Nightingale Girl

by M. R. Pritchard

  “Let go of me.” I struggle, but Remiel is much larger and stronger.

  “Wish I could. But you’re coming with me.”

  “Where?” I think of dropping to the ground, kicking him in the back of the knee and rolling away. I glance at the Deacon, then Jim’s fake father. I’d rather not be left with them any longer.

  “Sir,” the Deacon speaks up. “The bounty.”

  “Done.” Remiel waves his hand, impatient, dismissive. “Two hundred souls.”

  I glare at the Deacon. “You lied!”

  The Deacon doesn’t appear guilty at all. He shrugs. “Nothing’s fair between Heaven and Hell.”

  “And Nightingale?” I ask. “You promised to help me.”

  Remiel’s grip tightens on my arm. “He can’t help you,” Remiel says. “She’s back where she belongs. Been there for a full day now.”

  “What?”

  Remiel crosses the room with me in tow. “She’s home. Where she belongs. Recovering from the mess you got her in.”

  “And how did you know where she was?” I ask.

  “She was delivered. Someone smarter than you thought it good to bring her to safety.” Remiel’s grip on my arm tightens painfully. “After what you did to her”—he shakes his head—“Council will have a field day with it all.”

  My relief is not as satisfying as I’d thought it would be. With all the bad shit I did in my life, stealing away an Angel has got to be the worst.

  Remiel opens the door, and I get my first glimpse of Noah, pacing outside.

  “Not today, sinner.” Remiel reaches into the bowl near the door and throws a handful of salt at Noah, and he vanishes.

  Remiel drags me to the sheriff’s cruiser and shoves me in the backseat before sitting in the passenger side. The sheriff gets behind the wheel and starts the car.

  Noah appears again. Looking around, he focuses on the cruiser and runs toward it.

  The Deacon walks out of the house, rosary in hand. His voice is deep and powerful as he enunciates a prayer in Latin.

  Remiel chuckles as I bang my fists on the window. “Leave him alone!”

  “Ever see an exorcism?” Remiel asks. “He’s going to send your pet ghost back to the astral. Where he belongs.”

  This time Noah doesn’t just disappear in a wisp of fog and smoke. He screams, roars something terrible, mutates, and twists in painful contortions, and then he’s gone.

  “No!” I slam my fists on the window, but it’s over. Noah is gone. The Deacon wipes his hands before spinning and returning to the house.

  “Too many supernatural beings where they don’t belong,” Remiel scoffs. “The need for the Council has never been stronger. To the portal,” Remiel orders.

  The portal happens to be in an old Catholic cemetery fifteen miles from the sheriff’s house. The perfect setting for the transportation of supernatural beings.

  An arch of cobbled stone that looks quite unassuming looms before us. After Remiel touches his fingers to the stone and whispers a few words, the space under the arch wavers like a stone tossed in a calm pond. Remiel shoves me through the portal. After a few moments of stomach-churning lightness and feeling like I’ve been sent through a centrifuge, we exit on the far side of Remiel’s Kingdom. His house is off in the distance, which means there will be a long period of being dragged across the expanse of yard that’s in front of us.

  “Can’t you just let me walk?” I ask, wishing he’d get his hands off me.

  “I just let you take off with both of my children. Look what that got me? A missing son and daughter. You can’t be free. Your filth has tainted them both.”

  Guess Remiel forgot that he caused the curse, not me.

  Magically, we’ve crossed half of the yard by the time he gets to the next part. “Council’s got a surprise for you. Gabriel’s not going to be happy, but he’s outnumbered. Usually is.” Remiel leads me around the back of his castle, to the basement where he kept Nightingale. “Until they’re ready, you’ll wait here.” Remiel shoves open the door, drags me down the hall, past the room where I stayed before, past Nightingale’s room, deeper underground, until we come to a barred door. The hinges groan as Remiel opens the door. He shoves me inside, slams the door, and hooks a lock in place.

  Remiel looks even more like Sparrow when the shadows touch his face. Makes me miss Sparrow something fierce.

  “How long will I be here?” My stomach growls.

