Ash & Flame: Season One Read Online Free PDF Page B

as he watched the creature bank left and head over the earthen wall to the north, powerful wings beating against the air.
    Ren swallowed. The memory replayed in his mind of the demon's paralyzed fear, and the image of a bright light rushing towards him as he fell, battered and barely conscious. The luminescence so blinding that he had had to squeeze his eyes shut.
    "Is-is that an..."
    "Is he an angel?" Anne interrupted. "Yes, he is. His name is Ithuriel. But we just call him the Spear."
    Ren opened his mouth, then closed it again, the pulsing sound of his heartbeat echoing in his ears. What could he say that would make any sense here? Knowing there were angels soaring the skies above wasn't quite the same as seeing one up close.
    The angel's wings pumped down hard and he vanished over the tops of the trees.
    "And if you want to thank anyone for saving your lives," Anne said, a faint smile on her lips. "You might as well start with him."
    ▪▪▪
    Emma finished off the last bite of fish and stretched her arms out over her head. She swallowed and let out a big sigh as she leaned back on her bed, her head propped up on the pillow.
    "Feels good to have something in your gut besides raw ramen and beans, doesn't it?"
    Emma burped. She smiled and looked over at her dad. "You sure know how to spoil me, Dad."
    "Funny story, Em, you know you used to hate fish?"
    "I did?"
    Dad nodded. "Sure did. I remember once, me and your mom, we took you to Long John Silver's for the first time. Thought it'd be a nice treat. I loved their fish, and your mom, she sure as anything loved her hushpuppies—"
    "Hushpuppies?" Emma asked, interrupting Ren. She had no idea what hushpuppies were, but now that she'd asked, she wasn't too sure she wanted to know.
    "Little addicting balls of cornbread."
    "Oh."
    "Anyway, we got you a fish basket. You couldn't have been any older than three or four." Dad glanced at the wall, and his eyes got that faraway look they got sometimes, when he was revisiting that better world they used to live in. He looked back at Emma and grinned. "You took one bite, and that was it. Shook your head and spat it out. You hated fish, end of story. We tried to get you to give it another shot, and you got so mad that you started throwing Mom's hushpuppies."
    His eyes shone in the lantern's dim light. "I owed her a box of the stupid things every day for a week, after that."
    Emma laughed. Of course she couldn't have remembered that, and even if she could, she'd probably be a bit embarrassed to admit it.
    Her taste in food was hardly a point now, anyway. Didn't much matter if she really liked something, or hated it, like fish. Anything she could find now that was remotely edible would do the trick. Turning down anything she or her dad found would be like admitting that she'd rather starve.
    And she'd known what that felt like. She'd eat cardboard if she had to.
    She tried to imagine her mom, sitting at the table of some restaurant, trying to get her to take another bite of fish. Tried to just imagine her mom's face, which had become harder and harder to do lately. Harder to recall, like the older Emma got the more of her mother's face she would forget, until one day there would be nothing left and she would have nothing but her dad's stories.
    It wasn't fair. She wanted to remember everything.
    Only that wasn't true. Parts she did remember, parts of her mom that she didn't think even Dad had known about. Things that she didn't want him to know, like how Emma had known her mom was sick. How she had come into Emma's room some nights, and told her good night, and Mom's eyes had scared her to death.
    How she knew the instant her mother had jumped.
    "So what happened, Em?"
    Emma's breath caught in her throat, her dad's question breaking the spell her thoughts had cast over her. She blinked and turned to face him. "What do you mean? You're the one that remembers that stuff—"
    Dad shook his head. "No. I mean the other night." He leaned forward,