Speed of Light by Amber Kizer Page B

journal entries that talk about mirror gazing and people being able to see the light when they’re in a trance.”
    “That’s the Abe Lincoln reference, right? That he saw himself dead?”
    “Hmm, and Patton talked to his dead father before every battle.”
    “We know Señora Portalso could see my Light.” She’d sat next to me on the bus from Portland to Revelation, then helped us when Tens almost died.
    “Rumi can see a little of it.”
    “So there’s a whole type of person, who isn’t angelic, that is aware of us.” We’d tacked up a scroll similar to Rumi’s that we were adding to. I got off the bed and started a new list. “Near-death experiences—that’s Delia. Señora is an unknown. Rumi has a familial connection to Fenestras too.”
    “We don’t know for sure which of Rumi’s family members are Fenestra, right?”
    I shook my head. Rumi shared the heirloom writings with us like we shared Auntie’s journal with him. “What about his uncle? Do you think he was just a black sheep or did he turn Nocti?”
    Tens frowned. “It would kill Rumi if he finds out he’s related to Dark.”
    I rolled my neck.
Ouch
.
    “Knots?” He motioned me over to the edge of the bed.
    I propped myself up and he started digging gently with his thumbs and then with more force.
Oh, yay
. I moaned.
    “Maybe we need to add stretching or yoga to our daily routine? You can’t function well if you’re all twisted up.”
    Surprised, I gulped, “You know yoga?”
    “I did a stint as an errand boy at a retreat center in eastern Oregon,” he said matter-of-factly.
    On his way to Auntie’s? In the years he only had himself to rely on? He couldn’t have been more than thirteen or fourteen
. “And they didn’t ask questions? Like where your parents were?”
How they could help you?
    “No speaking was allowed. They fed me, gave me a place to stay, and I ran all over taking written messages to people.” He shrugged. “Watched a lot of contortions during group meditations.”
    “You meditated?” I blanched at the shock in my voice.
Why am I so surprised?
    “Nah, it wasn’t bad.”
    “Why’d you leave?” I glanced over my shoulder.
    “You weren’t there.” He lowered his eyelashes and concentrated on rubbing my shoulders.
    My heart grieved for the little boy he was but also rejoiced in knowing this man would do anything, endure anything, confront anything, to protect me and keep me safe.
All of me—my soul, my spirit, my body
. “Is it possible to be really sad and really happy at the same time?”
    “Every day, Supergirl.”
    I leaned back into his arms and he wrapped them around me. He dropped his lips to the curve of my neck and nibbled. I sighed, relaxing into his touch, inhaling the pine and earthy aromas belonging solely to him.
    His fingers flirted with the skin along my midriff; hiscalluses tickled and stroked until I shivered. I turned in his arms and fit my lips to his.
    Our tongues met, promised, and danced. He shucked my T-shirt over my head and tossed his too.
    The feel of his naked skin on my breasts thrilled. His nipples pebbled against mine. Waves of heat rolled off of him and I wrapped my legs around his hips.
    He pressed me down into the mattress and I reveled in the weight of him against me. My hips arced toward him. Clothing rubbed and felt like an impediment, too heavy and thick between us. I reached toward his waistband, dipping my fingers under it when the “Hallelujah Chorus,” digitized and electric, interrupted.
What in the world?
    We froze. The ringtone began again.
    “It’s Tony,” Tens said against my mouth. Frustration at the disruption was evident in his growl.
    I started laughing. “How apropos.”
    “Wanna know what your ringtone is?” Tens gave me a tender smile as he hit TALK. His fingers circled along my ribs, my breasts. I caught his hand. Stopped his exploration. As much as I wanted to continue, wanted to peel every layer of clothing and focus on the feeling, I