  As Remiel turns on his heel, walking away, he says, “Until they’re ready for you.”

  . . .

  It turns out “until they’re ready for me” happens to be a few days. The hunger I experienced in the bowels of Hell returns, except now I have no castle to search frantically. I have my lonely cell with about ten feet of space to pace. Seems I’m always finding myself behind bars. At least this time it didn’t come with a jumpsuit.

  I walk in circles, touching the weapon on my thigh; I think about all the ways I could try to escape. This isn’t a jail cell in Hell; I doubt escaping would be as easy as before. Maybe I could just wait. My father’s Kingdom is not far from this place, and if Remiel is informing the Council, then Gabriel will know I’m here. I’ve never placed much trust in those around me, but something tells me that my father would do everything in his power to release me. And since he’s an Archangel, I’ll just wait and see what that is.

  My stomach growls, loud and angry.

  Shadow darkens the room.

  I turn to find Nightingale standing at the door, her hair mussed and greasy. This is the first time I’ve seen her since she disappeared. I’ve found the ghost I was searching for.

  “Night . . .” I walk across the room toward her.

  She still emits that innocence, still bright but . . . broken. I did this to her.

  “I’m so sorry,” I whisper, reaching through the bars of the door.

  She backs away, a candle in her hand lighting the dark hall. “I wanted to leave.” Her voice is so soft. “It’s my fault. I should have listened to my father.”

  “What happened to you?” I ask. “There was so much blood.”

  Nightingale steps into a shadow. “It doesn’t matter. Can’t go back.” Her voice drops. “I know evil. Didn’t understand what we fight. Now, I do.”

  “I never meant for you to get hurt.”

  “I know.” She sniffles. “More than Sparrow connects us now.”

  I don’t ask for details. I can feel the pain radiating off her. “I’ve been searching for you. Everywhere.”

  “I know.”

  The closer I get to the door, the farther she backs away.

  “Don’t leave,” I beg.

  A tear slides down Nightingale’s cheek before she turns and skates away, her dark hair trailing behind her like a stream.

  I drop to the floor and close my eyes.

  . . .

  I wake to find Remiel standing over me. He’s holding a knife, much like the blade that’s strapped to my thigh, but his radiates a white light.

  The pains in my stomach are unbearable.

  “Move.” Remiel kicks at my side.

  “Go to Hell.” If I had any saliva in my mouth, I’d spit on him.

  “Get up.” He kicks me again. “Now.”

  “Let me go.”

  Remiel laughs. “Oh, we’re going to let you go. Going to free your soul and send it where it belongs.” He kicks me a third time. “Get up.”

  The thought of death, of them having power over me, surges straight to my heart. I may not be able to poof myself out of here, but I can fight back. I’ve done this before. The evil of one Archangel is nothing compared to seven Hellions.

  I jump to my feet, the motion startling Remiel.

  He steps back.

  After days of hunger, all I can focus on is the throbbing of the artery in his tense neck. And then, I am nothing but my mother’s daughter—an animal, a beast, through and through. Starving and wild, unable to think beyond my hunger, I leap on Remiel and bite down on h
is neck.

  Remiel’s hands dig at my back, trying to peel me off him.

  The taste of his blood is like nothing I’ve ever experienced. Pure and warm, powerful. Before I know what I’ve done, Remiel is nothing but a sack of bones on the ground.

  Nightingale’s shadow stretches across the doorway. “Killing an Archangel comes with severe punishment.” Her voice is low, as though she might actually be worried for me.

  “Faced plenty of punishments.” I wipe my face and see the smear of blood across my hands. Shame hits me. Shame and . . . power. I’ve never felt so strong in my life.

  “Meg?” Nightingale sounds worried.

  “What?”

  “You’re . . . something.” She skates backward, farther away from me.

  Remiel’s blood floods my veins, and I feel my power has returned. There is one thought on my mind. One person. If it’s the last thing I ever do, I have to do it now. I can’t control the urge.

  “I’m going to get Sparrow,” I tell Nightingale. “Do you want to come with me?”

  She shakes her head, backing away more.

