Cian

When I returned to Vinny's bedroom with a mug of black coffee and a frown on my face, he was seated on top of his bed, legs pulled to his chest, sheets wrapped tautly around him. He was still shuddering, but seemed less dazed than he had been when he'd come to. Lucie sat in Vinny's favorite bean bag chair, in the corner of the room, her expression dull yet apprehensive. Her round eyes, dark as the night sky beyond the window, met mine as I strolled in.

I handed off the coffee to Vinny. He blinked at it, then at me. "Caffeine at night isn't good for—"

"Like you want to go back to sleep after that?"

That silenced him. He took the mug from me, and I took a seat on the edge of his bed. "Want to tell me what just happened? What you mean by you were dying?"

Lucie scooted her bean bag chair closer, twisting her hair up into a ponytail. She looked exhausted, and that much made sense—it had to have been a while since she'd gone back to her own house, let alone had time to sleep. I was so selfish. I'd asked her to wait around for me, without even thinking about what she wanted. Her parents had to be worried sick.

The gleam in her eyes, however, told me her parents were the last of her worries.

Vinny took a hesitant sip of the coffee I'd brought him, paused, then set the mug on his nightstand. Wringing his hands, he said, "I went to sleep, and, it was this horrible...this horrible nightmare, yet it felt so real. Like I was really drowning again. I don't remember much. Just that I was dying, and then you woke me up, and I was confused for a second. I didn't understand why you kept calling me."

"That's all?" Lucie pressed. "That's all you can remember?"

Vinny lent her an apologetic glance. "I'm sorry. My brain was going crazy. If I do remember anything else, I can't put it into words. I'm just glad it was a nightmare and not real..."

"Not real?" I scoffed. "Vinny, you started suffocating. Your face turned purple. If I hadn't woken you up, who knows what would have happened. I don't know what the heck that was, but it was more than a nightmare."

"Cian," Lucie snapped. "Don't make him any more scared than he is already."

"Lying to him about this isn't going to do us a bit of good," I shot back.

"Right! Right, because you haven't already told plenty of lies!"

"Lucie—"

"Guys," Vinny intervened, his expression tense. He closed his eyes, holding up a hand. "Don't argue over me like I'm just a kid—"

"I know you're not telling the truth about Nick," Lucie went on, as if Vinny hadn't said anything. I expected him to keep talking, to end this discussion before it began, but Lucie's sentence drove him to silence. I exhaled, fighting images of the fallen angel's sinister smile, his fingers digging into my scar tissue. "He threatened you, didn't he? So you don't want us to get involved? Is this another attempt to keep the both of us safe?"

"If I told you," I cautioned, "then you'd go after him. I know you would. And something tells me that's exactly what he wants."

"So you're not going to tell us," Vinny muttered.

I shifted my gaze from Lucie to him, brushing my tongue over the scar at my mouth, listening to the silence. I had them here, the two people who mattered most in the world to me. My brother, who'd been my companion since I'd held him in my arms the morning after he'd been born, his face red and pinched, only a single lock of flaxen hair plastered to his forehead—and Lucie, the girl who had enchanted me with her daring, coal-colored eyes and unshakeable spirit. These were the people I'd burn cities for, would give my everything for. I had to protect them, even if it meant keeping them in the dark, didn't I?

I'd lost my brother once, and I wasn't losing him again. And Lucie? Giving her up would be like giving up my sanity.

"Here's what I'll say," I began. "Nick's problem is with me, alright? And if it's with me, the last thing I need is for you both to get sucked into this. Any threats he gives, anything he does to me, is my problem to deal with, not yours. So if you love me, if you trust me, then you'll let me do this by myself."

They both stared at me.

Then, Vinny laughed.

It was surprising both because Lucie had looked like she was about to shoot lazers at me from her eyes, and because the subject matter was far from humorous. He laughed however, with a smile so wide that it creased his eyes at the edges. "All this time and you still haven't learned?" he taunted. "All this time and you still think you have to do everything by yourself? That's the reason I didn't move on when I had the chance, you know. After I died. I stayed because I knew you needed me, and yet, even now that I'm alive again, you're still acting like you're too tough for help."

"Vinny..."

"You must have inherited Dad's hard-headedness," he commented, and the smile on his face faded. "Everything I say to you goes in one ear and out the other, doesn't it?"

I hated the tone of his voice, sorrowfully mellow, as if all I was doing for him and Lucie was a joke. The last thing I wanted was to get in a fight with either of them, but I was on thin ice. I felt the acidity of the unsaid words burning on my skin, saw the tiny hints of frustration and despair in each of their faces. What was I supposed to do? Telling them was going to fix nothing; it would only make them worry.

I dropped my head to the bed, leaning over it, my eyes shut. I heard Vinny inhale. It had been too long since I'd heard his breath in my ear. "You're all I have," I breathed out. "Both of you, you're all I have. Let me do this for you, please. I just need you to trust me."

