BooksBarbecue
Back World After
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

By the time I cross the street to the grove, my teddy bear is wearing a multi-layered chiffon skirt made of a wedding veil that I found in one of the boutiques. I tinted the veil in the bathroom with the stained water of new clothes so that it no longer has that bridal white meant to attract the eye. The skirt falls just below the end of the scabbard, hiding it entirely—or it will when it dries. The backside is split open so that I can yank the bear and skirt off without having to think about it.

It looks ridiculous and says all kinds of embarrassing things about me. But one thing it doesn’t say is killer angel sword. Good enough.

I weave across the street and scale the chest-high fence that surrounds the grove. This area feels open, but there are enough trees to give dappled shade from the late afternoon sun. A perfect place for rabbits.

I pull off the stuffed bear, satisfied when it comes off so fast. I stand on the overgrown grass with the angel sword pointed like a divining rod. A certain angel, who shall remain nameless because I’m trying to stop thinking about him, told me that this little sword is not an ordinary sword. There’s enough weirdness in my life as it is but sometimes, you just have to go with it.

“Find a rabbit.”

A squirrel clinging onto the side of a tree laughs in a series of chirps.

“It’s not funny.” In fact, it’s as serious as can be. Raw animal meat is my best hope for Paige. I don’t even want to think about what will happen if she can’t eat that.

I charge the squirrel, my arms loose and ready to be adjusted by the sword. The squirrel takes off.

“Sorry, squirrel. One more thing to blame on the angels.” An image of Raffe’s face comes to mind—a halo of flames around his hair, showing lines of grief on his shadowed face. I wonder where he is. I wonder if he’s in pain. Adjusting to new wings must be like adjusting to new legs: painful, lonely, and during war, dangerous.

I heave the sword above my head. I can’t look and I can’t not look, so I do a weird combination of turning my head and squinting while looking just enough to be able to aim.

I swing the sword down.

The world suddenly tilts, making me dizzy.

My stomach lurches.

My vision falters and flashes.

One second, the sword is coming down on the squirrel.

The next second, the sword is being held up to an azure sky.

The fist that’s holding it is Raffe’s. And the sky is not my sky.