Page 43 of Torn

“You just wore me down,” Sorrow says as they weave their fingers together. “But let’s not get ahead of ourselves. This is a tryst thing, a carnal understanding.”

“Is there any other kind of understanding?”

Lust partners. So it’s that way between them? When did that phenomenon occur? After they rebelled and endorsed Love’s right to become human? After they swept Anger’s plight from their minds?

Loyalty aside, this pair used to insult one another on a regular basis. Envy had once considered Sorrow a deal breaker, one of the rare deities that he wouldn’t fondle, joking that she’d only depress him in bed.

They haven’t changed, yet they have. Anger wants to smash something, but he’s already smashed into Envy, so he’ll have to be satisfied with that.

Merry and Wonder whisper to one another—until Anger rounds on them, considering who to glower at first. But with Merry clad in her nightgown, his eyes settle on Wonder. “In about three seconds, you’re going to explain how you know each other.”

Wonder cants her head, in the way Wonder always cants her head, like she’s musing and concluding simultaneously. “This is the Celestial City, dearest.”

“And I was born a love goddess,” Merry adds.

“Why wouldn’t I find out about that?” Wonder contends.

“And get curious,” Merry finishes.

“Stop doing that,” Sorrow pleads.

Anger agrees. And why does their duologue sound like a hoax?

If he knows Wonder, and hedoesknow Wonder, there’s more to this. The goddess likes to call herself an Archive diva, a researcher of the sky’s secrets and the enigmas of their mythology. She has stuck her two cents into conflicts before, disturbing the flow of fate.

Breaching the Hollow Chamber’s restricted section is how she discovered Fate lore—a sacred cliffhanger that changed everything for their class. She’s the reason Love learned how to become a mortal, how to trade her blessings for a meager existence with a human boy.

It seems that Wonder has acquired a taste for forbidden findings and imparting them on beneficiaries. Or perhaps, she developed this penchant long ago—longer than Anger’s aware of. In which case, old habits die hard.

Respectively, her tendencies mirror Malice’s. Albeit less warped.

She must have given a repeat performance, advancing on Merry instead of doing her job: targeting humans who’ve either lost their awe or inspiration, or are too caught up in enchantments to function. That has steered her to houses of worship, artist communes, and mental institutions, among hundreds of other locations.

She has tasks to attend to. But instead, she’d met Merry prior to Anger’s arrival in the city.

For what purpose?

Perhaps her business is private business. Nothing to get skeptical over. After all, Wonder is a meandering goddess with an unreliable attention span that combats her thirst for pondering. It might be as elementary as that.

It’s not.

It’s very likely not.

Envy appraises the diaphanous nightgown accentuating Merry’s figure. It doesn’t faze Sorrow when he licks his lips. “Hubba, hub—”

Anger’s arm lashes out, swiping Merry’s robe off the ground—he’d dropped it while rushing Envy—and whipping the garment at her. His fist chokes the material, blocking her breasts from view.

Merry takes the robe gleefully. The members of his class gawk in his direction.

“What?” Anger barks, because what the Fates do they find so hilarious?

Envy shakes his smug head. “I’m thrilled that I actually got to see you do that.”

“You’re delusional. You have been since birth. I’ve merely neglected to sit you down and tell the truth. Therefore, you saw nothing.”

“I’m offended. Of all illustrious beings, I think I know the difference between modesty and jealousy.” Releasing Sorrow’s fingers, he drags his thumbs up and down his shirt buttons. “You might call me a specialist in envy.”

“You’re jealous?” Merry asks Anger.

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