CHAPTER ONE
Alexander touched down on the roof of a bus stop just in time to see the motorbike lose control. Its back wheel slid outwards, and the bike careened onto its side through the rain. He was too late. He braced his wings against the wind as he watched, unable to intervene. They shouldn’t have been out in this weather. What were they thinking?
But he could not help, only wait. Wait and watch as the two red-headed sisters were thrown off their bike, sliding and scraping along the road in their leathers as if it were ice. He held his breath as neither of them moved. Then she moved, barely, but her sister was still. Too still.
“Sophie!” one of them called out. Fia. Fia Aldridge. The reason why he was here. She lay on the road in puddles of rainwater, her legs stretched out on the grass verge behind, her arm and shoulder twisted in ways they shouldn’t have been.
Alexander flexed his wings. He could feel the pull of Sophie’s spirit from where he sat, tugging, calling. The girl was dying, and he could do nothing to stop it. He could do nothing as Fia called for her sister, sobs erupting from her in broken, painful gasps. Even as Fia began to drag herself towards Sophie with her one good arm, he could do nothing. She’d pulled off her helmet, her auburn hair sticking to her face in the rain. And the tugging grew stronger, an invisible cord to warn him a life unravelled before him—death approached.
Where were their emergency services? Their vehicles with flashing lights? Where was anyone to help? He scanned the road as he rose to his feet and dragged a hand through his hair. It was late, and there were no other vehicles around, no signs of any people. Why had they gone out in this weather, at this time? His hands tightened into fists at his sides; he couldn’t wait any longer.
At just twenty-one, Alexander was the youngest to lead the angels in Ohinyan’s history. But right now, he wasn’t fulfilling his duties to his world. Instead, he was on Earth, in the middle of London, and he had failed the people and the creatures of Ohinyan. All of them. Their fate rested in the hands of the girl crawling through the rain.
He shook away the thought as he landed beside Sophie, his bare feet touching down into puddles. Fia was still near the shattered bike, crying out for her sister. She wouldn’t see him, anyway, even if she managed to close the distance in time.
This never got any easier—each new death seemed to chip away at him, as if he had a thousand cuts that would never heal. He lay down next to Sophie, his eyes meeting hers. A flicker. An acknowledgement. He took her hand in his. “I’m here with you,” he said softly. She brushed his fingers. It was all the movement she could manage.
Tears pooled in the corners of her green eyes. “I can’t feel anything,” she said.
“You’re safe. Nothing else can hurt you, but we’re running out of time.” He folded her fingers through his, as the last of her life slipped away from her. “We’re going to get up now, okay?”
She bit back a sob and nodded. He helped her to her feet, and she paused to look down at her body. They always did.
The edges of her—the Sophie he was holding onto—flickered and shimmered with blue. “So still,” she said, her head tilting to examine herself.
Alexander would hold on until she was ready—it was his duty. All angels, as soon as they were old enough, travelled backwards and forwards between the windows from Ohinyan to Earth to help the dying—if the dying wanted to be helped.
Rain flattened his hair to his face and rolled in droplets onto his bare chest, but it passed through Sophie and fell straight to the ground. She didn’t seem to notice. Her gaze shifted from her body to her sister, who still tried to close the distance between them.
“Can I say goodbye?” Strands of hair blew across Sophie’s face, and she looked away for a moment, as if someone from some far-off place had called her name.
“Of course you can. Just don’t let go of my hand,” Alexander said, already stepping towards Fia. Sirens sounded in the distance. Finally, someone came for Fia. He hadn’t failed Ohinyan yet.
He led Sophie forward until they were close enough to kneel in the puddles beside her sister.
“Sophie,” Fia called to the body that lay still. Tears streamed down her cheeks and pain broke each of her cries. Her eyes were brighter than her sister’s, green forest hues speckled with gold radiated around her narrowed pupils. Long lashes, heavy with rainwater and tears, fluttered over them as she sobbed. Her lips trembled as she called out, over and over. A trail of freckles ran across her face from cheek to cheek, right across the bridge of her nose, as if they’d been painted on with the swipe of a brush.
