“I think I love you.” His voice is strange—faraway sounding. “I love you, right?”
“Yeah. You told me you do.” I get an uneasy feeling in my gut. The tattoo on my chest burns.
Sparrow tips his head to the side, and his fingers slide through the soft feathers of the duster on his lap. “This world is moving too fast for me.” He looks at me and blinks. “What’s your name again?”
I die inside.
He drops the feather duster on the floor.
Poof.
He’s gone. Disappeared before my eyes in a puff of dust. The only thing left in his place is a single feather.
“Sparrow!” I scream.
The Hellions have called.
HELLFIRE AND BRIMSTONE
The honeymoon is over. I can feel it in my bones. I had a few weeks of comfort and puppy love with Sparrow. Nauseatingly sweet. Almost changed who I was. In the moments since Sparrow’s disappearance, I think back and wonder, Who was that person? Having him taken from me like this, I feel the old Meg slam full force to the forefront of my being. Someone is going to pay. I grab my blade and my wallet, and look longingly at the snacks piled up in the back seat.
I get out and strap the blade to my thigh and then focus. Sparrow can only be in one place.
I poof myself to Hell.
Hell is the dark and dingy reflection of Earth. Everything here is the same: countries, cities, towns, and stores. And the walking dead are everywhere, moaning and shuffling, knocking into each other like cows in a crowded pasture.
I’m standing just outside the burning caves, ready to run inside the dwelling and rip everyone on two legs to shreds. Before I get a chance to follow my instincts, my mother’s figure appears at the entrance to the caves. She floats toward me, her lips a bright cherry red, her hair and eyes dark as night, her skin a ghostly porcelain white. She touches my face with cold fingers. “Child?”
“Where is Sparrow?” I ask in near hysterics.
“Oh, child.” Clea reaches for me.
“No!” I move away from her, but the walking dead surrounding us keep me from getting too far.
I touch the weapon strapped to my thigh. It hums to life, ready to protect me.
“Meg.” My mother’s voice is soft and demanding. “Easy. Things are happening in there.”
“They took him. They took Sparrow!”
The dead prevent me from running away like I want to. Instantly I am reminded of the months I spent in the county lockup of Hell, alone, with the dead grabbing at me through the bars of my cell. I ate fresh rats to stay alive. I shiver.
“Calm yourself.” Clea reaches both of her arms out. “Child, what’s done is done. It is required. He’s still yours. Together you will be invincible, I promise you this. But he is undergoing the change and needs time.”
“No.” I want to scream so loud that every soul in Hell will hear me. “I want him back! Now!”
“You need distance. Come with me.”
I start to shove her and move away, but my mother, although truly dead, is the daughter of Lucifer; she has more power down here than I ever will. I give up and allow her to walk me away from the entrance of the burning caves.
“Where are we going?” I ask.
“He needs space. The change will take over. He needs distance from you. This time is dangerous.”
Of course it’s dangerous. The Hellions are the warriors of Hell—worse than Demons. Stronger, viler, and more vicious.
In a wisp of smoke and hot air Clea transforms into a giant bird. My mother can shift into an Argentavis, a strange mix between a vulture and a crow and as massive as a dinosaur—Sparrow thinks it’s awesome.
Clea motions for me to climb on her back.
“Hold on,” she warns, once I’m settled.
In a forceful thrust we are airborne, flying over sepia forests and writhing shadows. I grip the feathers on her back, holding on tight while her giant wings flap, sending us higher and faster.
She’s done this before, taken me for a ride as distraction. It’s soothing, like a mother rocking her child. Something I never got to experience since Clea died the day I was born. Strangely, I am calmed by the heated wind blowing past my face and the hearty thrum of her beating wings.
“I birthed you on a forbidden plane, so you are unaware of these things,” she says as she soars. “Sparrow is special. His soul is pure. He needs this. He needs to be tainted by darkness so that he can be a great leader one day.”
Everyone keeps saying the same thing. It’s annoying.
