9

~Ali~

Although I have nothing to be guilty of, I walk like a culpable person, nervous and flushing with heat as the books seem to gain weight with each step I take. I cut across the recently clipped lawn, bypassing the winding, serpentine pathways that I am convinced were created for the sole purpose of delaying people. A grainy shadow flashes in the corner of my eye, like a matador with a black flag, taunting me. I flick my gaze to the side as a bead of sweat slips down the dip of my lower back, gathering at the top of my belt line. But of course there is no one there, much less someone waving a cloth in my direction, only the paranoid fantastical illusions my brain is summoning in a time of great stress. Yet despite myself I cannot shake the bristling feeling of being watched until our door is locked behind us and the curtains are roughly drawn. Realistically these security measures will achieve little when faced with the threat of the Fallen, but the appearances of privacy count for something at this moment.

I place the books on the coffee table, gently laying them down like easing a newborn baby into its crib, completely unsure about how this bundle of unforeseeable potential will unfurl with time. I lower myself onto the sofa, looking fondly upon the small collection of timeworn but scarcely handled books. Jaz takes a seat beside me and I shuffle to the side, making room as she takes a seat, nervous about what I have barged out of the library so suddenly for. Jack and Ethan kneel on the floor opposite us, leaning over the stout table expectantly.

"Before I start, I just want to say that I know it was careless of me, but I took a calculated risk -" sort of "- and I asked Ms. Penny, the librarian, if she had any books about Elders."

"That was extremely -"

"- Dangerous, I know," I finish, gently silencing Ethan's interjection. "But I yielded results so, for now, I think it was worth it. There is a special storage room locked away from the library where the librarian keeps a collection of restricted books. It was here where she gave me these three, one of which should hopefully aid our search." I trail my finger tip over the coarse parchment, unsure about what books lay in front of me with their unmarked covers.

Jack takes the book on the top of the pile and Ethan snatches the next one, both flipping through the contents, quickly scanning down the pages to get a sense for their general content, nodding in approval.

"These seem promising," Ethan smiles into the pages, pleased at the resources in front of us, even if the means of obtaining them were disregardful. "We might find something really helpful." Jack makes an agreeing noise in his throat from the shoulder of the couch, gently closing the book in his lap, satisfied with what he has briefly seen.

Ethan flips excitedly through the fragile pages a moment longer and the slanting afternoon light gathers in his irises, glowing from within. Clashing shades of blue are flecked through his oculus, a random combination of congruous shades that I might have thought would either disagree or blend into a dull blur of colour. Neither of my speculations are correct, however. With this particular angle of light, his eyes appear to be two orbs of blue fire, ringed in a sharp, tarnished silver like a steel fire pit. And then he blinks and lifts his head to us, closing the book and moving away from the shaft of light.

"Okay, Jaz and Ali, why don't you guys start looking through this," Jack instructs, handing us the tattered book in his grasp. Breathless, I take the book from him. "Ethan, you look through the book you have now and I'll start on this one," he announces waving the last book in the air. "See if you can find any information related to the Elders - past or present. And I was thinking -"

"- That's dangerous," Jaz jibes, smirking to herself, but Jack continues talking as if he didn't hear her over the noise of his thoughts.

"- look out for anything about The Book of Angels." Jack looks to Ethan hesitantly upon this part, twisting his mouth in a gesture which anticipates a certain degree of disapproval to this direction. In response, Ethan tenses.

"You can't be serious!" Jack remains silent, eyes steady on Ethan, deadly serious. "One wrong move and not only are the Fallen cast from existence but so is every angel that was ever created!" Ethan spurts, still hoping that this is some kind of twisted joke. "Not to mention that nobody knows where The Book is or if it is even tangible in this realm."

