The Chosen

No, it was more that he had resumed who he had originally been, the transformation a comeback to the male that ambition and cruelty had eclipsed. And he found the return was as welcome as the sight of those fighters who were the only family he had ever known, the only ones who had accepted him when all others, both of blood and of stranger, had turned him away.

As snow lashed at his face and wind cut through the outerwear he had borrowed, he prayed that he could broker a true peace with the King he had sought to overthrow such that his soldiers could be safe.

If he could not be with the female who had his heart and soul? At least he could take care of the fighters who had served him so well for so long.

He had much to make up for.

FORTY-FIVE

The following evening, Layla woke up and immediately reached for her young—but there was no need for concern. Rhamp and Lyric were right beside her on the bedding platform in the Scribe Virgin’s private quarters, their precious lashes down, their deep breathing and expressions of concentration evidence of the effort it took to grow big and strong.

As she rolled over onto her back, she had a sense that night was arriving down below on earth. It was always thus, some transmutation of the shift there from light to dark, season to season, reverberating up to the Sanctuary.

Moving carefully so as not to disturb her young, she got to her feet and took a lingering look at those sweet faces. It had been a lovely time, this private interlude, every moment savored, each touch and smile, every cuddle and stroke, something that she filled her heart with.

How was she going to leave them?

It was going to be so hard, a ripping off of what had healed during these quiet, poignant hours.

To save herself from tears, she pivoted away and padded over the white marble floor. The thought that she had slept in the Scribe Virgin’s personal space with her young was nearly too bizarre to comprehend, but then she couldn’t have imagined a night when the mother of the race was gone and there was a visitation schedule in place for her and Qhuinn.

Alas, however, change came unto you when it did, and sometimes all you could do was yield and make the best of it.

And besides, the quarters had been most accommodating, the bedding so soft, the white marble floors, walls, and cabinetry, soothing, the—

Layla frowned. Across the way, one of the closet doors was open ever so slightly. Odd. The banks of marble panels with their nearly invisible pulls had been fully flush when she had come in here to rest.

Going over, she was nervous for no good reason. It wasn’t as if the Scribe Virgin was in there hiding or something.

Hooking a finger into the pull, she opened things up, not knowing what to expect—

“Oh … my.”

Zebra print leggings. A black leather jacket. Boots as big as your head, a pink feather boa, blue jeans, Hanes T-shirts in white and black—

“I tried not to wake you.”

Layla wheeled around at the male voice and slapped her hand over her mouth so she didn’t rouse the young. When she saw who it was, however, she dropped her arm and frowned in confusion … and then downright shock.

No, it couldn’t be …

Lassiter, the Fallen Angel, smiled and came across to her, his blond and black hair swinging down to his hips, his gold piercings and chains making him glow.

Or mayhap he glowed now for another reason.

Layla cleared her throat as the implications piled one upon another upon another. “Are you … is she … did she … what is …”

“I know you’re stammering because you’re just so excited,” he said, “that you’re rendered speechless.”

Layla shook her head—then quickly nodded so she didn’t offend. “It’s just … I mean … you?”

“Yup, me. The Scribe Virgin picked me, me, me.” He made a show of skipping around like a six-year-old with a sucker and tap shoes. Except then he cut the act and got dead serious, staring into her eyes with a hard expression. “I haven’t told anyone yet, and neither can you. I just figured if you’re going to be staying here with the kidlets, you’d find out sooner or later because I’m moving in.”

She looked to the bed in alarm, but he put up his palms. “Oh, I won’t be here when you are. I know you want your privacy and I respect that. I also want to help you out. You’ve been through a thing, haven’t you.”

Lassiter’s compassion and understanding was so unexpected that she teared up. “Oh, dearest Virgin Scribe, I am so—” She stopped herself as she realized that particular incantation no longer applied. “Um …”

“Yeah, I’m not a virgin and I hate writing. So you’re going to have to use different verbiage. I was thinking of going with Grand Exalted Pooh-Bah, but I believe the humans already have one, damn it.”

“Ah …” As she faltered, she was just so shocked, she couldn’t think of anything to say. “Well, I’m sure you’ll come up with something.”

Goodness only knew what it would be, though. “And as for these quarters,” she said, “I don’t want to inconvenience you. I’ll move us to the dormitory—”

“Nah, I don’t sleep here. I just put some clothes in there to see how it felt, is all. The promotion’s been an adjustment for me, too—you know, trying to find out what powers I have.” He leaned in conspiratorially. “I.e., how much I can get away with. Hey! Did you know I can make snow?”

“What?”

“Snow.” He made a show of something falling by wiggling his fingertips. “I can make a shitload of snow. And you know what is going to be even more fun? Watching the human scientists try to figure out why that storm down there happened. They’re going to start talking all about climate change and weather patterns, but I had to help your boy out.”

“Xcor? I’m sorry … I don’t understand.”

“Long story. Anyway, how you doing? How’re the kids?”

You know, like there was nothing else going on. “Forgive me, ah, um …”

“Let’s try Your Excellency.”

Layla blinked. “All right. Forgive me, Your Excellency, but how did you help Xcor?”

“Needed to keep his fighters on the northern seaboard. So helllllllooo noooooor’easter.”

“So he found them!”

“You know, it turns out destiny is a lot of work for someone like me.” He shrugged. “Who knew it took this much effort to give people a chance to exercise free will. It’s like the world is a chessboard for each and every person I’m in charge of. So I’m, like, playing a hundred thousand different games all at once.”

“Wowwww.”

“I know, right? Thank God for ADHD!” He grinned—and then frowned. “Actually, I guess that’s more thank me for it.”

Layla had to smile. “You will certainly be a change, Your Excellency.” Lassiter squirmed his shoulders. “No, that’s weird. Let’s try Eminence. I’ve got to get something I’m comfortable with here.”

“All right, Your Eminence.”

He cracked his neck. “Nope. Also not it. We’re going to have to work on this title thing—oh!” The Fallen Angel—er, head of everything … um … jumped like he’d been poked in the side. “Okay, so I’ve got to go. You take care, and you know what you’ve got to do next.”

“I do?”

“Yup. You have a card to play, a piece to move, as it were. You know what it is. And remember”—he put his forefinger to his lips—“shhhhhhh. My new job is our little secret until further notice.”

“Oh, but of course—”

“Toodles!”

With that, Lassiter up and disappeared, a fall of shimming sparkles hitting the floor—just as, at that very moment, Cormia appeared in the open doorway to the private quarters.

“How did everyone get on?” the female asked.

Ah, he’d left so he wasn’t seen, Layla thought.

With a shake, she pulled herself together. “Oh, ah, very well. Very well indeed, thank you.”

The other Chosen walked over to the young. “Hi, guys. Are you waking up? Well, hello, there.”