DISCLAIMER: Strange Angels series belongs to Lili St Crow.
Happy Birthday
Pouring rain. It was pouring rain. In New York. On my birthday.
"It's so…unfair!" I muttered, throwing my hands toward the heavens. I paused my pacing to scowl at Shanks, who was giving me one of his you-are-being-a-brat looks.
"Life's not fair."
I pointed an accusing finger at him. "I saw that one coming."
He shrugged one shoulder, unimpressed. "You're late, you know," he mused, flipping through a book he'd picked up from my desk. I glanced at the cover. Delve Into The Darkness: Complete Knowledge Of The Unknown.
I gave him a disgusted look. Trust it to Shanks to be fascinated by a Folk History textbook, of all things.
"I don't give a damn."
An impassionate glance. A flipped page. "Reynard'll have your head."
"He wouldn't dare."
"Wouldn't bet on it. He's had some trouble."
"With what?"
"With whom." Shanks sighed and replaced the book. "You."
I narrowed my eyes at him. "Are you lecturing me? 'Cause you better not be lecturing me."
He silently pointed at the door.
"You're late."
I walked into the old classroom. Chairs were upturned on the desks. Pieces of white chalk decorated the cracked floors. Sunlight weakly filtered through the blinds that looked like they were older than my grandmother. Dust coated every available surface. I breathed in the air. Dust and mold. And the spicy smell of apple pies.
Why Christophe chose this to be our meeting spot was beyond me.
"No, duh."
He raised a perfect eyebrow, looking at me in a way I wasn't sure I liked. I took a step forward.
"What do you want?" I snapped at him.
"Happy Birthday."
In one smooth motion, Christophe pulled out two swords, seemingly out of nowhere. They were long, wooden and curved, yet deadly and beautiful. I caught my breath. Malaika.
"These were your mother's."
Those four words were all he needed to say. I reached for them, longing to touch something my mother had touched; wanted to hold something she had once held. I paused and gave him a questioning look.
He nodded. "Go ahead. I told you I'd give them to you as soon as you're ready." That brought another question.
"You think I'm ready?"
"Yes."
"Thank you."
"You're welcome."
We stood there for a long moment, looking at each other. I felt a sudden rush of gratitude. The sun was casting a shadow over half of his face, the other side illuminated in an unearthly glow. He tilted his head to the right, and my perspective changed. He wasn't the traitor everyone thought him to be. He wasn't the sinner everyone expected him to be. He wasn't Sergej's son – not in the way that mattered. He was a boy who was treated unfairly, but he was strong enough to take it. He was a boy who was underestimated, but he was smart enough to prove them wrong. He was a boy who had a dark past, but he was brave enough to let it go. He wasn't my enemy, no matter what they say.
He was the boy who kissed me – scared and desperate and painfully alone – and meant it.
I hugged him. His breath was warm against my neck and I suppressed a shiver, whispering, "I love you."
He looked away.
"Love is whatever you can still betray."
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