World After

I continue to squirm, getting myself free of the left sleeve.

“Don’t laugh or anything,” he says, “because that could be disastrous.”

I squint at him, giving him a glare that tells him not to try to make me laugh.

“Have you heard that joke about—”

I rip through the flimsy dress under my blanket. It was ruined anyway. I tear it off and toss it out from beneath the blanket.

It lands on top of his pants on the rug.

Raffe bursts out laughing. It’s a beautiful thing—rich and carefree. It calls to me to laugh along with him.

“You are so great at creative solutions,” he says still chuckling. “They usually involve ripping, tearing, kicking, or stabbing, but they’re creative.”

I let go of the blanket with my teeth now that I can hold it securely around me with my hands. “I just got tired of the wetness sticking to me, that’s all. I think I was pretty safe from the threat of your joke being fu

“I’m wounded by your comment,” he says with a smile.

The word “wounded” echoes in my head, and I see it does in his, too, because his smile fades.

“What happened back there at the old aerie? I saw you get stung by the scorpion. I watched you die. How did you survive?”

I explain about the scorpion sting paralyzing and slowing down the heart and breathing so that the victim seems dead.

“I thought for sure I’d lost you.”

Lost me?

I stare into the fire without seeing it. “I thought I’d lost you too.” The words barely come out.

The fire crackles and pops, eating away at the wood. It reminds me of the fire at the aerie when Raffe carried me to safety even though he thought I was dead.

“Thank you for returning me to my family. That was a crazy, dangerous thing to do.”

“I was feeling a little crazy and dangerous then.”

“Yeah, I saw that.” I’ll never get rid of the image of him smashing the giant scorpion tubes in rage and killing all the monsters after seeing me die.

His lips twitch as if laughing at himself. “That must have been entertaining.”

“No, it really wasn’t. It was kind of…” heartbreaking. “Heartbreaking.” I blink when I realize what just slipped out of my mouth. “I mean…” Nothing comes to mind that I can substitute for what I just said.

“Heart.” He looks deeply into the flames. “Breaking.” The sounds flow out between his lips like they’re new to him, like he’s never said them before. He nods. “Yeah. I suppose that’s one way to put it.”

The fire crackles. It’s surprising how quickly a fire can warm you up.

“I wasn’t saying you were heartbroken.” I sound like English is a new language for me, the way I stutter out the words. “I just meant it was hard for me to… to watch.”

He neither confirms nor denies that he might or might not have been even a teeny bit heartbroken.

“Well, okay, maybe you did seem just a little heartbroken.” So embarrassing. Now, I’m totally fishing. A part of me is chastising me for being such a dork. The rest of me is listening carefully for a reaction.

The orange and red flames grow larger and warmer. The crackling and popping is rhythmic and hypnotic. The heat is exquisite.

“You’re shivering,” he says. He sounds reluctant. Maybe even sad. “Take a shower. Maybe we’ll be lucky and there will be hot water.”

He hesitates while I hold my breath.

Then he turns away from me.

He stands and heads into the darkness of the house.

As soon as he moves the shelter of his wings, the cold seeps back in. I watch him fade into the shadows. His dark wings and bowed head disappear first, then the broad shoulders and arms.

Then nothing.

I SIT THERE, watching him go, wanting to say something but not knowing what.

I reluctantly get up and move away from the fireplace. The house feels colder now as I head upstairs to find a bathroom.

There are plush towels there, folded in a way that suggests they haven’t been used since they were washed. That was probably months ago.

I shower by candlelight. The water is lukewarm, but compared to the ocean, it feels good on my still frozen skin. I don’t linger, though. Just long enough to rinse off the sand, soap up, and shampoo as fast as I can. I’m still shivering from the cold seeping into my bones and I can’t wait to be dry and warm again.

There’s a thick robe hanging on the bathroom door that I wish I could snuggle up in. But those kinds of luxuries are for people in the World Before, not for people who might be chased out of here any minute by monsters or marauders.

I quickly rummage through the closets and drawers for clothes. The best I can find is a sweater dress that’s probably meant to be just a sweater. Everything else is about four sizes too big. I cinch the sweater around my waist with a scarf and throw on a pair of stretchy pants. The legs fit comfortably down to my ankles even though they’re probably meant to be capris.

I’m sure I could have found something better but I don’t want to linger with my candle lighting the upstairs window. The fog should keep the tiny light from traveling far but why invite trouble?

Downstairs, the living room is warmly lit by the glow from the fireplace. Raffe stands on a chair, duct-taping blankets over the picture windows. He must have had the same thought as I did about the candle glow being visible.

There’s something about him standing on a chair to reach the top of the windows that puts me at ease. It’s such a normal thing to do.

Well, it’s normal if you ignore the dark wings gently gliding back and forth behind him. I suppose he’s drying them. The hooks and scythes are out and gleaming in the candlelight. No feathers to preen. I wonder if he polishes his scythes?

“You’re not Fallen, are you?” The question pops out of my mouth before my head can censor it.

“From everything I’ve heard, that would just make me more sexy to you Daughters of Men.” He finishes taping the last bit of the blanket. “What is it that you all see in bad boys?”

“I’m asking the questions here, Raffe. This is serious.”

“Is it a chance for you to provide redemption?” He hops off the chair and finally turns to look at me.

When he sees me, his shoulders shake in a silent laugh that quickly builds into a full chuckle. Raffe’s laugh is something I would normally enjoy, except that he’s clearly laughing at me.

I look down at my outfit. I admit that I might have rushed a bit too much while getting dressed upstairs.

What looked like a muted patterned sweater by the light of one candle turns out to be leopard-spotted by the light of several candles. And because it’s so big on me, it folds and hangs everywhere. What I took to be a dark scarf around my waist turns out to be a red tie and my brown socks are actually a mismatched pair of pink and purple.

“Why is it that everyone else can look like they’re part of a zombie hunting party, but I still have to worry about fashion?”

He won’t stop snickering. “You look like a leopard-spotted Shar-Pei.”

I think those are the little pug-like dogs drowning in massive folds of skin. “You’re scarring me, you know. It could haunt me for the rest of my life to be called a wrinkly little dog at the tender age of seventeen.”

“Yup. A sensitive girl. That just defines you, Penryn.” The firelight softens his features and warms his skin. “But if you must have an ego boost for your tender side, I will admit that you looked great with wings.” Raffe says this last part in a wistful voice.