Free In the End by Alexandra Rowland Page B

with a haggard expression. Her curly, grayish-blond hair was matted, and although Lalael was no expert on Earth clothing of any time period, he was pretty sure that the faded house-dress she wore would have hurt other people's eyes too – it was the enormous pansies.
    “ Who're you?” the woman asked.
    Lalael shifted from foot to foot. Humans were so awkward to deal with in the best of times. “I just heard..." He hesitated. "A little girl here is sick?  I wanted to help.”
    The woman brushed a string of hair out of her face. “We don't need no help from strangers," she mumbled. "Can't pay you. Don't got no money. She ain't got nothin' worse than a fever, anyhow.”
    Lalael took a moment to maneuver himself around her dialect. “Oh. Oh, no, I don't want money, but I'll be able to heal her. I'm an – someone who can help.” The woman shook her head, and began closing the door, but Lalael held it open in desperation. “No, I won't hurt anyone!” The woman struggled to close the door, but Lalael wedged his foot against it. “I promise! Just let me look at your little girl! I think she's possessed!” The woman let go of the door abruptly; Lalael stumbled and caught himself on the jamb.
    “ She's sick . Hurting. Keeps scratching herself and talking strange because she's delirious from the fever.”
    Lalael hesitated again, still braced against the door-jamb. “I'll have to look at her to know for sure. But I promise I can help.” The woman hesitated, opened the door all the way, and motioned him in.
    ***
    Lucien awoke. His cheek was pillowed on the yellowed pages of a tome that seemed distinctly offended to have been slept on; the library was now completely dark, lit only by the starlight through the high bay windows on either side of the front door.  It was very dark – no street lamps, no ambient electric light, no candlelight anywhere nearby. Very dark. Lucien raised his head. Thankfully, the night wasn't bad enough to warrant panicking. It wasn't nearly as dark as it could be, although it was very dark indeed. Parts of Rielat were much worse than this, the sort of darkness that was palpable. Thick. Noisome. And just as silent.
    The sense of silence in the room sharpened.
    Lucien looked down at the book and wiped the pages clean. It had only been a very small patch of drool. Very small. He left it open and made a neat stack of the others, then sat for a few moments with his hands folded, listening to the silence.
    It occurred to him that he should really go see if Lalael had had any luck with that sick girl. He moved quietly, skirting the darkest of the shadows, and left the archives. Soon the quiet tapping of his shoes echoed softly back, then faded away.
    The pages of the book rustled in the dark.
    ***
    “ What in the name of the weatherperson are you doing, Lalael?” Lucien asked, leaning against the entrance to a room that most certainly belonged to the little girl lying in the bed. Lucien's query had interrupted a feverish chant that the angel had been focused on.
    “ Begone!” the angel commanded. He moved to block the room from Lucien's view – pointless when Lucien could easily look over the top of his head. In a hiss, Lalael continued, “You didn't want to be part of this business, so you won't be at all.”
    “ Mr. Lalael,” said the dowdy housewife in a mousy voice, “Who is this?”
    “ This, madam,” Lalael said, still blocking Lucien's way into the room, “Is my vile, evil, disrespectful... I live in his guest room.”
    “ Landlord, roommate, host, and colleague,” Lucien called out over Lalael's head.
    “ Evil?” The woman tensed and moved towards the little girl's bed. Lalael whirled around and pounced on her before she could cross a circle of white chalk that had been drawn around the bed.
    “ Beginning to be a bit of redundancy, now, isn't it?” Lucien asked. “It could be a song."
    “ Perhaps you should wait in another room, ma'am.” Lalael said softly, ushering the