Billy snorts. “Tell us something we don’t know.”
“That’s why I thought it’d be appropriate for you to know. So you can decide whether it’s worth the risk to attend my funeral,” Mom says.
“Oh, we’re all going to be there,” Billy insists. “Like I said, we can handle Samjeeza. He wouldn’t take on forty of us.”
The rest of the group doesn’t look so sure.
“We’re all going to be there,” Billy says again, like she’s daring someone to cross her.
“We stand by each other.”
Mom sighs in exasperation. “Bill, I’m not going to be standing anywhere. I won’t be there.
It’s very nice for you to pay your respects, but it’s really unnecessary. Not worth the risk, if you want my opinion.”
Billy doesn’t bat an eye. She turns to my mom, my serene and dying mother, who wouldn’t have had the strength to hike out here to the meadow without us helping her, who can hardly keep herself sitting up straight now, and Billy looks at her like she’s a total moron.
“Mags, sweetie,” she says. “I know that. It’s not for you, dear. We’re going to be there for Clara. For Jeffrey. For everyone else who loves you. And if there’s a Black Wing, it’s all the more reason for everyone to be there. To protect them.”
Mom closes her eyes. “It’s only a funeral.”
“It’s
We’re going to take care of your kids.”
There’s another wave of whispering from the crowd, this time in agreement.
“I don’t think the funeral is really the issue here,” Mr. Phibbs says suddenly.
“So what is?” Billy asks.
“Clara says Samjeeza is at the graveside. And that he’s hurting, sure, as Black Wings are like to do. But she also says he’s mad at us. I’d say the larger question here is, what are we going to do between then and now to piss him off?”
Okay, so that ruffles more than a few feathers. People start arguing again.
“The last time one of us fought a Black Wing, she ended up dead,” that Julia lady says.
“And she sacrificed her life so that the Black Wings wouldn’t find out about the rest of us, in case you forgot.”
This time Christian does not meet my eyes. He’s looking down into the crackling fire.
“We didn’t forget,” Walter says in a low voice.
“It’s understandable that you’re afraid,” says Mr. Phibbs. “But that was seven years ago.
We’ve become sleepy since then. Sleepy and safe.”
“You’re careless, Corbett, but you can afford to be,” Julia replies. “You don’t have anything to lose, since your time is almost up, yourself.” Mr. Phibbs regards her like a troublesome student. “Maybe that’s true,” he fires back.
“But we’re at war, in case you’ve forgotten. You can ignore that and go on with your human lives in your human houses and your special camping trips in the woods a few times a year, but the reality is, we’re angel- bloods. This is a war. We’ve been chosen to fight.” His words ring out in the cool night air, which has gone suddenly still.
“Stop,” Mom protests. “I’m responsible for this mess with Samjeeza, and no one else.”
“Mags, dear, be quiet,” Billy says.
I look around the campfire. Mr. Phibbs is right. Everyone knows he’s right.
“I’ll be there, at the cemetery,” says Christian suddenly, fiercely. “It doesn’t matter who else shows up.”
“As will I,” says Walter, clapping a hand on Christian’s shoulder.
“And me,” pipes up someone else. “To the end.”
They go around the circle, each angel-blood vowing to be there in Aspen Hill Cemetery that day. Even Julia begrudgingly agrees. When it gets to Jeffrey, who hasn’t said anything this entire weekend, he shrugs and says, “Kind of a given, right?” and then Angela says, “Bring it on,” and then it’s me and I just nod, because I’m suddenly too choked up to get the words out.
Then our impromptu meeting is adjourned, everyone going back to normal, except that there’s a new energy in the air, because we are angel-bloods, and we aren’t cowards, and we’ve been given a call to battle. Mom looks exhausted and Billy escorts her back to our tent, then returns to the fire to where the other members of the inner circle are gathered to discuss, I assume, what they’re going to do about this situation. I glance over at Mr. Phibbs, who’s still sitting in the circle, leaning back with a pleased expression on his face.
“You’re a troublemaker, you know that?” I tell him.
He raises his scraggly white eyebrows. “Takes one to know one.” I laugh, but later, when everyone else is asleep, I keep going over what he said. That we’re meant to fight. That this is a war. And that would put me, and Jeffrey, and Christian, and Angela and all the people I care about, right smack in the middle of it.
In the morning there’s this crazy-loud angelic trumpeting, and everyone gets up for the sunrise. This time they haven’t planned an official meeting. We had enough talk last night, Stephen says. He waves us all, even those of us who are not official members, into a circle in the middle of the meadow.
“We want to take this moment to honor Margaret Gardner, as this is the last meeting that she’ll be able to attend,” he says when we’re all assembled. I look for Jeffrey, but I don’t see him.
He’s probably sneaking in some extra fishing or something, which makes me mad. He should be here for