“I like his soul the way it is,” I say.
“We know.” She flaps her wings, thrusting us higher and faster.
We know? Who else knows this? Who is we?
“Calm your mind,” she soothes.
I grit my teeth.
“Have you ever watched a sparrow and a hawk in flight?”
“No.” I couldn’t give a crap about a sparrow and a hawk right now. I want my Sparrow.
“The sparrow will fight a creature ten times its size to defend its nest.” She pauses for a moment, gliding through the thick, heated atmosphere. “Have you ever watched a sparrow and a crow? You know what the difference is?”
“I have no clue.” I never paid much attention to birds in the past. Never really cared about bird fight club.
“The hawk is out for blood. The crow is simply antagonizing.”
“And?”
“Don’t turn this into a bloodbath. Sparrow will protect you at all costs. It’s in his nature. Give him time to recover from the change.”
I say nothing.
“You will be invincible together,” she adds.
Flapping her powerful wings, she takes me farther and farther away from where I want to be.
. . .
By the time Clea returns me to the burning caves, it is dark, and the dead lie in sleeping piles on the ground. Clea lands. I slide down her side, feeling centered when my feet connect with solid ground. In a gust of wind she returns to the form of my mother—nearly my dark twin, the princess of the underworld.
I am tired from traveling between realms and from gripping so tightly to Clea’s feathers. My fingers ache.
“I’ll take you to your room.” Clea holds out her hand.
She is strangely solid yet ghostlike. Her skin feels cool as I put my hand in hers, which reminds me that she’s actually dead down here—nothing but a soul in its final resting place.
When we step inside the burning caves, I am reminded of the pleasant smell of this place: woodsmoke and pine. I inhale deeply. It’s warm here—not as warm as Heaven, but the heat from the forever-burning fires deep under the caves keep the temperature ambient.
This place shadows Centralia, Pennsylvania, in the earthen realm. When humans in the earthen realm set a landfill on fire in Centralia, little did they know they were igniting fires that mimicked the burning caves of Hell, and these fires would never extinguish.
My footsteps make muted sounds on the carpet-covered rock. Clea leads me down the main hallway. I shiver as I pass the wooden door that leads to the Hellions’ lair. I was there a few weeks ago. Jim had me strung up like a turkey, ready to drain my blood for him and his Hellions so they could escape Hell at will. That’s what my blood does. Sparrow says it’s worth rubies and jewels to the souls down here. A little bit can get them out; a lot can keep them out for good.
“They won’t bother you,” Clea promises as we descend a wide stone staircase.
The deeper we go into the cave, the more castlelike it becomes.
“Lucifer has forbidden any of them from touching you.” She gives me a look. “Including Jim.”
In a cloud of smoke, a giant figure appears on the steps before us.
“You called?” Lucifer towers before me. His giant wings stretch wide. They’re darker than the shadows at night, just like his eyes. He smiles at me, and I notice he’s wearing the same leather pants and vest as the last time I saw him. It’s a badass getup, but he scare
s the shit out of me.
“Daddy.” Clea touches Lucifer’s arm.
Something comes over the giant man when his daughter touches him. He is no longer so imposing and intimidating. He softens, reaches out, and touches her cheek.
“Can she have the suite?” Clea asks.
“Yes.” He nods before turning and walking away from us. The man is massive and dark, his body taking up most of the hallway. God forbid anyone try to walk by him—there isn’t any room.
“Let’s go.” Clea pulls me along.
We step off the stairs and turn down another stone hallway. Near the end, Clea stops in front of a large wooden door and pushes it open.
“This is your room.”
I step inside. The space is just as massive as my room in Gabriel’s castle; the only difference is that everything is stone and decorated with dark draperies in reds and blacks and purples. There is a large mattress on a frame set low to the floor. There are doors leading to the bathroom and a walk-in closet. A fire burns in the hearth without wood to fuel it.
“One of the nicest rooms in the castle.” Clea walks around the bed, inspecting. “Almost as nice as mine.”
