Angel paced around the block, going on lap three. He rehearsed what he was going to say to Nyx in his head over and over, but couldn't seem to get the words right.

How hard is it to apologize?

Though if he were being honest with himself, it was not the apology he was having a hard time with.

I don't know what to tell her. I don't want to hurt her, but I can't let her go.

He kicked a pebble as he came around the corner to face Nyx's cabin once again. The red paint peeled away and made the siding patchy. Clumps of clover, daisies and Queen Anne's lace filled the overgrown yard, almost hidden behind the scraggly blackberry bushes on the property line. The front porch sagged into the earth, clinging to life by the mercy of a few solid boards that had managed to avoid the moisture and rot.

This place needs so much work.

It had taken Angel a year to repair the major faults in his own house, and it still wasn't completely finished.

Nyx probably doesn't want my help. She doesn't even need it.

Finally, on the next loop around, he forced himself to approach the cabin and let himself in through the front door. He kicked his shoes off in the porch and went into the empty living room.

Nyx's house was bigger and more open than his own, with no wall separating the living room from the kitchen. The space smelled of floor cleaner and fresh air from the open windows. It had yet to be filled with the busyness of lived-in clutter and knick-knacks.

The bare yellow walls waited for pictures and decorations to be put up. Cigarette butts crammed in the ashtray on the coffee table and the skateboard propped against the wall were the only signs of Nyx.

The rest of the furniture was sparse. A small side table sandwiched between the mismatched armchair and sofa. The circular kitchen table and its ring of dining chairs occupied the corner between the living room and kitchen, marking the barrier between the spaces.

Angel followed the sound of rummaging and movement to the kitchen and was surprised to find Kismet chopping carrots at the counter. Potatoes boiled on the stove behind her. The grey t-shirt she borrowed from Nyx hung to her thighs. Acid wash jeans were cinched to her waist by a black belt and rolled up at the cuffs.

"Hey, you're not Nyx," he said, surprised. "Is she around?"

"Oh, sorry." She placed the knife down on the chopping block. "She went out for cigarettes. I think she'll be back soon though."

"Do you mind if I wait here?" he asked, pulling up a chair at the table.

Kismet shrugged. "It's up to Nyx. Do you think she would mind?"

"That depends. Is she still mad at me?"

"I dunno."

"You didn't read her mind?" he teased. "Even a little?"

Kismet pursed her lips and turned back to the carrots. A thick wave of guilt and shame emanated from her like sticky tar. She started chopping faster. Angel wanted to push the feeling away, but it surrounded him, making him nauseous.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to make you feel bad. It's just...I don't know what to do," he sighed and rested his head in his hand. "Did she happen to say anything about it?"

The carrots sizzled in the melted pool of butter. Kismet poked them with a fork making them hiss and spit.

"Can't you talk to her?" she asked.

"That's why I came, but I don't know what to say. I hoped if you read her mind a little you could tell me what she wants to hear."

"Are you serious?" she asked, turning to look at him. It was like being shoved under a microscope.

He shifted in his seat, grateful she couldn't read him automatically.

"I want her to be happy," he said.

"Then tell her the truth. Shut your brain up for a second and pay attention to in here," she said, pointing to his chest. "That's the truth."

He furrowed his brow, failing to grasp her meaning.

"Sometimes the craziness going on in people's heads clouds their true feelings," Kismet explained. She lifted the lid off the boiling potatoes and took them off the burner. "I see it all the time. There's fear in their minds, even when love is all through their aura."

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

"Then what can I do?"

Kismet shrugged. "I wish I knew."

The dual-vibrations of her energy clashed against each other, running parallel but in opposite directions.

I wish I could talk to her about my powers. She's the only one who could possibly understand. A slim spark of hope struck him. Maybe she already knows? But I don't want to risk telling her if she doesn't.

"If you saw something important about someone, would you tell them?" Angelus asked.

Kismet brought the milk out of the fridge and splashed it into the potatoes.

"It depends. If it was a matter of life and death, I suppose I would."

"What if you had the person's permission?"

She frowned and plopped some butter into the pot and began to mash. "I dunno," she said. "What are you getting at anyway?"

I gotta come right out and say it.

"The other night something happened to me and I need to know if you're aware of it," he said. "Please, it's important."

She returned to the carrots, stirring them around. For a moment, Angel thought she wasn't going to answer him at all.

"Are you talking about the blue light?" She put the lid on the pan and let the carrots simmer.

"So you saw it?"

"I'm sorry, it was a dream -"

"It's ok, just don't mention it to anyone," he said. Tension squeezed his chest. "Not even Daisy."

"I don't want to get involved," said Kismet. "I'm sorry I saw it at all."

