Cian

I'd stopped telling Lucie she couldn't come with me to these trips a long time ago, as she'd always end up going anyway. If there was one thing I knew about this girl, it was that nothing could stop her once she had her mind set on something, whether that be baking and decorating a cake for no apparent reason (an ordeal that had occurred last week which had turned her kitchen into the aftermaths of a flour explosion), or coming with me to see dead people.

Truly, her range of interests was astonishing.

Vinny—as we were all still concerned for his safety—was secured in the back seat, while Lucie took the passenger side, next to me. She kept flitting her gaze from out the car window and then back to me and back towards the window again, watching the sun sink beneath the trees. She said, "This doesn't make any sense. Nothing weird has happened for at least two months, so why now—"

"I don't know, Lucie," I muttered, keeping my eyes on the road. I cleared my throat, trying to lighten up my tone. Our argument before had been bad enough, and I had no reason to continue it. "I have no idea, and that's why we're investigating."

"Caprice has probably already taken care of it," piped up Vinny from the backseat. Lucie glanced back at him. "What if the body's already gone?"

"Then I'll turn this car around and we'll see Caprice instead."

"Cian," Lucie said, her tone warning. I shot her a sideways glance, the city lights reflecting in her eyes in fleeting streaks of green, yellow, and red, the buzzing neon signs caught in the dark ebony of her irises. "What if it's not even a big deal, actually? What if, you know, it's just a typical homicide?"

I scoffed. "I wish there was such a thing as typical in this life of mine, but there's not. Like always, there's something odd linked to this."

Lucie sat back in her seat and sighed, looking out the window again. I could tell in the slump of her shoulders, the huff of her breath as she crossed her arms, that she was tired of this. For the past eight weeks we'd rejoiced in having my kid brother back, and thought that any drama with fallen angels or any other threat was off our backs.

Now that there was a murder on our hands, there was a heavy chance of getting thrust right back into that world.

We drove on in near silence, with the exception of the tinny buzz of the radio turned low. Vinny was silent as he watched the street zip past, Lucie the same. I hit the gas pedal and hurried my pace. If she was tired, so was I, but what was I supposed to do? Ignore the brutal halting of my heartbeat, which always told me something was wrong? I couldn't. My heart, when it stopped, proposed a question, and I was responsible for finding the answer.

I'd gotten vague visions this time, but not vague enough that I couldn't piece the location together: a glimpse of green foliage, moonlight bouncing off the leaves, the stench of gunpowder in the air, a sickening cry of death sent to the stars. The odd thing was—normally I felt some sort of emotion. Fear, disappointment, or maybe rage, but this time, I got nothing.

It was what pricked up the hairs on my neck. If there was one thing I knew from being close to it for all this time, it was that death was a sentimental topic. It didn't exist without emotion.

We pulled up to the city park, and Lucie craned forward in her seat to read the sign at front: East City Park. She sat back again, scrutinizing me as I pulled the keys from the engine and started to hop out of the SUV. "A park? Someone got murdered in a park?"

"Not everything shady happens in alleyways or basements, muffin," I replied, then glanced back at Vinny. "Do you want to stay in the car, or.."

He shook his head. "I told you this already, Cian, if I'm going to live, I'm not going to live like this."

I hesitated, but nodded at him. As always, he was right. If he couldn't step a foot outside, if his face never saw the rays of the sun or the beams of the moon, was he really living at all?

So off we went, me leading the way on the trail, Lucie equipping the flashlight at my right, Vinny sticking close to me at my left. It was still strange to walk beside him and feel him there, hear him breathing, see the pale strands of his hair lift as the wind played with them. It was even stranger to think, He should be older. If he hadn't drowned that night, he would be seventeen years old, the same age as Lucie. He'd be taller and broader, probably (then again, Vince had always been smaller than everyone else in terms of both height and weight), less immature and more seasoned. Yet, here he was, still bright with freshman innocence.

"I don't like this," Lucie murmured beside me. Her eyes searched for mine, but I was busy following the beam of the flashlight, which fell sideways as her focus shifted.

I grabbed her arm and pulled it back up again. "Keep the flashlight steady."

"Cian."

"Yes?"

"I get the feeling it's a bad idea."

I still didn't look at her. Everything felt on edge—my blood felt warm in my veins, my skin covered in goosebumps, each and every one of my senses alert and attentive. With my wings, I thought, I would have found the body by now. But I was weak.

"What's a bad idea?"

"To be here right now."

"Why's that?"

After listening to this exchange for a few moments, Vinny cut in with a loud exhale. "Maybe because we're in a park at night—alone—looking for a dead body. All because you're curious, for whatever reason."

I considered it for a moment, but once again found no reason to not be concerned. After everything we'd been through, they had to understand there was no ignoring this. If someone—something—was causing trouble, we would have to track them down. "You guys could have stayed home, if you're scared."

I knew that would lighten the mood. Vinny scoffed. "You're not accusing me of being chicken, are you? Anyway, Lucie and I just came because we can't let you be an idiot alone."

I scowled in the dark. "Touching."

"Uh, guys?" Lucie cut in, her tone wary. "I'm seeing some unpromising lumps up ahead."

"Human lumps?" I inquired, and Lucie just shrugged, directing her flashlight towards them as we approached. The closer we got, the more the "lumps" distinguished themselves, changing from obscure shadows to distinct silhouettes of extremities. We veered off the park's trail and into the grass, and that was where we found the body—bodies.

One person had certainly had more fun than the other, as one—a female, maybe early twenties or so—was in one piece, while the other—male, same age—was decapitated.

I thought I heard Lucie throw up a little, and when I glanced over at Vinny, his face was entirely blanched. I'd seen worse.

I pointed at the decapitated guy, whose head was only inches from his neck, blood staining the grass underneath him. "This one's obviously dead," I muttered, then leaned closer. There was a bloody bullet wound in his chest, large and manifest, mangled and still leaking blood. He hadn't been dead for long. "And he was shot, but before or after someone went all Marie Antoinette on him?"

"I'm not sure if I find it comforting or disturbing that you can make jokes while staring at someone's beheaded body," Lucie told me with a hand over her mouth and nose—with good reason. The bodies had begun to emit the potent scent of rotting flesh.

I glanced over at the girl, who was curled on her side, her dark hair strewn over her face, exposing her neck. Respectfully and with caution, I kneeled and pressed two fingers to her carotid. There was the undeniable beat of a pulse underneath the skin, thumping against my fingers.

I started to draw back in surprise. "Guys, she's still alive—"

The girl took in a huge breath, sitting up. My eyes wide, I staggered backwards, Lucie gripping my arms and pulling me further back. Her nails dug into my biceps, but I was too frightened to shake her off. This girl—had she seen what happened, or had she committed the crime herself?

I was afraid of the answer.

Hoisting herself up on her elbows, the girl laid eyes on me. "Uh, hi," she murmured. She seemed dazed, her words slurred, her eyes darting from mine every few seconds. "Do you know what happened, or how I..."

Her eyes fell to the body beside her, and she screamed a name: "Max!"

I shot a confused glance at Lucie, who returned it. The three of us watched the girl sob over the guy's body for a moment, before I grimaced and kneeled before her, drawing her attention away. "You don't remember anything that happened?"

Her eyes were wide and filled with tears as she shook her head at me. "No, I don't remember anything! We were jogging together and then—and that's all I know! What happened to Max? Who did this to him?"

I was about to tell her I didn't know, but that was when my eyes fell to the belt looped through her jeans. Sitting right there, on her hip, was a pistol.

And on the other?

A butcher knife, still caked in blood.