Archon(36)

But what did that mean for Kim? He’d said that had changed the course of his life. The next question was, of course, How?

“Sympathy isn’t something they understand very well,” he was saying. “That also includes the ability to cry.”

He was touching the cross necklace, absentminded.

“It’s pretty,” Angela said, pointing at it. “I hope it wasn’t a gift from Stephanie.”

Kim stared at her, his smile erasing the strange haunted look on his face. “It was from my father, actually.”

“That’s nice. You must have a good relationship with him.”

“And you?” His voice softened. “Stephanie told me about your past.”

She let the silence grow between them, unaware of how much it would hurt to speak again until she decided to make herself heard. And that wasn’t until they were far from the library, returned to the relative coziness of her bedroom and the dolls, paintings, clothes, and bedsheets that defined her. At least, she thought they did.

“Do you think I’m the Archon?” she whispered, almost afraid of what the answer might be.

“I think that there are better reasons Stephanie should be nervous right now.”

Kim took her by the hand.

Then, with a cautious slowness, he covered her mouth with his own, gently relinquishing his kiss only so that the next one met her even more softly.

Angela’s breath sucked away, her head swam. Soon she’d allowed him to hold her by the chin and take her lips with tender persistence, melting beneath the thin, pleasing lines of his mouth, the sculpted strength of his face. When she broke away from him, hoping to stop the problem they were creating, her body instantly grew hot along with the warmth in his hands, and she found herself sinking beneath Kim’s skillful touches, unable to quell the eagerness to keep enjoying him. His skin tasted like salt and sour wine, and it wasn’t until he pressed her hand against his face that she felt it, disrupting the smoothness of his cheek. There was a cut on his cheekbone, below his eye. In the poor light, she must not have noticed. Kim pulled away, and she blinked back at the room, strangely bewildered by what had passed between them.

“Did you cut yourself?” she finally said.

Kim made a wry face, annoyed, but apparently not by her.

Creak. Snap.

The roof groaned again, and—silence. Angela glanced out the window, shivering. The blackness was dimly lit by two spots of yellow, and then they blinked back at her, shutting off into pure darkness. Kim watched with her, cursing under his breath. She barely restrained him as he slipped off the bed, hastily rebuttoning his collar.

He leaned in for the good-bye kiss, and she jumped a little, startled, smelling his sweat and her own peculiar scent in his hair. Whatever they’d both seen, he’d taken it as a bad sign. “If you go to the gathering tomorrow night, I’ll be there,” he said.

“Wait—your book—”

“I don’t mind lending it out for a day or so.”

He escaped the room, shutting the door with a soft click, and his footsteps clattered down the hallway, the stairs.

Angela glanced around, unsettled for the first time by the idea of being alone.

At least Sophia would be home soon.

It was probably a good thing she wouldn’t see Angela like this, staring wide-eyed around the room, acting like a scared mouse. Worse yet, Sophia’s parting words for the night almost wouldn’t allow it. You’re brave, she’d said. Brave enough to stand up to Stephanie Walsh. But if you knew what she knows, you’d think twice about trying to protect me.

Angela had asked why, too defiant to be frightened at the time.

Now, she stared at the book, her breath catching. It had flopped open to a page Kim must have deliberately skipped over, the illustration depicting some kind of angel with sharp black wings and long ears. It was familiar somehow, and the strange writing on the page had a harsh, upsetting look to it. Angela looked out the window again, feeling so small, dwarfed once more by everything that surrounded her. The dolls. The walls. The world.

Sophia’s warning sounded ominously all over again.

Some people have the courage to be cruel.

Angela kept her finger beneath the small print of the page, careful not to lose her spot in the paragraph. The illustrations had become stranger and stranger the more she perused them. Long gone were the chapters on angels and demons. What information there was seemed half guesswork and half anecdotal experience, not to mention the repetitive scripture passages and commentary from people with names she could barely pronounce. But this chapter, “Of the Jinn,” had struck her immediately. Kim had never mentioned anything called a Jinn since they’d started talking about angels. In fact, she was certain he’d purposely avoided the entire chapter.