Chapter Sixteen

Abruptly in the overall silence of the darkened tunnel, Hugo howls with joy. He'd been able to pick up the barest trace of Wi-Fi as we near the surface, and since the moment he'd received the signal, he'd been gleefully surfing the web, squealing occasionally when he spots a particular fan-art or fanfiction that pleases him.

Prompted more by boredom than interest, I drift up to Hugo, walking alongside Scruffy's long strides. The wolf greets me with a playful lap up the side of my face, panting cheerfully at my arrival. Meeting Scruffy's mischievous grin with a smile of my own, I stroke his shoulder.

"Penryn," Hugo gushes, noticing that I'd wandered his direction, "you've got to look at this one. I mean, like, seriously, this one, it's worth it. Even better than the Scruffy and Jane fanimation, I swear."

Sighing somberly, I glance at the screen of his computer. "Alright. Lemme see. Scoot over." Awkwardly, I swing up onto Scruffy's back – the wolf does not falter with my additional weight, but he slows to allow me better passage. Hugo allows me to squirm between him and the computer, safely wedged between his legs should I lose my balance.

His lean arms wrap around me to tap away at the computer touchpad, but the arrangement isn't awkward. I might as well be hanging around one of my guy friends with the air of nonchalance, indifference from even Raffe and Bryon as they plod on opposite sides of Scruffy. Bryon doesn't even seem to register the contact, talking softly to Paige and laughing at whatever she may say. Raffe glances once at Hugo, rolls his eyes at Scruffy's lolling tongue, and continues studying the darkness for something threatening.

"Okay, so, here's the original, right?" Hugo murmurs, excitement molding his attitude. On the screen, a long Tumblr post is seen of little chibi-like doodles is displayed. Patiently, Hugo scrolls through, allowing me to see each of the round, large-eyed people.

In the first box, it's just someone I assume is Bryon standing next to a Seraph with six wings. The Seraph's mouth is open, his cute doodled eyes angry. Revolving around him are the words, "freak", "unloved", "get out of here". In the next frame, Bryon's smile is decreased to a flat line. Next to him is Raffe, except the angel's face is cruel – well, as cruel as a little doodle baby can be. This time, Raffe's saying "monster", "demon", and "go back to hell."

Now, Bryon's officially frowning and looking down at the ground by the time he reaches the next foe, a demon that looks suspiciously like Lucius. Now, it's saying, "you'll never belong", "outcast", "street rat". By the last box, he looks officially depressed, hugging his cloak and staring at his feet with eyes glazed with glassy tears. My heart pulls at the little innocent face. The words around the disappointed female human read, "not a warrior", "stupid cloaks", "no more cloaks", and "take it off".

The next frame is flat out miserable, with dark tinting and no text, just Bryon sitting in the corner of an empty room with tears running down his face, crying into his arms, pink mouth wailing.

However, things look considerably brighter in the picture, thank the heavens. Adorable sobbing chibi Bryon was a little much for me. This shows a little she-angel with white hair tinted pink and reddish brown wings in the doorway of Bryon's crying room, her mouth splayed in admiration and eyes dotted with awed sparkles. She's saying: "your cloak is so beautiful oh em gee".

Sniffling, tears still pooling in his wide eyes, Bryon looks up at her in the next picture. "you like my cloak?"

With a warming heart, I see the she-angel and Bryon standing side by side, and her goofy overcome-with-happiness expression. This time, the she angel's saying, "I wuf it! I wuf your cloak!"

The next frame has Bryon throwing the cloak over the she-angel's shoulders and her painfully cute excited expression. "here," Bryon is saying, "you can wear my cloak". The silly she-angel's reaction actually forces a laugh out of me. It depicts her running around with crazed jubilance, hands raised to the sky, wings spread wide and eyes almost as large as her black hole of a mouth. The cloak flies behind her as she's caught mid-stride. Large text overwhelms the background. "OMG I WUF THIS CLOAK. OMG CLOAK CLOAK CLOAK CLOAK CLOAK. OMG BRYON LOOK AT YOUR CLOAK. I WUF IT. I WUF YOUR CLOAK."

Bryon's close-up shows him to have a thoughtful face, watching her prance in the background, still with a cloud of capitalized text trailing her. "would you like my staff, too?"

The close-up of the she-angel is perhaps the most adorable yet – she's peeking beneath the cloak as if it's a hood, her eyes round as pools and glassy with stars. Hope spreads her mouth across her face, and her hands clap at her cheeks. "you would do dat? fo' me?"

"here." The following bow is of Bryon handing her the staff. "you can have my staff." Succeeding that frame is only picture of the she-angel in paradise, her having fallen to her knees and lifting the staff above her head, cloak flapping majestically around her.

