Covering his face with both his hands, Qhuinn felt like a child, for the answer could well crush him in a way that couldn’t be contemplated when you were an adult, when you were big and strong and capable of protecting yourself. The knowledge he sought and feared was of the ruination kind, the sort against which he had no defenses.
“Is my brother in the Fade?” he choked out. “Is he safely in the Fade, even though he… ended himself. And therefore cannot be granted a peaceful afterlife?”
Motherfucker, why had he said any of that out loud? He already knew the answer—
Your brother was killed by the blizzard. Murdered by snow.
As Lassiter’s voice entered his mind, Qhuinn dropped his hands. Through tears, he whispered, “So is he in the Fade?”
Lassiter, in all his mystical splendor, nodded. He is safely in the Fade forevermore. He was murdered… by the snow.
All at once, the magic was gone as if it had never been, the wings disappearing, the pool of golden illumination dissipated, the halo around the body no longer visible.
Qhuinn blinked. “You are the one who makes that call. Aren’t you. You’re the one who decides where they go—”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Lassiter’s tone was brisk as he held up his empty glass. “More grapefruit? I think I’m going to have another—”
“Thank you,” Qhuinn croaked out.
When Qhuinn’s glass was taken back, he could only watch in silence as more grapefruit was cut and squeezed, the sweet and tang
y scent rising up, another round of summer in the midst of December.
In his mind, Qhuinn heard the angel’s voice: I do what I can. What I’m allowed to do. You know, to make things easier.
“You are the best savior we could ever have,” he whispered reverently.
Lassiter didn’t respond. He just filled up the glasses again and returned Qhuinn’s. When Qhuinn went to take it, the angel didn’t let go.
“You should definitely ask him. He’s going to say yes.”
Qhuinn drew back with surprise. “What?”
The angel winked. “You know what I’m referring to. Or you will as soon as you think about it.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
At nightfall, Blay got dressed in civilian clothes. He wore his second favorite pair of slacks—his first favorite having been so delightfully destroyed two nights before—and chose a Christmas green cashmere sweater, a red-and-green silk scarf, and the camel hair hand-me-down coat he’d gotten off of Butch the season before.
At the last moment, he took one of his nines and clipped it to his waistband. When he pulled the sweater down, you couldn’t see it, and that was the goal.
Stepping out of the walk-in closet, he put his arms wide and did a spin. “This good? Do I look okay?”
Qhuinn, who was sitting over on the bed, smiled. “Come here.”
As Blay walked over, he was conscious of those mismatched eyes watching every move he made—and not necessarily in a sexual way, although there was heat, as always, in that gaze. It was more—
“You’re beautiful, you know that?” Qhuinn said as he wrapped his arms around Blay’s waist and put his chin on Blay’s belly button.
“You’re going to make me blush.”
“Good. I like when you do.”
Blay could only shake his head slowly and smile like a fool. The truth was, something had happened during the day to his male. He wasn’t sure what it was. Qhuinn was still sad. That was obvious. But there was… a peacefulness about him. A calmness in the mourning that had not been there before.
“You must have finally slept,” Blay said as he stroked that black-and-purple hair back.
“What do you mean?”