Page 141 of Stealing Embers
I cover my face, and Ash starts choking.
“Forget I asked. Wait, if you don’t have any . . . bits . . . then how do you go to the bathroom?”
Tinkle wiggles its eyebrows. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”
“Ew! Nope. Sorry, forget I asked that as well. I don’t want to know at all. I’m changing in the bathroom. And I’m locking the door.”
Chapter Forty-Two
I’m in and out of the bathroom in record time. I’m pretty sure my shirt is on backwards, but that’s not important. Ash sits cross-legged on her bed and shouts the names of different animals, which Tinkle transforms into the moment the words leave Ash’s lips.
I’ve now lost track of how many different animal butts have been on my pillow. I’m burning the thing the first chance I get.
Spotting me, Ash stops the rapid firing of animal names, leaving Tinkle in sloth form. Raising his hand in slow motion, he wiggles his long-clawed fingers at me. I take a quick step back.
“Please pick a different form. Sloths are creepy.”
In an explosion of dissolving sparks, he pops back into his flying squirrel form.
“Better. Thanks.”
I settle on the end of the bed, mirroring Ash’s cross-legged position. “Tinkle, who sent you to watch over me?”
I hold my breath as I wait for the tiny creature to answer. The little beast takes his time, tilting his head back and forth several times as he regards me. I can’t read the expression on his face because he’s a dang squirrel.
The tension builds until I’m sure my head is going to explode. I’m milliseconds away from grabbing the creature and shaking him.
“I think it should be obvious, but your kind is apparently more obtuse than your predecessors. Who else could have sent me besides your father?”
Ash gasps, but I don’t move a muscle.
“Sentas in past tense. You mean before he died?”
“Died? Who said anything about Camiel being dead? I don’t even think it’s possible to kill a seraph.”
Boom. The destruction from the emotional grenade leaves me mute.
“But there aren’t any seraph Nephilim.” Ash’s voice is a notch above a whisper.
“Who said anything about a Nephilim? Do you know nothing?”
“Are you telling me my father is an actual Fallen?” I exchange a look with Ash and she shakes her head, just as surprised as I am. According to everything I’ve been taught, that shouldn’t be possible. There hasn’t been a first generation Nephilim born in over four thousand years, and as far as anyone knows, there’s never been a seraph angel-born.
“No, of course not. That’s blasphemous to even consider.”
Oh. Well, now I’m confused.
“Camiel would never oppose the Creator. To think that he would do so is offensive. I won’t mention you even brought it up the next time I see him. You’re very lucky I’m good at keeping secrets.”
“Ash.”
I look to my best friend for answers because my mind isn’t computing this information properly. It can’t be, because what I hear him saying is that not only am I a first generation angel-born, but the daughter of a full-blown seraph angel.
Not a Fallen—an actual legit angel. That would make me a double—no, atripleimpossibility. I would be the only one of my kind in existence.
The loneliness that accompanies that thought presses in on me, making our dorm room uncomfortably hot.
“We need to talk to Sable.”