Bryon's cocking his head next, his eyes warm and his smile radiant. "I think I like you."

The next two frames are quite possibly the sweetest things in the bunch. First, it's the she-angel ramming into Bryon with a hug, causing him an oof of surprise. Then, it's a close-up of her face – a realistic picture, this time, of a realistic angel I recognize with ease. "I love you, Bryon. I love you so much."

The last pair of boxes confuses me, but I feel that it's something that Hugo will explain. Following the hugging picture is a close up of callused hands slipping a golden band onto the slender ring finger of a woman with pale skin. Hovering over the realistic drawing are the words, "I love you, too."

Three dots follow this, and the final image is utterly heartbreaking for reasons I cannot even begin to comprehend. Realistic Bryon is kneeling, staring at his own hands with rivers of tears running down his face again, cloak around his shoulders, staff resting on the ground before him. All of the negative words hover around him in faint print, some standing out more than others. The only color in the picture is the little red feather cradled between his two hands, clutched tenderly, like a frail talisman to keep away the darkness.

"Wait, what happened?" I question, brow scrunching, glancing up at Hugo. "Who's that angel chick?"

"Uh." Hugo glances hintingly at Bryon, whose head had snapped up at the mention of the "angel chick", and then at Raffe, whose ears are undoubtedly leaning in our direction. "Long story for a different time. But, now we've got to see the other version that was just released while we were navigating this fucking labyrinth! It's trending on everything, and it's, quite frankly, just as adorable.

His hands quiver with excitement as he clicks to the next tab.

The exact same style greets me, most likely by the exact same artist. Except, this time, Bryon's the one spitting negative words ("nothing but hate", "devil", "stay away from my family"), issuing them to a strangely heart-melting version of Raffe. My mouth drops as Hugo scrolls excitedly down to the next slide. It looks suspiciously like the pissed Gabriel archangel, with the words "foot-soldier", "stupid", and "mindless warrior" floating around. Glancing between the two frames, it's difficult to see a difference in Raffe – but upon closer examination, his mouth softens to a miniscule degree, and his wings droop a smidgen lower.

Sequentially is an angel that perhaps is Beliel with broad, feathered wings – "fake", he accuses, "murderer", "always second best". Now, Raffe's lip is peeled back over his teeth; he seems to have curled in on himself more slightly, moving into a defensive position, a hand on the hilt of Pooky Bear.

The last frame of accusations is Uriel. His angry sneer is one I am far too-well acquainted with. "not a thinker", Uriel is hissing. "stupid wings", "no more wings", "take them off".

I know what's happening in the picture after that. I'd been there. It's a drawing of heartbroken Chibi Raffe curled up in a ball on the couch he'd been healing on when we first met, staring incomprehensibly at his severed wings with glassy, tear-filled eyes. The forlorn loneliness of the picture brings even more gut-wrenching emotions than Bryon's despair had. With a glance at this picture, I can almost see how much Raffe's world had changed.

The next box quickly vanquishes all mushy feelings.

I appear in that particular box, with a crookedly friendly expression and a braid over my shoulder. The words, "oh em gee your wings are so magnificent" appear beneath my smiling face.

"No way," I mutter in absolute disbelief.

"Aren't you cute?" cackles Hugo, scrolling down more.

Swallowing down disbelief, I struggle to focus on the next frame – Raffe is suspicious, but also curious. "you like my wings?"

My response is somewhat differing from the she-angel's response had been. First, there is me with joy and happiness, grinning and saying, "I wuf your wings!" But then, there's a jagged crash text box cutting the frame in half. The Penryn beneath the crash is suspicious, glancing over her shoulder with sneaky ninja eyes. "They also wuf your wings."

"here," Raffe is shouting as the men pour into the couch room, "you can wear my wings". His angry expression is more cute than fierce, like a little kitten mewing up a challenge. The drawing is so similar to what'd actually occurred that they'd even included that damn shopping cart.

However, my disturbed fascination is quickly sliced in half by my annoyance of the next stupid picture. Chibi-me has the furious eyes and pointy-shark teeth as she rampages over the screen with Raffe's wings held on her back. "GRRRR LOOK AT ME IMMA RAFFE! LOOK AT ME RAFFE! I'M YOU! HEY MICHAEL WATCHA DOIN? GRRRR IMMA RAFFE! GRRRRRRR! GRRRRRR! FEAR ME! GRRRRR!"

In irritation, I jab a finger at the screen. "That is not how it happened."

