By the time we finally stopped walking, my arms were shaking with exhaustion. As we set the barrel down, I began vigorously rubbing above my elbows.
“Do you do this every day?” I asked Rielly.
“Aye, and usually by myself,” she answered. “You’d be surprised how strong you are when you have to be.”
“So this is the bog,” I said, looking around. I’d learned about the famous Scottish bogs in my Rural Studies class at Kingussie, but actually seeing one up close, I wasn’t impressed. Our teacher told us they were like swamps that could suck you down like quicksand, but all I saw in front of us was wet grass and mud.
“’Tis,” Rielly said. “The bog itself is technically outside of the village boundaries, but it’s the nearest one, and we need it.”
“What do we do now?”
“We bury it.”
“By the bog?” I asked.
“In the bog.”
“Why?” I asked.
“Keeps the butter nice and cold. Preserves it for, well, for forever, if I fancied a guess.”
I realized that they didn’t exactly have refrigerators in the village, or electricity. I also noticed we didn’t have anything to dig with.
“How are we going to bury it?” I asked. “I’m assuming, as humans, we can’t walk over there, and besides, we don’t have a shovel.”
“No need.” Rielly smiled. She untied the rope we had used to carry the barrel and fastened it once around the barrel’s middle. She laid the end of the loose rope on the ground at her feet, lifted the barrel over her head like a comic strip character, and heaved it into the bog. It fell with a resounding thunk about three feet away, stuck in the mud, but definitely quite above ground.
“Um, that’s it?” I said, trying to hide how her super strength scared the crap out of me. “It just sits there?”
“Watch,” Rielly replied, picking up the rope’s end. Suddenly, the bog hissed. A large bubble of mud at the base of the barrel popped. Other bubbles formed, grew, and then exploded with a sloppy sigh. Each bubble’s demise seemed to suck the barrel down into the mud. In just a few minutes, the barrel was half gone, and sinking noisily.
“How deep is the bog?” I asked.
“Several miles, I would expect,” she answered. “No one really knows. Deep enough to suffocate a man. Or hide a body.” I glanced at her to see if she was kidding, but she looked serious enough. “But the butter isn’t heavy enough to go down too far.”
She was right. When the barrel had disappeared, there was still a good bit of rope left at Rielly’s feet. The last bubbles burped over the butter’s muddy grave. The bog was still again. You would never know there was anything buried right in front of us, and even if you saw the rope, you might not think anything of it. I wondered what or who else was in that bog.
Once Rielly was certain the rope had stopped moving, she tied a large knot in the end and laid it back on the ground. She gathered stones and arranged them in a pyramid around the rope knot. I assumed this was to help with future butter reconnaissance.
I found I was extremely comfortable with Rielly. Even though she was older than me, she was a human wrapped up in this supernatural situation, which gave us more in common than anyone else since I’d met Hunter. I felt like we had bonded, and we were becoming closer every minute.
So I was surprised when she turned and said in a strange, almost accusatory voice, “You can’t fall for him, you know. He’s not like us. He’s a different race.”
A jolt jogged down my spine. I knew she was talking about Gavin, but it was mortifying to be called out so bluntly.
“I’m not falling for him,” I protested.
“Well, he’s falling for you,” she replied. “I see the way he looks at you. His judgment is clouded. It can’t happen.”
“Why not?” I said, a little defensively.
“Angels are sworn to protect humans. To do that, they must stay objective. Enhanced emotions can compromise the safety of the very people they were created to save. Loving you could kill him, get you killed, or worse.” There is something worse?
“How?” I said. “He’s immortal, and I’m just a human. You said so yourself: humans can’t kill angels. Even demons are pretty bad at it.”
“You’re forgetting that angels, like humans, have free will. If he wanted to, he could choose to abandon his powers. Stop being an immortal.”
“Why would he do that?” I asked.
“For love. The same reason most of us do stupid things,” she snorted. “If an angel falls in love with a human, the only way they can be together is for the angel to give up everything and become human. The result is the opposite of happiness—it’s heartbreak.”
“How do you know?”
“Because it happened to me,” she answered.
I clamped my teeth together to keep another question from slipping out, hoping that if I was silent for a change, Rielly would just keep talking.
“When I came here, I was your age,” she said. “Once I recovered from my injuries, I was so grateful that Colin—he was my Guardian—had saved me. But after a month, I got so lonely. I missed my family. I missed my mum. I even missed arguing with her, if you can believe it.”
I could, actually, since I missed every single thing about my mom. But I’d already lost mine. I wasn’t sure I’d be entirely unhappy to live among angels forever . . .
“Colin was so sweet to me,” Rielly continued, “making sure I had everything I needed. Keeping me company. Making me laugh. He was so handsome, and his laugh . . .” She trailed off, and I realized she was talking about Colin in the past tense.
“So what happened?” I asked, unable to contain myself any longer.
