Instead, I make another stitch in the cloth.

  “Okay this is…this is just bullshit is what it is,” Gabe finally says, his aura rippling with impatience.

  Tarren looks up from his textbook, frowns, and then looks back down. I go back to my cross stitch. Gabe turns the wheel, pulling us off the highway. Probably a bathroom break. A few minutes later Gabe hits the brakes hard and swings the Jeep into an empty parking lot. I look up and feel my expression mirror the frown on Tarren’s face.

  An empty playground stands in front of us, haloed from the night by a set of floodlights. It’s a nice playground too, complete with twisty plastic slides, a row of swings, monkey bars, and a merry-go-round.

  “What the hell are we doing here?” I ask.

  Gabe’s face is serious, angry actually. “As you both know, it’s my birthday…”

  “Next week,” I throw in.

  “It’s my birthday next week,” he amends sarcastically. “Close enough. Which means I get to force you two epic sad sacks to do whatever I want. And what I want is….” His aura flutters with unhappy browns, “I want to play.”

  ***

  We play.

  Gabe leaps onto the swing, and he’s almost too big for it. I come round behind him and give him a strong push. I notice how his body tenses at my touch, and I don’t blame him. He’s been so good to me since the cupcake, almost entirely normal. Almost. Gabe’s laughter arcs up and down, and I push him so hard that the chains shriek, and he almost gets parallel to the top bar of the structure before plummeting back. His aura blazes with brazen emeralds of delight.

  Around us, the swampy-warm night hums with crickets and the occasional creaky croaks of frogs hidden in the nearby trees. An old, faded memory nudges awake in my mind. “Higher, higher!” I squealed, and Henry’s broad hands planted solidly on my back and helped me soar. My small legs kicked up as I held onto the chains of the swing for dear life. A warmth rises in the pit of my stomach. I can almost hear Henry’s laugh behind me, a low, warm chuckle. I have far too few memories of my workaholic adoptive father, and I hold onto this one tight.

  Tarren watches us for a while, leaning against the Jeep. Even the undeniable power of Gabe’s birthday wish isn’t strong enough to break through his magical armor of buzz-killery. As Gabe and I tackle the monkey bars, I notice him out of the corner of my eye rummaging in the back of the Jeep. He returns with a book tucked under his arm. Surprise of surprises, it’s not a textbook. He stretches his long body out on a bench, tucks an arm behind his head, and reads beneath the light of a street lamp.

  The monkey bars are weird, squiggly things, not the traditional straight metal bars that were the cornerstone of all my childhood playground experiences. It’s the easiest thing in the world for me to swing across the bars, sometimes just leaping directly from the first bar to the last – go, go angel powers! -- but I don’t get tired of traversing them again and again. We ditch our shoes after a while and go down the two plastic slides backwards and then upside down and then on our stomachs.

  I don’t know why, but Gabe’s aura seems to infect me with his mirth. All the sad ghosts hovering over me back off. Even the memories of Rain, with his hopelessly over-gelled hair, cologne-soaked scent, and the colors of his lust, gives me some space. Gabe careens down the slide backwards and lands on his ass, erupting into gasping giggles. A laugh bursts out of me, and I clap a hand over my mouth, stunned. How long has it been since I’ve laughed? Since the cupcake. Everything since the cupcake.

  Gabe and I spin wildly on the merry-go-round. I get us going so fast, I think the thing might actually come off its hinges and send us skidding into the parking lot. Gabe howls and eggs me to go faster. There’s no speed too fast for him, no height too high, no danger that ever seems to scare him.

  Eventually, we mellow out, but we don’t leave. Tarren’s mandated hour is up, but I stretch it a little longer. Gabe and I lay down between the bars of the merry-go-round and drift in a slow circle. He puts his foot down and gives us a push when the motion threatens to stop.

  The stars span across the sky, and I think of all the invisible planets attached to them, the millions and billions of worlds just hovering in the ether. We don’t say anything. I can feel the easy, contented melody of Gabe’s aura across from me, and I know that he has forgiven me for what I did to Rain. He can do this, somehow really believe that I am good no matter how much evidence I give him otherwise.

