Well, it’s normal if you ignore the dark wings gently gliding back and forth behind him. I suppose he’s drying them. The hooks and scythes are out and gleaming in the candlelight. No feathers to preen. I wonder if he polishes his scythes?

“You’re not Fallen, are you?” The question pops out of my mouth before my head can censor it.

“From everything I’ve heard, that would just make me more sexy to you Daughters of Men.” He finishes taping the last bit of the blanket. “What is it that you all see in bad boys?”

“I’m asking the questions here, Raffe. This is serious.”

“Is it a chance for you to provide redemption?” He hops off the chair and finally turns to look at me.

When he sees me, his shoulders shake in a silent laugh that quickly builds into a full chuckle. Raffe’s laugh is something I would normally enjoy, except that he’s clearly laughing at me.

I look down at my outfit. I admit that I might have rushed a bit too much while getting dressed upstairs.

What looked like a muted patterned sweater by the light of one candle turns out to be leopard-spotted by the light of several candles. And because it’s so big on me, it folds and hangs everywhere. What I took to be a dark scarf around my waist turns out to be a red tie and my brown socks are actually a mismatched pair of pink and purple.

“Why is it that everyone else can look like they’re part of a zombie hunting party, but I still have to worry about fashion?”

He won’t stop snickering. “You look like a leopard-spotted Shar-Pei.”

I think those are the little pug-like dogs drowning in massive folds of skin. “You’re scarring me, you know. It could haunt me for the rest of my life to be called a wrinkly little dog at the tender age of seventeen.”

“Yup. A sensitive girl. That just defines you, Penryn.” The firelight softens his features and warms his skin. “But if you must have an ego boost for your tender side, I will admit that you looked great with wings.” Raffe says this last part in a wistful voice.

I suddenly feel awkward. “Thanks… I think.”

“You don’t want to look great with wings?”

“I’m just scared this may be a setup for me being the butt of a so-called joke, like, um, how I may look like a wrinkly dog with wings but I have a nice personality or something.” I look up at the ceiling as I think about it. “Okay, that didn’t come out funny at all, so it would have been a really bad joke.”

“Oh, don’t worry. You’re safe,” he says in a reassuring voice. “I’d never tell you that you have a nice personality.”