"We will deal with its location once we get to that part, but let's just think for a second here, Ethan. If we got it right; if there was a way to draw out specific names from The Book of Angels, it could be the key to all of this. Our girls would never have to think twice about glancing over their shoulders again. Their lives would be normal." I can see the wanting of normalcy reflected in the slow burn behind Ethan's eyes. When silence ensues and the two angels have a small, mute standoff, my question slips out before I can stop it.

"What is The Book of Angels?" Ethan turns away from Jack, breaking their held gaze at my remark, somewhat thankful for the break from their heated stare.

"It is a book that records the name of every angel created. I suppose you could compare it with a school attendance check, it is just that this one is for an entire race."

"And how would a roll-call sheet help us?"

Jack answers this time, giving Ethan a moment to compose his thoughts, his hands running down the side of his face, burdened by the new suggestion from Jack. "It is rumoured that the names in the book are erasable. When a name is taken from the book, that angel ceases to exist. I just thought that if we can take out all of the Fallen's names - picking them off selectively - maybe, just maybe, it could work," he thinks pensively, then sighs in resignation. "Nevertheless, we still need the Elders because neither Ethan nor I have any idea about the location of The Book or if it even exists in this world."

Jaz collapses on the bottom bunk with the book in hand and calls me away from the boys. With our two instructions on what to search for - Elders or The Book of Angels alike - I lower myself beside her and we lay shoulder to shoulder, the pages opened before us, propped on the pillow. I brush away a line of grime settled into the groove between the two pages, careful not to tear the brittle paper as a smudge of grey dust collects on my finger. Ethan takes the entire couch to lounge upon, his long legs dangling off the side and leans the spine against his thighs. Jack is left on the rug, book splayed open on the floor, chin resting on his elbows as he reads dutifully from the first page.

Twenty minutes in and it turns out Jaz and I make for a very efficient and thorough team. We take our respective page - mine on the right side, Jaz on the left - and read through them separately before gently turning the page over, fragile like a tattered butterfly's wing under my touch.

Forty-five minutes in and fifty-eight pages deep, I unearth my scarcely used, nondescript reading glasses with lenses of a pathetically low prescription, but it is enough to take away the strain from my eyes. The time passes quietly and quickly, the thickness of the book receding with each minute. Just over an hour and a half since we began, I can no longer stave off the gentle throb that has been so persistently wanting to take up residency in my temples. This, coupled with the hollow echoes of my stomach, means my productivity has greatly reduced along with my fortification, the black print words having revealed nothing. Jaz's stomach releases a similar warbling sound and we look to each other laughing, agreeing that we both need food.

"Ali and I are heading to the cafeteria for dinner, are you guys coming?" Jaz offers, reaching over to her bag on the floor and fishing out an old shopping receipt, slipping it between the pages we have only half read. I find a pair of my shoes from beneath the bed and Jaz rubs at her bloodshot eyes, sliding her feet into a pair of unlaced sneakers.

"I could eat," Ethan agrees, laying the book on the table face down to the page he has reached.

"I'll come, too," Jack chimes, sliding his book back on the coffee table, the smallest corner of the page creased to seperate this page from the others. He straightens his shirt as he stands and rolls his neck around his shoulders.

At this early in the evening, the dining hall is sparsely occupied by only a few other social groups; a pair of young men place themselves opposite one another in the far corner, one with an orange stain down the front of his t-shirt and another whose hair appears to be slicked back with grease rather than hair product; a small cluster of people each with hair the colour of a raven's wing and a smattering of piercings speared through obscure parts of their faces, as if this was a prerequisite to joining this select circle of friends, and finally a group of three young women in sharp-lined clothes chattering amicably by the dining hall doors - branded clothing, satin make up and a sweet cloud of expensive perfume emitted from their pores.

We help ourselves to the empty serving desk where the food is warm and freshly cooked, ordering double the amount we usually would to accomodate for Ethan and Jack as they take a seat at one of the many available tables. I present my student card to the cashier and slide my tray off the counter, moving towards the boys.

