Cinder (14 page)

Silence overlaps the sound of my breathing while my heart pounds in my chest. Asher was the only person I’d ever felt comfortable around. I let him touch me. Kiss me. It feels like my heart’s breaking right now. I think I might have thought I loved him once, but maybe Cameron was right. How could I love him when I didn’t know his flaws; when I barely knew him? I was simply naïve.

“I’ll tell you everything I know,” he says softly. I feel him shift closer to me. “But I want to hold you while I do.”

When I open my eyes and meet his gaze, his pupils are so massive only a ring of silver remains in his eyes. “I’m not sure I can let you do that. I… You lied to me, or at least omitted the truth. I trusted you, but now I’m not so sure I can.”

“I know I lied. I messed up.” He looks remorseful as he climbs on the bed beside me, keeping enough distance that I don’t feel threatened, although he’s still close enough that I nearly drown in his body heat. “And I hated not telling you things, but trust me when I say I couldn’t tell you at the time.”

“But now you can?” I ask, warily. “What’s changed?”

Sadness floods his eyes again. “Because things are different now.”

“What’s so different now than it was a few weeks ago in the cemetery when you told me I had to figure out stuff on my own?”

He diffidently extends his arm towards me, afraid I’ll bolt if he moves too fast. And I want to bolt, but I can’t bring myself to. So I let him put his arm around me and lure me onto his lap. Then I rotate my body so I’m facing him and then slide a leg over him to sit on his lap.

He never takes his eyes off me as I get situated and then hook my arms around the back of his neck to hold onto something because it feels like whatever he tells me next might knock me down.

“I missed being with you,” I divulge truthfully, wanting just one moment to enjoy this moment; one beat of my heart, one breath. Before everything breaks apart because I know it’s going to.

The corners of his lips quirk to a sad smile. “I missed being with you, too.”

When he doesn’t begin explaining things right away, I say, “Please tell me you’re not a Reaper before I go mad.”

His arms circle my waist and he presses on my lower back, pushing me closer to him until the front of our bodies are perfectly aligned. “I’m not a Reaper. I promise. But I was faced with a choice once that had to do with my Reaper blood,” he explains. “I had to decide whether I wanted to be part of the good or the evil.” He slants his head forward and I think he’s going to kiss me, but instead he rests his forehead against mine. Then he shuts his eyes and breathes in deeply.

“My mother was an Angel of Death and my father was a Reaper. The love between the two breeds is obviously forbidden, so they hid it, but eventually my mother found out she was pregnant with me. After I was born, she hid me for as long as she could, but eventually she was discovered;
I
was discovered. A lot of the Angels wanted to send me down with the Reapers to live in their realm. The Angels feared what I’d turn into—that I’d become death and start stealing souls—but Michael gave me a choice of who I wanted to be, what I wanted to be.”

“And you chose the side of the good,” I say, sketching my finger up and down his neck.

“I did, but it wasn’t without a price.” His eyelids lift and he puts a sliver of space between us as he reclines and looks me in the eyes. “I’ve pretty much been a prisoner amongst the Angels ever since I chose to be one,” he says. “An outcast. And to constantly prove that I won’t surrender to the Reaper side, I’ve been forced to follow every order, day after day, collect soul after soul. If I refuse, then all the Angels question my allegiance. And collecting so many souls it… it takes a toll on you.”

I clutch onto him tightly with an ache forming inside my chest because I understand what it’s like to be an outcast. “That’s horrible, Asher. I’m so sorry.”

“It was… is.” He urges me closer by pressing his hand against the small of my back and I give into him. “I’ve been alone in all this for so long.”

“You sound so much like me,” I note, perplexed. “Which is something I don’t get. If your father was a Reaper and your mother was an Angel than why aren’t you considered a Grim Angel?”

“Because I wasn’t born human,” he says, sounding sadden. “Grim Angels may have Angel blood and Reaper blood in them, but they’re also human and part of the human world, where as I am part of the Angel and Reaper world, am Immortal, can fly, take souls—it’s my job to.”

For a brief second I seriously thought he was going to say he was a Grim Angel and that we were the same—that I wasn’t as alone as I thought. “What about your mom?” I ask.

I feel him tremble under my hands. “My mother was banished and stripped of her wings when they found out what I was.”

I pull back, startled. “What?”

His fingers dig into my back in desperation. “She’s human now, or at least, close to human. Her wings, some of her power lost, like the ability to take souls and her strength. She’ll remain that way until the Angel’s leader Michael decides to give her back her wings, but I doubt he ever will,” he says, not with anger but with pain. “Michael has a hard time forgiving.”

“But isn’t he an Angel?” I ask. “I thought they were supposed to represent good.”

“For the most part they do, but they—we—do have our rules.”

“I’m so sorry, Asher,” I say again because it’s all I can think of to say. Suddenly I understand his painting even more. The pain he was able to capture probably stemmed from his own internal agony. “Do you ever see your mother?”

He shakes his head, his pain amplifying. “I’m not allowed to.”

I place a hand on his cheek, unshaven and rough beneath my hand, wanting to comfort him despite the uncertainty between us. “Do you know where she is?”