  But he hasn’t forgotten. I see new shades of wariness glow in his aura when I come close to him now, and all those casual touches he’d give me – the arm pats, annoying pokes, and kidding shoulder punches – are things of the past. Those touches had always been hard for me, his unwary energy stinging my skin, but now that they’re gone, I miss them and the thoughtless trust they represented.

  A few minutes later, something changes. I feel it intuitively before I recognize what it is. Then I slip from between the bars, stand up, and look over at Tarren.

  “Jesus, is he asleep?” Gabe stands behind me. The Odyssey lies open on Tarren’s chest, his hand splayed across its beaten cover. His energy is slow and ripples with the colors of his dreams.

  “Yeah,” I say.

  “Tarren never sleeps.”

  “I know.”

  We both stare. Gabe’s energy pulses out from his body, a rush of sweet, loving blue. I take a small step forward to put space between us. Gabe doesn’t notice.

  “This is good,” he says. “He’s finally getting better.”

  “Or we’ve been on a mission or the road for…” I have to think a moment. “…52 hours straight.”

  “No, he’s getting better,” Gabe insists.

  I think about this. Is Tarren scowling less? I think so, but maybe it’s just because I’ve been following his orders like a programmed robot these past weeks. Ultimately, it comes down to the nightmares. Whatever Gem did inside his mind two years ago seems to have made a big difference. My perfect memory serves up a reminder of Gem’s thin face tight with concentration, his fingertips pressed across Tarren’s forehead. I can still feel the way his incredible power filled the room with electricity like the whine of live wires. He’d asked me to plant a new memory in Tarren’s mind, a refuge from the nightmares.

  Are you there, right now? I think to Tarren. Climbing up the mountain with your family, happy and whole? Picnic basket in your hand?

  “You think…” Gabe says, snapping me out of my memories.

  For one horrifying moment, I’m convinced I said my thoughts out loud; that I just revealed the existence of a secret half-brother from the evil side of my family tree. Not that Gem is evil, but Gabe isn’t one to split hairs. Not when it comes to angels who aren’t me.

  “…that he’s getting better?” Gabe prods in response to my dumb expression.

  I let out a small breath and collect myself. “Maybe a little,” I say.

  “With Tarren, a little is a lot.”

  This makes Gabe happy. Really, really happy. His aura pulses the color of sapphires. That pure, vibrant love is all Gabe. Even after these three years as an angel, I’ve never seen another aura shine as beautifully as his. Blue as blue, true as true.

  The merry-go-round squeaks behind us as it settles into stillness. Gabe’s shirt sticks to his back and chest. I carefully dig my phone out of my pocket on the side away from Gabe and capture this incredible moment.

  “Is Tarren…” Gabe stops and rearranges what he’s going to say. “Can you tell if he’s dreaming okay?”

  “Yes, he’s fine.”

  “Will you watch out for him?”

  I wonder why Gabe has to ask this, why he doesn’t just know that I will.

  ***

  Gabe and I lie in the grass and look up at the stars. The fireflies dip over us. I count them automatically. Thirty-two. This is comfortable. Like all those hours we used to spend lying on the roof telling the stories of our very different childhoods.

  “Do you ever…” I stop.

  “Secretly lick inappropriate things when no one’s looking just to see what they taste like? Yeah, doesn’t everyone?” Gabe’s wit is as sharp as ever though he hasn’t been wielding it as much.

  I put my hand up, my index finger out and blot a random star from the sky. “Do you ever think that an asteroid could just come down…” I move my hand in an arc from the sky to the ground, though Gabe probably can’t see it in the darkness. “…and just end everything? Humanity? Angels? Just destroy our world?”

  “That’s depressing as shit, Maya.”

  “But is it?” I gaze back up at the sky wondering if that asteroid is up there; if it’s careening toward us even now. “We do terrible things to each other. Every page of history is soaked in blood. Even if we win, kill every angel, there’s still…”

  “I know,” Gabe cuts me off. “We’re still dicks. We’ll still kill each other over stupid things like whose god is better. Puppies will get cancer. Reality TV will still exist. And sickos will still hurt kids.” He takes a long, deep breath. “But we have a saving grace.”