There’s a velvet couch along the far wall and a table and chairs near the windows. The place is like a small apartment. I’d probably never need to leave.
Feeling dusty and grimy, I yawn, rub my hands over my face, then take in the condition of the jeans and T-shirt I’ve been wearing for the past few days.
“You need clothing here.” Clea looks me over, and it’s as though her gaze sees straight into my soul. I think nothing of it, since it’s a gift all mothers possess. “I think I know your style.”
As long as it’s none of the princess crap Teari filled my closet with, I’ll be happy with almost anything.
Clea crosses the room and opens the closet door. She snaps her fingers. “I think this will do.”
I walk into the closet to take inventory. There’s plenty of jeans, dark T-shirts and tanks, a few leather jackets, leather pants, vests like I’ve seen Lucifer wear, and boots. This is way better than my closet in Gabriel’s Kingdom.
I pull a low-cut tank off a hanger, take off my T-shirt, and try it on. Perfect fit.
“Is this new?” Clea points to the sparrow tattoo on my chest.
“Yes.” I reach for a thin leather jacket and pull it off the hanger.
Clea waves her hand over my new ink, which is still a bit sore and red around the edges. When her hands move away, the skin is completely healed—reminds me of the time Gabriel healed Sparrow after he was attacked by the Hellions.
“Thanks.” I put the jacket on and move away from the closet. “How can you do that?”
“Some of us have magic.”
My attention turns to the large window and glass door near the bed. I make my way toward them and pull the curtain back. The view stretches for miles and miles.
“Where are we?” I ask. “I thought we were in the caves, but it looks more like a castle now.”
“We are at the back of the caves. It’s built into a mountainside.”
I push the door open and walk out onto the balcony. There is nothing but darkness, the world below illuminated by the full moon. Bats fly in the valleys between the trees, frogs chirp, an owl hoots, a cool breeze blows. I shiver and zip up my jacket.
“Beautiful. Isn’t it?” Clea asks.
“Yes.” It doesn’t glitter like Heaven, but there is something about this place that satisfies a dark part of my soul.
For a few moments there is nothing but the sounds of night in Hell before I ask, “Gabriel was a Hellion?”
She nods. “A handsome one at that.”
“You left here?”
“I did. But, I’m sure you’ve found out already, things are not perfect within the Seven Kingdoms of Heaven.”
They’re definitely not.
“I am pure darkness. Full-blood. The Council did not want me there. It did not matter that I was carrying the half-blood child of an Archangel.”
“They didn’t want me there, either,” I say.
Clea smiles, nodding. “In time. All will be right.” She floats away from me. “Sparrow’s change is done now. Make yourself at home.” She pauses at the door. “But be careful, Meg. This is Hell, and wickedness is rampant.”
Doesn’t sound much different than Gouverneur or Heaven.
Clea leaves my room.
I stand on the balcony for a few minutes longer, my hands gripping the stone railing. The darkness that called me while I was in Heaven has finally quelled. It was nearly unbearable there, not so bad on the earthen plane, and now that I’m here, I can barely sense it.
I decide to find Sparrow.
I cross the room and tug on the door handle. Nothing happens. That smothering feeling of being trapped and having no control overwhelms me. I wiggle the door back and forth, slamming it against the frame, but it does no good. I kick at it, and when it still doesn’t budge, I cross the room again and walk out onto the balcony. Leaning over the railing, I search for other means of escape. I could climb over and try to rappel down the rock—but before I decide much, I hear a clicking sound behind me, and I turn to find my door slowly opening.
“Watch yourself, child,” my mother’s voice echoes in my mind. A warning. It’s nice to know that she’s not going to lock me up in this place, but the threat still makes my blood boil.
I leave my room, close the door, and walk down the hallway that Clea brought me through. I climb the stone stairwell, turn at the landing, and look down. The stairs descend into a dark abyss. Strange sounds rise up: the chomping of a thousand jaws, the tearing of leather, writhing thuds, and . . . screams. That’s definitely screaming.