  “Okay.” I shake my hands, my voice sounding nervous. “I’ll bring him back. I’ll get him and bring him back here.”

  I glance at the pile of robes at my feet.

  Remiel is dead.

  Nightingale is safe.

  I am strong.

  Poof—I return to the burning caves of Hell.

  “Oh, child.” Clea is there, her cold arms surrounding me instantly. “You’ve returned.”

  I step back, replaying the events of the past days before shit went real bad, trying to figure it all out in my mind.

  Nothing is ever as it seems, especially since I woke from that coma months ago, but the one thing I know for certain is that the last thing I touched was Clea’s feather.

  Clea smiles knowingly. “I won’t apologize. It’s written in the stars. You will be invincible together.”

  “What did you do to me?” I ask. “I couldn’t travel between realms.”

  “Just a little curse to keep you in your place. I’m your mother. I can get away with doing things like that.” She smiles. “It’s lifted. Obviously. Now go find your Hellion.”

  I run up the stone stairwell to the Hellions’ lair, playing the future scene over and over in my head. Actually, it’s just a jumble of scenes. There’s things I have to tell Sparrow about his family. And then there’s the tiny fact that I left him without a good-bye. I’ve been gone for days.

  I push the door open. Sparrow is standing in the middle of the room. Vine is there, as well. A row of new recruits is lined up across the back of the room.

  Sparrow doesn’t hesitate. As soon as his green eyes lock with mine, he lumbers toward me and grabs my arm. Without a “Hello,” a “Hey, girl,” or an “I missed you while you were searching for my sister,” he takes a bite out of my wrist and feeds. I try to pull away, but Sparrow holds me tight, dragging my body closer to his while he sucks.

  Tears burn my eyes. I punch against his chest with my free hand and consider reaching for the blade strapped to my thigh, but I don’t want to hurt him.

  The pain in my heart is greater than the sharpness of his bite. The decision becomes apparent at this moment. I must leave him.

  Sparrow pauses, only to whisper, “They all warned me that you’d leave me, you’d break my heart, that your kind are like that.” There is hurt in his eyes. I guess that’s what happens when you try to fix your relationship in the bowels of Hell. Everyone gets a little hurt. So much hurt that not even a drawerful of feathers can fix it. Not even saving an Angel can fix it. Perhaps I saved the wrong Angel . . .

  “Give her to me.”

  Sparrow stops at the sound of a dark voice. He’s hesitant, glancing at me before shoving me away and holding me at arm’s length.

  “Now, boy.” Vine is reaching for me, fangs sharp and ready.

  “No! No!” I scratch and claw at Sparrow.

  He doesn’t release me.

  Vine moves forward, taking my free arm and jerking me toward him.

  I want to tell Sparrow everything that happened. I want to tell him that I found Nightingale, I killed his father, I have Archangel blood running through my veins, that—

  Vine jerks me hard and I stumble. Sparrow releases his grip on me; with it goes the last shred of hope I had for us. Vine drags me away, kicking and screaming, and Sparrow just watches.

  And just as I’m thinking he’s going to stand by and observe whatever terrible fate Vine has planned for me, Sparrow finally roars an ear-deafening “Stop!”

  The leather of his wings explodes off his back, a whipping sheet in the wind; it hurdles across the room and wraps around Vine until he is nothing but a mummy. Struggling, stretching against the tight skin, Vine tries to tear his way out. The points of his elbows, the nails of his fingers, the points of his teeth all press against the leather in an effort to escape. It’s pointless, though. Vine collapses on the floor. The leather constricts, tighter and tighter, until he becomes still.

  “Clea!” I shout.

  My mother appears in the room; Lucifer, too. They take in the scene, with me on the floor, Vine a motionless mummy, and Sparrow with bones for wings.

  Clea smiles proudly. “I knew you’d figure it out.” Her voice is in my mind.

  Lucifer goes to Sparrow and touches his head; the leather returns to his wings.

  My stomach sinks. I bow my head, fighting that familiar feeling of hopelessness.

  “Will you let him be done now?” I ask. “Is Sparrow through?”

