“Sara uttered the lie a second time, as if repetition might make up for conviction. Filip wasn’t listening anyhow. She looked down at her hand clasped in his. She’d never travelled like this. Angels could move instantaneously through space and she’d thought djinn could too. But Filip was strolling a few feet off the ground, covering distance as if wearing seventy-league boots. She could smell the dust and menthol of the outback, see the headlights of long-distance truckers, watch towns grow, sur...round them and fade into the background. They were walking to Melbourne, djinn-style. Something twisted in her heart as she understood what he was doing. For Filip, so long trapped in his bottle, the journey was as important as the destination. He had so little freedom. He stole moments like these. Their swift passage woke a raven, and its startled and indignant caw brought a smile to Filip’s mouth. “Ruffled feathers. How are your feathers, angel?” Ruffled. He confused her. He was complicated, a hedonist who planned for his pleasure.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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