Angelfire | The Whispering Wall #3

Thirty Seven: Balances

Jeorge frowned. Across the table from him, Nika had lapsed into troubled silence for the hundredth time that morning, and he was beginning to wonder why he'd even shown up for their session today.

"We can stop," he drawled. "No complaints here."

Nika shook himself out. "Shit. I'm sorry. It's been a bad week."

Judging by the state of the man's aura, that was a significant understatement, but Jeorge was feeling too wretched himself to push the point. Ever since the incident where he'd supposedly sensed some sort of magical imbalance, he'd not felt himself at all. At least, that was what everyone believed had happened to him, though Jeorge wasn't convinced he wasn't just cracking from lack of sleep, and feeling constantly like the air was stinging his skin was also not helpful. He always felt raw these days, like he'd been rubbed over carpet to the point of blistering, and a weight sat in his gut, hot and heavy, that did not pass with eating or drinking or sleeping or even visiting the privy. He had done his own reading on what might be wrong, and come up blank. If he was going to manifest this Gift, it should have happened much faster than this.

He had a horrible feeling that it was going to get worse before it got better.

The Caelumese were not supposed to manifest. Over the hundreds of years they'd been settled in Nictaven, there was no record of a single incident. Jeorge theorised that it was mostly likely that their native magic clashed with it in some way, which was why the Haverford boy had been able to manifest but no Angel in recorded history ever had. And if he hadn't been attacked by that mysterious blade, Jeorge wouldn't have either. Whatever strange alchemy the two magics were brewing inside his body, he couldn't begin to guess where it would end. All he could do was cross his fingers and hope it wasn't death.

"Is she pregnant yet?"

For a moment, Jeorge didn't register what Nika had said. He blinked at the Unspoken, then felt a shock through his body and braced himself for an argument. Somehow this would end up being his fault. Everything always ended up being his fault, even when it wasn't.

"You know?"

"Yes." The response was clipped. "So does Thorne. I suspect that's why I haven't seen him in three days."

"He's missing?"

"I know where he is," Nika replied, still terse, but it was with worry rather than anger. "Most of the time, anyway. He's only been coming home when Yddris and I are out. The rest of the time he's staying with Cara."

Jeorge blew out a breath. "He didn't take it well, then."

Nika glared at him. "Are you being deliberately provocative?"

"As far as I was aware, all I did was state a fact." He crossed his arms. "I presume his seizures are improving, if he's allowed to stay away from home?"

"Allowed," Nika scoffed. "He's an adult, Nerahardt. But..." A thoughtful pause. "Yes, they do seem to be. I intended to ask him about it, but then all this with his sister happened."

"Something to do with that girl he likes, is my best guess." Jeorge massaged his neck as prickling ran over his scalp. His wings twitched, and he scowled as they were held in place by the cloak, binding them tight to his back. He stretched them thoroughly every night before sleep, but it wasn't ever enough. "But I'll say no more, because when I mentioned it to Yddris I wasn't sure I'd wake up the next morning."

"He picks battles when it suits him," Nika said bitterly. "I honestly don't know how much they're expecting Thorne to weather and still function. He's been treated like dirt since he got here, and Yddris hasn't stood up for him to the extent he needs to. And I'm sure when Thorne does eventually snap, everyone will stand around looking comically stupid and wondering why they didn't see it coming. If this all ends up with him doing something reckless he can't come back from, I will never forgive any of them."