  In the pale light of the moon, I can see his smile quirk up. Not a full Gabe smile, but the start of one.

  “What’s that?”

  He rolls onto his stomach. “Playgrounds.”

  “Oh really?”

  “What’s the point of this playground? Why is it here?”

  “For kids.”

  “Bingo, Yahtzee, and Connect Four,” he says. “This city, wherever the fuck we are, they took money out of their budget, money that came right out of the pockets of all the people who live here. That’s money they could have used for a million other things, but they spent it to build something only meant for fun. For happiness. For kids to play. Totally free. Open to everyone. A monument to play.” His aura is a shimmering cloud of blue, a torch in the night. “There are lots and lots of bad people in the world, but there are even more mostly good ones. People who build playgrounds.”

  “Your logic is unassailable,” I tell him, and a part of me actually believes it.

  “And if an asteroid were coming, I bet we’d find a way to kick its ass. Go all Bruce Willis –Armageddon on it. Because that’s what we do. We find a…” He stops. “What is it?”

  I don’t even notice that I’m on my feet. My gaze is focused on Tarren, spotlighted against the darkness by the round puddle of the streetlamp over him. The serrated edges of his aura ripple and pink shades of pain blush through.

  “It’s starting,” I say.

  Gabe follows my line of sight, squinting at his sleeping brother as if he could somehow see Tarren’s jerky aura.

  I take a step forward.

  “No, let me.” Gabe jumps to his feet.

  “Careful,” I start.

  “I know how to do it,” Gabe says. He approaches his brother slowly.

  Tarren’s face twitches. Hard lines burrow deep into his forehead replacing the smooth, innocent features. He turns his head into his arm, and his breath comes out in a jerky huff.

  “Tarren,” Gabe says softly. “We’ve got to head out. Lo’s mom needs a pick-me-up.” He puts a gentle hand on his brother’s shoulder. Tarren bolts up swinging. Gabe ducks the punch, steps back, and holds out both his hands.

  “It’s me, it’s me,” he says with urgency.

  “What happened?” Tarren’s voice is heavy with sleep as he gazes around, uncomprehending, fists still clenched.

  “Nothing. We’re at the park, remember? You fell asleep. Everything’s fine.”

  “Why did I do that?” Tarren asks. I watch him corral his energy, soothe down all those rough, ragged edges in that practiced way of his.

  “Because you’re actually human, in case you forgot,” I venture, which, of course, is the wrongest thing to say to Tarren. Sarcasm only ever elicits one response. Tarren scowls, and it’s a good one too. Nice and deep, making him look sinister. He picks up his book from the ground where it tumbled, and concern flutters through his aura as he dusts off the jacket. The thing is held together by threads.

  “Come on,” he says and marches back to the Jeep.

  “Well, it was nice while it lasted,” Gabe says with a shrug and follows his brother. “I still think he’s getting better.”

  Meanwhile, I have remembered that I am a dangerous, unstable monster trapped in an inescapable prison of loneliness. I stop counting the fireflies.

  Chapter 13 – Gabe

  Sleep. Blessed sleep. Waking up on silk sheets is almost worth the realization that I’m living on the hospitality of that arsehole, Lo. Put him in a pageant for Ms. Dickwad of the Universe, and I swear he’d walk away with the crown. Still, this mattress feels like it’s stuffed with cotton candy and fairy dust, and I can’t help but close my eyes and float in dozing bliss for a few more minutes. When I roll over on my stomach and check the delicate little clock on the nightstand, I find that I’ve been out for ten hours straight. Last time I got this much sleep was…damn, probably when I was in a coma.

  My stomach gurgles with hunger, and I imagine all the amazing sandwiches I can make, pulling from the endless shelves of the massive fridge in the kitchen. If Lo’s stepmom Carmen is around, she’ll whip me up some of her amazing carnitas. Those things are my own personal crack.