Hugo laughs mellifluously. "Well, according to the guys you attacked, it is. I spoke to them. We had a nice little chat when I was still tracking down who you were. Don't look at me like that – Obi reported you and the brawny stranger to one of my many ears, and I tracked you down. Raffe is dangerous" – he throws something at Raffe, I'm not sure what, exactly, but it bounces off his head with a sound crack – "and we needed to make sure he hadn't gone dark side. Luckily, though, you're just a Young."

"Just a Young?" Bryon chuckles as Raffe grumbles, "Was it necessary to pelt me with a rock?"

"Oh, screw you two, we're looking at adorable fan-art." Grumbling temperamentally, Hugo scrolls down to the next picture. After an apologetic glance in Raffe's direction, I refocus on the next box.

This time, it's Raffe and I, walking down the highway like we'd done originally. He's glancing at me thoughtfully, with military judgment keen in his eyes. "would you like my sword, too?"

The reflection of Pooky Bear gleams in my large eyes as I stare at the sword. My expression is slightly more devious than the she-angels had been – and I know that it's geared more towards me. I didn't want Raffe's sword to prance around like the she-angel did with Bryon's staff. I wanted it to get my sister back. "you would do dat? fo' me?"

"here. you can have my sword." Now, Raffe and I are walking away from Obi's camp, little Chibi figures all waving their guns in the background, twins prominent among the crowd. My picture is glorious, centered on me lifting his sword to the sky and my majestic roaring expression. In the background, the words, "POOKY BEAR" are stenciled.

As Hugo still scrolls down, my stomach clenches, recalling what had followed the retrieval of the weapon. The tension eases upon seeing the next picture – it's just a close-up of Raffe's layered blue peepers looking in the rear-view mirror at me after I'd gotten into my skimpy crimson dress. The makeup on my face makes me look completely different than all the other doodle drawings – sophisticated, pretty, but almost not like me. The only words are, "you're an okay monkey."

Next is just a blank of me standing in front of the angels at the front gates, spinning around, and Raffe peeking through the window of the van with a hilarious expression.

Hugo squeals with joy as we arrive at the next frame – realistic, capturing Raffe's every contour and line with swipes of the pencil. It's the moment when our foreheads were touching, moments before I kissed him. His eyes are shut, his lips quivering with pain, the hand at my neck furling with agony. My gaze is fixed on him, sympathetic, but with a deeper undertone – as if I feel his pain as my own.

Which hadn't been what happened.

Hadn't it?

The words beneath it only add more muddled emotions to the confusion. "you are the best angel I've met, the best angel by far."

Regardless of my stillness, Hugo scrolls onward, warbling like a sparrow. The next skillfully sketched picture is of Raffe and I fighting Beliel that dreadful night in the angelic Frankenstien lab, utterly familiar, and yet so bizarre, to see lit up on a computer screen. "and you are the best human."

Following the triple dot is Raffe crouched on the ground, just as Bryon had been, staring at his hands, with demonic wings extended to the sky to keep from hooking himself on anything. Swordless, wingless, valueless. The utter devastation, the hopelessness, in his broken gaze might as well rip my heart from my chest. The flare of the aerie exploding still burns behind him, giving me incentive to know exactly when it'd happened.

"Isn't that beautiful?" Hugo blabs, clapping his hands like a frazzled seal. "Just so meaningful! Ah, I love it!"

I remain silent, eyes glued to Raffe's anguish.

"She doesn't care about your silly Tumblr things, Hugo," Bryon scolds playfully, coming out of nowhere to cuff the boy. "Stop bothering Penryn!"

"It's not that," I murmur, eyes narrowing. I scroll up to the scenes with me flapping my wings and making a fuss. "It's more along the lines of alarm. See, I can understand how you, master of secrets, can get ahold of information like this" – I elbow Hugo in the ribs – "but I don't understand how some internet artist can. Mind explaining?"

"Easy peasy, actually." Hugo waves a hand dismissively. "I told her. I had the secrets, and I sold them to her. It's part of my business, remember?"

My alarm bells ring on a whole new octave. "So, you've basically been stalking Raffe and I. You've got a bunch of information that can thrust us into absolute chaos, and you've been selling it off?"

Hugo sighs, drawing out the exhale. "That's where things get complicated. There definitely would be a profit if Raffe were travelling alone. He's got more bounties on his head than – heck, I don't even know how many he's accumulated. There are so many angel hunters probing me for his locations, weaknesses, expectations at the moment. However, his decision to travel with you, Miss Young" – Hugo places emphasis on my last name, leaving me a better glimpse at his motives – "seems to have inadvertently saved his ass. No one wants to anger the crowd you've got building behind you. So they all fuck off when I tell them to."

Bryon groans in exasperation. "Can we please cut back on the swearing? Like, seriously? You do nothing but curse."

"Does it fucking look like I'm gonna stop using these goddamned swear words, you bastard?" Hugo spits.

