But when it came to the palms of our hands, I was still blown away. We were born with markings, but angels were created with their own, too. An octagram engraved in the palm of an angel’s hand. It was the mark of a guardian.

I flipped his hand over, then turned mine over as well. I had my own mark. It wasn’t an octagram because I wasn’t a guardian, but it was just as rare and made me feel special. Garreth called it the Circle of Unity when it first appeared on my hand last spring. Circle of Unity sure sounded a lot better than what I originally thought it was, since it started off looking like an ugly, raised welt—a sure sign of some variety of poison.

I wasn’t quite sure what my mark meant or why I was chosen to have it, but it didn’t scare me. I’ve seen too much to scare easily and it was a relief knowing I’m destined for something else. Something important. Something that will never cease to exist … like my human life.

But human I was for now, and a stubborn one at that.

“I just wish Dr. Dean didn’t come as a package deal. It really would be easier if it was just him,” I said, trying to rationalize.

“You mean it would be easier for you if it was just him. So what you’re really saying is things are difficult enough with just one teenager for them to deal with.” Garreth smiled sideways at me, keeping his eyes fixed on the slick streets on the way to school.

“That’s not what I meant.” I bit down on my tongue. I was only digging myself deeper. “I know I’m no angel.”

Garreth looked right at me, keeping the car steady, and raised his eyebrows inquisitively until they disappeared beneath the lengths of his sandy blonde hair.