“I think somewhere in New York,” he tells me, leaning into my hand. “But I’m not sure where exactly and my whole basis of her living in New York only comes from rumors I’ve heard.”

“Do you—do you know who your father is?” I ask. “I mean, he’s a Reaper, but have you ever met him? Because you told me once that he was terrible to you.”

“I’m sorry,” he says remorsefully, his eyes pleading with me to understand. “I only told you that because I didn’t know what to say when you started asking me questions.”

“But you said he took you to that place with the statue,” I say, hurt that he’s lied to me so much. “Was that story a lie, too?”

He closes his eyes, then his firm chest lifts and descends as he takes a deep breath. “I went there with my uncle and mentor, Elliot Morgan, who you know as Mr. Morgan.” His eyelids lift open, his pupils massive. “He was pretty much like a father to me. He was a friend of my mother and he sort of took it upon himself to step up and be a father figure when he could, but it was hard for him going up against the other Angels who wanted nothing to do with me.”

It hurts my heart to hear his story. So much agony; so much punishment. All because of something that was out of his hands. “But I thought he was your father’s brother?”

“He was—is— but there’s more to it that even I don’t know. My bloodlines… the people connected to it… it’s so complicated... and no one ever wants to talk about it” He releases a stressed breath. “It’s a long story, filled with repeats of what my mom did. But to make it really short, my father’s mother—my grandmother—had sons from two different fathers. While she herself was an Angel of Death, she had an affair with a Reaper and my father came out of it.”

“But didn’t he get a choice, like you?”

“He did.” Two simple words, yet there’s so much sorrow connected to them.

“Oh.” It sounds like such a stupid response, but there’s not much else to say. “Well, why is Elliot—Mr. Morgan—no longer an Angel of Death?”

“Another long story.” His eyes widen in surprise. “Wait, how did you know that?”

“Because I talked to him at school. He gave me this book and said we should meet up to talk, although I didn’t call him when I was supposed to and he left this really panicky message on my phone about…” My gaze drifts to the trunk in the corner of my room. “About the book that was taken that night by the shadow…” I struggle to say it aloud, hoping I’m not making a mistake telling him, hoping I can fully trust him.

Asher tracks my gaze to the trunk. “Why would he want to talk to you about the book?”

I get up from the bed and go over to the trunk. “Probably because he’s the one who gave it back to me.” I lift it open and take the book out of the hidden compartment in the bottom.

Shock slowly crosses Asher’s face. “What do you mean he gave it back to you?” His worried gaze locks on mine and then darts to the book in my hands. “But wouldn’t that mean he was the one who took it in the first place?”

I shrug, maintaining his gaze as I walk back to the bed and hand him the book. “You tell me.”

He holds the book in his hands and considers what I said with bafflement. “Are you sure the shadow was the one that took the book or could maybe my uncle have snuck in and you thought it was the shadow?”

I look over at the window as he fans through the blank pages in the book. “Well, that was open when I came up here and discovered it, so maybe… but still it wouldn’t explain why when he gave it back to me, the pages were all blank.”

I redirect my attention to him, expecting him to be more shocked, but he seems like he understands everything, nodding as he mutters something under his breath and shuts the book. “He did a
secretum codice
on the book.”

“What’s that?”

He traces his fingers over the leather cover of the book. “It’s a gift Angels have,” he says, his fingers wandering to his arm and he sketches the tip of his finger down his blood vein on his arm. “Our blood carries a lot of power and if used properly, it can help keep our secrets hidden. I’m guessing that my uncle spilled his blood on the pages of that book to hide the information in it.”

“But why would he want to hide it from me?” I ask as he gives me the book to put away. “When I was just getting to the part about freeing innocent souls.”

“I’m guessing he wasn’t hiding it from you,” he says as I put the book back in the bottom of the trunk. “I’m guessing he knew that someone was after it and he took it from you to protect it.”

“Yeah, but now I can’t read anything on the pages,” I tell him, closing the lid of the trunk. “And unless you know how a Reaper can steal a Grim Angels soul and free innocent possessed souls, the entire town is screwed.”

“I’m not sure I want to find that out,” Asher says, frowning. “Unless that Grim Angel isn’t you.”

“It doesn’t have to be,” I tell him, sitting down beside him and placing my hand on his. “But I do need to know how to do it—how to free everyone from this madness. From death.”

He momentarily stares down at my hand on his before looking up at me. “The only way to read what’s on the pages is for my uncle to unlock it with his blood again.”

“So we need to track down your uncle.”

“We need to track down my uncle.”

Feeling a weight crash on my shoulders, I retrieve my phone from my back pocket and hand it to him. “Call him then. I haven’t been able to get a hold of him, but maybe you’ll have more luck.”

Asher dials his uncle’s number. After trying a couple of times and having no luck, I’m a little surprised that Asher gets a hold of him. He chats quickly with him, asking him to meet up with us and explain what’s going on. After that he starts nodding and then gets a weird look on his face as he hangs up.

“That was weird,” he mutters, staring down at the phone in his hand.

“What’s wrong?” I ask, leaning over his shoulder.