when you’re scared, doesn’t it? Bothers you that I can see your fear.”
The dock is before us now and Jake steps onto it, pulling me up after him. “It’s not that I didn’t know you could see it, Elle. I just thought . . . I thought I was managing it better than I am, I guess.”
“You mean hiding it.”
We’re at the end of the dock now, the water sloshing gently against the wooden beams below. Crickets fill the air, but Jake is quiet.
“I wish you wouldn’t. Hide them, I mean. Your fears are the only ones I feel remotely equipped to handle.”
“See, that concerns me.”
“What?”
Jake drops to the dock and I sit with him, our feet dangling over.
“The other day you were talking about fear being everywhere and I just . . . I realized how little I’ve done to help you. To prepare you.”
“Jake . . .”
“You can do more than handle fear, Elle. You can destroy it.”
I almost laugh. Sitting here in my bathing suit, perched next to the water like a cattail, I couldn’t feel less like a warrior. But Jake continues.
“Think about the warehouse. Think about the child, Ali.”
His change of subject takes me by surprise.
“I think about her all the time,” I say. Of all the children locked away in Damien’s warehouse, she’s the one I find myself wondering about the most. Her name is a ghostly reminder of my Ali, my friend, killed by the same man who took her hostage. Something inside me warms at the thought of her, free and mending somewhere.
But when we first met the child, there was no guarantee. She was terrified, shaking, her dirty face smeared with fear. And then Jake spoke hope. He promised her a way out, and the fear dissolved, evaporating into the heat and light of the Celestial.
“It takes a word. A touch. A prayer. You were created to bea light. So be that to the scared and broken. Be that, and watch what happens to fear.”
Starlight appears in the water below. I watch as, one light at a time, the darkness of the glassy lake reflects the beauty overhead. “It’s overwhelming sometimes.”
“I know,” he says, staring at his own hands. “I feel like such a hypocrite telling you what to do with your gift.”
He’s been skittish with the healing in his hands. In the seven months since the warehouse, he’s not used it once.
“Does it scare you?” I ask. “Healing?”
“It’s not the act of healing that scares me. It’s the consequences. A demon thought he could corrupt the gift, and it almost got you killed.”
“Technically, it did get me killed.”
I’m joking, of course, making light of a memory that terrifies both of us, but I’ve underestimated Jake’s tone.
“Put the halo on,” he says.
“Now?” I glance around, but we’re alone.
“Yes,” Jake says, removing the halo from my wrist. “I want to show you something.”
As always, the halo shifts and remolds, melting and transforming into the crown that was given to Canaan as a reward for his loyalty. The liquid gold sheen catches the stars tonight and throws their light back at us brighter than they appear above.
When the change is complete, I place the halo on my head and watch as shards of white light pierce the hazel of Jake’s eyes. The lake follows, and the sky, the moon a vibrant ball of blue and yellow against the orange expanse. I see the Celestial.
And I see fear.
Black and thick, it sits on Jake’s shoulders. My heart aches at the sight. It’s heavier than anything I’ve seen on him.
“You see it, then?”
I nod, my insides knotted.
“You’re afraid. Very afraid. But why?”
“Destroy it,” he says.
My inadequacies curdle in my stomach, but it’s Jake, and I’d do anything to take this burden from him. Even carry it myself. I reach out a hand, sliding it across his shoulder and into the fear. The malevolent substance leaps at the heat of my body, climbing onto my hand. It twists and turns, inching up my arm. Cold. So very, very cold.
“Now pray,” he says.
But
The dock is before us now and Jake steps onto it, pulling me up after him. “It’s not that I didn’t know you could see it, Elle. I just thought . . . I thought I was managing it better than I am, I guess.”
“You mean hiding it.”
We’re at the end of the dock now, the water sloshing gently against the wooden beams below. Crickets fill the air, but Jake is quiet.
“I wish you wouldn’t. Hide them, I mean. Your fears are the only ones I feel remotely equipped to handle.”
“See, that concerns me.”
“What?”
Jake drops to the dock and I sit with him, our feet dangling over.
“The other day you were talking about fear being everywhere and I just . . . I realized how little I’ve done to help you. To prepare you.”
“Jake . . .”
“You can do more than handle fear, Elle. You can destroy it.”
I almost laugh. Sitting here in my bathing suit, perched next to the water like a cattail, I couldn’t feel less like a warrior. But Jake continues.
“Think about the warehouse. Think about the child, Ali.”
His change of subject takes me by surprise.
“I think about her all the time,” I say. Of all the children locked away in Damien’s warehouse, she’s the one I find myself wondering about the most. Her name is a ghostly reminder of my Ali, my friend, killed by the same man who took her hostage. Something inside me warms at the thought of her, free and mending somewhere.
But when we first met the child, there was no guarantee. She was terrified, shaking, her dirty face smeared with fear. And then Jake spoke hope. He promised her a way out, and the fear dissolved, evaporating into the heat and light of the Celestial.
“It takes a word. A touch. A prayer. You were created to bea light. So be that to the scared and broken. Be that, and watch what happens to fear.”
Starlight appears in the water below. I watch as, one light at a time, the darkness of the glassy lake reflects the beauty overhead. “It’s overwhelming sometimes.”
“I know,” he says, staring at his own hands. “I feel like such a hypocrite telling you what to do with your gift.”
He’s been skittish with the healing in his hands. In the seven months since the warehouse, he’s not used it once.
“Does it scare you?” I ask. “Healing?”
“It’s not the act of healing that scares me. It’s the consequences. A demon thought he could corrupt the gift, and it almost got you killed.”
“Technically, it did get me killed.”
I’m joking, of course, making light of a memory that terrifies both of us, but I’ve underestimated Jake’s tone.
“Put the halo on,” he says.
“Now?” I glance around, but we’re alone.
“Yes,” Jake says, removing the halo from my wrist. “I want to show you something.”
As always, the halo shifts and remolds, melting and transforming into the crown that was given to Canaan as a reward for his loyalty. The liquid gold sheen catches the stars tonight and throws their light back at us brighter than they appear above.
When the change is complete, I place the halo on my head and watch as shards of white light pierce the hazel of Jake’s eyes. The lake follows, and the sky, the moon a vibrant ball of blue and yellow against the orange expanse. I see the Celestial.
And I see fear.
Black and thick, it sits on Jake’s shoulders. My heart aches at the sight. It’s heavier than anything I’ve seen on him.
“You see it, then?”
I nod, my insides knotted.
“You’re afraid. Very afraid. But why?”
“Destroy it,” he says.
My inadequacies curdle in my stomach, but it’s Jake, and I’d do anything to take this burden from him. Even carry it myself. I reach out a hand, sliding it across his shoulder and into the fear. The malevolent substance leaps at the heat of my body, climbing onto my hand. It twists and turns, inching up my arm. Cold. So very, very cold.
“Now pray,” he says.
But
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