Page 97 of Baking and Angels

He recoils.

His own darkness forms aroundhim again.

Honey reaches out more, as many times ashe needs.

This darkness is too familiar. He could sink into it and nevercome back.

But then he remembers another light, a light so bright it cracked through this darkness once before. He let her in, and now he can and will never go back.

That realization stops him. His light returns, still dim, but there. The darkness retreats once more, also present, surrounding his light, dimming it, but not extinguishing it.

He will never go back.

He regards the other orb, floating trapped.

Honey indicates to go inonce more.

Please help.

And he wants to. He feels… not darkness. Not pity, or sadness,or anger.

Empathy.

He desires to hold the being inside, who suffers as he did. To show them, there isa way out.

And that desire is worth braving the other being’sdarkness.

Chapter 37

Ghosts of

the Past

Rafferty’s next real thought is to breathe. Reality, or what he perceived as reality, had formed around him once more. He had a body again and stood on a real floor. Pressing a hand to his chest, he felt a heartbeat and the expansion of his ribs. He was still alive.

Next, he noticed his hands, still real and a living color, instead of the dull, corpse-like gray of his demonic self. Yet, it was the sleeves that gave him pause. They were rolled up at his elbows with puffy sleeves over his upper arms. His hands hit his chest, feeling the large buttons, each stamped with the insignia of the king. Over it all was a coat of blue with red-and-white brocade, the livery ofthe king.

Shocked, he looked about the room and realized it was familiar. A small room that had once been above a tailor’s shop, where he had lived with his mother and little sister, centuries ago.

Hewas home.

“This isn’t real, at least not in the way you would understand it,” Honey said. She stood next to him, dressed in a long gown with a sleeveless red-orange tunic, her hair gathered up under a wimple. Only a single strand escaped it, her normally honey-blonde hair having turned to a dark tendril, closer to his own coloring. “This is her dream. Remember that, so that you don’t get suckedinto it.”

Rafferty remembered such dreams. They were always nightmares, really, memories of their lives before, and only the bad ones, the ones no one wanted to steal. It was why his memories with Helena had been so precious here. He hadn’t dared trade any one of them, even though there was much he could have done with suchtreasures.

“Who is this?” he asked, already knowing the answer, but his voice shook asking the question allthe same.

“Who’s there? Who is it?” a creaking voice called out in familiar French. It was only then that Rafferty realized he had been speaking his mother tongue with Honey. “Monsieur Tomas? If it is about the rent… I will have it next week.”

“No, madame,” Honey said, stepping forward into the room. “We are just here to visit with you fora while.”

“Who is it? Who are you?” The form lying on a small bed at the far end of the room struggled to sit up. A ratty quilt covered her.

“No need to get up,” Honey assured her, laying a hand on the frail woman’s chest to encourage her to lieback down.

“I do not want visitors. Go away. Leave me to die in peace,” the frail woman said, then she started coughing hard, the unknown disease in her chest shredding her lungs until she coughed blood into an already bloody handkerchief.

Automatically, Rafferty went to the bedside where a teapot sat with water in it. He picked it up and pointed the spout toward her mouth, cupping her head. The frail woman recognized what was happening and took a long drink from the spout. She swallowed and coughed again, less violently this time, patting ather lips.

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