling, she waved a hand to speed me to the door. “Someday,” she said. “Right now, you’ve got more important things to do.”
I climbed the stairs and entered Corban’s room with a breezy step, determined to pretend as if there had been no wrenching confidences the day before. Evidently he had made the same decision, for he met me at the door with a brisk but friendly greeting.
“Good, you’re here,” he said, turning immediately toward the central table. “Let’s eat quickly so we can go outside.”
“This will be a good night for flying,” I noted, some of my tension easing at his reasonable tone. I set the tray down and served us both. “The moon’s still close to full, there’s only a light breeze, and it’s a little warmer than it’s been the past few nights.”
“I hope you brought a jacket, even so,” he said, spooning up some soup.
“Yes, thanks so much for your concern.”
“Because I want you to come with me when I fly.”
I suddenly remembered the part of the previous night’s conversation that had led to my emotional confession. I laid down my spoon and said, “I told you, I don’t want to do that.”
“Yes, I know, you hated it when you tried it, but you have to admit that wasn’t a typical incident,” he said. He was very carefully not specifying why I had been in an angel’s arms once before, and I grudgingly gave him credit for that. “Flying is—an indescribable thrill. And so many mortals never get the chance to experience it. Shouldn’t you attempt it at least once, with someone you trust—to wipe out that old memory, if nothing else? And maybe to find yourself enthralled and delighted? Moriah, don’t you want to go flying?”
His voice was so passionate and at the same time so pleading that I had to laugh. The pictures he conjured were sorely tempting, but all I said was, “What makes you think I trust you?”
“Well, I know that I trust you,” he replied, sounding a little hurt. “I’ve had to, these past few nights. I would be distressed to learn you didn’t feel the same about me.”
“Oh, that was very good,” I told him. “You practiced that, didn’t you?”
He grinned. “Not out loud.”
“Corban, I—”
“Will you?” he interrupted. “Please? I have to keep pushing myself, testing myself. Maybe, once I get stronger, I can hire someone to be my guide, but right now I’m not ready to do that. You’re the only one who can help me. And I really want to do this.”
“You’re a manipulative bastard, has anyone ever told you that?” I demanded.
“No, because I never had to manipulate people back when I could see,” he said. He didn’t seem offended at my insult. “I could just do what I wanted without asking for help. But now you’re forcing me to beg—to humiliate myself—as a kind woman would not do—”
“You don’t sound humiliated. You don’t even sound humble.”
“But you’re kind, aren’t you, Moriah?” Now his tone was wheedling.
I exhaled an exaggerated, long-suffering sigh. “Let me finish my meal,” I said. “I need to fortify myself against the night air.”
“Yesssss!” he exclaimed and slapped a palm to the table. Then, in case that seemed too triumphant, he hastily added, “Thank you most humbly. I hope you will enjoy the experience, but I know you’re a little anxious—”
“Just eat,” I said. “Let’s not waste any more time.”
Fifteen minutes later, we were back on the roof. I had buttoned my jacket to my throat and pulled on a pair of gloves Corban lent me, but even so, I wasn’t really warm until he picked me up and settled me against his chest. It wasn’t just his body temperature that sent a spike of heat through my blood. It was excitement—amazement—nervousness. Attraction. I’d never been this close to a man and not kissed him.
“Put your arms around my neck,” he directed. “I’m unlikely to drop you, but that might make you feel more secure.”
“Unlikely?” I managed to ask, not sounding too breathless.
I could see his grin in the lavish moonlight. “Well, it’s been a while since I’ve flown with a passenger.”
“Jovah’s balls,” I muttered, then, more urgently, “Corban, if you’re not sure you’re ready for this—”
“I’m ready,” he said and leapt into the air.
I muffled a squeak and tried not to cower in his arms. His whole body was nothing but strain—muscles bunching, wings working, every bone and tendon pulling skyward. I didn’t see how he could do it, didn’t see how he could possibly lift from a stationary position to an upward arc, carrying a heavy burden, and it was all I could do not to bury my face against his chest so I wouldn’t have to watch as we tumbled headlong to the ground. But the powerful wings drove down, sending great gusts of air all around us, and suddenly we were clear of the roof, we were suspended above the dark sprawl of the school, we were high over the narrow snake of the road, we were flying.
I wrapped my arms more tightly around Corban’s neck and gazed around in rapt astonishment.
The world had never seemed so strange or wondrous. The ground below was a patchwork of variegated textures—corrugated forest, silky sand, a linen weave of grass. Everything was shadowy and mysterious, only half illuminated by the spectral moonlight. It was a landscape from a dream, unreal and beautiful.
“Oh, Corban,” I breathed.
“Not so terrifying after all, is it?” he replied.
“It is terrifying—but in a wonderful way,” I said. “I can’t explain it.”
“You don’t have to,” he said. “I know.”
He canted to one side, dipping his left wing, and suddenly the winding ribbon of the road disappeared. “Wait,” I said, slightly panicked. “I haven’t been paying attention. Don’t go so far. I have to keep track of where we are.”
He leveled out, lower to the ground, and spoke in a soothing voice. “We haven’t gone very far yet. Even if we had to land and try to get our bearings, we would only be a mile or so from the house. Do you see anything you recognize?”
“Turn around. Back that way. No, that way. If I could find the road—”
In less than a minute, it reappeared and I let out a sharp sigh of relief. “All right, let’s go back to the school so I’m sure I know where we are. And then we can set out for someplace else. The wreck of the old mine?”
“The ocean?” Corban said.
“Not tonight,” I said. “It’s too far away, and I’m still getting used to this.”
He seemed disappointed. I waited for him to try to cajole me, but he had promised not to disregard my comfort, and so he acquiesced. “Some other night, then,” he said. “Where are we now?”
“Back over the school. Turn to your left and you’ll be facing straight north. Can you find the mine from here without my assistance?”
“Yes,” he said and plunged through the unresisting air.
For this short flight, I didn’t need to watch for landmarks. The northbound road stayed always on our left, a comforting and reliable presence. Faster than I would have believed possible, we were close enough to hear the eerie, intermittent sound of the old windmill slapping against the broken roof of the collapsed mine. Corban hovered directly above the wreckage, and I peered down in fascination at the angles and splinters of the abandoned buildings.
“So when you’re here, you can still catch my voice from the roof of the Great House?” I said.
“I can’t actually hear you this far out,” he admitted. “But I know the approximate direction I have to go to return, and once I’ve flown for about five minutes, I can pick up your voice.”
“How do you know which way to come back? I would be wholly turned around if I couldn’t see the ground.”
I felt his shoulders move in a shrug. “It’s automatic, I suppose. I’m always aware of which direction the wind is blowing. If it’s at my back when I fly out, I know it needs to be in my face when I return.”
“But the wind shifts.”
“It does, but the general pattern is stable enough to steer by.”
“We should put something on the roof of the Great House that makes noise all the time,” I said. “Bells, maybe. Chimes. Something that could guide you back if I wasn’t there.”