  With a sad little sigh, I sit up and grab my phone. Battery’s almost dead, but the old girl has enough life in her that I can perform something that’s become my morning ritual, though it’s my early afternoon ritual today. I unlock my screen, jump online, and check Pierce’s inbox. As usual, my stomach feels like it got caught in a trash compactor as I scroll through the few new emails that hit his account over the last day.

  It’s pointless, I remind myself. It’s been a month since that original email came through promising a big meet and greet starring War and whatever fucked up new group the Angels of Mercy are. And…nothing. No follow-up invite. No meeting. It’s obvious what’s happened. Someone realized that Pierce wasn’t showing up for Doomsday Bible Study anymore and got wise that his ass was in the ground. He got taken off the evil plans email list. Meeting probably already happened.

  See, it was totally prudent on my part not to mention this whole situation to my family.

  I scan Pierce’s emails. Only two from his sister, Lacy. Looks like she’s sticking with the WHERE ARE YOU?????????? subject line in all caps with an ever-growing amount of question marks. She mixes it up a little with the second email subject line, PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE CALL ME!!!!!!

  Not going to lie, these emails from her, which come in every single day, make me feel about as awesome as a turd floating in the public pool. Yeah, Pierce was evil and sucked the energy out of bunches of people, but it turns out even evil dudes have sisters and nieces that loved him. I’ve thought about sending Lacy some sort of message from Pierce’s account; something along the lines of, Hey there Sis, sorry for dropping out of existence. I’ve actually decided to reject all material things, become a hermit, and search for the essence of the universe through constant meditation on a very remote unnamed island. My beard is already ten inches long, and I’ve trained the local seagulls to drop fish to me. So I’m fine and you can stop emailing now.

  I click out of Pierce’s inbox without writing anything to Lacy. Starting a dialogue with her would only make things worse. She’s got to know by now that Pierce won’t be writing her back. Eventually she’ll need to move on, which is exactly what I do after I hit the shower and dig up my last pair of clean boxers from my duffle bag. These are my awesome Batman boxer briefs, so my day’s already looking up. I already feel a little extra super-heroey as I tug on an old pair of jeans and the t-shirt in my bag that smells the least offensive.

  A note on the fridge explains that Carmen is out bleaching and waxing inappropriate parts of her body, but that we are welcome to treat the home as our own. I touch the big heart doodled in the margin of the note and snicker. The old gal is probably sprucing herself up for Tarren, though I doubt he’s even realized that she’s got the girlie parts on her. All that hot Latin sauce is completely wasted on him. As for yours truly…Carmen might have a good 15 years on me, but she’s put a fortune into keeping her curves in all the right places, and I wouldn’t mind taking a ride on ‘em. Not to mention it’d probably throw Lo into a permanent fit of projectile vomiting. So worth it.

  On that delightful note, I get to work scrounging up my breakfast. Over the next half hour, I walk around the massive kitchen, the cool stone tiles chilling my feet as I build the most impressive omelet known to man. It’s almost a Shakespearean tragedy to eat this thing stuffed with ham, bacon, three kinds of cheese, onions, peppers, tomatoes, avocado, and basically half a farm. But I do.

  Afterwards, as I totter over to place my dish in the sink, it’s finally time to get to business. It’s all well and good to go crusading around the country being heroic and awesome, but bullets and oil changes and Tarren’s fancy salads at Panera don’t buy themselves. We need a major cash infusion, pronto. I have just enough couch cushion change to cover one more tank of gas, and that’s it. But, as always, I’ve got a brilliant caper in mind. I just need a little assist from my favorite accomplice.

  After walking what seems a mile around the massive property, past about a hundred stupid lion statues– courtesy of Lo’s deceased dad -- I find Maya stretched out on a lounger in her favorite spot at the pool, soaking up the sunlight. She wears her white and black polka dot bikini top and a pair of cutoff jean shorts. I wonder for about the millionth time what it would be like to feed off the sun, to actually feel it soaking inside of you, pushing your energy bar into the green.

  Maya lowers her sunglasses at me. Some sort of emotion flits across her face, but she immediately hides it with a wry smile. “To what do I owe the considerable honor of your silence?”