Sophie stroked her free hand across Fia’s pale face. She wiped at the tears that rolled through her ethereal fingers and down her sister’s chin.
“She can’t see us?” Sophie asked.
“No,” Alexander replied, willing himself not to reach out with his free hand and comfort Fia, too. He’d always found this the hardest part—the survivors.
“Will she be okay?”
He nodded.
Sophie placed a kiss on her sister’s brow. “I will be with you always.”
The sirens were almost upon them. Alexander helped Sophie to her feet, her hand in his. Her gaze never left Fia.
“Will you watch over her?” she asked.
“Always.” He didn’t know why he said it, but the word fell out before he could think.
Sophie looked at him then. Her green eyes were flecked with gold, like her sister’s, and she held his gaze, cool and calm.
“I’m ready,” she said.
He smiled, dropped her hands, and in a flash, she was gone. He felt the connection go with her at once. The invisible thread was broken, his duty complete. Another little cut laid upon him. He never truly understood how it worked—the connection between an angel and the dying had to be made to tether the spirit, and once the angel released them, the spirits were free to go…to wherever spirits go. All he knew for certain was that the ones who didn’t let him make that connection still wandered the Earth, restless and unhappy.
He sat down beside Fia until the women from the ambulance reached her, talking to her quickly and assessing the damage. One muttered into her radio. Other vehicles sat stationary, beyond the ambulance, and several people Alexander hadn’t noticed before were pointing towards the accident in the rain.
“Please, wake up,” Fia called out, her voice hoarse. Her fingernails were bleeding and full of gravel. She shook with cold and wet and something else. Fear. But he could not comfort her, could not place a hand on her shoulder to let her know he was there.
Alexander stayed beside her as the ambulance crew braced her neck, positioned her on a board, and carried her into the ambulance. A second ambulance arrived for Sophie.
“My sister,” Fia croaked, trying to push away the oxygen mask as they placed it over her head. A police car arrived to manage the traffic that had begun to slow at the sight of the wreckage.
He sat on the roof of the ambulance as it made its way to the hospital, listening to the mumbled voices below and the ambulance crew explaining that Sophie was dead.
Fia’s cry was feral. The sound pierced through Alexander as he held onto the lightbar, his wings glowing blue as the LEDs flashed.
His trousers were soaked but he didn’t mind. He couldn’t feel the cold, anyway. Not the way the humans did. He jumped down beside the ambulance as it arrived at the hospital, the crew instantly at work to wheel Fia out and through the automatic doors. She was going to be fine; he could feel it. And as he followed her through the hospital ward, the smell of hand sanitiser and blood filling his nostrils, more of those threads began to tug at him. Murmurs hit him from every corner of the hospital.
He’d have to leave Fia for now. She wasn’t going anywhere, and he had work to do.
Alexander made his way through the hospital, a little girl waving at him as he walked through the corridor.
“Mummy, did you see the angel?” she said.
It always unnerved him. Some could see him, and others could not. Mostly children, sometimes adults, too, but often when it was too late.
The thread pulled him into the intensive care ward to a bed in the corner. A young man sat quietly beside it, and in the bed, Alexander found the end of the thread.
The old man’s breathing was laboured, his oxygen mask too big on his gaunt face. His chest rose and fell, and Alexander could see the outline of his ribs beneath the grey gown.
Cataracts clouded his blue eyes as his gaze met Alexander’s. Saliva caught in his throat, and he began to cough, the force shaking his frail body. The young man beside him shot up, pressing the call button and checking the machines in a frenzy.
The old man’s chest fell and didn’t rise again.
“Dad,” the son’s voice broke. “Just stay here, I’ll get help.”
Alexander stepped forward into the space the son had occupied and took the old man’s hand in his own. The clouded blue eyes never broke their gaze.
“Don’t worry, it’s going to be okay,” Alexander said.
And so the long night began.