Neither of them said a thing; in fact, there was only the soft cooing of owls outside, until I heard the scuffling of Lucie rising from the beanbag. I lifted my head, watched her grab her purse from the hook on Vinny's door and place her hand on the knob.

"Where are you going?" I croaked.

She paused, glanced at me, then turned away again. "Home," she muttered. "I can't stand to sit here and watch you beg us to believe in you. I try, Cian, all the time, but lately you've just been turning around and throwing it in my face."

I got to my feet, facing her. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"I trust you, and you go out searching to get your wings back, without even talking to me about it. Well, tell you what, Cian. If I were you, I'd listen to Vinny, because he's right. You think you can handle everything on your own, and every time, it backfires. That's how you lost your damn wings in the first place."

I swallowed down bile, my heart feeling as if it had been pierced. I fought for words, but my tongue felt swollen. Her words hurt me than I wanted to admit, like salt rubbed in a still-recovering wound. My shoulder blades throbbing, I managed, "I was protecting you!"

She whirled, gnawing at her lip. "Yeah! You see where that gets you? For all I know, you'll end up dead this time! Is that you want—is that what you think I want? So, sure, I'll trust you. Just don't say I didn't warn you when you screw everything up."

I reached out for her, but she took a sharp step back. "Come on, Lucie," I pleaded, but she just shook her head at me.

"Good night, Cian," she exhaled, then swept out through the door without so much as a glance back over her shoulder.

I came to a seat on the end of Vinny's bed, rubbing my eyes and trying to keep myself from crumbling. I couldn't do anything right. Everything I said, everything I did, only landed me with Lucie on one side and myself on another. Lately, we hadn't been seeing eye to eye, and it worried me. The bitterness between us was at a level high enough for me to choke on it.

Vinny exhaled, slinking down in his bed and pulling the sheets up to his neck. "Are you going to go after her?"

I hesitated, but shook my head. "No," I muttered, watching the door as if she'd come right back through it if only I stared hard enough. But it stayed closed, she stayed gone, and I remained despairing. "I'm the last person she wants to talk to right now."

To my surprise and to his as well, it seemed, Vinny managed to fall asleep again. I stayed in his room, too afraid to leave him, in case he fell into the night terror's grip again. I managed to get around three hours of sleep in inconsistent intervals, which is why, when my mother woke me up the next morning, I was groggy and still drunk with slumber.

"C.J.? Hey, it's time to get up," she cooed in my ear, and when I sat up, I found I was still perched against Vinny's now empty bed, a pillow underneath my head that hadn't been there when I'd fallen asleep. I smiled softly, sure it had been Vinny's doing.

"You spent the night in Vincent's bedroom?" Mom asked, tone wary. I rubbed my eyes, pushing hair back from my face. "Is he okay?"

"Well," I muttered, "he could be doing better, but he's fine. You know how Vinny is. He won't say anything unless he's forced."

"That's him," heaved Mom with a sigh, straightening from her crouch. She adjusted her hair—which, today, was an ornate set of gold ribbons that settled like spool against her shoulders. Even this early in the morning, her makeup was already done, her eyelids glittering and her eyelashes longer than seemed natural. She gave me a smile as I got to my feet, white teeth against blood red lips. "My little stubborn boy. That much is a trait he got from me."

"Are you kidding?" I scoffed, grabbing my sweatshirt up from the floor. "Vinny's like, the male version of you, looks and all."

"I wouldn't go that far," Mom responded with a chuckle, which I returned. It felt good to laugh with her, as authentic moments with her came and went, like the ebb and flow of the ocean's waves. I had to hold on to them while I could.

As I passed her to go down to the kitchen, where I assumed Vince was, she stopped me by reaching out and gripping my arm. "Cian," she murmured, and I gave her a small glance over my shoulder. She reached out, ruffling my hair. I was so startled by the gesture that I nearly toppled over; Mom never did that. Sure, she fixed my shirt collar and gelled the strands back when I let her get close enough, but ruffling my hair was something she never did, had never done. "When are you going to get a haircut? I can't have you walking around like Sasquatch."

"Sasquatch is harsh," I argued, and stepped out into the hallway, poking at the mess on top of my head in the hall mirror. It had gotten long, that's for sure—long enough to dangle before my eyes, to hang down below my ears. It was also blonder than usual. Ever since I'd been a kid, the longer it was, the paler the color turned. Any longer and I'd be platinum, which was closer to Vinny's game, not mine.

I hated the barber's though. Scissors scared me.

"What if I'm growing it out?" I asked Mom, who was leaned back against the wall, an odd gleam of fondness in her eyes. "Maybe I want to be a hipster."

"I'll have no hipsters in my house."

"Aw," I muttered, then shrugged. "Fine. I'll get it cut soon, promise."