  Lucifer shakes his head. “He’s left me without a head Demon.” He taps his chin with his index finger. “The only choice I have is for him to take Vine’s place.” Lucifer smiles.

  Clea pales. Didn’t think that was possible. The look of shock on her face is surprising. Noah warned me that she might be devious, but now I know that she never was. My grandfather, however, is a very different story. I’ll be damned to stand by and put up with this bullshit for one second longer.

  “No!” I reach for my blade, ready to poof Sparrow out of here like I did in Heaven. We can escape to the earthen plane; I don’t care if he’s cursed. Dealing with a little crazy is a thousand times better than this.

  My grandfather takes one look at the blade in my hand. “You’d dare threaten the king of Hell?” Lucifer spreads his wings, forcing the others away and encircling me. In a second I am surrounded by nothing but blackness. “I gave you a wish.” Lucifer’s voice drops to a whisper. “I gave you a wish, and you used it on something as petty as friendship. There are no differences between friends and enemies. You could have used it for something real. You could have used it for love.” He spits the word like a curse.

  My stomach feels like it’s dropped to my feet.

  “You could have used it for Sparrow.” Lucifer’s eyes glow. He grins, sharp toothed and wide. I have never seen evil like this before. He’s frightening. “You wasted the most valuable gift I have ever given a soul. And you. Chose. Wrong!”

  Lucifer’s wings whip away from me. Only silence follows.

  I make eye contact with Sparrow.

  “Do you remember?” I ask.

  Sparrow’s lips are pressed in a tight line. He doesn’t move an inch.

  I take that as a no.

  Poof.

  I return to the earthen plane.

  Alone.

  BLOOD AND SIN AND FREEDOM

  I send myself to a beach, an island in the Bahamas, a place I saw in a magazine once. I can’t go home, being a wanted felon and all. I look around the beach I’ve landed on. Get ready to move, to make a plan. I’ve got plenty of money. Just have to get a new identity or a really good lawyer to fix the mess I stepped in while I was in Canada. There is no body, but after finding all that blood, I’m sure the Mounties are gunning for me. If there’s anything I’ve learned about law enforcement, they’ll never stop until you pay for your crimes.

  Poof. Sparrow is standin
g in front of me.

  I step back. “How did you do that?”

  Sparrow licks his lips.

  Perhaps it was the fresh blood? I’m betting Archangel blood mixed with mine could make a person powerful. Bet it could raise the dead, kill a god. A person could really do things with that kind of power.

  “You’ve changed,” I say.

  “You, too.”

  I will never forget the sound of Sparrow’s voice: deep and smooth.

  “This is so far from where we started.” I’m not sure I’ll ever see the Sparrow I fell in love with again.

  “We’re not the same. After all that”—Sparrow waves his hand behind him—“who could ever be the same after finding out what we really are?”

  I look away. Who could ever be the same after everything we’ve gone through? The realization doesn’t lessen the want.

  Sparrow tips his head to the side, quirky and birdlike. “How many times do I have to die for you, Meg?”

  “I never asked you to do it. I never asked you to join Lucifer’s robot army. That wasn’t me. That was you.”

  “I have to cure my bloodline.”

  I shake my head. Wishing this had gone another way, into the sunrise instead of the sunset.

  “How many times do I have to die?” he asks again.

  “I didn’t ask you—”

  Sparrow smiles, both beautiful and dark. I forget my words.

  “That’s what makes it worth it every time.” His fingers touch my cheek. He is warm, solid, and strong. His finger trails down my jawline, my clavicle, resting over my heart, on the tattoo of the sparrow.

  “I am Sparrow. You are mine, and I am yours.”

  Staring into his green eyes, so much darker than they were before, I know this is true.

  “We are broken.”

  “Unpossible.”

  “You can’t make up words.”

  “I can do what I want.”

  Why can’t he see that this isn’t going to work? Sparrow rarely gets angry at me. Not when I almost killed him, not when I lied to him, not when—

  “I killed your father.” I confess.

  “Tasted that. Bound to happen one day.” He smiles slowly, sadly. “They said we’d be invincible together.”