Bryon rolls his eyes, scooping Paige into his arms, allowing her to perch on his shoulders. "You're going to hell."

Hugo grins devilishly. "Bay's in hell, so it's good enough for me."

Muttering something beneath his breath, Bryon looks away with an annoyed roll of his eyes. "I'm sorry," Hugo prompts, blinking innocently, "what was that?"

"Uh, when is there the next full moon?" Bryon questions, his change of subjects sloppy and obvious.

"Smooth," Hugo smirks, shaking his head. "Like, seriously, Bryon, that's an all-time low for you, and not everyone inherits that 'charisma'. But, actually, now that we've just, ahem, switched topics, I would be happy to inform you that the full moon will indeed by dawning approximately when we exit this hellhole."

"Brilliant." Bryon grins with all his teeth, childish ebullience sparking to life in his expression. "I do love full moons. They're my favorite nights in the world."

"Full moons?" My brow creases, and I find myself eyeing Bryon quizzically. "Why? What's up with the full moon?"

"Full moons!" Hugo gasp, amazement raising his voiced to a jubilant trill. "Oh, Penryn, you innocent little thing! The full moon is a symbol of rebirth, of beauty, of when the blind eye in the sky sees the most. That's the night the Nephilim wander about and dance, because the angels don't risk flying under a full moon – too much light, they're too easily spotted. Man, I wish we had been able to make it to Sercem Domu in time for the full moon – you see, once a month, the Nephilim hold this massive celebration. There's giant dancing circles and lines, karaoke singing, fancy clothing, love and beauty in the air – children will be making flower leis and decorating the town, and there will be contest of the most beautiful necklace and such. There's laughter and merriment in the air. No alcohol, though – it's a holy day as well, and even the slightest suggestion of the sins that alcohol can provide is strictly forbidden."

"Hmm," agrees Bryon. His eyes are distant, carried to the Nephilim town of which Hugo speaks. "I bet you Miguel will lead a herd of spirited men through the town on a cheerful rampage, and Mariabell a herd of males in her wake. And do you suppose they have put up all the flags? The ones stringing from house to house between balconies? Sariel and Penemue always bicker over who can fly through those obstacles the fastest. I remember once, when I was just a little boy, they raced, and Penemue won by a landslide. Sariel was so angry with himself he paced around the rest of the night. Now, everyone with wings does things like that – I can bet you that Miguel won't finish first."

"That's right!" Hugo gasps, smacking his forehead. "Oh, man, I completely forgot about those. Some cities have them for wolves, too. Scruffy's won so many times I feel guilty entering him in anything. Rumbbaa's also taken away quite a few medals from that thing. Daine's pretty proud of that. Don't forget the Dragon Ceremony, either!" Hugo flicks his hand in Bryon's direction, and a stone bounces off his skull. "All the children line up at midnight, right before they're ushered off to sleep, and sit anxiously around the bush in the center of the tree." He nudges me in the ribs. "Paige would've done it if we'd been in the town, to help purify her soul or whatnot. Each of the children would have a candle. At the exact same moment, the second that the moon hits the exact center of the sky, they blow the candles out. And, legend has it, the flames go to the bush, and that ol' bush burns. Like, seriously, after a second or two, the bush bursts into flame. I dunno, I still think it's mumbo jumbo, but I haven't dug anything up yet."

"The bush burns?" I frown skeptically. "How does it survive until the next full moon?"

"That's the thing." Bryon's eyes sparkle with mischief. "Despite what this pessimist will have you believing, it's not normal flame. Remember the burning bush that God used to speak to Moses?"

"Moses?" I question, surprised by the biblical history.

"Moses, yeah. I didn't like him, he stole my staff and wouldn't give it back 'til he made rivers into blood and nasty stuff like that. But the burning bush is the same. It's the foundation of my faith, and the faith of all the Nephilim."

"They're all religious sticklers," Hugo whispers in my ear, the rasping words loud enough for anyone to hear.

"Maybe." Bryon's ancient smile holds knowledge and amusement. "But have you noticed that the Nephilim are the happiest people around? Even on the edge of the apocalypse, they're taking in refugees, nursing the injured angel back to health, and restoring the humans their courage with festivals and songs to lift their spirits. I would sincerely enjoy seeing a society based on something other than faith in some sort of god becoming as regal as the Nephilim have."

Raffe's voice is alien in the conversation, as if we'd gone bereft his input so long it spooked us all. "On that topic, why, exactly, are these Nephilim still partying around at the end of the world as they know it? Shouldn't they be preoccupied with slightly more important things?"

