World After (Penryn & the End of Days, #2)

by Susan Ee

A lot of people stare at us as the rest of the small caravan stops in the parking lot. They all saw me in the arms of the demon-winged creature that was actually Raffe, and they all thought I was dead. I feel self-conscious so I sit down on the bench beside my sister. One of the men reaches to touch my arm. Maybe he wants to see if I’m warm like the living or cold like the dead. My sister’s face changes instantly from a blank slate to a growling animal as she snaps at the man. Her razor-grafted teeth flash as she moves, emphasizing the threat. As soon as the man backs off, she goes back to her blank expression and doll-like stance. The man stares, looking back and forth between us for clues to questions I can’t answer. Everyone in the parking lot saw what just happened, and they all stare at us too. Welcome to the freak show.

“So that’s your sister?” asks Dee in a quiet voice. “Yeah.” “The one you risked your life for?” “Yeah.” The twins nod politely in that automatic way that people do when they don’t want to say something insulting. “Your family any better?” I ask. Dee and Dum look at each other, assessing. “Nah,” says Dee. “Not really,” says Dum at the same time.

“Can I name your sword?” “No.” I pull out a pair of jeans that might fit and one sock. “Why not?” “Already has a name.” I continue digging through the pile for a matching sock. “What is it?” “Pooky Bear.” His friendly face suddenly becomes serious. “You’re naming your collector’s-item, kick-ass sword that’s made to maim and kill, specifically designed to bring your ginormous enemies to their knees and hear the lamentation of their women—Pooky Bear?” “Yeah, you like it?” “Even joking about that is a crime against nature. You know that, right? I’m trying desperately not to make an anti-girl comment right now, but you’re making it pretty hard.” “Yeah, you’re right.” I shrug. “I might call it Toto or Flossy instead. What do you think?” He looks at me like I’m nuttier than my mom. “Am I mistaken? Do you actually have a purse dog in that scabbard?” “Oh, I wonder if I can find a pink sheath for Pooky Bear. Maybe with little rhinestones? What? Too much?”

“Sanjay, your turn. I hear you have a theory about the angels that you want to share with us?” “Yes,” says the scholar holding up a map of the world. “I think that most of the killing during the Great Attack could have been incidental. Sort of a side effect of the angels coming here. My hypothesis is that when a couple of them enter our world, it’s a local phenomenon.” Sanjay pricks a pin through the map. “A hole in our world is created which lets them come in. It probably causes some kind of local weather disturbance but nothing too dramatic. But when an entire legion comes through, this is what happens.” He punches a screwdriver into the paper. The handle and his hand also go through, tearing the map. “My theory is that the world rips when they invade. This is what triggered the earthquakes, the tsunamis, the weather disturbances—everything catastrophic that caused the majority of the damage and deaths.” Thunder rolls through the gray sky as if to agree with him. “It wasn’t the angels themselves who controlled nature when they invaded,” says Sanjay. “That’s why they didn’t create a giant tsunami to swallow us up when we attacked the aerie. They can’t. They are living, breathing creatures just like us. They may have abilities we don’t have, but they’re not godlike.” “You’re telling us that they killed this many people and they weren’t even trying?” Sanjay rakes his fingers through his thick hair. “Well, they did kill a bunch of people after we killed their leader, but the...

It takes me a while to figure out what to do. I finally decide to slice the bottom of a teddy bear and jam it onto the hilt. I’ll just have to pull off the bear if I need to use the sword. “Come on, admit it, Pooky Bear,” I say to the sword. “You love your new look. All the other swords will be jealous.” By the time I cross the street to the grove, my teddy bear is wearing a multi-layered chiffon skirt made of a wedding veil that I found in one of the boutiques. I tinted the veil in the bathroom with the stained water of new clothes so that it no longer has that bridal white meant to attract the eye. The skirt falls just below the end of the scabbard, hiding it entirely—or it will when it dries. The backside is split open so that I can yank the bear and skirt off without having to think about it. It looks ridiculous and says all kinds of embarrassing things about me. But one thing it doesn’t say is killer angel sword. Good enough.

I pull out Raffe’s sword and put the naked blade on my lap. I stroke my fingers along the metal. The light hits the liquid folds along the steel, showing the bluish-silver waves that decorate it. If I relax, I can feel the faint flow of sorrow coming from it. The sword is in mourning. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out who it’s mourning for. “Show me more,” I say, even though I’m not sure I can handle more right now. My knees are already weak and I’m feeling drained. Even in a world where angels exist, it’s still a shocker to have one of your possessions share its memories with you. “Tell me about Raffe.” Nothing. “Okay. Let’s practice fighting,” I say in an enthusiastic voice as if I’m talking to a little kid. “I could use more lessons.” I take a deep breath and close my eyes. Nothing. “Right. Well, I guess I have nothing better to do now than to decorate the teddy bear with ribbons and bows. What do you think of dusky pink?” The room wavers, then morphs.

The kiss. Like a germinating seed, I have the growing impulse to ask the sword about it. It’s silly and embarrassing and maybe even shallow after what I just saw Raffe go through. But because of what I just saw, I want to see him in a different kind of moment. One where he’s cocky and in control. One where he’s experiencing something other than threats and pain, if only for two seconds. That, and I’m dying to know what he felt during our kiss. I know it doesn’t matter. I know it won’t change anything. I know it’s juvenile. Whatever. Can’t a girl be a girl for, like, five minutes? “Show me your memories of the kiss.” I close my eyes. The heat creeps up my cheeks, which is silly because the sword was there when the kiss happened and saw the whole thing. So what if I’m curious about what he felt? “Oh, come on. Do we have to do this again?” Nothing. “That last one was totally awful. I need a little comfort. It’s just a small favor. Please?” Nothing. “Extra ribbons and bows for you,” I try to sound like I mean it. “Maybe even sparkly makeup on the teddy bear.” Still nothing. “Traitor.” I know that’s a funny statement since the sword is actually being loyal to Raffe but I don’t care. I slide it back into its scabbard, which has been leaning against my chair, and jam the bear over the hilt.

