Nightingale Girl

by M. R. Pritchard

  Sparrow knew the words he said to her were not nice, but he liked the way fire lit her eyes when she was angry.

  She didn’t offer her arm to him this time; instead he closed the space between them and took her narrow wrist in his large hand. Her heartbeat beckoned him, and he knew the pain he’d caused her moments ago by saying those words would taint her blood. He could taste her emotions as he drank; there was pain, but there was more—something that made his leather pants feel impossibly constricting.

  Slowly, he was getting better at this. When she ordered him out of her room, he smiled inwardly, anticipating the next time he’d see her.

  Sparrow was finally full. Pain tainted her blood—sated his hunger faster than her fear had on previous occasions.

  . . .

  Meg

  “Did you figure out who was in your room?” Noah is lying on the floor doing sit-ups.

  “No.” I roll to the edge of the bed. “Why are you exercising?”

  “Gotta keep fit for the ladies.” Noah grunts as he does another sit-up.

  “Did you find a pretty one with scales and horns?”

  Noah starts doing leg lifts. “No.” His face is turning tomato red.

  “Don’t give yourself a hernia. I don’t know what health care is like in Hell, but I get the impression the deductible is sky-high.”

  Noah’s feet hit the floor with a thud. “I’m so out of shape.”

  “You spent your teenage years and early twenties smoking doobies all day.”

  “So?” He moves to his feet.

  “And now you want to get fit?”

  “Yeah.” Noah starts doing jumping jacks.

  I don’t think any amount of exercise will change anything. Noah already looks good. I don’t know what this is about.

  “You bore me.” I roll out of bed and hit the shower.

  Today I decide on finally wearing the leather pants Clea loaded my closet with. I pair them with a vestlike top. When I walk out of the closet, Noah whistles a catcall.

  “Shut up.”

  “Got a date?”

  “With the songbirds.” I head for the balcony. After setting out a line of fresh bird food, I sit in one of the chairs and wait for our friends to arrive.

  A blue jay lands first, then a group of chickadees, four sparrows, the mourning dove couple, and a yellow finch. I tell Noah what each one is as they arrive.

  “How do you know what kinds of birds these are?” Noah sits in the chair next to me.

  “Sparrow taught me about them.”

  “Oh. How about that one?” Noah points to a small gray bird with a pointy beak, black-and-white-striped head, and orange-colored chest.

  “I’m not sure what that is.”

  “Hm.” He sounds disappointed.

  I stand. “Wait here.”

  “Where you going?”

  “Just wait here.” I run to the bathroom and lock the door.

  Poof.

  I’m in Sparrow’s house in Heaven. I wonder if he has Birds of Hell. I don’t have time to look. I run to his bookcase and take Birds of the Northeast.

  Poof.

  I’m back in Lucifer’s Kingdom.

  I unlock the bathroom door and head to the balcony. Sitting in my seat, I open Birds of the Northeast and begin searching.

  “Bathroom reading material?” Noah asks. “You should really wash your hands.”

  I reach for the seed bucket and throw a handful at him.

  Laughing, Noah stands and brushes the seed off his clothing.

  I find the bird. “Red-breasted nuthatch.”

  “Sounds like a shitty band name.”

  “No.” I show him the picture in the book and point at the bird on the railing that he asked about. “It’s right here.”

  “Oh.” Noah smiles. “Cool.”

  I sit back in my chair and flip through the book.

  “When did we become bird-watchers like two old ladies in a nursing home?” Noah asks.

  “Right around the time you refused to find me a Jeep, so we can hit the streets and find some trouble.”

  Noah throws birdseed, while I look at the book.

  “What time’s dinner?” Noah asks.

  “Whenever he shows up.”

  “Hm.”

  “What?”

  “I’m just surprised by how well you’ve behaved. The Meg I knew wouldn’t sit around her room all day and wait for her big, bad boyfriend to show up and suck her blood.”

  I shrug and pull the book to my chest, wrapping my arms around it. “It’s not so bad. And I’m not getting my ass beat every day.”

  “True.”

