Wings, Flings, and Demon Kings || COMPLETE

Chapter 13: Out of reach

Sorry for the delay in posting. My husband and I just got back from Europe, and—well—vacationing is hard work! XD

Also, I was too embarrassed to properly edit the last half of this chapter... so it might be utter trash for all I know. 

...Enjoy?

December 1, 2006

5:16 A.M.

Last night, I went back to Azerath's apartment for the very last time.

5:18 A.M.

I think Azerath knew, the moment I arrived, that I'd figured it out. I'd been crying, and my eyes were rimmed red, my cheeks streaked with dried tears.

For a moment, we stood watching each other, not saying anything. Really, what was there to say? Nothing can erase the hurt of knowing you've found someone you used to love, but you don't remember your relationship—and now, just when you've found each other again, you're about to be ripped apart.

"Sanmu saved a few of your journals," said Azerath presently. "Your past self's journals, I mean. He gave them to me after I was wiped. Said my past self asked him to take care of them. I read some of them."

"Who were we?"

Azerath beckoned me farther inside, toward the sofa, and sat down beside me. "I was a Demon King in charge of Body Distribution, before Sanmu took over. You were a history-keeper, a scribe named Ishtar. You wrote down the happenings of human history so the angels would have a record. From what I've gathered, you were very good at it."

An odd feeling washed over me—longing mixed with nostalgia.

I had once been good at something.

A history-keeper.

It sounded... right somehow. Like a piece of myself I hadn't known was missing until now.

Azerath watched me worriedly. I frowned at the floor. I hadn't missed the other part of what he'd said. He'd read my past self's journals. He'd been interested in finding out more about me—about us. Which meant—

"Our meeting in that elevator wasn't an accident, was it?"

Slowly, he shook his head. "It took some convincing, but I persuaded Sanmu to use his mana to stall the elevator. I wanted to meet you. I didn't intend to... start anything. Just to learn more about who I'd been before. I was curious what sort of angel had taken the heart of my past self. Sanmu told me it was a bad idea." He chuckled. "He was quite against it at the time. But eventually he agreed to help me. And—well, you know what happened."

So Sanmu had been the demon the archangels had sensed in my orientation building. It made sense, since Azerath didn't have his mana right now.

"You're lucky," I said, "to have such a good friend."

A hint of sadness must have crept into my voice, for Azerath frowned at me. "Surely you must have dozens of friends though." He tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, then frowned as my expression contorted. "Nirael?"

I shook my head against the lump in my throat. "I'm... not really the kind of angel other angels want to be friends with."

"But you're... but you're so..." Azerath shook his head, disbelief clouding his eyes. "You're so friendly. And warm, and generous, and funny."

With a pang, I thought of Elleth. She'd said the same words to me once, more than a century ago, when I'd confessed my worries to her. I'd almost forgotten.