Wings of the Wicked
Page 83

Later in the afternoon, I was a little lonely, so I set my book down. I would run out of my last change of clothes tomorrow and would have to do laundry, unless I went back to Nana’s. But I wasn’t quite ready to rejoin the human world yet.
I crept into the kitchen to make myself a turkey sandwich for dinner, wondering where Will was. I hadn’t seen him since we had returned from our run, and I decided to look for him. The house was quiet, but then I heard the delicate strings of Will’s acoustic guitar. I followed the sound, up the stairs and toward his bedroom. The door was ajar and I pushed it open. He was sitting at the end of his bed, strumming away. He glanced at me as I walked in.
I moved toward the bed and sat down, leaning my back against his as he played flawlessly, and I rested my head against him. My eyes closed, and I listened to the soft, sweet music filling my head. His shoulders and arms moved with perfect rhythm, lulling me. I didn’t recognize the song, but it was beautiful and gentle, something that could sing me to sleep in the middle of a battlefield.
“What song is this?” I asked. “I don’t know it.”
“I wrote it for you.”
I leaned deeper against his back and smiled, feeling a rush of warmth. I turned my head and his hair brushed my cheek. “I love it.”
I melted away from reality, captured by this delicate song he had created for me. We sat like this for so long, back to back on his bed, every tiny, sinuous movement in him pulling at all my senses. I forgot about everything but him. I let myself forget about my parents, Nana, my friends, the Enshi, Bastian, Merodach and Kelaeno, Cadan … none of that mattered in this moment. The only thing that mattered was the song Will played for me.
When the song ended, I climbed off the bed and he looked up at me. The silence closed in on my skull, heavy, like the pressure would feel on my body if I was sinking through deep water.
“Where are you going?” he asked.
I shrugged and gave him a weak smile for reassurance. “I’m just tired. I think I’ll go back downstairs and finish the book I was reading.”
He nodded and as I left his room, I didn’t hear the guitar again. I returned to the study, pushing the door open gently, exhausted all of a sudden. Instead of picking my book back up, I sat on the window seat, pulled my knees to my chest, and gazed out onto the dark lake raging in the rain.
I was cold everywhere and I imagined my mom wrapping her arms around me and pulling me close. In my memory, her hands petted my hair, winding the unruly dark red waves into braided pigtails. I wished I hadn’t lied to her so many times or skipped out on hanging with her because I wanted to be with my friends. People always say that when you lose someone you love, you’re consumed with regret. Regret for what you did or didn’t do, regret for not doing enough. I felt all those things so heavily in my heart that it was hard to move or breathe. I felt ashamed that I couldn’t remember the last moment I saw her, or the very last thing she said to me. I remembered the way she smelled, her perfume, but I couldn’t quite imagine the precise color of her brown eyes. It was like with every hour that passed without her alive, my memories of her melted away. It was the most terrible thought, that I could forget her. I didn’t want to forget her, and I wanted revenge against those who had taken her from me.
I sensed Will near me, and out of the corner of my eye I saw him appear in the doorway. When I looked at him, his shoulders slumped.
“Are you all right?” he asked. “Please talk to me, Ellie.”
My mother’s face flashed across my memory, and I sniffed harshly, forcing back a sob. I curled my limbs close to my body and leaned against the window. “I miss my mom.”
He sucked in his upper lip for a thoughtful moment, and he came over and sat down on the other side of the window. “I know.”
The sob broke free, and before I knew what was happening, tears were pouring down my cheeks, and my lips and hands were shaking. I shuddered, choking on air as suffocating despair filled me up like a flood, filling my lungs and windpipe until I was crying so hard that I couldn’t breathe. He pulled me close, wrapping me in his arms as my own hung weakly around him. I buried my face in his chest as I cried, and his warm, familiar scent and hands caressing my hair were soothing. He murmured softly to me, but the words didn’t matter. I just needed to feel him around me.
I pulled away from him at last, wiping at the wetness on my face with my sleeves. It took me a few moments to meet his eyes. I managed to get my breathing back under control and to stop my chest from heaving. I tucked my arms and legs close to my body again until I was no longer touching Will. He just sat there, unmoving and silent. We watched each other for some time, the stillness between us peaceful. I listened to the rain as it pounded hard against the house.
“I’m worried about you,” he said gently. He put his hand around my knee and then leaned forward to kiss it. An obvious request for peace between us. “And about how you’re feeling.”
“I’m fine. I feel better after crying a little.”
He smiled, his lips brushing my knee, but the smile faded as soon as it began. “No, you’re not. I’m worried that you won’t get better for a while.”
“I’m healing, Will. That takes time.” I tapped the backs of my fingers against the freezing-cold window glass, wishing he would do anything but continue our current conversation.
“I know,” he said, and sat back. “You smile sometimes, but I don’t think you’re happy.”