Page 140 of Stealing Embers
“It’s like the Neph version of a fairy godmother,” Ash answers. “Our parents tell us stories of them at night before they tuck us in. Complete fairy tale stuff.”
“Pfft.” The little squirrel snuggles deeper into my pillow. “Obviously not.”
“They’re guardians. Make-believe, though. We don’t know exactly when the stories of them started, but no one has ever seen one.”
“Come on, angel-born. You should know all stories are based on a kernel of truth.”
This is wacky.
“So it was you who led me to Steel when he was in trouble, and Steel to me when I passed out in the snow?”
“Don’t forget how I brought the horde of Nephilim to save your bacon against the Forsaken. Oh, and the small task of masking your presence from evil for your entire life. That was me too.” It buffs its claws against its chest in a gesture of self-satisfaction.
“You’ve been around my whole life? But . . . why haven’t I seen you until now?”
“Those were the rules set out for me, sugar buns.”
Sugar buns?
“I couldn’t reveal myself to you until you’d embraced your angel side. Took you long enough, by the way.”
Too many questions. Where to even start?
I stare at the bookshelf, not really seeing anything, but trying to work this all out in my head. If this creature has been around my entire life, it knows more about me than even I know about myself. It could know answers about where I come from, even who my parents were and why I was abandoned as an infant.
I come back to myself with a shake of my head. “Does everyone have a Celestial . . . ah . . . guardian?”
“I’m not sure,” Ash says. “Up until two minutes ago I didn’t think they existed. I thought that thing was a demon squirrel.”
Our heads swivel in Tinkle’s direction.
“No, of course everyone doesn’t have one of us. We’re very rare.”
A bubble of something that very well may be hope is growing in my chest. It’s hard to identify because “hopeful” is an elusive emotion for me. But this tiny shape-shifting creature has just given me something to hold onto.
“I have a million questions. But, er, I gotta get changed first. I cannot have this conversation in a soggy robe.”
I go to the dresser and grab some clothes. When I turn around, Tinkle blinks up at me.
“You have to turn around.”
“Why?” The tiny squirrel seems confused.
“Because I don’t want you watching me change.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s weird.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re a dude, er, maybe? And it’s creepy.”
“I’m male, but you don’t have to worry. I have no bits or bobbins.”
“Bits or bobbins?”
“Yeah, you know, bits,” he leans over and points to the space between his legs. “And bobbins,” then he grabs his furry chest with equally furry hands. “Those parts you people are always so obsessed with. Nephilim and humans like to play with each other’s parts. I wasn’t born yesterday. I see things.”