I turn away and run toward the Hellions’ lair. There are dull echoes and movement from the shadows and doorways as I pass. Both soothing and frightening. I pause in front of the lair for a moment before reaching for the handle and pushing the door open.
The lair is just like I remember: leather furniture, wet bar, giant TV, billiards. It’s nothing but a giant bachelor pad. Chains dangle from the ceiling where Jim strung me up before he stabbed me in the chest. I fucking hate Jim. As I scan the room, I notice seven menacing figures standing on the far side of the room—dark warriors awaiting commands. I recognize a few of them as the Hellions that invaded my house and tried to kill me that quiet afternoon nearly a year ago.
Sparrow’s there, as well, and—holy hell—he has gone to the dark side. His downy-white wings have been replaced with dark, leathery skin stretched over bone. He’s wearing tight leather pants, a black vest, and boots. He looks like a big biker dude. But with his skin so pale and his bright green eyes, he doesn’t look as dark as the other Hellions.
If all Sparrow has to do is his time down here, I think I might like it a little too much if this is what he’s going to look like. It’s way better than the Legion gear and that old trench coat he used to wear. Makes something deeper than my trailer park roots tremble at the sight of him.
I touch the ring he gave me, rotating it with my thumb.
Don’t let me forget, Meg. Don’t let me forget you.
I move toward the one Hellion I know, the one who didn’t try to murder me.
“Sparrow?” I grab his hand and turn to lead him away.
He doesn’t follow, only stands as still as a stone, jerking me to a stop. Shivers of unease travel up my spine. I look up to face him, not liking what I see. Sparrow’s face is hard, his eyes dark; he tips his head to the side, a quirky and familiar movement.
“Sparrow?” I ask.
He flicks my hand off his and grabs my wrist, hard enough to leave bruises. “Who are you?” he asks, his voice deep, unfamiliar.
In the second that it takes him to say those three words, I die inside. Every tiny shred of hope that I had for this new life with him, it shrivels and turns to dust.
“Aw, that sucks, Meg.” Jim chuckles from behind me. “Guess your momma forgot to tell you that p
art. Birdman don’t remember you.”
I swallow hard and consider reaching for my blade.
“Don’t worry your trashy little head. He’ll slowly come back to himself—a little darker, though. The change is rough on the cherubs. Twists their gizzards or some crap.”
I die a little more inside.
“Clea warned me,” I reply as I turn to face Asshole Jim.
Jim’s gray eyes and blond hair are the same. He would still be handsome if it weren’t for the fact that half of his face is burned off. Sparrow and Gabriel did that to him when they came to my rescue. Serves the jerk right.
Jim’s smile is lopsided as he says, “Welcome back.”
I want to punch him in his stupid, deformed face.
Instead I reply with, “Screw you.” I’m glad Sparrow nearly killed him. I wish he had succeeded.
Jim touches his cheek. “Like this look?” he asks.
“You’re almost as pretty as you were before you became a complete jackass.”
Jim smirks and steps closer. I back up, remembering how terrible he actually is. Only one kind of man beats his pregnant fiancée. Only one kind of man kills his own unborn child, his own flesh and blood. And that kind of man is standing in front of me.
Jim raises his hand before it comes down hard but stops just before touching me. “Your grandpappy may have forbidden me from touching you,” he whispers, slapping my cheek lightly. “But we still crave your trashy blood.”
I settle my hand on my weapon and straighten my shoulders in an effort not to look scared shitless. Lucifer has threatened to kill Jim if he touches me. And I may hate everything about Jim and the Hellions, but I have to put up with them until Sparrow is done here. This entire situation is more fucked up than the day I found out who I really was. What I really was.
Craving control, I change the direction of the conversation and ask, “Will he remember what he does as a Hellion?”
Jim shrugs. “Don’t know. There’s a chance he could start to remember. But, to tell you the truth, it’s been so long since we’ve had a winged prince down here I can’t remember all the details.”
Nightingale Girl Page 6