Micah

I can see her kneeling by one of the medieval gravestones, her black wings shimmery against the storm clouds that layer the sky. A gust of wind lifts a few tendrils of her long almond hair like she’s underwater.

“Talia,” I say softly so as not to scare her.

She doesn’t react. The wind sweeps past the gravestones as the branches of the old oak tree move like enormous limbs. The leaves rustle their autumnal song.

“Talia,” I say louder.

She turns her face to me, her black eyes wide, clearly imperceptive. Tears trickle down her pale cheeks.

“Talia, sweetheart, I’m here. I’m taking you home.”

“They’re whispering, Micah.” A gasp follows her every word. “They’re whispering horrible things.”

Anger wells up in my chest. Ghosts have been whispering to Talia her whole life, never giving her a moment of peace. Now, at the age of eighteen, she’s just the tormented shadow of a girl.

“If I could, I’d fucking kill them all, baby girl,” I say as a sharp pain squeezes my heart.

Talia grabs her head in both her hands and sobs as I rush towards her, my boots sinking into the moss covering the ground.

The smell of rain, rot, and soil settles in my nostrils. A snap of lightning crosses the sky as I lean over her and hook her under her arms. She feels so light and fragile, my poor little treasure.

“They told me to stay away from you,” she gasps as her face turns white—it’s almost a corpse-like whiteness, and her body trembles.

I scoop her up in my arms, her wings sweeping the autumnal leaves away from the gravestones.

“Ignore them,” I say with anger as I draw her closer to me and the sound of her rapid heartbeat breaks my own heart.

The ghosts started whispering this message to her over a year ago. I don’t know why they keep saying this to her. None of us knows why. Neither Rive, nor Kadmiel. Not even Adva we asked for a piece of advice.

At first, I thought about leaving the club to check whether this would calm those voices seeping into Talia’s head. But, when I left, Talia was even worse without me. Kadmiel found me two months later and brought me back home.

Now I’m here for her whenever she needs me.

It’s fucking ridiculous. The ghosts whisper to her that she should stay away from me, but their voices diminish when she’s close to me. I’m her only relief. I’ve always been.

When she was a little girl, she demanded that I played with her. I taught her the basics of fighting with a sword. I taught her maths. I was her one and only friend. I still am.

The wind smacks us like an enormous palm and lifts the light fabric of her pale blue dress, exposing her slim white thighs. She doesn’t pay attention, but I do. I noticed her thighs a few months ago. I also noticed her full lips and perfect breasts. I drown in her mysterious eyes each time our glances meet. I shouldn’t, but I do.

I approach my motorcycle parked by the metal fence encircling the graveyard and sit Talia on it.

“Hide your wings, baby girl,” I say.

Her big eyes glance up at me as her long black eyelashes flutter and her wings disappear with a rustle.

Talia is the only angel among Kadmiel’s daughters. Yara, Kai, and Murray are mermaids. The girls are happy teenagers, but Talia is like a ghost—her mind is occupied in the timeless space between life and death almost all the time.

The resurrection Kadmiel and the club performed many years ago left Rive almost untouched, but Talia is like a living reminder of what we did against the order.

I jump on the bike as Talia wraps her arms around my chest, her fingers digging into my flesh.

“Hold on to me, baby girl.” I rev up the engine. “We’re going home.”

We ride for two hours then I stop along the path leading to the front door of our clubhouse and scoop Talia up in my arms. Her fingers clutch the edges of my leather cut and she buries her face into my neck. Her hot breath sends heat into my dick. It shouldn’t, but it does each time I carry her like this. It’s been like this since she turned eighteen and I realised she was a young woman not a kid. I kick the door open with my boot and step inside. Kadmiel rises from the black couch.

“One package safely delivered home, Prez,” I say.

“Where did you find her?” Kadmiel asks.

His face doesn’t betray any emotions but I know he’s very worried about Talia.

“In the graveyard,” I say, “as always.”

