“Greetings,” said the boy in an oddly formal way. He looked only a little older than Daemon. “I apologize for my appearance. Is this what a proper human looks like?” He gestured over the length of his body.

“Hi there. . . .” Sora’s jaw dropped.

Jealousy made Daemon clench his. But why was he feeling that way at all? Daemon was together with Fairy, and Sora was free to ogle whoever she wanted. Still, he couldn’t shake the tightness in his chest, even though he wanted to.

“What do you mean, a ‘proper human’?” Broomstick asked.

“I have never set foot outside Celestae,” the boy said as if that explained everything.

“You’re a god?” Daemon asked. The boy didn’t look like any of the major ones, at least not from the descriptions they’d read all their lives.

“I’m Liga,” he said. “I heard your prayers about an oncoming war, and I smelled the night bloomers, two things that don’t usually go together. I was curious, so I came.”

Sora frowned. “That doesn’t explain much.”

“It doesn’t?” Liga scratched his head, as if confused why this, too, wasn’t a sufficient answer.

It was then that Daemon noticed Liga’s reptilian claws—at least three inches each and not “proper human” by a long shot—tucking his long hair behind his ear.

Dark blue hair, just like Daemon’s. Faint sparks off his skin lit Liga like a distant halo.

Daemon swallowed and took a couple deep breaths. “Is Liga short for ‘alligator’?” he asked in a whisper, because the idea seemed both inane and full of hope all at once.

Liga nodded.

“I don’t understand,” Sora said.

But Daemon did. “You’re the alligator constellation from the night sky.”

Liga smiled. “Yes, brother. I am.”

Chapter Fifteen

That means Daemon really is the wolf constellation,” Sora said. “But . . . how?”

Liga wrinkled his forehead. “What do you mean?”

Now it was her turn to be perplexed. She tried to think through what he might be confused about. The best way, she decided, was to explain specifically what she was asking. “How did Daemon go from being a demigod in Celestae, like you, to being a taiga apprentice on earth?”

“Aha.” A smile spread across Liga’s face. “I understand now. You would like to hear a story, correct? Because telling stories is how humans process a world that is otherwise too vast for you to comprehend.” It sounded like an insult, but he said it matter-of-factly.

Sora knew that he was probably right. Liga didn’t seem mean; he simply didn’t know how to interact with humans, which made his speech a bit awkward and, sometimes, too blunt. So she pushed away the indignation that had flared at Liga’s condescension and said, “Yes. We’d like to hear the story of what happened to Daemon.”