Bryon's melodic laughter is even more humored than before. "Even if I were to go into the most depth I possibly could, Raphael, you would still not understand. It is in their nature to help, to protect. What else should they be doing? Raising arms? Getting themselves massacred like pigs in a slaughterhouse? You know better than many that such would be a poor choice of action. Instead, they're changing thousands of lives by raising morale and constructing families again. The angels don't notice, of course, but everyone is helping out the humans. If the humans are the ones to take up arms, they'll have more than monkey armies at their back."

"You're right," Raffe harrumphs. "I don't get it. If there are still Nephilim in bulk – which there seem to be, you two talk very decidedly about things – it is highly illogical to have such revelations that easily draw attention to themselves. And another thing I don't understand." He draws closer to the torchlight, eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Hugo made it seem liked you had it planned that I was to go to this cozy Nephilim town. Don't tell me you think that's a good idea, if you truly care for your little monsters."

"As a matter of fact, there are Nephilim in bulk." Bryon's jaw clenches – the word monster obviously doesn't have such a good effect on his attitude. "And the reason they revel is because they're not afraid of the angels. No one is. We hate you, and we don't want to trifle with you, but it's not out of fear. A war would be inconvenient. I suppose you've been out of the loop for a while, Raphael, but I might as well update you, for your own good." His head cocks, bronze eyes weighed down with cynical disdain. "The Manhattan and London aeries have fallen in the past two weeks. Before that, there was the Orlando aerie, and before that, Dallas. And you know what, arch?" Bryon leans closer to Bryon. "The only one your high-and-mighty archangels know about is Dallas. The inconvenient war has already started."

"How nice," Raffe drawls. His tightening fist and quick, unsettled glance to the right are only visible to me. "But that still doesn't explain why the Nephilim are welcoming me, the harbinger of their destruction, into their towns."

Bryon laughs without much color. "They don't fear you, either, Raphael. We know your motives. You don't want to die, you want to regain control of the angels and get the hell out of here, it's extremely predictable. They would be able to shoot you down before you got a mile from their base if you tried to run. If you try to exterminate them, Ariel will call the cherubs again, and slaughter you solely. If you tried anything sneaky or hidden once restored, you would be murdered by the spies in the angelic ranks if you hadn't already been assassinated on your trip to get back. Because, although a shadow of the terror you inspired lives on, you've done what every great civilization has done: you haven't improved as the centuries passed. As the world adapts and shifts around you, you remain immortal and attached to the old ways. We've changed, learned how to counter every attack in your book. A sole angel is not a threat to anyone."

"He's not a sole angel." I meet my uncle's gaze hostilely. "I'm by his side, and the Nephilim should probably worry about a haywire Young on the loose."

The moment the rebuttal escapes my lips, Bryon's face softens. It loses the hardened general look about it, melting back into the friendly big-brother grin. Admiration gleams for a few seconds short as he stares at me with approval, clapping me on invisibly at my ability to defuse him.

With a sigh, Bryon meets Raffe's eyes. "It seems that Penryn must tell me to do so before I can correct my attitude. Apologies, I know how this is, I've gone through it myself. Perhaps we should forget about the past and focus on the future…?"

"I don't know what you did in the past," reminds Raffe through gritted teeth.

"I was referring to –" He clears his throat and glances at the ground. "Never mind, not worth a bicker. Hopefully, we can resolve things between the two of us, in good time."

Raffe grunts, glancing sideways at Bryon thoughtfully. "I don't make friends easily." A lengthy pause follows that statement, but Bryon still seems to await more. Raffe provides. "I don't make friends easily, but those I do make, I make carefully. If it means anything, I hope you and I get along in the long run."

Brotherly affection beams in Bryon's approving grin. But, before anyone can utter a sound, Hugo starts to chatter.

"I got that entire conversation written down. Officially posted. It is going to get more reblogs than I could ever imagine! Oh, man, look at all these notes!"

Bryon sighs heavily, pace returning to a happy lollygagging gait. He hums a gentle tune beneath his breath, pacing his walking along to his music. Although at first I'm baffled by the gentle, cheery rhythm, it hits me like a slap up the face, and I cannot help but sing along to the next line or two.

"And on the corner is a banker with a motorcar," I sing, enlivened by the familiar Beatles melody. "The little children laugh at him behind his back!"

The tune echoes off the rock walls and bounces over the sheer cliffs, driving home just how large the giant caverns are. With my sole voice, it seems lonely, empty.

Bryon smiles, his beatific grin giving way to the next line. His voice banishes the sense of solitude, the two echoes vaulting off the stones in unison. We harmonize with the words: "And the banker never wears a mac in the pouring rain, very strange!"

