World After

70

RAFFE RUNS along the cliff toward Beliel and dives toward a scorpion. He grabs it just before it’s about to plunge its talon-like fingers into Beliel’s back.

At first, I’m confused. Why is Raffe protecting Beliel?

But as the blood trickles from Beliel’s neck onto his snowy wings, I understand. Raffe deflects Paige’s hands from ripping out a fistful of feathers.

Instead, she grabs Beliel’s hair and tears it out. White feathers puff out as the group wrestles.

While Raffe, Beliel, Paige and three scorpions fight, the angels on the lawn watch curiously. They don’t seem inclined to jump in to save Beliel. My guess is that those who’ve met him don’t like him, and those who haven’t might sense that he doesn’t belong with them.

Raffe’s mask is still on his face but he’s not the only one still in costume. No one takes notice of me, as if the humans they were so focused on just a few hours ago don’t really matter now.

I glance around to see if there’s anything I can slink back behind. There is nothing unless I’m willing to hide behind a bush that’s too far away for me to see anything. Nearby, there’s only the ocean, cliff, grass, and torchlights.

The trickle of angels quickly turns into a flood. The oddity of it must be fueling their curiosity. They crowd in and jostle me. Late-coming angel spectators have to take to the air to see the action.

Above us, a cloud of scorpions dips and dives, approaching, then receding like a hive of bees agitating around their nest.

I end up on the inner edge of the wall of bodies. So much for not bringing attention to ourselves. I stroke the soft fur of my teddy bear sword, trying to stay calm.

Beliel’s tortured screams fill the night.

Everyone watches as he gets mercilessly torn and stung. Aside from Raffe, who is only protecting his wings, not a single living thing comes to his aid. No one even cringes sympathetically for him.

Beliel was right. He is unloved and unwanted.

Paige, who has been panting and crying over Beliel finally looks up and seems to notice the angels for the first time. Even in this light, I can see the fear and uncertainty dawning on her face as her eyes move from coldhearted warrior to warrior.

The angels are partially lit by torches, looking savage with red-tinged shadows flickering along their faces.

Her eyes pause when she sees me. She blinks several times as if unsure that it’s me. Her face scrunches up, giving the eerie illusion that the stitched-up monster melts away from her face, leaving a terribly upset Paige in its wake.

She looks the way she did in the video in Beliel’s cell—tiny, alone, lost. A little kid trying to hang onto the belief that her big sister will come and save her.

I extend my arms out toward her, realizing how long it’s been since I’ve touched her. She’s not the same Paige that I knew but I can’t write her off as a monster, either. If we’re all going down, at least I’ll be able to comfort my baby sister in the last few moments of our lives.

Paige drops her gaze and looks unsure of herself. Tears leave track marks in the blood on her face.

I step into the center circle and walk over to her. Her crying intensifies as I get nearer. When I reach her, she wraps her arms around my waist as tight as can be.

My little sister looks up at me.

Mom was right. Her eyes are the same as they’ve always been. Brown eyes fringed with long lashes and steeped with the memory of sweetness and light, laughter and joy—trapped in this mangled, corpse-like face.

“It’s all right, baby girl,” I whisper into her hair as I hug her. “I’m here. I came for you.”

Her face crumples and her eyes shine. “You came for me.”

I stroke her hair. It’s as silky as ever.