“We fell in love,” she answered. “We broke all the rules, and fell hopelessly in love. He gave up his angelhood and became a human, so the Chief gave us permission to marry.” She stopped talking again, and I could tell she was remembering a very special day. I tried not to picture Gavin dressed and waiting for me as my groom, but it was hard.
“Then what?” I asked, more to interrupt my own thoughts than hers.
“He had a hard time adjusting to being a human, to being so powerless. After a thousand years of fighting demons, just hunting rabbits in the hills wasn’t enough for him. He didn’t have his powers, but he still had the pull. He watched as his clan mates went out on missions, and he felt helpless. Angels aren’t used to feeling helpless like humans. We’re well aware of our fragility, but for him, it was new, and terribly hurtful.
“One day, he just snapped. He couldn’t take it anymore, so he joined a war party even though he was only a human.” She stopped, and when she spoke again, her voice was quieter, remorseful. “He was killed, of course.”
“I’m so sorry,” I whispered.
“I was too. I blamed myself, and believed my heart would never heal. But God gave me a son, my Caedon, and I realized my job was to raise him to be a credit to his father, not weep for myself. And we’ll be together again in heaven someday. That I know.”
I wished I felt that same calm and acceptance about my mom’s passing. I wondered how long it took Rielly to find her peace.
I opened my mouth to ask another question, but before I could manage a syllable, a familiar voice came screaming toward us.
“Riiiiiiiiiellyyyy!” It was Cassidy. She ran up to us, her tiny face tense with the importance and urgency of her message. “You must come quick! They just got back, but there was an injury . . .”
Before Cassidy could explain anything else, Rielly was running back toward the village.
“Maren, look after Cassie,” she called to me over her shoulder. “She’ll lead you back.”
I stood motionless for a moment, watching Rielly disappear. Then, I felt a small, cool hand in mine. Poor Cassidy looked terrified.
I squatted down on my knees. “What happened, sweetie?”
“One of the party came back awfully bloody. I don’t think he can even talk,” she said.
“But why did you call for Rielly?” I asked.
“Because,” she answered, her bottom lip quivering, “the bloody one is Caedon.”
As I walked through the village, hand in hand with young Cassidy, I could immediately feel how the mood had changed. The flowers and garlands that were draped over everything blew mournfully in the wind, lonely reminders that there had once been a happy festival, but it was now over.
I looked around and saw that the few angels not in the “Healing Hut” with the injured Caedon were either on their way to it or rushing away from it to fetch something.
Only the younger angels remained, still skipping about the grassy village center, swishing bloom-covered sticks like magic wands or swords. If any of them beside Cassidy knew about the accident, they didn’t show it. They giggled, chased each other, and rolled around in the dirt as if it were still the happiest day of their lives.
That’s because it is, I realized. When you’re little, every day is a happy day. Everything is easier. You don’t even know how to worry. I wondered at what age stress and fear and self-doubt started to creep in. It was certainly well before seventeen . . .
Cassidy let go of my hand and ran off to join the fun. I sat on the grass and watched until a little angel with chestnut curls, who looked about four years old, wandered up to me. She held out a fistful of tiny daisies.
“Hi,” I said. “What’s your name?”
“Here,” she said. When I took the flowers, she sat down next to me.
Without even thinking about it, I began to make a daisy chain: tying the stems into a circle, slipping a new flower through the loop, tightening it, and starting again. In no time, I’d made a pretty necklace. I put it over the little angel’s head, and her face lit with delight.
I was happy to feel useful, even if it only meant making flower chains; and soon I had sticky, green fingers and a group of tiny admirers. Before long, we were all covered in necklaces, bracelets, rings, crowns, and even blooming anklets.
From where the little angels and I sat, there wasn’t a trouble in the world. If only that was true, I thought.
I have no idea how long I played with the angels, but I could have continued for hours more. I sent a message to Rielly asking if I could do anything, and heard back that my entertaining the little ones was an enormous help, and to stay put. I was prepared to do just that until forever, but the way Gavin came sprinting across the grass with his forehead twisted in knots told me otherwise.
“Maren!” he called. “We’ve got to get you home!”
“Why?” I asked. “What’s wrong?” I noticed the sky was a little darker, and my imagination instantly got the best of me. “Are the demons coming here?” I asked, my voice cracking a little.
I was determined to appear brave to Gavin, but my eyes double-crossed me and started to fill with tears. He was beside me now, and placed a hand gently on my cheek. He looked into my eyes and lowered his voice.
“I’m sorry, I’ve given you a fright. Some Guardian I am! First I forget about you, now I’ve made you cry.” He clucked sympathetically. “I told you, this is sacred ground. Demons aren’t allowed here. But we’ve got to get you home. The sun’s almost down, and your grandparents will be worried sick.”
His strength and calm comforted me. I couldn’t believe I’d practically burst into tears. I must have been more affected by the stress of the day than I thought. And I was perfectly safe. I guiltily remembered not everyone was.
“Caedon, is he going to be okay?” I asked.