She heaved a sigh, offering another smile, this one minimal. She gave me a pat on the shoulder—I winced a little, as she had coincidentally chosen the one on which the scar had been ripped open—and met my eyes in the mirror. "Good. Now hurry downstairs; your brother's trying to make pancakes and I'm afraid he's going to burn down the house."

I rolled my eyes. Typical of him. "So he's...standing?"

Mom lifted an eyebrow. "Yes, Cian; how else would he get around? Is something—"

"No," I said, possibly with too much haste. I was too excited; so it had been temporary. Of course I'd known that, but somewhere inside of me, an ugly feeling whispered at me that things were going to turn out worse. I turned away from the mirror and went towards the staircase. "No, everything's fine. Thanks. I'll talk to you later, okay? Do you have book club today?"

"No, but your father and I have a charity event at six tonight—"

"Cool. Vinny and I will hold down the fort, then," I called, then hurried down the stairs, clearing the last two with a leap, my feet thudding against the floor. When I waltzed into the kitchen, I was unsurprised to find my younger brother at the stove, pouring some kind of cream-colored, viscous liquid onto a pan. As it sizzled, sweet scents rose to the ceiling, chocolate and maple syrup.

I gasped, and saw Vinny jump, whirling to see me. "Are those chocolate chip?"

He gave me a sly smile, pointing the batter-covered spatula at me. "You bet."

"I love you," I said, because he knew those were my favorite. Ever since I was a kid, I'd go crazy over chocolate in general, but something about the oozing melted version of it sandwiched between pancake fluff made it that more alluring.

Vinny shrugged and turned back to his pancake-flipping. There was flour across his cheek and splattered inconsistently around his clothes, but he didn't seem to care. "I know."

I took a seat at the kitchen island, leaning over the granite with tented hands. "So, how are your legs doing, then? You seem to be okay—"

"I am. Don't worry about it," he assured, possibly with too much haste. He seemed to realize how he'd sounded, too, because he sighed, flipped another pancake, and mopped his brow. "Sorry. I didn't mean to snap...I just...I don't want to talk about last night."

"Yeah, I understand," I murmured, dropping my gaze. I tapped my nails across the countertop, listening to the rhythmic clinks, watching my blurred reflection. The overhead lights shone above my head, slightly glaring in my eyes. I tried to forget last night. Not just Vinny's screams in my ears as he woke in a cold sweat, but Lucie's skilled fingers gliding over my skin as she patched my wounds. Lucie's kiss on my lips. Lucie's sour words. Lucie's hands as she slammed the door.

God, she was all I could think. All I could see, all I could taste, all of it.

"Unless," cut in Vinny, sliding a stack onto a plate and shoving the flapjacks in my direction.

"Unless?" I repeated, poking at my breakfast. To my surprise, the pancakes were well done, not an inch of it charred from overcooking, or runny from the opposite. Since when did Vinny become a young Bobby Flay?

"Unless we're talking about Lucie."

I'd had a piece of the pancake halfway in my mouth, and nearly choked on it. "Lucie?"

"Your girlfriend?"

"Oh. Yeah. Her."

Vinny narrowed his eyes at me, then just rolled them and went on. "You two have been bickering for too long, and I don't like it. When are you going to talk to her?"

"I told you, Vinny. It's obvious she wants nothing to do with me right now. The best thing I can do is give her space—"

"Don't give her space," Vinny interrupted. Dusting his flour-covered hands off on his pants, he started to slide himself onto the counter. I was about to remind him that, considering his body was corporeal, he could no longer sit them without being reprimanded by our mother, but he seemed to remember himself. Catching himself in the action, he edged back down onto the floor without so much as a word.

When I smirked at him, he shot me a dagger glare that kept me from saying anything.

Vinny was scary even when he was no longer telekinetically flickering lights.

"Don't give her space," he said again. "Give her flowers. Take her somewhere. Say you're sorry, and talk this all out, before it gets worse. I mean, if you two were to split up, it'd make it kind of awkward for me as the middle man."

"You're always saying it's awkward that we are together."

Vinny scowled. "Well, it certainly is when you're engaging in close physical contact! Sure, be intimate, but not in front of me."

"You're such a baby."

"Huh," Vinny scoffed, "insult of the year. Now eat your pancakes and go to the florist already."

I had thought he was kidding. Working on splitting my pancakes into neat, congruent triangles, I smiled a little. "You're serious about this flowers thing?"

"I mean, yeah," Vince responded with a shrug. He raked a hand back through the pale strands of his hair, unaware he was getting baking powder and flour woven in them. I decided not to say anything. "All girls love flowers."

I considered it for a moment. I had nothing better to do today, and I did need to talk to Lucie. Chances are she'd slam her door in my face, but I had to at least make some sort of attempt. Having made up my mind, I gave Vinny a nod. "It's settled then. Would you come with me to somewhere first, though?"

Vinny lifted an eyebrow. "Where?"

I grimaced just thinking about it. "The barber's."