  “I have my mother here. They accept me way more than any of those jerks in Gouverneur and Heaven ever did. Eventually Sparrow will come around. I hope.”

  I stare out over the treetops.

  “What do you think the Hellions do all day?” I ask.

  Noah rolls seed between his fingers. “Probably kill things and kick ass.” He sets the seed on the railing. “That’s what I’d do.”

  “I worry about what he’s doing with them.”

  “You probably shouldn’t think about it.”

  Noah tips forward and crawls to the ground. He starts doing sit-ups.

  “Again with this?” I ask.

  “You bore me.” He winks. “Got my eye on a sweet young lady with snakes for hair.”

  “You’re kidding me.”

  Noah flashes his lady-killer smile. “I’m not getting any younger.”

  I’ll let someone else notify him of the fact that he’s not aging, either.

  “What if she has snakes for pubic hair?” I ask.

  Noah stops with the sit-ups and makes a face. “Way to ruin it for me.”

  I shrug. “Just want to put it out there. We’re no longer in hickville. Weird shit goes on here. This is Hell, after all.”

  There’s a loud knock on my door.

  “That’s my cue. Happy dining.” Noah’s gone.

  I walk into my room and hide Birds of the Northeast in my nightstand.

  “Come in,” I yell.

  The door opens; Sparrow steps in. He looks on edge, more so than usual. He’s also hours earlier than normal.

  “Hello.” I force a smile

  Sparrow crosses the room lightning fast and grabs my arm.

  “Sparrow?” I ask.

  “I dare you to move.” Sparrow’s fingers tighten on my arm. “Run from me.”

  What the . . . ? “I dare you to go fuck yourself.” I want to punch him in the throat. Maybe that would make him remember me and stop the bullshit. “I’m not going to run from you. That’s messed up. You know what the Hellions did to me last time I ran from them.”

  Sparrow’s stare is blank, like he has no clue what I’m talking about. His eyes narrow on my chest before he moves, his arm wraps around my waist, and he pulls me tight against his body.

  “Sparrow?”

  “Sorry.”

  “For what?”

  His eyes search mine. “This.”

  His teeth sink into the flesh of my upper arm.

  I grip onto his shoulders. “Oh” escapes my lips.

  He sucks.

  I bite my lip and try to center myself before I lose it.

  Sparrow stops and seals the wound with the flick of his tongue. He doesn’t let go of me, though. He lifts me, carries me to the bed, and sets me down before turning to leave.

  Perhaps chivalry is not dead. But Sparrow might be if he doesn’t cut the shit, fast.

  . . .

  Sparrow

  “You should tell your Bloodwhore to run next time you see her.” Mischief glinted in Jim’s eyes.

  Sparrow wanted to clock the guy, but his arms were too tired from flying stone hither and thither all day. The only thing Sparrow wanted to do was eat and sleep. The muscles that powered his wings ached, his arms throbbed, and his head and chest felt like they were ready to explode. Sparrow knew his heart was trying to tell him to remember somethin
g, but the confusion was too deep, and the weariness drove him to lose interest in figuring it all out.

  Tell her to run. It was a command—one he couldn’t ignore. The collar around his neck tightened, until he could barely breathe. Sparrow knew he had to repeat the words; he didn’t have a choice.

  Her large blue eyes were wary of him.

  But this was something else. Sparrow could feel fear sparking off her, the way her eyes found his, the thundering of her heart. He didn’t miss the way she toyed with the ring on her finger. There was something familiar about the silver band and the small black rock that the pad of her thumb rubbed against. But he couldn’t remember.

  He craved her pain, her fear. He wanted the damn collar to loosen, and only saying those words would make it so.

  Sparrow said the words, regretting them instantly when he saw the pain and anger on her face. She yelled at him—said things that made his blood boil with need.

  “You know what the Hellions did to me last time I ran from them,” she yelled at him.

  A spark of remembrance flared within him but never came to fruition. They had hurt her; that was all he could gain from it. Sparrow couldn’t help himself. He was hungry, tired, famished, and sore.

