Page 62 of Even Angels fall
I’m really trying. Really. But nothing is happening.
I open one eye, and Cassiopé looks so hopeful that it’s hard to tell her that I’m not feeling anything, so instead, I just shake my head.
The way her chin droops with defeat is heartbreaking, but it’s not like I can do anything about it. Or more like, I don’t know what to do, other than try to focus on her words.
“Let’s try something a bit different. Close your eyes,” she says as she smiles again.
I comply and try to empty my mind.
“I want you to try to focus on your back, where your wings will poke out when they are released. I want you to feel how your skin is pulled taut over your bones. Feel the skin moving over the bones of your wings, as if your wings are trying to stretch it to the point of making you uncomfortable. I want you to seek that pain and bathe in it.”
Shit. I didn’t realize that it might really be painful to shift. I’ve heard of it, of course, but when I asked earlier, I didn’t think about it at all.
“Now, I want you to focus on the pain that will sear you when the wings finally tear your skin out.”
It’s hard to focus on that kind of thing, but I do as I’m asked, imagining the kind of pain I went through when my father whipped me.
But nothing works.
I’m panting from the mere idea of those ten last lashes, and yet my skin doesn’t move, doesn’t tear, or anything of that kind.
“We don’t have all day,” Brice says.
“Well, I’m trying,” I snap back. “You said this was the regular way.” I pause as I look at Cassiopé again. “What is the other way?”
“Someone pushes you off a high ground,” Elhyor says, and he at least has the decency to look mildly sorry to announce it.
“That’s it. I’ll jump from Notre Dame’s roof.”
I’m aware that they’re all looking at me like I’ve grown a second head, but I don’t care.
“What?” I ask them as I walk to the door.
Brice is shaking his head, and Cassiopé has face-palmed herself and is now looking through her fingers. But Elhyor—Elhyor looks like he’s proud of my answer, and I don’t know what to think of it.
What I know, though, is that I need a change of clothes.
37
Angélique
It wasn’t too hard to convince Elhyor and Brice that I needed warmer clothes if we were going to fly away. It was a lot less simple to evade Cassiopé, who wanted to go with me.
Still, having her pick up her favorite book, and warmer clothes, too, did the trick in the end. Probably more the book than the clothes.
Avoiding anyone on my way up is like a walk in the park. Everyone is so busy trying to get things in order for the battle they all think is coming that no one seems to notice the girl heading for the stairs in her all-black technical clothes.
Because, of course, I don’t need warmer clothes. What I did need were bulletproof clothes and daggers, because I am as hell not going out to theparviswithout some kind of protection.
If I get to the ground in one piece at all, because there’s no way to know if Elhyor’s technique will work better than Cassiopé’s.
“Here goes nothing,”I think as I jump from Notre Dame’s rooftop.
As I start to fall, I feel a pit open up in my stomach. It’s something fierce that I can’t control, but still, there are no wings sprouting from my back, and I think that maybe jumping like this wasn’t such a great idea.
I know the fall lasts barely more than a second, but it feels like an eternity. An eternity during which I see my life unraveling behind my eyes, in reverse. Training. Whipping. More training. More whipping and more training, until I’m back to that fateful day. As my first shift happens just behind my eyelids, a searing pain tears through my back and jerks my mind back to the present.
My eyes open again, and I know they showcase the inferno that I’m feeling right now.
