Page 53 of Claimed by the Fallen
I am exiting the fourth aisle by the time they come back. Mr. Cohen holds up the eggs and Gabe lifts themilk.
“Are these what you wanted?” my ex-teacherasks.
I smile and nod. “Yeah,thanks.”
The dairy items are placed in thecart.
As a group, we continue shopping. I don’t have the heart to send them off again. I tell myself it’s because they don’t know the specific brands my family likes to buy, but really, it’s because of the guilt I feel knowing they are aware I don’t want to be seen with them. It has nothing to do with their angelic status and everything to do with my insecurities andshyness.
Mr. Cohen and Gabe walk one step behind the cart as we continue through the store. From the corner of my eye, I notice both angels still have their wings on display. I am impressed by how they move with the large wings. Other shoppers and their carts move into our path, but the white feathers shift out of the way with ease. Never once do the wings come close to touching anything or anyone. The angels’ control of their extensions isimpressive.
“Will I grow wings?” Surprisingly, I’d never considered the possibility beforenow.
If either of the angels is shocked by my question, they hide itwell.
“It’s very likely.” Mr. Cohen glances at me. He wears an oddexpression.
“What isit?”
Gabe speaks, “Technically, you should’ve already grown yourwings.”
“On my birthday?” I reference the night my angelic symptomsbegan.
“No,” Gabe shocks me by saying, “duringchildhood.”
I stop rolling the cart and murmur, “Oh.” I’m confused by the information. “So… does that mean I’m not a fullangel?”
I don’t allow myself to hope it’s true, remembering the last time I believed the angels made a mistake about my identity. I went from being a Nephilim to a full-fledged angel in the blink of aneye.
As expected, Gabe reveals I’m wrong. “No, we’re confident we’re right about that. But, for some unknown reason, you aren’t manifesting angelic features like we’d expect from a full-blood.”
I hum my acknowledgment, then let the subject drop. This isn’t the best place to have the conversation,anyway.
I look at the cereal shelves. The brand I need is on the top shelf. I rise on my toes and lift my arm to reach it, but it’s toohigh.
A masculine arm brushes past me. I suck in a breath as the skin contacts mine. Mr. Cohen gets the cereal and holds it out tome.
I take it, avoiding eye contact. “Thank you, Mr.Cohen.”
“You’re welcome,” his voice is gruff, and the strangeness of the sound makes me glanceup.
My throat goes dry. Mr. Cohen is staring at me.Hard.
There’s a host of emotions behind his blue eyes, and I feel myself losing focus as I stare into theirdepths.
Then, without warning, I hear him say, “Call meJoseph.”
Flustered, I don’t immediately understand what he’s said. “Sorry?”
“Joseph,” he repeats. “That’s my name. Now that I’m not your teacher, I’d like you to use it.” The gruffy-note to his voice is gone, and he sounds normal. But I know the request issignificant.
I lick my lips. “Okay… Joseph.” I nod, even though the name sounds off on my tongue. I imagine it will take getting usedto.
Heat flares in my ex-teacher’s gaze. I barely notice before the look disappears, and he asks, “What’s next on thelist?”
With that, the moment is broken. The three of us continue walking, but I don’t easily forget what justhappened.
I can’t explain why, but it felt noteworthy. Like an invisible line had just been breached, and there is no goingback.