  The apology that left his lips would do nothing to soothe her; he knew this as his eyes scanned her soft arm. He wanted to feed closer, wanted to taste the larger veins that were nearer to her heart, warm and savory. His eyes flicked to the bird on her chest. It was a sparrow. He is Sparrow. His teeth sunk into the flesh of her bicep.

  . . .

  Meg

  I let myself sink back down on the mattress and press my hands over my face. This is getting to be too much for me to handle.

  A large, dark shadow moving on the balcony catches my eye. I hope it’s Noah with something to eat. When I get up and pull the curtain back, there’s nothing there.

  My door opens, and Noah walks in. He’s carrying a large bowl filled with steaming liquid.

  “Some newly dead idiots started a commune to the east.” He sets the bowl on my table. “They got chickens and cows. Someone planted a garden. Poor suckers spending their last of their days farming for their lives, making this soup only to never enjoy it.” He pauses. “Hey, Meg. You okay?”

  I let the curtain fall back into place.

  “Peachy.”

  Noah frowns. “You can tell me.”

  I sit at the table and swirl the steaming soup with a spoon. “You’re not my therapist.”

  Memories flood me . . . giant men kicking my front door open and chasing me through my house. They chased me all the way upstairs—kicked down that door, too, after I tried locking myself in the bedroom. Did terrible, terrible things to me, then hauled me up by my arms and tossed me down the stairs like a rag doll. I don’t regret pulling the gun out of its hiding spot on the steps and shooting them all dead.

  Run from me. I have half a mind to hunt Sparrow down and stab him with my blade. Or maybe I should hunt Jim down. That bastard probably had something to do with that entire interaction. My Sparrow knows better. He hated when I brought it up—felt guilty for not being there to protect me.

  “Tell me, Meg,” Noah urges. “Whatever happened, it’s eating you up.”

  I drop the spoon and push away from the table.

  “Did you know Sparrow was assigned to watch over me and my mother on Earth?”

  Noah shakes his head.

  “He was. But he fell in love with me. He fell in love and abandoned his post in shame. My mother died and he was banished to death down here. When I met you here the first time, and Sparrow was with you, he was dead. A fallen Angel stripped of his wings and his memories. After you changed into a walking sack of flesh, we stuck together. Sparrow helped me and I helped him. We survived together until we both found out the truth.”

  Noah watches me, his face placid.

  “Sparrow was cracked in the head but sweet and honest. He was so strange back then, but the only man who’s ever been good to me since we broke up.” I feel tears threatening to break. “And now he’s a giant asshole.” My chin quivers. I clear my throat and swallow it down. “I think I’m starting to hate him.”

  “Ah, Meg.” Noah reaches for me, drags my chair close to his, and wraps his arms around me. “This entire situation is fucked up. I mean, I never thought you’d grow up to be a sparkly vampire.”

  I swat at him.

  Noah pets my head. I try to twist away, unsuccessfully, since he just tugs me tighter to his chest in a strong bear hug.

  “In all seriousness, my grandmother used to say ‘broken hearts are like broken bones; they’ll heal if you let them.’”

  “When did she tell you that?” I ask.

  “When you left and went to college downstate. You packed your shit and never looked back.”

  Silence fills the room. I don’t know what to say. I won’t apologize for leaving and going to college. I wanted to make something of myself. In the end it all backfired, but at least I tried. I rest my head on Noah’s shoulder. He wraps his arms around me again, and I fall asleep.

  . . .

  My teeth are gone; my gums, smooth and pink. Someone hands me a pair of dentures that look like they were made from Chiclets, Play-Doh, and superglue. “You should have taken me with you!” Nightingale screams.

  I jerk awake and find the sheets are damp with sweat.

  I look out the window to find night invading the late-afternoon haze. I throw the covers back, get out of bed, and run to the balcony. I missed the songbirds. I rub my face and thread my fingers through my hair. What the heck? I slept most of the day.

  I shower and get dressed in a pair of jeans and an oversize T-shirt. Just as I’m leaving my closet, there’s a knock on my door.

