Kiss of Angels by C E Murphy

Author:C E Murphy [Murphy, C E]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: fantasy, urban fantasy
ISBN: 9781613171486
Publisher: Miz Kit Productions
Published: 2018-10-03T16:00:00+00:00

AFTERMATH

I have lived in deserts all my life, never entering the human world. I have watched as it has encroached upon us: watched the yellow dust kicked up by their vehicles racing across sand, watched the engines of their jets draw white lines across the hard blue desert sky. I have been curious, even eager to explore their world, but it is not the way of my people, and particularly not the way of our females. I have waited for this to change, and as I have waited, some things have changed. Amar, the male I refused to marry, has become a power in the human world. Not a power for good, but one who feeds and encourages mortal vices, hoping to help their seven billion souls destroy themselves. Many of the djinn are sympathetic to his cause, but I think him a fool. There are too many of them, and there have always been too few of us.

It was still to him that I went so that I could for the first time leave the desert sands and cross the ocean, there to meet the woman who killed my brother.

#

Margrit ran during the day now, and the one-time cadence of ir-ra-tion-al that matched her feet pounding against the pavement had faded. She was faster than she'd been before Daisani's gift, her feet slapping quickly enough that the syllables would only blur into a word anyway, but mostly the interminable repetition had been born of the scoldings and lectures she'd received for the late-evening jogs. Those had stopped when she'd changed her schedule. That, and there was nothing to match the irrationality—or at least the impossibility—of what her life had become anyway, so the word had lost its power. A breeze pushed her along as she glanced skyward and smiled at the slowly-setting sun.

Her mother was pleased that Margrit had stopped working so many long hours, and rightfully attributed the change to Alban Korund's presence in Margrit's life. Furthermore, Rebecca Knight knew, at least on a surface level, that Alban was no more human than Eliseo Daisani or the djinn Tariq. Margrit had never, would never, understand the reserve in Rebecca which allowed her to not ask, to accept Daisani's impossible speed or Tariq's dissipation without needing to know how and what they were.

But that reserve was a gift, as well. Rebecca had not asked about Alban's unusual hours, had adapted without question to the occasional very late, post-sunset dinner in summer, and had made an effort to visit or invite Margrit and Alban to Queens for meals during winter's earlier nights.

That was a far cry from the mother who had argued with Margrit over dating a white boy, especially when Tony Pulcella had been considerably browner all around than Alban's alabaster skin tones and shining white hair. It made Margrit wonder what exactly had happened between Rebecca Knight and Eliseo Daisani some thirty years earlier, but it wasn't an inheritance of Rebecca's reserve that kept her from asking. It was common sense: her mother would talk about it if she wanted to, and so far hadn't wanted to.

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