Nightingale Girl

by M. R. Pritchard

  In the end they put me in a coma, but that didn’t stop me from filling their bodies full of bullets. Unbeknownst to me at the time, I was engaged to the son of a powerful Demon. Jim and his Hellions killed my unborn baby and tried to kill me for a boatload of cash.

  Sparrow’s face blanches. “I don’t like it when you talk about that.”

  Sparrow feels guilty. He thinks it’s his fault. If he hadn’t lost me, none of that would have happened. If Sparrow had kept his post all those years ago, my mother wouldn’t have been killed, and a very bad man wouldn’t have raised me. Sparrow couldn’t help it; he had his reasons, no matter how fucked up they seem.

  I should apologize for bringing it up. But I rarely apologize, unless it’s for something really, really bad.

  “Fight with your hands.” Sparrow’s holding his palms up.

  I guess he’s stuck on this. I’ll humor him.

  “Usually I pull their hair and scratch their face. That’s how chicks fight,” I reply.

  Not that I was in many fights. John Lewis was too busy knocking me around for me to get into a fight with someone else. He killed my mother for her money, but the money was wrapped up in a trust fund. All he got was me in return, and he made me pay for it every day of my life.

  Sparrow nods to the machete strapped to my thigh. “Let me show you how to use that.”

  I know how to use the weapon. Heck, it pretty much does everything itself. All I have to do is touch it, and the piece of metal comes alive in my hand.

  “Don’t you have to go back and train with the Legion?” I ask.

  Sparrow shakes his head, and his body stiffens. “Done for today.”

  I touch the weapon on my thigh. “I know how to use it,” I assure him.

  “Let me see it, Meg.” Sparrow holds his hand out. This isn’t the first time he’s asked to touch it. I’m starting to think he’s a little obsessed.

  I shake my head. I know what he wants. I know what I want. I decide to toy with him a bit. I like to watch him get frustrated.

  “What do you want?” I ask, reaching for the hem of my shirt. It’s printed with swirls and petals, pink and soft and flouncy. Teari picked it out for me when she overhauled my wardrobe. She said there was too much black in there and too much skin showing. Now everything is loose and long, real princesslike. I hate it all. I’d much rather have jeans or shorts and a drawerful of T-shirts.

  “Come on,” Sparrow urges. “I want to see it again.”

  I pull my shirt up, flashing my midriff; then ever so slowly, I drag the shirt higher.

  “No. Not that.” His eyes are glued to the weapon strapped to my thigh. “The blade.”

  I make a noise of disgust in my throat and say, “Seriously? This is worse than you and those damn feathers.” I drop my shirt and let it cover me again.

  “Come on, Meg. Please?” As he steps toward me, I straighten my back, trying to seem taller. Sparrow measures in at six and a half feet. Gabriel at seven. Angels are giants.

  “Okay,” I say, trying to force my lips to stop grinning.

  “Okay?” His eyes open wider with anticipation.

  He used to make expressions like this all the time. Thinking about those moments makes me a bit sad. He’s different now, a lot less crazy but still a little quirky. At times the old Sparrow shines through, like when he asks to see my weapon, and it’s a total turn on. That’s the Sparrow I fell in love with. That’s the Sparrow who saved my life a bunch of times. The Sparrow I never want to forget.

  “Now?” he asks.

  “Sure.” I close the space between us, reach up on my toes, snake my hand up his chest and across the back of his neck so I can pull him closer and whisper in his ear. “After you do one thing.” I flick my tongue across his earlobe and feel every muscle in his body stiffen. “Take me to your bedroom and let’s do some dirty, dirty things together for a few hours. And then I’ll let you touch my blade all you want.” I step away.

  Sparrow’s eyes reveal a mischievous glint. He lunges for me, but I’m quick to move and duck out of his way. I spin and run, then leap off his deck and round the side of his house, laughing.

  Sparrow follows. I hear his footsteps behind me, and I’m surprised he hasn’t caught me yet; his legs are longer than mine. He’s holding back—must be enjoying the chase.

  I round the front corner of his house, looking back for just a split second to make sure he’s there. He is. When I look forward again, there is a large object in my path. I slam right into it, full force.