Hugo joins us with the chorus, and Ogden hums along. Even Paige sways to the beat from Bryon's shoulder, patting his head with the rhythm. "Penny Lane is in my ears and in my eyes! There beneath the blue suburban skies, I sit and meanwhile back…"

"What are you all doing?" questions Raffe in utter bewilderment as we launch cheerfully into the next stanza. Every word seems to remedy a bit of my insecurity, a bit of my hopelessness, and a bit of my worries – instead, the lyrics carry me to my own home town and every little weird person I'd ogle at. Better days, better times.

"In Penny Lane, there is a fireman with an hourglass, and in his pocket is a portrait of the queen! He likes to keep his fire engine clean, it's a clean machine."

I recall the long musical of nothing but a whiny trumpet, and fall silent. Both Hugo and Bryon hum out the music, miming instruments in the air. Paige still taps out her beat on Bryon's head, and Ogden practically sings along with thunderous humming. Raffe pads along, keeping his distance, still puzzled by our ridiculous habits.

I join the chorus a beat late, despite Bryon's warning glance in my direction. Still, we join in song, same as ever. "Penny Lane is in my ears and in my eyes! Four of fish and finger pies in summer, meanwhile back!"

"What does that even mean?" Raffe huffs, his confusion becoming irritation.

Before I can do more than glance in amusement in his direction, the next stanza is upon us. "Behind the shelter in the middle of a roundabout, a pretty nurse is selling poppies from a tray! And though she feels as if she's in a play, she is anyway.

"In Penny Lane, the barber shaves another customer. We see the banker sitting waiting for a trim, then the fireman rushes in from the pouring rain, very strange!"

Hugo slides off Scruffy approximately halfway through the chorus to start waltzing with Bryon down the road – the two men take to the carefree dancing with giddy alacrity. I splutter with laughter halfway through the stanza at the sight of their flawless choral expressions and the way Paige grips Bryon's neck tighter every time he dips Hugo. Somehow, I manage to pull myself together for the last go-round of the chorus.

"Penny Lane is in my ears and in my eyes!" we warble together, any trace of previous harmony lost. "There beneath the blue suburban skies! Penny Lane!"

As we crumble into laughter, each of us choking on it, from little Paige to Ogden the Ox, I can't help but glance around the little group. We'd just been in the midst of a terrible argument between perhaps two of the most powerful men in the world, and now, here we are, reeling from our own awful singing in a silly, redundant Beatles tune. The concept only warms my heart, only lightens my laughter.

"What –" Raffe sighs curtly. "I'm having each and every one of you locked away in an insane asylum when we get to any sort of civilization, anywhere."

Bryon lifts his hands to the sky and laughs thunderously, twirling around once in the barren clearing. The brown cloak chases after his legs like an obedient mutt. He breathes in deeply for a third time, closing his eyes, his expression blissful.

"You enjoying yourself there?" I tease, wading through the ankle-high grasses and weeds painted navy by the starlight.

Bryon's eyes peel open, the bronze there startlingly bright – the moonlight seems to have brought their brilliance to a different level of luminance, bringing them now their own gleam and glow, the bronze sheen against the royal purple of the rolling hills behind him a shocking contrast. Laughing heartily, Bryon surges forward, his arms of steel closing around me in a tight, brief embrace. I laugh awkwardly as he sets me down, still beaming.

"Ah, Penryn, can't you just feel it!" He inhales for the fourth time, as if he can pick up a fragrance not tangible to my nose. "In the air! The cold, crisp night! Each of the little stars watching us with beady silver eyes, the seas of blue grass swaying in the midnight breeze like a lion's mane whipped up by the breeze, the freedom howling in the distance! Can't you just feel it, Penryn? In the air, in the wind! This is where I belong!"

His lunatic behavior is amusing enough for me to chortle. "Yeah, it feels pretty nice, Bryon. But it's just a full moon, and, unless there's werewolves galloping about, that's all it is."

"Werewolves?" Bryon snorts, halting his crackhead twirling. "Please, Penryn, don't be ridiculous." He pauses thoughtfully. "Werewolves come out on the new moon."

"You're kidding, right?"

Bryon laughs maniacally, but doesn't answer. Instead, he lifts his head to the sky and admires the constellations.

"How I've missed the stars." Bryon sighs, wistful passion gleaming in his illuminant bronze eyes. "That's one thing I did hate about humankind – you seemed to not take pleasure in simple things like that, smogging up the atmosphere and shining your lights so bright that you can't possibly appreciate them."

"Yeah," I agree, glancing up at the gorgeous painting, "it kinda sucked to live in the city." Admiration swells in my heart as I study the artwork above – it looks as if someone had taken pale blue and lilac paint to a black canvas and splattered it all over, not leaving a speck of darkness unmarred. The euphoric dance of stars and ethereal smudges of diaphanous gold all seem at home in their place in above me, forming a sphere around us.

