EIGHT
I PUZZLED OVER CYRENE’S bizarre suggestion for some time, until the sky started to flush with rosy light. Cyrene didn’t reassure me that Gabriel would love me as much when the shard was gone as he did now, but I realized I valued her honest reply more than any platitudes. I rubbed the small scar on my chest where the shard had entered my body, and stared out at the streaks of red and gold as they lit the horizon, wondering what Gabriel was doing, content, at least, to know he missed me as much as I missed him.
I went downstairs a few hours later, tired from lack of sleep and too much introspection. I thought I was seeing things when Jim ambled toward me from the dining room.
“Heya, Mayling. You look like you were pulled through Abaddon backwards on a porcupine.”
“Jim . . . didn’t
