Struggling up the snow covered slope, Griffin post-holed through another drift, his legs growing heavier with each step. Around him, the storm worsened into a blizzard. He cringed when a blast of wind bent a nearby aspen almost in half; with an explosive crack, it snapped off and crash to the ground.

He slowed when he reached a dark stand of pines, grateful for their shelter from the wind. After catching his breath, he lifted his head.

"Basil?" he shouted. "Where are you?" He paused to listen, then raised his hand and snapped his fingers; flames sprang from the tips like miniature torches. They danced and flickered in the gusts swirling through the grove. He lifted his arm higher, trying to catch a glimpse of his Mentor. For some reason, the gloom ate the light from his Fire. "Yeah, real useful, angel boy," he muttered to himself. He gave up. Making a fist, he extinguished the flames and continued through the trees.

A shape loomed ahead in the dusk. He stopped and peered more closely. "Basil?"

A few yards away, the Mentor stood on a fallen log; his cropped, white hair ghostly in the fading light. He motioned for Griffin to hold his position.

"Wait there, lad," Basil called, his words fading in and out as the tempest raged around them. "Wait and I will return for you."

"What do you mean? Why can’t I come with you?" Griffin shouted back; he flinched when another gust blew snow into his eyes. He looked again. His Mentor was gone.

"Basil!" Griffin started forward, then tripped on a hidden rock. Flailing his arms, he fell sideways into a snow bank. He slid a few inches down the slope and sank into a warm softness.

For a moment, he laid there, trying to figure out why the warm softness felt like a quilt.

His quilt.

Griffin blinked awake.

Sitting up, he looked around his bedroom in confusion, his heart thundering against his ribs. He pushed his dark hair off his forehead as he licked his lips, tasting sweat. The dream teased at him.

Maybe, just maybe, he thought and held his hand up in front of his face. He hesitated. Don’t be such a wimp—just do it already. He swallowed and flicked the tip of his forefinger against his thumb.

Nothing happened.

Well, what did you expect? sneered a voice in his head. A freaking miracle?

"Shut up," he mumbled to the voice. Or the Voice, as he referred to it. The Voice that was always with him. Constantly reminding him that every tragedy in his life was his own fault. That somehow, in some way, he always deserved it.

Griffin scrubbed at his face. He started to lie back down, then paused at the knock outside his room. "I’m fine, Basil," he called hoarsely. Go away, Basil. Stop being such a mommy, Basil.

The door swung open with a creak. The Mentor stepped inside, still belting his robe around his tall frame. "Fin, are you all right?" He walked over and took a seat next to Griffin.

"Yeah. Why do you ask?"

"Well, could it be because I was just wrenched out a peaceful sleep by my Tiro shouting for me in the dead of night?" His amusement faded when Griffin muttered something. "I beg your pardon?"

"I said I’m not your apprentice. Not anymore." The words spilled out of Griffin’s mouth before he could stop them.

Cold filled the room. Basil sat frozen for a moment, his face unreadable in the dark. "Right." He stood up. "Well, good night, then." Without another word, he walked out of the room and closed the door behind him.

As the sound of footsteps faded away, Griffin fell back with a groan and pulled the covers over his head.

I had a dream last night. Kind of a weird one, but at least I was a Terrae Angelus. I had my powers back and everything. I could feel the Fire on my fingers. And even though the dream didn’t make any sense, it felt awesome to be me again.

Then I woke up.

And, God forgive me, but I wish I hadn’t.

Because no matter how much I hope and pray, I’m never going to be an angel.

Again.

Griffin hit the save button on his laptop. Standing up, he kicked the desk chair out of his way, then shuffled over to his bed and flopped backwards onto the rumpled quilt. He made a face when Basil called from his bedroom down the hall.

"Fin, Lena will be here shortly. Are you presentable?"

"Yeah." He glanced down at his stained tee shirt, then pulled it to his nose and sniffed. "I guess."

"Good, because..." Basil’s voice trailed off as he appeared in the doorway. His eyes traveled from Griffin’s unwashed hair to his bare feet. "Have you even showered today?"

"Why? I’m not going anywhere." Griffin reached over and grabbed his cell phone from the nightstand. "Thanks to Flight Command," he said with a curl of his lip, "I’m grounded for life." He began scrolling down the screen.

Basil tightened his jaw. He stepped over and plucked the device from Griffin’s hand.

"Hey!" Griffin squawked. "I was right in the middle of—"

"Lena will be here in ten minutes. I want you washed up before she arrives. You may have this back later."

"How later?"

"When I’ve decided. For now, you are to—"

"But I told Katie I’d call her before dinner."

"I’m sure she’ll understand if you wait to—"

"But I need to call her NOW!" Griffin sat up, his eyes flashing with a brown fire.

Basil raised an eyebrow. "And I need to hear a little more civility in your tone of voice. I expect you to be dressed and downstairs in five minutes." Slipping the phone into his pocket, Basil turned around and left.

Griffin stared at the empty doorway. Rage swelled his chest and flooded his mouth. His face twisting with fury, he rolled off his bed and stomped over to the door.

Then slammed it as hard as he could.

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