Page 53 of Close Quarter
As if reading his mind, Silas reached into the air, and the sword slid into existence. The blade shimmered. He appraised the blade. Then offered it to Rhys. "Don't touch the edge. It'll cut through you."
Rhys hesitated, but a raised eyebrow from Silas--as if to call him a coward--set his will. He took the sword. He knew metal well enough to know the blade was far lighter than it should have been. The edge glittered like a million gems. "A magic sword?"
Silas shrugged. "It's made from silver and diamond. Forged in the fire of a phoenix. Other than destroying soulless, it's not particularly magical." He paused. "It can cut the Fallen. Not deeply, though."
"Fallen." Rhys turned the sword in his hand, felt the balance, the texture of the grip in his palm.
"Daemons?"
Silas nodded.
"You hunt daemons?"
"No. Just soulless."
Well, good. He didn't want to meet a daemon.
Rhys shook his head.What the hell?He offered the blade back to Silas. "My life just became really fucking strange, didn't it?"
A chuckle from Silas. He took the sword.
"Welcome to Fairyland."
"Why do I have the feeling I'm in this for more than seven years?"
"That's really up to you."
Was it? He mused on that while Silas sheathed the sword, slid it into nothing until it vanished.
"How do you do that--pull it from air?"
"Aether," Silas said. "The sword was made for me--given to me by the Messengers. I know how it fits in my hand. I simply recall that feeling when I need it."
When he needed it. A flash of memory surfaced--Silas turning that same sword on himself last night. Rhys drank the rest of the water and set the glass down on the floor. "Promise me something."
Silas raised an eyebrow.
"Don't ever think of killing yourself again."
Silas's expression remained cool and relaxed. The tension in his arms, his clawlike grip on the tub edge told another story. "I had not thought you awake for that."
"I guess I was." Rhys struggled to his feet, then perched himself on the counter of the sink.
"Why? I mean, why over me?"
A faint smile full of darkness touched Silas's lips. "When the Messengers found me, when they asked if I would hunt the soulless for them. Do you know why I said yes?"
"Revenge?"
The laugh that came from Silas raised the hair on the back of Rhys's neck. "I thought if I destroyed them all, then perhaps I would stop hearing Isatis screaming." He shook his head. "It hasn't worked."
Rhys slid off the counter. "It wasn't your fault."
The hard edge to Silas's jaw softened. "You are not the first to tell me that."
Silas didn't move, not when Rhys sat next to him, not when he covered Silas's rigid hand with his own.
"Figures." Silas might not be human, and Rhys sure as hell didn't understand him--he wasn't sure he understood himself half the time-- but he knew pain. Loss. Comfort. He stroked his fingers across Silas's knuckles. "I've noticed you have this thing for not listening."