"Don't be sorry. It's not your fault. Your ability seems to be pretty overwhelming for you. When we first met -"

"Daisy is going to help me," Kismet said quickly. She turned off the burner and removed the carrots from the heat.

"You're lucky," he sighed. "I wish I could talk to Daisy about my powers."

Kismet sat in the chair across from him. She absentmindedly scratched at the chipped wood on the table with a fingernail. Brown ringlettes fell into her face and she pushed them away.

"Why not go to Ivy?" she asked. "Wouldn't she be the best one to teach you?"

"Nyx doesn't think it's a good idea for Ivy to find out."

"What do you think?" Kismet fixed her large eyes on him.

"I get where she's coming from, and for now, it's best to keep it quiet, but ultimately, I think if someone represses an essential part of themselves, it's bound to creep up one way or another. It's more dangerous to ignore it." Angel leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees to cradle his face in his hands. His cheeks were warm under his palms. "I wish I could do what Nyx wants, but it'll kill me to try."

Kismet nodded, nibbling her lip. "Well, maybe you could go to The Academy and see what happens?"

"No way," Angel shook his head. "She'd kill me."

"She's pretty scary, but would she actually kill someone for something they can't help?" Kismet frowned, her eyes wide with worry.

"I'd certainly be rolling the dice if she were to find out about it. If she didn't outright murder me, she'd want to control me some other way."

"Well, what's so bad about that?" Kismet asked. "The rules are there for a reason. Of course people can't go on using their abilities all willy-nilly, there'd be absolute chaos."

"I don't want to create chaos, I just want to live my life, but sometimes those two things look the same."

Kismet laughed. "That's a problem."

"I'm aware," he sighed. "Do you think maybe you could help me?"

"How? I have no idea what I'm doing."

"Maybe you could teach me what you learn from Daisy?" he asked. "Anything would help."

Kismet looked away, drumming her fingers on the surface of the table. "I dunno -"

"What's the worst that could happen?"

The oven dinged and Kismet hopped up to bring the chicken out. She opened the door and reached for the pan. Suddenly hissing in pain, she cursed and pulled her hand back, shaking it in the air.

"What did you do?" he asked, getting up to help her.

Kismet cradled her right hand to her chest. "Oh, I was stupid and touched it with my bare hand like an idiot. I'll put it under some water -"

"Here, lemme see," he asked.

She gingerly extended her hand, looking away. The skin of her palm turned a bright red, blistering in the center. Angel grimaced, sucking air through his teeth.

"Can I heal you?" he asked. "I've never tried before, but maybe it could help?"

"Uh, yeah, sure," Kismet said. She sat down in the chair again, holding her injured hand in her lap.

Angel grabbed the oven mitts from beside the stove and pulled the chicken all the way out and closed the door.

"Are you sure this won't make it worse?" Kismet asked.

He put the pan on the oven in what little space remained between the other pots. His heart raced in his chest and his stomach did somersaults.

"I can't make any promises," he said.

"Hmm." Kismet bit her lip. "Ok, try it." She propped her hand up on the table, slowly opening her fingers again.

Angel examined the angry, bubbling flesh. He settled his awareness on the low vibration in the air.

Ok, how do I do this?

Now, in the face of her trust, nerves settled into the pit of his gut. Like when playing the guitar, he gathered the gossomar wisps of warm energy toward him. It was unwieldy at first, floating all around in unrestrained ripples. Kismet's eyes darted around, seeming to follow where he felt the ripples.

"Can you see it?" he asked.

"Sort of." She squinted. "It's not like the emotions I see. It's like sections of the air starts to move. It almost looks like frosted glass."

Angel put his hands together with space in between. The heat began to rise and he stared in awe. Gradually, a tiny blue spark appeared.

"Whoa!" Kismet exclaimed. She leaned forward and they both watched the ball grow until it was the size of an orange.

Angel passed it palm to palm. He took it in one hand and held it out.

With wide, mesmerised eyes, Kismet reached out to the ball of light with her injured hand. Angel braced himself. She looked away, sinking her hand into the light.

"Are you ok?" he asked.

"Yeah," Kismet gasped, turning her head to watch the blazing ball once again. "It feels really good actually."

Eventually, she withdrew her hand. They both marvelled at the fresh, healed skin. She turned her hand back to front, looking at it from every angle.

"That's incredible!"

Angel released his focus, letting the ball dissolve into the air again. His heart throbbed at the base of his throat.

"What's wrong?" Kismet asked. "I won't tell anyone -"

"That's not what I'm worried about," he sighed. "I won't be able to keep this to myself, but then Ivy'll - "

"I'll do my best to help you," said Kismet, placing her newly healed hand over his. "It may not be perfect, but we can try."