“Don’t get your hopes up,” she whispers. “Don’t worry. I know my chances of finding Paige are slim.” “I don’t mean that. I mean about your mom.” “Believe me, I have no hopes about her.” “But you do. I can see it. There’s a saying, ‘Just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean they’re not out to get you.’ Well, the reverse is true too. Just because someone’s out to get you doesn’t mean you’re not paranoid.” “I don’t understand.” “The world going crazy doesn’t mean your mother isn’t still crazy, too.”

How are you feeling?” Burnt bends over to look at Paige. “Just fantastic, thank you for asking.” The sarcasm in Beliel’s voice is unmistakable. “What are you doing?” Paige screams as Burnt drags her out from under the cot. “Let her go,” Beliel bellows. Burnt lets go in surprise. “You don’t do anything without my permission.” Beliel grabs Burnt by the arm and yanks him to his face. It must hurt like hell in his condition, but Beliel doesn’t show it. “You don’t touch that girl. You don’t even breathe without my permission. Uriel gave you to me to command. You think he’d spend a second of his illustrious life wondering what happened to you if you ended up as a splatter on the wall?”

I leap up at the last second and stab my blade into his crotch with all the force of my springing legs. Why bother attacking their strengths when you can go straight for their weaknesses? He rolls around on the sand just like any other guy who gets kicked in the nuts. He’ll heal. But he won’t be breaking taboos anytime soon. An angel gets tossed past me head first. I spin to see Raffe pummeling the last one. More are coming our way from the crowd, attracted to a good fight. Raffe looks over at the bloody knife in my hand. “If I still had any doubts that it was you, that would do it.” He gestures toward my opponent rolling on the ground with his hands cradling his package. “He should have been polite and just let us by,” I say. “Way to teach him some respect. I always wanted to meet a girl who fights dirty,” says Raffe. “There’s no such thing as dirty fighting in self-defense.” He huffs. “I don’t know whether to make fun of him or to respect you.”

“I’m sure a respectable modern man would turn his back so he wouldn’t see if there was a slip-up.” I nod, keeping a tight bite on my blanket. “But we’d lose our heat shelter.” He raises a wing a few inches to demonstrate. Cool air immediately touches my legs. He lowers his wing back into place again. He shrugs. “I guess you’ll just have to not slip up.” I continue to squirm, getting myself free of the left sleeve. “Don’t laugh or anything,” he says, “because that could be disastrous.” I squint at him, giving him a glare that tells him not to try to make me laugh. “Have you heard that joke about—” I rip through the flimsy dress under my blanket. It was ruined anyway. I tear it off and toss it out from beneath the blanket. It lands on top of his pants on the rug. Raffe bursts out laughing. It’s a beautiful thing—rich and carefree. It calls to me to laugh along with him. “You are so great at creative solutions,” he says still chuckling. “They usually involve ripping, tearing, kicking, or stabbing, but they’re creative.” I let go of the blanket with my teeth now that I can hold it securely around me with my hands. “I just got tired of the wetness sticking to me, that’s all. I think I was pretty safe from the threat of your joke being funny.” “I’m wounded by your comment,” he says with a smile. The word “wounded” echoes in my head, and I see it does in his, too, because his smile fades. “What happened back there at the old aerie? I saw you get stung by the scorpion. I watched y...

Raffe stares at the disguised sword for a second before commenting. “Do you know how many kills this sword has?” “It’s a perfect disguise, Raffe.” “This sword is not just an angel sword. She’s an archangel sword. Better than an angel sword, in case that’s not clear. She intimidates the other angel swords.” “What, the other swords quake in their scabbards when they see her?” I walk over to the pile of scattered junk by Captain Jake’s boat. “Yes, if you must know,” he says following me. “She was made for ultimate respect. How is she supposed to get that disguised as a teddy bear in a bridal gown?” “It’s not a bridal gown, it’s a skirt for her scabbard. And it’s cute.” “She hates cute. She wants to maim and scar cute.” “Nobody hates cute.” “Angel swords do.” He arches his brow and stares down at me. I guess I won’t tell him how many cutesy angel figurines and pictures we used to have in the World Before. Mom’s tracker should be here but I don’t see it in the scattered debris. I do spot a detachable strap hanging out of a purse with keys tethered to it, though. I’ve been meaning to tether the bear to the scabbard and this looks perfect. I clip one end around the ribbon sewn to the bear’s neck and the other end to the scabbard’s strap. “Have you named her yet?” he asks. “She likes powerful names so maybe you could appease her by giving her a good one.” I bite my lip as I remember telling Dee-Dum what I named my sword. “Um, I could rename her anything she likes.” I give him a ch...

One second, we are surrounded by angels holding their swords. The next second, one of their arms drops and his sword thunks to the grass like a lead weight. The angel stares at his blade uncomprehendingly. Another sword drops. Then another. Then a whole bunch, until all the other unsheathed swords fall, thudding on the grass like subjects bowing down to their queen. The angels stare at the swords at their feet in utter shock. Then everyone looks at me. Actually, it’s probably more accurate to say they’re looking at my sword. “Whoa.” That’s about the most intelligent thing I can say right now. Did Raffe say something about an archangel sword intimidating other angel swords if she could gain their respect? I swivel my eyes to look at the blade in my hands. Was that you, Pooky Bear?