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Chapters (81)
  1. Title Page
  2. Copyright Page
  3. Dedication Page
  4. CONTENTS
  5. 1
  6. 2
  7. 3
  8. 4
  9. 5
  10. 6
  11. 7
  12. 8
  13. 9
  14. 10
  15. 11
  16. 12
  17. 13
  18. 14
  19. 15
  20. 16
  21. 17
  22. 18
  23. 19
  24. 20
  25. 21
  26. 22
  27. 23
  28. 24
  29. 25
  30. 26
  31. 27
  32. 28
  33. 29
  34. 30
  35. 31
  36. 32
  37. 33
  38. 34
  39. 35
  40. 36
  41. 37
  42. 38
  43. 39
  44. 40
  45. 41
  46. 42
  47. 43
  48. 44
  49. 45
  50. 46
  51. 47
  52. 48
  53. 49
  54. 50
  55. 51
  56. 52
  57. 53
  58. 54
  59. 55
  60. 56
  61. 57
  62. 58
  63. 59
  64. 60
  65. 61
  66. 62
  67. 63
  68. 64
  69. 65
  70. 66
  71. 67
  72. 68
  73. 69
  74. 70
  75. 71
  76. 72
  77. 73
  78. 74
  79. 75
  80. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  81. ABOUT THE AUTHOR

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.

71

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AT RAFFE’S FEET, Beliel lies on the dirt. He bleeds through gashes, bites, and missing chunks. The three scorpions latch their mouths onto his open wounds and begin to suck him dry like enormous leeches with stingers.

Beliel yells, clumsily batting away the scorpions with the last of his energy.

Beliel’s skin becomes parched and begins to crinkle. Soon, I know he’ll shrivel and his flesh will look like beef jerky.

Raffe glances at the angels watching them, then back at Beliel’s shriveling skin. Even with his mask, I can tell he doesn’t want to do anything drastic in front of the angels. But he can’t let his wings be sucked dry and shrivel. And even if he could get these scorpions off Beliel, more could come down from the sky.

He spreads one of Beliel’s stolen wings and holds it firmly in one hand. From his waistband, he pulls out the kitchen knife he took from the beach house. It reflects the torch flames as he raises it, just before he swings down with the blade.

Beliel, still not entirely paralyzed, shrieks as Raffe cuts through his wing joint.

The wing falls on the ground.

The angels watch, stunned.

Raffe lifts his knife again.

A few warriors leap toward Raffe with their wings spread back and their fists ready. They think he’s cutting off an angel’s wings and that they’re defending their own. I guess it’s one thing to let an angel fend for himself against a little girl and her pets but not against another angel amputating his wings.

But they can’t reach him fast enough. Raffe slices through Beliel’s second wing.

The snowy wing falls to the ground, still glorious and full of life.

Raffe kicks at the first angel to reach him.

He fights hand-to-hand with the first two angels who come at him. He yells at them, probably trying to explain what’s really going on but his words get lost among the roar of the scorpions above, the angry clamor of the angels, and the crashing of the waves.

He can hold his own with the first two but a third one pulls out his sword.