Lapidary
Chapter 45

I looked into Devton’s blue eyes before I puked on him.

He turned me onto my side so that I could get all the water out of my lungs. Then I gasped for air and coughed before he helped me sit up. Devton’s wings were in tatters, from the explosion, bullets, and knife. He was covered in blood, but didn’t appear to care. His hands were on my shoulders, steadying me. I looked up at the sky, but all the rifts had been closed.

“I thought I lost you!” he said.

I drew a deep breath before I said, “I love you too much to let you lose me.”

Devton went still, and before he could say anything, I flung my arms around him and held him tightly. I squeezed my eyes shut and embraced the moment. I didn’t know if he believed me or how I’d convince him that it was true. Despite that he was a daimon and I was an angel, I loved him. Despite what he was, it was possible to love him. He had been wrong about himself.

When I finally opened my eyes, I saw Neron, dripping wet. He must have pulled me out of the water and dragged me back to Ocelos.

“Thank you,” I told him, and let go of Devton.

“No, thank you,” Neron said.

Wow, I had saved all of them. I had used my own magic and The Accumulation to create protective shields. What would the long-term effects of using The Accumulation be? It must have changed more of me than just my wings. Everyone around me was staring at my silver wings. Although I was exhausted, I forced myself to get to my feet. My legs were numb as I looked around myself where Luther and Astaroth were standing, as well as a blond man. He approached me and extended his hand.

“I’m Alinac, Dev’s father,” he said.

I shook his hand – shaking a daimon’s hand was something no angel had ever done. “Natka.”

He had gone to the Netherworld, with the help of a reaper, and had returned. Of all the souls holding me as I let the shield drop, let the water fall onto me, how many of them were able to move on?

“The souls can come and go again. Opening a rift again undid the damage of the first rift,” Devton told me. Sᴇaʀᴄh thᴇ FɪndNøvel.ɴᴇt website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

Good. The dead didn’t belong here.

Alinac dropped my hand, and an angel with brown wings approached us. Clearly, Sachiel wasn’t able to return to Heaven. I didn’t think she could fly, which meant she couldn’t reach the rifts that had opened in the sky. She stopped a few feet away from me and gaped at my wings.

“How are you even real?” She came closer and touched my wings. I let her. And then I touched hers and closed my eyes. I was exhausted but forced myself to use my last magic on her.

Clean. Heal. Repair.

I removed the daimon blood from inside her, and her eyes lit up. Her skin tightened, like she was twenty-one again. Her wrinkles faded, and her hair changed to a bright blond. Her lips became full, luscious, and the dark bags under her eyes disappeared like a bad dream. She was beautiful and healthy again.

“Not all archangels only do things that benefit themselves,” I said.

Archangel. I was an archangel. I touched my wings just to make sure that they were real. There was so much I had to tell everyone, but first, I had to check on my family.

I looked at Devton. “Can you meet me at Heaven’s Window in an hour?”

He nodded. “But—”

“No buts,” I said. “I need to check on my family, and then we can talk.”

They would bombard me with questions. I didn’t have the energy to answer all of it right now, so I walked away without saying goodbye and mounted the nearest crab. As I rode it to the lower fin of Ocelos, I looked around. The city was whole, but much had changed. No angels remained, but there were many daimons. Had the world changed for the worse?

People cheered me as I rode past, but I didn’t care. I only cared about seeing my family. I dismounted the crab and stumbled to the door. I pushed it open and dragged myself inside.

“Natka,” Ava said. “You’re a... a…”

“Sexy bitch?” I tried.

But my sister wasn’t laughing. My parents had never told her we weren’t blood related. They had never told her that I might have been an angel, and I feared she would reject me. I feared she would shoo me away or hate me for what I was.

“I am what I am, Ava. I have accepted it, and I hope you do, too.”

She drew closer to me and flung her arms around me. Moments later, my parents were there, and we were all embracing each other and crying. When we finally broke apart, my mom took my hand and led me, past the family photos, to her painting room. A painting stood on an easel, covered in a white cloth.

“It’s the painting you’ve painted for me, isn’t it?” I asked.

She nodded and removed the cloth. I covered my mouth with my hands and stared. My mom had painted us – our family: my dad, with his balding head and grey hairs; my sister, with her arms crossed and winking; herself with a smile and a hand on my shoulder; and me, with two enormous white wings.

My family had loved and accepted me the way I was. And now I had done the same.

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