Judging from her frame and her posture, I would say she had years of ballet training. But with Angels, that’s just how they are, naturally graceful. That’s why I am so shocked by what I see in front of me. Or, should I say, what I don’t see.
“Where are her wings?” I ask Marcus under my breath.
“Good question,” he replies.
Could she be human?
“Marcus, I apologize. I did not arrange anywhere for you and your team to sit. I was unsure what state you would be in when you arrived. The Tics can be—unkind to Angels. I thought perhaps you and your team would be in need of recharging.”
“We’re fine. We would like to know who you are and why you have summoned us here.”
“Lakom, you can go. Thank you.”
Lakom nods slightly, leaps into the nearest light fixture, and disappears.
“We have much to go over. Please have a seat,” she says.
Just as the words leave her mouth, a row of plush armchairs appear.
Okay, so she’s not human because she has powers. But she has no wings, so she’s not an Angel. What the hell is she?
Looking around the room, I am not the only one who’s perplexed by this.
“If this is not to your liking, perhaps this will work?” she says, as the arm chairs are replaced by wooden chairs with carvings. Marcus ignores the chair and addresses the girl.
“What are you?”
“I am Quo.”
“What is that?” the Twins ask.
“I will answer all of your questions. However, it is my turn,” she addresses Marcus.
“You are on a search to save both your love and your mission. A search, I understand, that is about to fail.”
Rio reads Marcus’s Waves and signals to me that he doesn’t like what he sees.
“What the hell is it you want?” Marcus snaps.
The quickest way to piss off my favorite Angel is to tell him he’s going to fail at saving me.
“You have come all this way. Have a seat and we will talk,” she says pleasantly.
Marcus exchanges glances with the rest of the team and they’re all in agreement. We take a seat on the wood chairs.
As soon as we do, a table appears before us. Then glasses filled with Coy appear.
“Please, help yourselves,” she says. Marcus shoots her an impatient look. She smiles.
“I understand. It is difficult to wait. We have waited a long time and we are familiar with the torture that accompanies the act.”
“So end the waiting and tell us what this is about,” Ameana demands.
“My name is Chance. I am the leader of the Quo people.”
“And what are the Quo people exactly?” I ask, before Marcus can bark at her again.
“I promise to answer your question shortly. For now, I would like to ask a question of your leader. Marcus, I have heard you have taken to reading fairytales in order to remove the Dy that’s been cast into your love. Is that true?”
“Yeah,” he says, slightly embarrassed.
“You have been looking into the story of Isis and Demetri?”
Marcus stands up and eagerly addresses Chance.
“Do you know something? Is there really an Amulet or did Lucy destroy it? I know it’s just a story but I was hoping the Amulet part was true. Is it?”
“It is not a fairytale. The story is true.”
All of us at the table exchange a glance. Marcus is in such a hurry, he stumbles over his words.
“Wait, are you sure—how do you—why are you—”
“Stop it!” I shout at Chance. My voice echoes in the room. Everyone turns towards me.
“Look, I’m sorry but it’s not fair to keep Marcus hoping for something that’s never going to come. I have read the story of Isis and Demetri a million times. It’s just a story. There were no star-crossed lovers. No blue rain. No Amulet.”
“Emmy, calm down,” Miku says.
“No. Look, Prima Ballerina, I’m not gonna let you mess with the people I love by giving them false hopes. If the story was true, it would mean that Lucy killed Demetri. That means she also destroyed the Amulet. It’s time everyone just accepted the fact that I’m going to die.”
“C’mon baby girl, everything’s gonna be fine—”Jay starts.
“It’s not. I have to die. That sucks but at least I have a few weeks. Why can’t everyone just leave things alone and let me enjoy the time I have left?”
Marcus’s face falls. Looking at his expression makes my heart sink. He wanted so much for there to be another way. I get up and take his hand.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper to him quietly.
He can’t bring himself to look at me.
“Will you please allow the ‘ballerina’ to finish?” Chance says.