The Rephaim: Burn Part 36

We all turn-all four hundred of us-and watch Ez and Zak walk up the aisle arm in arm. Dani walks ahead, smiling at everyone as she pa.s.ses. A lithe angel with skin more coffee than caramel catches Ez's eye as she pa.s.ses and puts his hand over his heart. She smiles, and a tear slips down her cheek. The bride and groom ascend the steps to Brother Stephen, then turn and face each other. Zak reaches for Ez's scarf. He gently pushes it back from her face and slides it from her shoulders.

'You're too beautiful to hide,' he says.

For a few seconds, my heart is too big for me.

Brother Stephen isn't a licensed celebrant and technically the marriage won't be legal, but none of that matters. Today is about Ez and Zak showing us a way forward: that we may not be able to escape the training room and the battlefield, but we can live our lives beyond them.

When Zak says his vows, Rafa's fingers find mine.

Later-after everyone's had their fill of chargrilled lamb and flatbread and pickled vegetables-Jones and Daisy clear s.p.a.ce for a dancefloor.

Micah and Jude have rigged an iPod dock to a huge set of rented speakers. Now they're arguing over whose playlist to use. Daniel looks like he's about to get involved, but then spots Jess speaking quietly with Nathaniel and joins them instead, grabbing a bottle of wine from an empty table on his way. Nathaniel hasn't fully recovered in any sense from the Pan Beach battle, but he turns up for training every day, helps Jude plan the day's drills. And Jess has been teaching Daniel to fire a police-issue handgun, although I'm not entirely sure it's the gun that intrigues him.

Rafa's by the bar, trying to get away from Barakiel. I can see from here that Rafa's trying to hold his temper with his father. At least they're not throwing punches. Yet.

'Your brother thinks I should let Rafa and Barakiel spar,' Semyaza says behind me, making me jump. He always does this: approaches without warning and then launches straight into conversation. No polite small talk for my father. He sits down uninvited, taking up a lot of s.p.a.ce.

'Jude's right. You need to let them sort themselves out on the mats.'

'Rafael is no match for Barakiel.'

'Don't underestimate Rafa. And trust me, he's never going to respect his father until they've thrown down.'

Semyaza tilts his head a fraction. His beard is trimmed to his jawline, his matted hair shorter and tied back. 'Do you wish to "throw down" with me?'

'Of course.'

His eyebrows go up.

'I want to test my skills, improve. That's why Gabriel threw us all together, right? We're supposed to reconnect you lot to humanity and you're supposed to make us better fighters?'

'Is that why? I thought it was to amuse himself.'

I blink and then burst out laughing. 'Holy s.h.i.+t, Semyaza, was that sarcasm?'

His lips quirk and his eyes crease like Jude's. 'You children, you think you invented everything.'

An up-tempo folk song starts. Daisy and Jones are first onto the floor, circling each other, grinning as they move to the beat. By the second verse, the dancefloor is packed with Rephaim, waiting for the song to morph into a dance tune. Semyaza tops up my wine, fills a gla.s.s of his own. I reach over and clink my gla.s.s against his. He raises his in response. The synthesiser kicks in and the Rephaim erupt, hands in the air, bouncing in time to the thumping rhythm. Release.

Two songs later and Rafa slips into the seat on my other side. Jude is with him.

I b.u.mp my knee against Rafa's leg. 'How's your old man?'

He sits back and rests his arm behind me on my chair. 'Acting like a tool.' He nods at Semyaza, who ignores him. Jude watches Daisy and Jones carve a s.p.a.ce for themselves in the crowd, showing off.

I lean across Rafa. 'Go dance with her.'

Jude shakes his head. 'I can't move like Jones.'

'Yes, that's a well-established fact.' I push his shoulder. 'Go on.'

'She's still p.i.s.sed off.'

'No, she's not.'

'Then what do you call the way she acts towards me?'

'Self-defence.'

His eyes cut back to her. She's laughing at Jones hamming it up with pop-n-lock moves. 'She's not forgiving me any time soon.'

I think of the way her eyes have found him all night, regardless of where he is in the chapterhouse. 'I seriously doubt that.' I touch his wrist, make him look at me. 'But if you go to her, you better know what you're doing.'

Jude knows I'm not talking about his footwork. 'I know what I want.' He drains his beer. 'And it's not dancing to s.h.i.+t music.'

He skirts the dancers. He and Micah have a quick conversation and then Jude waits until the song is almost over before he goes to Daisy. She sees him and makes room. He and Jones b.u.mp fists and Jones melts into the crowd, still busting moves.

The song ends. Another starts, slower, melancholic. Daisy shakes her head, almost smiles: Foo Fighters. Dave Grohl singing about tortured souls and broken things. Jude holds out his hand and she hesitates only a second. He draws her to him and rests his hands lightly on her hips, a quiet question. They move together, watching each other. Jude says something and Daisy leans in. He slips an arm around her, still speaking into her ear, draws her closer. His other hand caresses her neck, and then his lips drop from her ear to her throat. She closes her eyes and melts against him. Okay. I guess they're working it out.

The dancefloor is crowded now with slow-moving couples. Maggie and Jason. Taya and Simon. Even Malachi and Mya-barely touching and more awkward than everyone else, but that won't do either of them any harm.

And Ez and Zak, happier than I've ever seen them.

