3.1 | six ways to sunday ✓

01

IN GREEK MYTHOLOGY, ICARUS FELL LIKE THE STARS. It was a wondrous vision: burning feathers, smoking bitterness, shimmering eyes. Simply put, the boy fell through layers of atmosphere and silver clouds, imitation wings failing to fly as sunlight penetrated through sticky beeswax. This particular tale, of course, warned humanity against the perils of recklessness, but just like how Icarus was unable to reach the world of the gods, the gates of Heaven remain closed.

Some legends say that Hercules witnessed Icarus's tragic death and performed a proper funeral ritual that Daedalus was unable to execute. He likes to think that Hercules covered the boy's entire body with tender, young blossoms and brushed a gentle finger down his cheekbone, thinking, I'm sorry I couldn't catch you and I'm sorry I couldn't keep you alive. Gods, you're beautiful.

He likes to think that Hercules stopped walking on the crystallized beach for the afterlife and turned to look at him one more time—to look at this boy whose skin was still warm and whose hair resembled the personification of pearls and whose life ended too early, too soon, too sudden. In a different life, perhaps, things would've been different. Perhaps things would've been sweeter.

Maybe these things really happened. Maybe they didn't. But somewhere within the lines of red fate, history has a tendency to repeat itself with a sparkling twist.

Human. Angel. Demon.

A love triangle of the gods.

***

June Haleson is deathly allergic to cats. And although this is a commonality she shares with literally millions of people on Earth, she's willing to bet that not many of them are full-time veterinarians.

"Hi, Ms. Lopez," June greets with a warm tone, reaching out a hand to shake the elderly woman's palm. "Freckles is just fine, so no need to worry if he starts snoring in his sleep again, okay?"

It's been a long day. Her feet ache. She's tired. 

With her vision set forwards on the customer clad in a plum-stained sweater and slacks, June expertly ignores Ms. Lopez's guardian angel as the heavenly being leans against the powder-grey counter, strawberry curls cascading down one shoulder. The downside of being born with The Sight, as June likes to label it, is that if she didn't learn from an early age to ignore otherworldly spirits, she'd probably be in a psychiatric hospital by now. After all, talking to people who appeared to be invisible to others was essentially a red flag, and June couldn't afford to be on her social worker's radar when growing up.

Typical interactions go like this: June keeps her gaze strictly on humans and imagines that the angels (or devils, for that matter) fade away into grey dust, and she forces herself to will away the glamour. She's on friendly terms with most of the angels and demons in New York, but occasionally she'll be threatened with the rare life-long curse from inexperienced spirits.

In short, June Haleson can see things from both Heaven and Hell, but that, like all things, was an accident. When her parents died in a car crash just days after her birth due to a witch's hex, June had been placed under the care of child protective services, but—

"Smile, princess," Julian whispers behind her, delicately brushing a piece of hair away from her eyes, and June relaxes into his touch. It's almost like natural instinct after all of these years, and she feels her guardian angel's cool breath hit the nape of her neck with familiarity. Although she can't turn around to see the amused expression softening his features, she knows he's nodding politely at the other celestial being in the room. "She'll mistake your silence for rudeness."

June smiles. "Any last questions?"

"Not really," Ms. Lopez laughs, cradling the tuxedo cat closer to her chest as it nuzzles its way into the crook of her neck. "Can you say thank you to June, Freckles?"