“Really? You needed a heads-up? I think I’m the one that needed a little warning.” I pointed a finger at my chest, my voice rising with each word.
“There was no reason to tell you before; it would’ve only confused you. But now, you are maturing as a demi-angel and you need to know the truth.”
“Well, gee, thanks for including me,” I bit out through clenched teeth. My hands balled into fists at my sides. “I think you could’ve told me a little sooner. I’ve had reasoning skills for a few years. It’s not like I’m seven, like Ben.”
My dad nodded and clasped his hands together. He sat for several seconds, staring at the floor before he said, “You’re right. But please understand that this is new territory for your mom and me. We weren’t—aren’t—sure how to handle this either. We’ve done the best we can.” He lifted his gaze to mine, and I saw regret. “We wanted you to have as normal a childhood as you could before all this stuff was thrown at you, so we waited to tell you. We were wrong to wait so long. Sit down, Milayna. Let’s talk.”
I stepped back and leaned against the wall behind me. “I can hear you from here.”
My dad nodded and sighed. “Angels have been studied by scholars for years. There is very little accurate information on us. I was a Watcher—the official name is Qadishin. It’s what man has termed a guardian angel. I left my post as a Watcher and came to earth twenty-five years ago to live out my life as a mortal. I’m an angel, but I’ve given up most of my powers. I’m not immortal. I’ll age, get sick, injured, and eventually die just as any mortal human would. I’ve also relinquished my status as a Qadishin. I can never go back.”
“So you’re a fallen angel?”
My dad fiddled with his watch clasp. “No.”
“But we’re taught in church that angels who leave to come to earth are fallen—”
“Like I said, men have tried to understand the angelic world for centuries. They don’t have all the facts correct. Not all angels on earth are what man terms ‘fallen.’”
“I don’t understand.” I walked to the couch and sat next to my mom, the only other human—non-freak—in the room. She wrapped her arm around me, and I snuggled against her where I felt safe and the world made sense, or at least, where it used to.
“There are two groups of Watchers. The Iri are the obedient, or faithful, Watchers. The Irin are disobedient, or fallen, angels. I’m an Iri.”
“And Uncle Rory?” My mom hugged me closer but stayed silent, letting my dad tell me about his history and his people.
“Iri, and so is Grams.”
“I guess if I must have a freaky family of angels, I’m glad they come from the Iri line,” I muttered.
My dad chuckled, spinning his wedding ring on his finger. “Yeah, I guess that’s the silver lining in all of this.”
“But where’s the proof? I want to see something other than Grams turning her blender on from the living room.” I stood and walked to the window.
Dad laughed, and the suddenness of it in this otherwise quiet room made me jump. “The blender trick, huh? Yeah, she likes that one.” He shook his head slowly with a grin. “Ah. Well, let’s see. You believe in good and evil, right?” I nodded. “That’s your proof.”
“What are you talking about?” I made a what-the-hell face.
“Faith. That’s about the only proof you have right now. You’ll get hardcore, tangible proof soon enough, unfortunately. And once you see it, you’ll spend the rest of your life wishing you could un-see it.”
I leaned against the window and stared at a portrait on the fireplace mantel. The faces of the people I’d called family smiled back at me. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me. Nothing about our family is what it seemed.” Tears pressed against the back of my eyes, and I blinked to hold them in. They were a watery mixture of anger and sadness. At that point, I hadn’t figured out which outweighed the other—or if it even mattered.
“Milayna.” My mom spoke for the first time. “Our family is the same now as it was yesterday. You’ve just learned some things about your heritage. Just because our family is different doesn’t mean we don’t love each other as much as any blood relations could love one another.”
I nodded. “I still wish you would’ve told me.”
My parents looked at me, their faces soft with love and understanding. A shimmer of sympathy stirred in their eyes. “I’m sorry, Milayna, but we just didn’t think you were ready,” my dad whispered. “Or maybe, we weren’t ready.”
“What makes me more ready today than yesterday?”