Jaz and I split either side of the table beside our respective Guardian. I slide my tray of quiche lorraine and chips between Ethan and I and he doesn't hesitate in snatching up his slice of cheesy quiche, taking a long, appreciative bite. I split the serving of wedges into two halves so there are no arguments and pierce a potato piece on the end of my fork, sprinkling a touch of salt over the dish before I begin. Greedily, Ethan eyes up my portion of wedges and pinches two between his fingers. Reflexively, I slap the back of his hand away and he retracts it in faux pain.

"Hey! They are my - Ow!" I rub furiously at my suddenly throbbing shin and shift my attention to Jaz's scolding gaze. "What the hell, Jaz?" I cry, shooting her a confused glare as I sooth away the heat on my leg.

"What the hell to you? What are you doing?" She hisses through gritted teeth. Her voice is strong and commanding in a way that makes me recoil. I shrug with a quiet, questioning expression. "You can't talk to them," Jaz juts her chin to Ethan and Jack. "No one else can see them, dumbnut. Do you want to look crazy?" Ohh... "Okay, good. Now let's just eat our quiche and chips and go back to our room unnoticed - I'm tired," Jaz says with a small pout, biting through the crunch of the pastry.

I take a few more mouthfuls of my food and leave the rest for Ethan to devour, which he does so without prompting. When we get back to the room, I shrug off my light jacket and hook it over my finger, searching for the coat peg screwed into the wall. Chivalrously, Ethan relives me of my jacket, his finger burning a line of fire on the inside of my wrist where his hand brushed mine. Ethan snaps away at the singeing touch, hanging my jacket on the hook and letting out a quiet expulsion of breath as he discreetly puts some space between us. My ears blush as I realise the ease at which my traitorous body responded to his simple proximity. Friends, Ali. Get that through your thick skull.

Needing a very non-male distraction, I yank Jaz into our shared bathroom to get ready for bed; brushing our teeth and braiding each other's hair, we bob to the UK's Top 10 music hits, making silly faces in the mirror as thin rivulets of white foam gather in the corners of our mouths. Rinsing, I wipe away the small crescents of toothpaste from the side of my face and fiddle with my braid as Jaz gargles a gulp of water.

When we emerge we follow the boys' example and reopen our book to continue our deft reading. Time isn't counted as we turn page after unsuccessful page, sleep held off at an arm's length by tunnel vision and our insatiable thirst for answers.

Many hours later, long after the moon has made her appearance and the stars dazzle through our small sash window that the idea of sleep can no longer be kept at bay. Jaz is the first to break as she kicks me off her bed, grumpy and tired, slotting a rogue slip of paper between the page we were reading. I daren't check the time as I clamber up to my bed as Ethan and Jack rustle around on the ground, exchanging their t-shirts for sleep singlets. I can hear their movements through the now dark room as they bunker down for the night, blankets whistling in the dimness. The notifications on my phone are short-lived and it doesn't take long before I slide the power off and push it to the side.

I let out a small, exhausted sigh and adjust my head on the pillow, trying to relax into sleep. Some time passes when a gentle whisper, so small in the gloom I almost mistake it for the rustling of the curtains, gently reels me out of alomst-sleep. Although I haven't known Ethan long, there is no mistaking the intimate, lulling baritone of his voice searching for my ears.

"Goodnight, Ali." Like a ghost in the night, I can't see Ethan but I can feel him from across the room. I can sense his minute movements as he shifts on his pillow, almost feel the fluffy fabric of the blanket under his finger tips as if they were my own.

The inky clouds outside the window drift to the side, baring the pregnant belly of the metallic moon. A cylinder of silvery light cuts sharp angles through the room and I shiver in the phosphorescent light. I wait a few moments, my heart beating a funny rhythm in my chest, my stomach clenching, before replying.

"Night, Ethan." My voice is quiet even to my ears and I wonder if the words escaped me at all.

I can sense his smile across the moonlit room.