It wasn’t until after he’d wolfed down a filled roll, drunk half a bottle of fresh juice, and petted an insistent Smoke that he sat down on his favorite stone above the beach and looked at the package. It had come by angelic courier and was stamped with the seal of the Tower . . . but in the field for the sender’s identity was a name most unexpected: Aodhan.
He ran his fingers over the fluid black strokes, his cheeks suddenly hot. His fingers turned clumsy as he tried to tear open the box, until he finally made himself stop and take several deep breaths. Then he retrieved a pocketknife from his pants. The blade sharp as a razor, it took but a stroke to cut open the seal.
Inside was a small blue bag as familiar to Illium as his own sword. From Catalina’s bakery, it proved to hold her famous angel-wing alfajores, the filling in between coconut-infused dulce de leche. She’d come up with the initial recipe for the dulce de leche, while Lorenzo had struck on the idea of making the cookies in the shape of angel wings.
No one made cookies like Catalina. And she usually only made these in the holidays, which meant Aodhan must have placed a special order. Toes curling, Illium bit into one as he checked the other items.
A jar of his favorite peanut butter—a spread that Aodhan abhorred—a new book from a mortal author that Illium loved, a small bag of gourmet cat treats, a sealed pack of caramel-nut popcorn from Illium’s favorite snack store . . . and a handcrafted belt buckle that had been polished to a high, silvery shine. It was simple but for the feathers engraved on it and the stylized I hidden in among the feathers.
Putting aside the bag of cookies, he took off his belt. “You won’t like those,” he warned Smoke when she went to poke her nose into the bag. “Here, this is for you.” He took out one of the cat treats Aodhan had sent, and placed it in front of her.
Pouncing on it with glee, she ran off down the sand to enjoy it in some secret spot. He didn’t worry; she always found him when the day came to an end. Smoke taken care of, he replaced his belt buckle, and put the belt back on. It felt different. Heavier in a way that had nothing to do with actual weight.
No, it was as if it was full to the brim with all the emotions thick in his blood.
He swallowed, ate another cookie, and didn’t look for a letter or a note. Despite his beautiful penmanship, Aodhan wasn’t much for writing—even the messages he sent were short and to the point. No, Illium’s Adi spoke with his art, with his hands, with his talent. And with a belt buckle that he’d fashioned personally for Illium.
Closing up the box with care, he flew it to the tent.
He took the cookies with him when he returned to work, sharing them with the crew—who were happy to see him now that they’d caught up. No point hoarding the alfajores when they’d go stale now that he’d broken the seal. And he had what mattered most—confirmation that Aodhan hadn’t forgotten him. Stupid, how the fear haunted him . . . or maybe it wasn’t.
His mother had forgotten him.
It was a thing about which he tried not to think, tried not to look full in the face. Not even Aodhan knew about it. He hadn’t told. Ever. And he’d never ever bring it up with his mother. It would destroy her. But during the worst years, when she’d wandered the far depths of the kaleidoscope, there had been three terrible times when she’d forgotten Illium.
Only three times.
Seconds-long pauses where she’d looked at him without recognition.
Then the wrench at the unraveled threads of her memory as she fought to remember.
A forgetting and a remembering that had happened so fast he could’ve lied to himself, told himself he’d imagined it. Except he hadn’t. He knew how his mother looked at him, how her eyes warmed with love and with joy no matter if she was aggravated or annoyed by him . . . but those three times, she’d glanced at him with nothing more than polite inquiry in her gaze.
Three points of horror in his life, as he wondered if this was it, the final loss, his mother gone forever.
He brushed his hand over the belt buckle, a talisman against the dark. And unlike the pendant he’d carried for so long, this one wasn’t a memory of sorrow, but a gift of hope.
Grinning, he got back to work.
Thanks for the belt buckle. It’s perfect.
The new citadel is going up piece by piece and I have to say, it’s shaping up to be the kind of building that will make a mark. It’s not the Tower and it’s not Caliane’s Amanat. It’s very much Suyin’s Citadel.
Send more cookies next time. They were a hit.
Smoke approves of your offering. You may present her with more.
No extra weirdness to report.
Aodhan’s lips kicked up as he finished reading the message on his phone. He might be new to being the one who did the looking after, but it appeared that he was getting it right.
And because he remembered how his silence had hurt Illium, he made an effort to send back a message. He wasn’t as good at this type of thing as Illium, but that had never mattered between them.
I’ll order two dozen cookies next time. And I won’t forget Smoke.
Send me a few images of the citadel in progress when you have time—it’s strange not to help build it after being so involved in the planning process.
It’s good to be home in New York.
He almost ended it there, but then made himself add the rest. Both because it was true—and because Illium deserved to know: It’s not the same without you.
Illium, open of heart and far too quick to forgive, replied with: Miss you too. Might even watch a horror movie in your honor. But I draw the line at blood and gore.
Aodhan stared down at his phone. “What will I do with you, Blue? You let the people you love take total advantage of you.” His fingers closing over the phone, he looked to the horizon, searching for wings of blue that were on the other side of the world.
You and that heart of yours really need a damn keeper.
Do I hear you volunteering?
No, I’m not volunteering. The position is already mine.
Aodhan intended to hold on to that position with teeth and claws. He’d never thought of himself as a possessive angel, but when it came to Illium . . .
Eyes narrowed as he stared out at the New York skyline from the Enclave land that had once held Elena and Raphael’s home, he checked the time, then called Illium. He picked up after a couple of rings. “Sparkle,” he said, the shouts of the rest of the crew background music, and his smile in his voice. “Can’t talk long. Crew needs me to bring through another beam.”
“I just need you to answer one question.”
“Yeah?”