“Yes,” he assured me. “And I’ll tell you all about it on the trip. But I’m afraid there’s no longer any time for walking. We’re going to have to fly.”
“You mean, like, fly with wings?” I said, wiping at my eyes. “But you don’t have any.”
“Of course I do,” he said, pretending to be hurt. “How can you even say that to me? It’s . . . it’s crushing!” We were flirting or something again. And I loved it. It made the blood race extra hot through my veins.
“Are they invisible? Can’t be seen by the human eye?” I teased.
“You can see them,” he answered. “You just haven’t seen them yet. It’s a rare treat, you know, getting to see an angel’s wings. Not many humans do.”
“Let’s have it, then,” I said. “Let’s see these big, fancy wings of yours.”
If our playful banter hadn’t made me forget my fear, the sight of Gavin removing his shirt did. In one fluid move, he pulled his tunic over his head and stood before me bare chested. As I stared at his muscle-covered body, he started to shrug his shoulders, and I noticed he was clenching his jaw a little. I heard a rustling sound, and then two giant wings exploded out of his back. When he flexed them out to their full width, a small pocket of wind rushed past me, like warm breath on my face. I was dumbstruck.
“Well?” he said, turning a bit from side to side, like a boy showing off his moves in gym class. Each wing was at least five feet across, and covered in rows of glistening white feathers. The feathers were small and tightly packed near the arched curve at the top, and then gradually grew bigger until they were each longer than a foot. I squinted to see if they were actually laced with sparkles, or just so shiny they reflected even the tiniest bit of light. I couldn’t tell, but I could easily see that he was seriously stunning from every single angle.
He held out his white tunic. “Wrap this around your shoulders. It can get cold up there.” I did as he suggested, shivering not at the anticipated drop in temperature but at the realization that the cloth that had just caressed his body now hugged mine. His shirt was soft, and still warm from his body heat.
“All right,” he commanded, walking closer to me. “Let’s be having you.”
To my simultaneous delight and horror, Gavin swooped my feet out from under me and cradled me against his spectacular chest. I wrapped my arms around his neck, as he pressed me against his bare skin. It was the closest I’d ever been to a guy, the most I’d ever touched or been held by someone since I was a child, and my body sang in response. He was warm, soft, and strong—a heavenly combination. I felt like I was at home in his arms.
“Hold on,” he whispered. He began to run. Feeling his muscular body working under me was exhilarating. As he ran, the rhythm was smooth, not at all jerky or awkward. Like our bodies were meant to fit together.
I was expecting him to float or at least flap upward, but we took off like a jet plane, him gaining speed until a swift jump sent us soaring at an angle. In seconds, we were cruising over the treetops.
When he moved his wings, it was slowly but powerfully, and I could feel his chest muscles flexing with the effort. I peeked over his shoulder and looked at them. His wings sounded like a heartbeat every time they opened. The rhythm was soothing. I pressed my head back against his chest. I heard his actual heartbeat and found that it matched the beating of his wings.
After a few blissful minutes, I looked down and recognized the landscape as the area near my grandparents’ house.
“We’re almost back, and you promised you’d tell me how Caedon got hurt,” I said quietly, hoping my question wouldn’t upset him.
“Killing a demon,” he answered simply. Too simply. If that was all that had happened, there would have been more celebration in the village.
“I thought it was really hard for humans to kill demons,” I said. “So that’s good, right? I mean, one less demon . . .”
“Aye, but there’s also one less girl.”
“What do you mean?” I asked, alarmed.
“The party was chasing the demons that killed Bertie, but a girl got in the way. I told you this was a dangerous business.”
“What do you mean, a girl ‘got in the way’?” I asked.
“One of the demons grabbed some girl who was out hiking and started flying away with her. The girl wasn’t about to let the demon have her, so she jumped.”
“What?” I said, arching my back and causing Gavin to readjust his grip on me. “She jumped and she fell and she died?” I could hear the panic in my own voice.
“Sometimes it happens, Maren,” he said, holding me tighter. “But I promise, it will never happen to you. Never to you.”
I closed my eyes and tried not to picture a girl my age falling to her death, jumping on purpose to escape the claws of a demon. I wondered if I could ever be that brave.
My body jerked and my eyes shot open, like when you dream you’ve fallen and the impact wakes you up. My heart was racing.
I was lying on my own bed.
What happened? How was I back in my bedroom? Where was Gavin? I had been flying with him just a second ago, talking to him about demons and the girl . . .
The entire thing must have been a dream. An elaborate, detailed, heartbreaking dream from the troubled mind of a teenager living a nightmare.
I did a quick mental check: I was in my new attic bedroom in Scotland, my own mother was still dead, and I was having crazy hallucinations about gorgeous angels saving me. Yep, I was officially in hell.
Then I saw a garland of fresh flowers with ribbons sitting on the seat of the armchair. The same garland I had been wearing in Gavin’s village.
So maybe this was just purgatory.