Of Course, Serena Gets Sebastian!

Despite the fact that Emily never got on the bus herself, she was accustomed to the bus stop. On that late autumn afternoon, she waited for her ride home with her best friend Loren and Loren's friend Sadie. There was a sharp coldness in the air, mingled with the pungent, bitter smell of diesel from the passing buses. Long, jagged shadows were cast across the cracked pavement by the low sun. Emily didn't depend on such common transportation options. Even from Loren, who had known her since they were children, she kept her much more unusual mode of transportation a secret.

"Serena gets Sebastian, of course!" The soft murmur of the street was broken by Sadie's voice, which was full of jealousy and a trace of hopelessness.

She gripped the straps of her backpack, her bright, wide eyes flashing with frustration and longing. It was a tirade Emily had heard countless times before. Sadie's constant longing for Sebastian, the golden boy at their school, had taken on the form of a ritual. Since second grade, she had been enamored with him because of his effortless charm and ability to command attention without trying. Emily failed to see the appeal. Although Sebastian was constantly surrounded by laughing admirers, she saw him as just another face in the crowd. But what was her knowledge of romance? She knew it only from the brief, silent exchanges she had seen between Tara, a slender ballerina in the Obsidian Angel Dance Troupe, and Xavion, her Obsidian Angel mentor who taught her the arcane arts. Even though they both denied it, there was an undercurrent of something deeper despite their subtle connection—a brush of hands, stolen glances. Emily had never seen love so close, and even that felt ethereal and veiled in mystery.

"Well, perhaps if you approached him and spoke with him directly." Sadie's glare held Loren in place as she began, her voice hesitant, then trailed off.

Speak with him? Speak with Sebastian? Are you crazy? Sadie's voice grew higher as she spoke quickly. "At worst, he'd probably think I'm a stalker!" Emily felt a twinge of annoyance as a few onlookers turned to look at her outburst.

“Will you please keep it down?” Emily whispered, slapping Sadie's arm lightly, or as she meant to say, lightly. "It hurts!" Whimpering, Sadie scrunched up her face and rubbed the spot dramatically.

With an accusing tone, Sadie grumbled, "You didn't have to hit me."

Emily retorted, more abrasively than she intended, "Then don't give me a reason to." Loren looked at her, furrowing her brows.

"Emily," said Loren firmly, with that familiar note of disapproval in her voice. Emily sighed and sagged a little. Though it was a natural consequence of being an Obsidian Angel, she didn't mean to come across as harsh or aloof. They were taught to distance themselves from friends, to cut off contact with strangers, and to get angry with people who mistreated them.

"In any case, why do you like him? In an attempt to shake Sadie out of her fixation, Emily said, "He's a cretin."

"Avoid saying that! At school, Sebastian is the most attractive and alluring guy. Sadie retaliated with a fierce, conviction-filled voice. Emily dropped it and rolled her eyes. With someone so focused on the surface, there was no use in debating depth versus glitz.

Loren, her cheeks flushed with shame over Sadie's scene, whispered, "Oh, our bus is here." Emily hated shallow nonsense, and she knew it. "Emily, see you tomorrow."

Emily gave a nod. "See you." She pivoted on her heel and left the bus stop behind, heading in the other direction.

The shiny hallways of the Obsidian Angel Citadel were a far cry from the streets Emily traversed. Every surface was covered in grime, and the air was thick with the pungent smell of desperation and decay. On either side, crumbling brick buildings rose, their windows boarded up or gaping like empty sockets, their facades pockmarked and weathered. Rough-looking figures shuffled by, some glancing down at her, others glancing at her suspiciously. This was the land of the lost: the prostitutes leaning against corroded lampposts, the homeless curled up in darkened doorways, the drug addicts twitching uneasily in alleys, their faces frozen into masks of apathy.

A recognizable figure was leaning against a wall up ahead. Caleb's pale skin seemed to glow faintly against the red brick, making him a ghostly figure in the waning light. He had been fighting leukemia for two years at the age of seventeen, and his once-thick hair had long since fallen out, leaving his scalp exposed and defenseless. He was now in remission, but he was exhausted from the fight that had carved itself into his body. He was wearing a hooded black sweatshirt over his thin shoulders, frayed blue jeans that were frayed at the knees, and a white baseball cap that was tilted sideways. A thin curl of smoke curled upward from a cigarette that dangled from his lips.

Emily's voice broke the silence as she called out, "Hey, Caleb."

He mumbled, "Hey," and let out a slow cloud of smoke that hung languidly in the atmosphere.

"Are you still smoking cigarettes?" she inquired, even though she was aware of the response.

Yes. You don't want to try one, are you sure? Although he was being playful, there was a hint of fatigue in his voice.

With a hint of impatience, she answered, "I told you, I don't touch them." To an Obsidian Angel, cigarettes—and drugs, for that matter—were as insignificant as grass blades to people.

He flicked ash onto the sidewalk in response, saying, "Okay, no need to get snippy."

Ignoring him, Emily strode down a small alley that led to a tall brick wall. Years of neglect had left its surface marred by faded graffiti and black mold splatters on the bricks.

Behind her, Caleb's tone was casual but direct: "I know where you go." Her heart faltered as the words stopped her in her tracks. She slowly turned, putting on a mask of indifference to hide her features.

“What?” she pretended not to know.

With a steady tone, he reiterated, "I know where you go." "You vanish... into a portal." I once saw you.

"Are you certain you're not high as well?" She arched a brow at him and scoffed.

"You can laugh all you want, but I witnessed it. "There's no use in disputing it," he stated, unfazed.

"Yes, whatever." She dismissed him with a wave and continued walking until she was certain he was out of sight. Since they weren't close enough, she didn't care if he found out her secret. Who would believe him, even if he blabbed to everyone? They would dismiss him as delusional after glancing at his trembling hands and hollow cheeks. The idea made her smile.

The brick wall stood firm and unyielding at the end of the alley. Grounding herself, she inhaled deeply as the familiar jolt of energy stirred in her fingertips. She called forth the portal with a broad, purposeful sweep of her arms. It came to life in front of her, a turbine-like swirling vortex of pitch-blackness. The air crackled faintly, humming with invisible power. It felt like a curtain of cold mist clinging momentarily to her skin as she stepped through it.

She came out into the Obsidian Angel Citadel and into a corridor. The room was filled with darkness and luxury. Her footsteps were cushioned by the rich, velvety carpets of red that stretched from the floor to the walls. Crimson flags hung from the vaulted ceiling above, each embroidered with the Obsidian Angel emblem: a dark circle encircling black wings with dripping tips. There was a slight, smoky smell of incense that permeated the cool air like a whisper.

Xavion was in front of them, his slender figure dressed in slacks and a black sweater. His dark eyes glinted as they met hers, and his wavy black hair and well-groomed beard framed a face of sharp angles. A grin pulled at his mouth's corner. "You're running late."

"I apologize, but is it not possible for me to live outside of the Obsidian Angel Dominion?" She joked, her tone lighthearted.

He answered, "One can only dream," and they laughed together in a low, knowing laugh that was tinged with the weight of their shared secrets.

"Come with me. We must complete our training. She fell into step behind him, preparing for another brutal session as he turned and strode down the hallway. It was going to get messy.