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Not for Bryce, Keene, or even herself, only for Angel. Kayla had always borne a certain measure of guilt for bringing Angel into this world. She'd been the one to introduce her to Roark. And in doing so, she'd condemned Angel to a living hell nobody should ever have to endure. In drinking, in living instead of dying that night, she'd absolved herself of the guilt. Angel would have died with her that night. Not physically. But spiritually, Angel would have never survived. Kayla had been so cold and close to death. Angel had grabbed her hand, held it tightly, and made a promise. Angel didn't take her vows lightly. And to this day, she lived by her word. The promise was a simple one. Angel had promised to live if she did. Kayla had drunk that night for love, for hope and a future. To return the life she'd taken from a terrified, starving, tormented dark eyed girl, and for her salvation. Angel gently unwound her fingers from Kayla's and met her eyes. In them she found so much. To be honest, every boy in Erfurt had at one point or another been entranced by Elsie. As a child she was impulsive, and unafraid. Until age 13 her hair, which must have been made of golden fibers spun by Rumpelstiltskin himself, was constantly flapping behind her, tangling into knots like a sparrow’s nest. She was always chasing something. Her baby brother, their family tabby cat that acted more like a dog, the football as she dominated boys twice her size all across the pitch. And whether she realized or not, I was always there chasing her, though mostly in a metaphorical sense. The summer she was 13, in 1932, just a year before I went to work for her father, Elsie got caught up in a bet with Dietrich Wagner, the most notoriously foul-mouthed kid in all of Erfurt, which ended with her having to ride her bike down the tallest hill in town no-handed. Everyone under age 18 gathered to watch the feat. Elsie flew down with the grace of a swan, until about the last third, when the speed.
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