Theo sweeps his concerned eyes over Talia and leaves the clubhouse. He can’t stand when she’s in such bad shape.

“It’s very bad, Dad,” Talia squeaks.

“You just need a proper rest, sweetheart,” Kadmiel says and looks at me. “Can you stay with her?”

“No problem, Prez,” I say.

I see Rive emerging from the kitchen, her glassy emerald eyes sliding over Talia. “Are you hungry, sweetheart?”

“No, Mom,” Talia murmurs. “I just want to sleep.”

I rush towards the metal stairs leading to the bedrooms. I climb at a fast pace, taking the steps two, three at a time, then I kick the door of Talia’s bedroom open and walk in. I lay her on the metal-framed bed and pull the violet curtains together then drop into the antique armchair. My hand travels to her head and I stroke it gently.

“Sleep,” I say. “It’ll be better tomorrow.”

“It will never be better,” Talia says with anger.

“Sleep.”

She salutes me and rolls on her side. “Stay until I’m asleep.”

“As always, baby girl.”

Talia

It’s better when I’m asleep. I have dreams about a beautiful land inhabited by magical creatures. The moment I open my eyes I’ll be dead again, surrounded by ghosts and their whispers. They’ll torture me with their pain, regret, and fear. They’re the souls of the people who committed suicide or died unexpectedly in an accident. Or those murdered, by serial killers for instance. Those torment me the most.

I always tell them to go farther, but some of them struggle to accept their death. Sometimes, they’ll take possession of me entirely and I find myself in the graveyard.

They make me sick, but I can’t cut them off. I teeter on the edge of mental breakdown. Only Micah gives me some relief.

“You want a glass of water or something?” Micah asks, his voice soft, laced with huskiness.

I’m his favourite kid in our family. My sisters are sometimes jealous, but they know how much I need him around me.

“I’m fine,” I say.

I’m a half-ghost after all, half-dead. I was marked by death in my mom’s belly when my dad resurrected her after demons had killed her. And me—I was in her womb when a demon slit her throat.

We both should be dead. But we aren’t. I can turn into a grey shimmery mist if I want to. I don’t want to though. I’ve tried a few times and the world of the dead almost swallowed me. I was one of them then—a shadow enveloped by timelessness. A shadow witnessing my mom’s death over and over again.

My living part doesn’t need much food or water, but I love eating and cooking. I love cooking for Micah and the rest of us.

Micah removes his cut and throws it over the backrest then sinks deeper into the armchair, his knees splayed. I see the ebony glow of his skin. It reminds me of the black glassy ocean on a cloudless night. His skin looks like coffee in the sunshine.

“One day you’ll have to leave,” I say.

It just pours out of me like I can’t hold my fears on a leash any longer.

“What?” He sounds like I have torn him out of a nap and he rubs his palm against the front of his grey t-shirt.

His perfect muscles bulge under his dark skin. He is all muscle. I’m like a dwarf compared to him.

“I mean, maybe one day you’ll start a family or something,” I say and roll my eyes for fun.

“I’ll take you with me.”

“Your future wife will be jealous.”

The thought of a woman touching him makes me angry for some mysterious reason. I’ve never seen him with a woman, but I know there have been women in his life. The boys sometimes gossip when they think nobody can eavesdrop on them.

I can move like a ghost. I know all the secrets of the clubhouse.

Micah’s full kissable lips curl into a smile then he bursts into laughter. I’ve always loved that honest outburst of his.

“Why are you thinking about it anyway?” he asks and rests his elbows against his knees.

“Well, you’re my medicine and I need you.”

“Your medicine, you’re saying? That’s fucking interesting.” He glides his palm over his shaved head.

I hold my weight up on my elbow and shrug. “My very own medicine. My private medicine.”

“Your very own medicine, huh?” His amber eyes lock onto mine, burning like never before. “So what am I supposed to do now? Warm you up?”

Heat rushes to my cheeks, and I cringe into myself.