Fallen Angel

♱ CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

☼ JT

     MY BACK ACHES and my neck feels sore. I yawn, my eyes clenched shut, my arms stretched above me. Despite my deep sleep, my muscles and joints groan like I never give them any rest. Sighing deeply, I roll over in bed.

     Only, there's apparently nothin' for me to roll onto. My eyes snap open and I realize a second too late that my bed is not a bed, but a couch, and then the floor is suddenly rushing up to greet my face.

     Groaning and rubbing my bruised knees, I mutter bitterly into the wooden floor, "Haven't I fallen enough in the past twenty-four hours?"

     The Angel Blade sits idly on the coffee table, the red gem in its hilt winking in the morning sunlight. With a sigh, I heave myself off the floor and stretch my arms up to the heavens. I could've slept in the guest bedroom, or in Amal's room with Blaire. But I chose the couch instead. Why? I guess I was feelin' sentimental last night, thinking about the time Luke laid me down on this very couch after I collapsed in Amal's lab. My stomach flips just thinking about it, but I can't stop the tiniest of smiles from creeping onto my face.

     Amal enters the living room at that exact moment, pausing when she sees me. "And what exactly are you smiling about at eight-thirty in the morning?" she teases, brushing her hands through her silky black hair. It's a rare sight to see Amal without one of her gorgeous hijabs. Her hair has gotten longer.

     "Nothin'," I answer feebly, hoping to change the subject. It's not that I don't wanna talk about Luke — trust me, I do. But we've got bigger fish to fry. "How's Blaire?" I ask.

     Amal's expression becomes uncertain, her lips twisting, her forehead scrunching up in concern. "I'm not sure, actually. I slept in the spare room last night. I thought you were sleeping with her."

     I shake my head. "I slept on the couch last night." We both stare at each other in silence, and I don't know why my heart is beating all of a sudden. It's not like Blaire could've gone anywhere. She's sleeping. The demon inside of her is sleeping. Everything is fine.

     But if everything is fine, why is the air suddenly tense with anxiety? Slowly, I pick up the Blade from the coffee table. Then wordlessly, simultaneously, Amal and I both shoot for Amal's bedroom.

     I know everything is gonna be fine. We'll open the door and Blaire will be there, lying peacefully, completely unaware of the world.

     Why. Is. My. Heart. Beating?

     Amal opens the door, and I breathe out a sigh of relief. There she is, curled up on her side, beneath a few layers of blankets. She's fine—

     "Wait." I flip the light on and a sudden realization hits me. Blaire is in a coma. She can't just roll onto her side whenever she pleases. This... this isn't right.

     I share an uneasy glance with Amal before slowly approaching the lump in the bed. The Blade at my side reveals nothing to me, not even a whisper of danger. Shouldn't it be thrumming with energy this close to a demon?

     My heart beats wildly against its cage, but I try to steady myself. Gingerly raising the Blade, I take a deep breath, then rip the covers back in one rapid motion. My head whips around to look at Amal, whose face is the picture of terror.

     Three pillows lie where Blaire's body should be. Three pillows, meant to look like a body.

     Blaire — the demon — is nowhere to be found.

     Amal's mouth hangs open like a gaping fish. She shuts it abruptly, then zips out of the room. I lunge after her, bolting out the bedroom door. She could be anywhere. This could mean so many things.