  “Come in,” I shout.

  The door opens and slams closed. Sparrow’s here. My stomach feels tight. I don’t really want to see him after last night. He really upset me.

  Sparrow moves toward me. He smells fresh, like he just showered. There’s dirt on his boots. Makes me wonder what Jim has him doing if he has to shower before he comes to see me.

  I never move. Sparrow advances until he’s standing in my personal space. He pulls me tight against him, like he’s some Neanderthal devoid of words, and buries his face in the crook of my neck. I freeze, afraid he’s going to feed from my jugular.

  Sparrow’s hand slides down my side to cup my ass, then around the front. His fingers slide over my jeans to the space between my legs. I suck in a breath, waiting.

  “Your sex is on fire, baby.” The words sound strange coming from him. Sparrow doesn’t say things like this.

  “When you say it like that, it sounds like I have chlamydia.” I giggle, but when Sparrow moves his head to look in my eyes, my breath catches. He doesn’t laugh. “Do you remember me?” I ask.

  Sparrow doesn’t answer; instead he kisses me hard. His tongue spears between my lips, tasting, demanding. If he weren’t holding on to me so tightly, I’m sure I’d drop to the ground from swooning.

  I feel a sharp pinch as Sparrow sucks on my tongue. My hands grip his shoulders as he presses his body against mine. Oh Lord, this is sinful. Heat spreads; sweat beads on the back of my neck and down my spine.

  Sparrow’s fingers press firmer into the vee between my legs. He rubs, applying just the right amount of pressure. Sweet Jesus, this is hot. He moves his hand. I’m close, so close—

  Sparrow releases my mouth and pushes me away. There’s a smear of blood on his lips. He licks it away before turning and stomping out of the room.

  I’m not sure what the heck that was. An apology for last night? A little afternoon delight? I have no clue. What a dick.

  Noah appears. He wrinkles his nose. “You’re breaking my heart, Meg.”

  “Why?” I wipe the taste of Sparrow off my mouth.

  “It smells like sex and blood in here.”

  He drops a box onto the table.

  “There was no sex,” I assure him.

>   Noah turns. “Well, something’s got you all hot and bothered. I brought tuna melts. Canned tuna, processed cheese, and bread with enough preservatives to stay fresh for a thousand years.”

  “I wish you’d stop telling me this shit.”

  He shrugs. “Thought you should know.”

  I sit and eat.

  “Cards?” Noah holds up the box when I’m done.

  “No.”

  “Birds?” He points out the window.

  “Change of plans tonight.” I stand and grab a clean top from the closet. I glance out the window as I pull it on. It’s twilight.

  “The dead will be sleeping soon. Let’s go have some fun.”

  Noah snickers. “I think you just had enough fun for the both of us.”

  “Definitely not.” I slip on a pair of boots.

  “What are you looking to do?” Noah stands. “As your manservant, I aim to please.” He winks. “Just not like that.”

  I haven’t boned him since I was seventeen, and we no longer have that kind of relationship. He definitely knows this after our conversation last night.

  “Not happening.” I stand up straight. “Let’s party. I need to burn off some frustration.”

  “Oh.” Noah walks toward the door. “What kind of party are you looking for?”

  “Booze and weed. Your specialty.”

  “Oh, Meg, you’re killing me.” Noah takes my hand, and we walk down the hall, heading for the stairwell.

  Just as we’re heading up, Clea floats down the steps.

  “Child?” She asks, focused on my hand holding Noah’s.

  “What?” I drop his hand. “We’re just going out.”

  “You think that’s a good idea?” she asks.

  “I don’t see why not.” I take another step up.

  “I’ll keep an eye on her,” Noah promises.

  Clea’s eyes narrow on Noah. “It’s dangerous for you,” she reminds me.

  This is stupid. I’m an adult. An immature one, but still.

  “I’m going. We’ll be fine. I’ll be back in a few hours.”

  Clea drifts to the side and allows us to pass. “Steer clear from the newly dead,” she warns. “Word is out about you. The Deacons are gossiping.”