Either way, it looks large enough to fit through without my wings.
I call on my glamour, and my wings wink out of existence. Now to get up there without them. The radiator looks sturdy enough. I brace myself against the wall and lift one foot onto the edge. With a bit of finesse and only one minor slip, I manage to unlatch what is, indeed, a vent.
A stale breeze washes over me from the other side.
Now to climb through. My head isn’t a problem, but my shoulders are another story. No matter how I twist, I can’t get past them. When I try to abort the mission, I get even more stuck. Onward it is. I manage to get one arm out, but the second? Not a hope.
Isn’t this brilliant?
Bell is going to stroll in here and find my ass hanging out the fucking vent.Come on. I brace my foot against the wall and give myself one final shove. Heat scrapes down my arm. One more time. Nowhere to go but out.COME ON. My shoulder suddenly gives, and the force sends me tumbling face-first toward the stone path. I drop my glamour a second too late, and my wings and I both smash onto the unforgiving ground.
Blood dribbles down my arm from a gash on my shoulder and my chin feels like it’s been kicked, but I made it, so I consider the venture a success.
Two women in sheer shifts that barely reach the tops of their thighs lean against a doorway across from where I sprawl.They call out to me when I stumble to my feet, but I draw my hood over my head and turn toward the twisted alleys instead, keeping my sore arm tucked into my chest.
An old man in a patched hood hunches over on someone’s stoop, his red wings hanging unevenly from his back. The feathers at the bottom have turned black from grime. Although I’m not unsympathetic to his plight, his sorry state isn’t what catches my eye.
In his hand, he holds a glowing vial.
My footsteps slow, bringing me closer and closer to that spark of light. “You there,” I call.
The man’s empty eyes lift to mine.
From my purse, I withdraw a handful of gold coins—enough for three times the amount of dust in the vial. “Care to make a trade?”
The man’s gaze drifts to the coins, his expression so serious, you’d swear I asked for his first born. I hold the coins closer. “Go on. Take these. Use them for some food and a warm bed for the night. And maybe a bath as well.”
The man lurches to his feet, the remaining feathers at the bottom of his wings dragging through the muck. The stench that rolls off him is enough to make me gag. He stinks worse than that privy.
The stardust in the vial dances, always so beautiful.
The deadliest things in life often are.
He places the vial in my palm. “It’ll ruin your life,” he mutters through chapped lips, his voice cracking like he isn’t used to speaking.
I know that, and yet the moment he takes the coins and limps around the corner, I find the blade in my purse, cut my palm, and drain stardust over the wound.
Heat floods my veins, and light sparks like lightning striking the alleyway. A coppery tang fills my mouth, almost like blood but sweeter.So fucking sweet.
Life isn’t so bad when you chase away the darkness. I’d say I felt happy if I didn’t know what true happiness feels like. But this is close enough. At least now I have the strength to say goodbye.
Even high, I know exactly which streets to take. I’ve walked them over and over again in my mind. When I step into the square, the dead heart in my chest gives an answering thump. Tonight, no one waits by the portal. There is no silver light, only inky black.
I sink onto the portal’s edge and dip my fingers into the liquid, cold and black as tar, as if all the magic has been leached out. “I’m sorry, Allette,” I whisper to my dark reflection. “I’ve tried. But I can’t hold on anymore.”
Ripples spread across the mirrored surface. According to legend, if you enter the portal any day other than Samhain, you’ll be lost forever.
Would that be so bad? At least it won’t hurt anymore. Anything has to be better than this emptiness.
Boots thump on the cobblestones, and Bell shouts my name.
But it’s too late.
I fall into nothingness, a copper sinking to the bottom of a wishing well. As if throwing something so insignificant into a bunch of stagnant water would be enough to give us what we desire.
The liquid feels the same as it did that night long ago, slippery but not wet. I open my mouth to fill my lungs with it, ready to drown. Instead, icy air clogs my throat.
My wings snap out, leaving me trembling as I squint toward lights flickering in the distance. Smoke rises from cottages dotting the snow-blanketed hillsides.