  Large hands grip my arms and lift my feet off the ground.

  “Sparrow!” King Gabriel shouts. “What in the grace of God are you doing?”

  I am set on my feet.

  “We were just running,” I say, out of breath and nervous. I wonder what my father is doing here.

  Looking up, I notice Sparrow standing stiffly behind me.

  “You were supposed to come see me,” Gabriel bellows. “Mother of God, boy! This is what I’m talking about.” He steps forward and grips Sparrow’s shoulder with his giant hand. “Come with me now. Let’s go.”

  With the powerful thrust of their downy white wings, King Gabriel and Sparrow take off into the sky, leaving me alone.

  I hate it when they fly. Especially since I can’t. I don’t have wings. Gabriel says they will come when I’m ready—that I lack faith in God and in myself.

  He’s right, though; I don’t believe in a God who would allow the horrible things that happened to me. If there’s anything I have faith in, it’s how bad shit can get. I hold the most faith in Hell.

  . . .

  “The Legion won’t take him back.” Gabriel shakes his head and looks away.

  Sparrow left hours ago and never came to find me afterward. I came to the king to find out what happened between the two of them. Sparrow never mentioned any problems, but something is definitely going on.

  “What the hell do you mean they won’t take him back?” I ask Gabriel. “You’re the king. Tell them to take him back.”

  “Can’t just toss him back to being Legion Commander.” Gabriel throws his hands in the air in frustration. “Fucking figures. Was probably those asshole Council members.”

  Gabriel and I resemble each other. We have blue eyes, black hair, and filthy mouths. The only difference is he can get away with all the cussing.

  The Council holds every curse word against me. They hate my guts. Gabriel warned me when I first came here. He said, “Been watching you for a while now. You’ll do good here. Don’t think the Council will like your attitude, though.”

  Boy, was he right.

  “Bet they planned this,” Gabriel continues. “Always had a problem with me taking in their strays.”

  “Their strays?” I ask. “What’s that mean?”

  Gabriel’s mouth snaps shut, and his eyes level on me. “He’s not like we remember.”

  “He’s more put together than when I ran into him in the bowels of Hell. He was flat out nuts when I met him.”

  “You didn’t know him before.” Teari appears in the room. I didn’t even hear her come in. “He’s very different from what he used to be. I’ve seen him in training. It’s not safe. He could hurt himself or the others. There’s something wrong that we can’t fix here. Believe me, I’ve tried.”

  She’s tried? The thought of Teari alone with Sparrow makes my blood boil. I caught her with her lips on him when I first arrived in Gabriel’s Kingdom. And while she apologized, I still don’t trust her. My father forbade her from going near Sparrow with romantic intentions ever again.

  “What’s wrong with him?” I ask.

  Gabriel and Teari look at each other, avoiding the answer.

  They’re hiding something.

  “Tell me!”

  “Go ask him.” Gabriel waves toward the door. “He needs to tell you. The Council forbids me from revealing some things. I can’t say it, but he can. Go.”

  I look at both of them with disgust before turning and running ou
t of the room. The Council forbids it? Bullshit.

  I search everywhere for Sparrow: his house, my room, the pool, the closets, the kitchen—because he’s always shoving his face full of food. I walk my father’s land until my feet hurt. If I had wings, I could just fly everywhere real quick, but I have to walk, and traipsing across Gabriel’s Kingdom is a royal pain in my ass.

  It’s night by the time I finally find Sparrow. He’s sitting in the middle of the barracks alone. I move toward him, wanting to take him in my arms and figure out what the heck is going on. I’ve never wanted to do that before. I was never touchy-feely, but something about Sparrow draws it out of me.

  “What happened?” I ask.

  Sparrow wraps his arms tight around my middle and buries his face in my abdomen.

  I push my fingers into his silky hair.

  “Gabriel says I can’t do it.”

  My clothing muffles his words.

  “Why?” I ask.

  “Seems he scrambled my brains a bit beyond repair.”

  “But he fixed you.”