I sit back and lean into Rafa, feeling fuzzy. It takes a second to register the sensation. It's not just the buzz from the wine. I'm...content.

It's not easy, all of us being here at the Sanctuary. The Fallen are far from domesticated, and there are heated arguments more days than not. And we're all still living on top of each other while we wait for the east wing to be renovated and the commissary to be rebuilt. But we're trying. It's not a comfortable alliance, but it's holding for the moment. And at least once a week I find an excuse to see Maggie in Pan Beach. There's something about our bungalow, about the rainforest and the ocean. It always feels like going home. Even if the town is still lousy with reporters.

Rafa's fingers brush my shoulder and trail down my arm. He leans in until I feel his breath on my ear. 'Do you want to hit the floor?'

I pull back to look at him. 'You want to dance?'

A grin. 'Generally, no, but this seems like the time to make an exception.'

His tie and jacket are long gone. The top b.u.t.ton on his s.h.i.+rt is undone and his sleeves are rolled up to his elbows. If Semyaza wasn't sitting with us I'd kiss Rafa right now. Probably inappropriately.

But I can wait until we're alone in our room.

Rafa's grin widens as if he can read my thoughts. 'So, Gaby, you want to dance with me or not?'

I'm not a librarian anymore, I'm a soldier, and the future holds more violence. More bloodshed. But not tonight. Tonight, there's life to be lived.

'Sure,' I say, winding my fingers through his. 'Let's see what you've got.'

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS.

Five years ago, I was frustrated and disappointed over yet another writing rejection-the latest addition to a fat folder. To cheer myself up I started working on something for fun. That scene turned into the beginnings of Shadows and an outline for the four-book Rephaim series. Less than a year later, my agent Lyn Tranter pitched the series to Mandy Brett and Alison Arnold at Text Publis.h.i.+ng. They liked it and I was offered a contract. After all those years of writing and rejection, the thing I had wanted for so long happened 'just like that'.

Since then, the series has been published in the United Kingdom, North America and Turkey. I've been a guest at writers' festivals and a writer-in-residence at high schools, partic.i.p.ated in blog tours, met lots of wonderful readers online and at events, and read countless reviews of my work (good, bad and otherwise).

I've rubbed shoulders with many of my favourite writers and met others who have since joined that list. I've chatted and shared book recommendations with a great bunch of dedicated bloggers and reviewers who do what they do purely because they love to read. The young-adult writing community in Australia is quite possibly the most welcoming, supportive and friendly writing sector in the world today, and that's been one of the greatest discoveries of all.

I still have a day job. Few people tell you how tough it is to earn a living as a writer. I'm just grateful to be in print, and especially grateful for publishers like Text Publis.h.i.+ng who are still willing to take risks. There are plenty of writers out there who are where I was five years ago, so I take nothing for granted.

This is the fourth and last book in the Rephaim series, and there are plenty of people I need to thank.

Text Publis.h.i.+ng: my editor Mandy Brett, for caring about a story filled with angels and demons. I'm well aware of how lucky I am to be able to work with you. And the entire team at Text, especially those I've worked with the closest: Anne Beilby, Alice Cottrell, Steph Speight, Alaina Gougoulis and Shalini Kunahlan.

Orion/Indigo Books: my editor Jenny Glencross and senior publicity manager Nina Douglas.

Tundra Books/Random House Canada: Alison Morgan, Editorial Director Tara Walker and Publicity Manager Pamela Osti, as well as Val Capuani. Special thanks to Publis.h.i.+ng Coordinator Sylvia Chan, for always going above and beyond.

Alison Arnold, for being there from the start of this series and whose influence still guides my writing (and inspires me to try to write beautiful sentences).

Rebecca Cram (Place), for nearly three decades of friends.h.i.+p and encouragement and providing helpful feedback on an early draft of Burn.

Mich.e.l.le Reid, fellow YA book nerd, for providing outstanding attention to detail at draft stage and again in the home stretch. (Thanks too for the 'a.r.s.e' conversation!) Tony Minerds, my brother, who can spot a typo at fifty paces. This time around he got a chance to find them before we went to print. Thanks bro.

Vikki Wakefield, a gifted writer who I'm proud to call a friend, for feedback and candid conversations that help me feel like I almost know what I'm doing.

Marianne de Pierres-a multi-talented writer, friend and mentor-for invaluable advice and much appreciated support.

My family and friends, many of whom had never read anything even remotely resembling urban/contemporary fantasy before this series came along, for taking the time to read every book and make appropriate noises of enthusiasm. You guys rock.

My amazing friend and business partner, Heather Scott, for her friends.h.i.+p and unwavering belief in me.

Mum and Dad, for their overwhelming love and support in all aspects of my life.

Murray, for knowing me better than anyone else on the planet, and for still being beside me twenty years on.

And last, but most certainly not least, all of you-readers, bloggers, reviewers, booksellers and librarians-who have picked up the Rephaim series. There is no writing career without you guys. Thanks for being a part of this adventure.

I know the Rephaim series isn't going to change the world, but I've loved writing this story and these characters-and they've certainly brought an amazing new dimension to my world.

For that, I will always be grateful.

ALSO BY PAULA WESTON.

The Rephaim:.

I Shadows.

II Haze.

III s.h.i.+mmer.