"One time," I recall, intrigued by the shrewd beauty of the stars, "my dad took me camping, deep out into the woods, the middle of nowhere. He told me creepy camp stories and we stargazed for a bit. One of my best memories with him."

"Nighttime is the best time for bonding, of any sort," Bryon agrees. "I wish to see if Raffe and I can perhaps heal the wounds that had been dealt with that earlier argument."

"I dunno," I judge skeptically, "he's not really a forgive-and-forget kinda –"

"Excuse you," Raffe interrupts with a pouty sour glance my direction. He steps up between Bryon and I, arms crossed. He, too, seems pleased with the cool night breeze, airing out his bat wings. "Talking behind someone's back? That's not nice. That's not nice at all."

"Sorry." I shrug unapologetically. "It's true."

"Sorta is." Hugo stumbles up with the grace of an ostrich, tripping over Scruffy's feet. The wolf seems delighted, tail wagging, his bandages barely holding him back from leaping upon everyone. From Scruffy's back, Paige grins, kicking his ribs like he's a little pony for her to goad into action. She laughs with terse exclamation, practically strangling like the poor wolf, snuggling against his luxuriously soft pelt, perhaps to ease the itch of the stitching. Wincing at my sister's behavior, Hugo steps forward with his palms raised towards her. "Be gentle, darling. He's soft and breakable. Like my arms. Pigeon-Bat, please don't break my arms."

Bryon clears his throat loudly, drawing attention to himself. Closing both hands over his staff and leaning against the length of solid wood, he decrees, "We need another icebreaker, don't we?"

Ogden struts over, placing one hand on Scruffy's flank and waving the other in the air wildly. He grins and gestures towards the ground and Bryon's staff, then to the starry mosaic above.

"Oooo!" Hugo's eyes sparkle in the moonlight, opalescent shades of copper and ginger overlapping. "Yes! Do the thing, Bryon!"

Bryon's eyebrows rise, one corner of his lips jerking back in the fragment of smile. "The thing?"

"Yeah!" Gleefully, Hugo quickly jogs off the field, as if placing us in quarantine. "You know, the moon thing! With the flowers? Penryn, Pigeon-Bat, find your own space, you'll want it! You too, Scruffy! Take Paige somewhere special!"

In this world that I've been dragged into, I'm prepared for nearly anything to happen, so I follow the advice of the merchant, striding from Raffe's side to a place parallel to Bryon. After brief hesitation, Raffe follows my lead.

"I haven't even told you if I'm going to do the thing," Bryon chuckles, readjusting his grip on the staff with callused hands. Steady breaths fill his lungs. "Before you ask, yes, I'm doing the thing."

Hugo does nothing more than issue Bryon a thumbs up, and slam his finger to his lips immediately afterwards. Taking his cue, I fall silent, watching Bryon intensely.

As Bryon bows over his staff, clutching it with two hands, measuring each inhale and timing each exhale, a zephyr whispers in my ears. The intelligible voice of the breeze seems to speak of ancient sorcery and ageless runes, of a time past and a time still to come. I breathe in the redolent air, tasting midnight's bittersweet perfume on my tongue.

Bryon lifts the bottom tip of his staff from the earth, inhaling sharply.

He slams it back against the ground with immediate effects.

From the place where the wood had hit the grass, dense flowers bloom. The blossoms flourish outwards in a steady, swift growth, almost as if it is a flower itself. The hills and the mountains and creeks all around us are swept with blue as the flood stampedes over each ridge and over each creek, bathing the forest in luminance. They turn their faces to the moon, and, from the moment their petals touch the air, the flowers emit soft, beautiful, blue light, like little glow sticks. I suck in an escaped breath as the ones that bloom around my feet and beneath them are released from their stalks as I turn about to watch the cascade of flowers over the mountains. My disbelief can be heard my rapid breathing, be felt in the hammer of my pulse, be seen in the amazement breaking over my face. Some of the flowers I had not even touched by anything but air waves, I suppose. But every blossom affected by me begins to drift gradually upwards, spinning lazily on their ascent – almost like dandelion seeds, caught in a breeze.

"What the hell," whisper Raffe to my left. He, too, is surrounded by the blue flowers, scooping at them with wide sweeps of his wings to release them into the air. Awe unlike anything I have ever seen in him dominates his expression as he watches them drift upwards. Once the flowers he disturbs float into the sky, though, I cannot help but notice that they do not return to him.

"Enjoy them while they last," calls Hugo, frolicking amongst the grass, a minimal amount of flowers drifting out behind him – it's almost as if he's trying to see how little he can set off. "The first ray of sun sucks their life from them like scorpion-wasp-people suck life from monkeys."