  Gabriel gifted Sparrow back his memories when Sparrow found me in Hell. He brought him back to life. Gave his soul back to his body. Gave him back his house and belongings in Heaven. Sparrow paid his dues; he was forgiven.

  “He can’t fix me all the way. They said something isn’t right. It’s . . .” His voice trails.

  I don’t like seeing him like this. I want to fix him, fix this, poof him away from here, and make it all better.

  I swore to Gabriel on Sparrow’s life that I wouldn’t leave. But I’m developing the strong urge to pack my shit and run away, just like I did when I finally got the nerve to ditch my small town and head off to college.

  My head is spinning. Deciding between what’s right and wrong in this moment is frustratingly hard. I made a promise to an Archangel, to my father, but I’d break it in a heartbeat to help Sparrow.

  One thing worries me, though. My mother, Clea. She gifted us a feather. And her feathers revealed a dire future after we left Hell: Wars. Blood and death. Good and Evil. A dead Sparrow. A motherless child and a fatherless child. Light and dark. The earthen plane and the ethereal realms. A burst of bright light. A dark, never-ending vat of emptiness that would suck every joyful moment right out of me.

  I shudder at remembering the way I felt when the vision thundered through me. I’d never felt so empty.

  This staying within the Seven Kingdoms of Heaven blows.

  “Let’s skip town. Me and you,” I offer. “I’ll take you somewhere, and we can forget about all of this. We don’t need them, Sparrow.” I tug on his hair at the base of his skull, tilting his face up. “We can go bird-watching on the earthen plane. Whatever you want.”

  “And if I die?” he asks. “Your mother’s feather revealed blood and death.”

  “We could make it work. Somehow. The king of Hell owes me one favor.”

  “You would risk my life on the word of a liar?”

  “I’m a liar. I’ve lied.” I release Sparrow’s hair and try to step away from him, but he holds me tight around my middle. He knows I’m not pureblood Angel. I am part darkness. I can lie like the greatest of sinners.

  “That’s not what I meant.” He lets go of me and stands. His green eyes shimmer and soften.

  It breaks me a tiny bit when he gets that sad, faraway look in his eyes. I want to pull him to me, hold him and kiss him, and . . . and . . .

  “How many times do I have to die for you, Meg?” Sparrow asks.

  “I don’t want you to die for me. I never asked you to die for me.”

  In one swift movement he grips my chin between his fingers, snakes his free arm around my back, and pulls me tight against his body.

  “That’s what makes it worth it. You not asking. I do it because I love you. I’ve loved you longer than you’ve known I existed.” Sparrow kisses me. He’s so intense. Always been this way.

  Sparrow pulls away and rests his forehead against mine, inhaling deeply. “I should go.”

  I grip his arms. “Where?” I can’t stand the thought of him leaving me behind.

  “I have to go away. Fix this mess.”

  “Don’t leave me here. Take me with you.” I search his eyes, begging. I’m not below begging. It’s worked for me in the past. I promised to stay within the Seven Kingdoms of Heaven, but I’m not staying in Gabriel’s Kingdom alone.

  There is a long pause, an internal struggle for him.

  “I have to return to my father’s Kingdom,” he finally says.

  “Your father?” I never wondered about where Sparrow came from or who his father is.

  “Yes.”

  “Who is that?” I ask.

  He’s so nonchalant when he says, “Remiel. Another one of the Archangels.”

  Oh shit.

  Sparrow isn’t just some Legion Commander thrust off his perch; he’s a frigging prince. No wonder the Council won’t allow Gabriel to tell me crap about Sparrow.

  ANGELS ARE ASSHOLES

  The realm of Heaven is immense, divided up into Seven Kingdoms. It’s neither flat nor round; according to Sparrow, it just is.

  We drive for a day in a Cadillac Escalade provided by Gabriel. Sparrow’s wearing his Legion garb: black cargo pants, boots, and a fitted shirt. I try to imagine him in something different, something more princelike—maybe a suit or a tuxedo or a sparkling white robe—but I can’t. I’ve only seen him in jeans and a trench coat buttoned up to his neck, or the Legion attire. Watching him now, the way he drives with his back so straight and his left elbow resting on the door, I think he’d look nice in jeans and a fitted T-shirt, or khakis and a button-down. What do the princes of Heaven wear? If it’s anything like the crap Teari packed my suitcase with, I feel sorry for him. I feel even sorrier for me.

  Sparrow drives down an oak tree–lined road before stopping in front of a stone building. I think it’s a castle, but this building is much smaller than my father’s. I haven’t thought much about how castle size relates to each Kingdom, but judging on the size of this one, I’d say Gabriel is winning at something.

  After we get out of the SUV, Sparrow takes my hand and leads me around the vehicle.

  A tall man greets us at the bottom of the steps that lead to the front door. He has Sparrow’s green eyes and sandy-brown hair. The Archangel in front of us is just as handsome as his son and needs no introduction. This is Remiel, Sparrow’s father.

  “Sparrow.” Remiel nods. “Welcome home, son.”

  “Father.” Sparrow shifts on his feet, and there’s an assload of uncomfortable silence that goes on and on and on.

  Remiel doesn’t acknowledge that I’m standing next to Sparrow. I shrug his rudeness off, put my sunglasses on, and take a look around. It seems brighter here—and hotter. The sun bakes me and it’s unexpectedly unbearable. It’s so friggin’ hot that I want to peel these stupid princess clothes off and run around in a pair of short shorts, flip-flops, and a skintight tank top. But, sadly, there are no Walmarts for me to shop at within the Seven Kingdoms of Heaven. Damn.

  “I’ve come for answers,” Sparrow finally says.

  “Later.” Remiel pats him on the shoulder. “Your room is waiting. Get settled. We’ll talk after dinner.”

  Sparrow grabs our suitcases from the Cadillac. I start to follow him as he heads for his father’s castle.

  “You.” Remiel points at me.

  I freeze.

  “Do not share a room with my son.” He looks to Sparrow. “Still in the courting phase.”

  Sparrow nods.

  When I think of courting, I think of long nights, necking at the drive-in, and picnic dinners in a field—one without cow patties to worry about. Nothing close to that has been happening in my life lately.

  “You will reside in a different room.” I open my mouth to say something, but Remiel scowls so hard that I snap it shut. “Someone will show you to it.” His eyes narrow on me, and for an instant I feel like nothing but a feather on the wind.
“I know your kind. Keep your sins to yourself and don’t involve my son in them.”

  I think I’m supposed to say thank you or curtsy, but all I want to do is give this man the middle finger.

  A woman in a blue dress walks toward us. She greets me with “You must be Meg. I’ll show you to your room.”

  I turn to leave, but Sparrow grabs my hand. “I’ll come find you. Let me just talk to him first.” He reaches behind his back and plucks a feather out of his wings, then holds it out.

  I take it.

  “Promise?” I ask.

  “Promise.” He smiles.

  I remind him, “A promise is a promise.”

  “I know.” Sparrow squeezes my hand and passes me my bag before launching himself into the air, flying toward the upper balconies of the castle with Remiel by his side.

  Well, that was disappointing. Like most of my time in Heaven.

  The woman in blue looks me over. “You’ve no wings.”

  “No.” I tuck the feather into my pocket.

  “I guess we’ll walk.” She sounds completely repulsed by me already.

  I follow her around the back of the castle to a door on the lowest level. It’s like one of those houses built into a hillside with a garage underneath. That’s what this place reminds me of. And it’s smaller than my father’s castle. I’m not sure what that says about Remiel, but I’m definitely judging him.

  The woman in blue leads me down a stone hallway. The walls are damp and mossy—the floor, as well. The woman stops at a door and pushes it open with one finger as though it is covered in filth.

  “Your quarters,” she says before leaving through the way that we came. She doesn’t wait for my thanks or my no thanks. Guess I’m stuck with this.

  I push the open door a little more and walk inside. The room is small and cold. Definitely nothing like my room in Gabriel’s Kingdom, but it beats out my old bedroom in the single-wide trailer. At least this room has a bed frame and not just a mattress on the floor. I remove my sunglasses and toss my bag on the bed.

  Just as I’m inspecting the bathroom and the closet, a loud shrieking laughter echoes throughout my room and the hallway outside my door.