"Was that last part truly necessary?" questions Bryon, twirling through the empty field with his cloak trailing behind him, a massive trail of luminescent blossoms in his wake, clouds of them drifting into the sky. "But he's right. They only can be found on the full moon, too, so enjoy."

I remain as still as a statue, attempting to not even touch another blossom. "What are these?" I whisper.

"What are they?" Bryon truly laughs, the hearty thunder rolling over the valley, the pure vibrations sending the flowers around him into the sky. "They go by many names – Blue Moons, Star Blooms, Floating Flowers – but my favorite is 'the Wishing Blossoms'. For some reason, only my father and I can trigger their flowering – don't ask me how it happens, I quite honestly am not sure. All I know is that they float, and that they don't ever come down."

"But…" I try to sound scientific, knowledgeable, but I end up sounding simply baffled. "How?"

"He won't let me study them," Hugo reports, "and, honestly, I won't press that. I'm a fact guy, I like science, but there are some things you've just gotta excuse, you know? And, let's be honest, they'd be the most difficult things in the world to study. How would you even catch one? With a net?" He gropes at the air, lunging at the floating flowers, sending them caterwauling on their paths. At that moment, Scruffy rockets past him with Paige giggling on his back – the two of them trace crossing lines over the mountains with his subsonic speed, sending thousands of little flowers slowly floating upwards.

"I've got one," announces Bryon, cupping something tenderly between his palms. Smiling benevolently, he plods in my direction, staff pinched in the crook of his arm. "Here." Bryon extends his hands to me, breaking through the storm of blossoms drifting around him. "Take a peek."

Quivering both from overwhelmed emotions and rabid curiosity, I gaze between his large hands, studying the blossom inside. It's shaped almost like a lily with broader petals and less of a pistil. The luminescent color it shines is the palest electric blue, casting beautiful shadows over the palms of Bryon's hands and the planes of his face as it bumps gingerly against his ensnaring fingers. Cautiously, I reach out to take it myself, and Bryon complies – for a moment it sits there, halfway between my hands and his, brushing my fingers with petals as soft as a baby's pale skin. But it sees its chance and drifts between the break of fingers, escaping with its brothers and sisters into the dark night sky.

"It's so beautiful," I murmur, head craned back.

"Yes," answers Raffe from the air – he darts between the floating clouds of flowers, cleaving through them like a knife through butter. Whenever there is a lessening in the flowers swirling and circling, he drags his wing through an empty portion of the field, releasing more into the air. "Yes it is!"

"Look at him," Bryon murmurs for my ears solely. "As giddy as a chick first learning to fly. I suppose that's what being out of that hellhole can do to an angel – they get very twitchy in enclosed areas. And the flowers are quite beautiful. Come on, they won't hurt you."

I gaze once around the regal valley – the mountains once swept with the rounded crests of trees and painted with royal purples and emerald greens now glow blue between the branches of the trees, emitting a soft luminance that seems to touch the stars. Little trails of blossoms lead to the sky from elsewhere, surrounding us on all sides – animals, too, must be wandering these woods, or perhaps another merchant travels a few ridges south from here and stumbled upon this magnificent of beauty. Whatever the case, all the little blossoms leading up to the black velvet sky and the beautiful constellations there is truly worthy of a picture, if only I had a camera. The stars almost seem to welcome the flowers, their cold lights burning a little brighter upon the arrival of their sisters from the earth. Over all of it, the moon still hangs in the sky, almost as if it's a mother's watchful eye over her children as they spin and twirl and dance over the earth below.

Breathing in the dulcet perfume of the blossoms all around me, I take a step into their sea of glowing petals, savoring the moment as the flowers take wing around me, drifting up to join Raffe in the sky.

In my ecstasy, I don't notice the fact that the other trails of glorious flowers seem to encircle us, surrounding our meadow in the way that the predator traps the prey.

Alright, well, I had fun with this chapter. I was actually planning to make this one short for you, but... it didn't happen. Sorry.

Here's something to think about: Sariel taught Bryon how to get the flowers to bloom when he was just a little thing, in I think the first dream Penryn had. Paige is attached to Bryon and Bryon worships her. Maybe the family trick can get passed down or something. But what do I know? I'm just the writer.

POLL: So, they spent a long time travelling in that Nephilim Temple. They're actually quite close to the Sercem Domu (the town), and things are just about to heat up. I'm getting more and more excited. But here's a question: how do you think the Nephilim will receive Penryn and Raffe? Raffe has hunted them for thousands of years, and Penryn... well, she's Bryon's niece, but she's also travelling with and defending Raffe.

Ciao,

~wolfluvermh