Sons of Angels

by Rachel Green

  Felicia closed her eyes, trusting her sense of smell for the first time. Gillian pulled out a pair of sunglasses.

  A hiss of steel prompted them both to jump, Felicia to the left and Gillian to the right. Felicia winced as a line of fire grazed her ribs, feeling the scent of the creature as a physical form.

  “Change, you stupid dog,” Gillian cried, the smell of blood and leather that was Felicia’s mental image of her darting in to strike at the form.

  “I don’t know how.” Felicia struck out, trying to grab the sword before she was cut in half.

  “By all the devils.” Gillian swore and leaped on the creature’s back, sinking her teeth into its neck. She screamed and dropped to the ground.

  “Gillian!” Felicia struck, her fist meeting an arm as resilient as a bar of iron.

  The creature laughed. “You should have died in the fire, wolf-child. Your death will be more painful now. You can’t defeat an angel.”

  A shout echoed from the site of the fire and a glance that way told Felicia the policemen were hurrying to investigate the commotion. The angel, if it really was one, looked their way.

  “The mortals win you a reprieve, but not for long. The earth will be cleansed of the bastard get, and that includes you.”

  Felicia was stunned by the sudden absence of light and form. Purely on instinct, she picked up the vampire and ran, melting into the darkness.

  Chapter 12

  Felicia stopped in the shadows between a garden shed and a chicken hut. She could hear the birds on the other side of the thin wooden wall and smell the warm scent of their feathers. Her mouth filled with saliva and she swallowed, bottling away the desire to tear into the warm flesh. She looked at the woman in her arms. “Gillian!”

  Felicia laid the vampire on the ground and bent to listen for a heartbeat. There wasn’t one, but she wasn’t certain if a vampire would have one anyway. What should she do? Mouth to mouth? Felicia didn’t know if vampires breathed, either.

  Felicia looked back. She had carried the vampire, who weighed less than a child, roughly half a mile and could still see the torches of the police searching the area they’d left. How ironic, the flaming brands of villagers would translate into the flashlights of His Majesty’s finest.

  A whisper of air from the vampire caught her attention. They did breathe, after all. She bent her ear to the fluttering lips.

  “Blood.” Gillian’s voice was barely a whisper. “I need blood.”

  Felicia grimaced. What could she do but offer her own to the woman who had just saved her life?

  She pulled her sleeve up and placed her wrist against the vampire’s teeth.

  The pain, though momentary, was excruciating. After the initial shock wore off, though, Felicia found that she enjoyed the feeling of euphoria. She closed her eyes, her mind drifting back to childhood and sleeping on the grass at her Aunty Glad’s house.

  She was brought out of it by a slap from the vampire, now awake and with eyes flashing. “You ate raw steak. I’m so glad you left off the garlic butter.”

  Felicia grinned. “You’re all right!”

  “Not yet.” Gillian rolled onto one side and vomited. Felicia’s fresh blood soaked into the earth and was soon followed by a ghostly pale phosphorescence, coating the ground and evaporating. Gillian spat and sat up.

  “It was a waste of your blood but I had to get enough to regain enough strength to expel the ectoplasm. That stuff is poison.”

  “That...thing we fought. Was it really an angel?”

  Gillian nodded and swung herself upright. “I’m afraid so. Did you think angels were good?”

  “Well, yes, to be frank.” Felicia rose, offering the vampire an arm to steady herself. “That’s what I was always taught.”

  “Don’t you believe it.” Gillian stretched, her muscles popping. “The only difference between angels and demons is who pays their wages. Lilith’s children are still slaughtered by angels and some of the most euphoric sex is presided over by a demon.” She shrugged. “I have to get more blood.”

  Felicia offered her wrist again but the vampire shook her head. “If I take any more, you’ll become addicted to the high.” She frowned and turned in a full circle. “None of my flock are near enough. I’ll have to hunt.”

  “What? Kill someone?” Felicia grimaced.

  “Possibly.” Gillian smiled and touched her shoulder, the contact sending jolts of pleasure through Felicia’s body. Gillian frowned at her reaction. “I took too much. You’re already dependent upon me. It will wear off in a day or two, I promise.”

  “I don’t mind.”

  “You would. That’s the connection between us talking.” Gillian turned away. “Stay here. I’ll be back shortly.”

  She would have vanished had Felicia been an ordinary mortal. Only her enhanced eyesight and sense of smell enabled her to track the vampire as she ran into the nearby housing estate.

  Felicia looked back at the lights of the crime scene. She found it hard to believe her mother was not only dead but incinerated. There would be no body to bury.

  Hot tears splashed, mingling with the blood soaking the grass.

  * * * *

  Gillian walked alone through the empty streets, examining each house she passed. From some she caught fragments of dreams that made no sense, dreams of school or offices, nightmares of monsters and mundane terrors. Not even a vampire could understand a dream not their own.

  From other houses, those with lights on or the tell-tale flicker of a television, she caught snatches of conversation.

  “Did you take the cat to the vet’s this morning?”

  “I saw Tom today. He said you’d been seen out with the barmaid from the White Art.”

  “No love. There’s more sugar in the cupboard...”

  Occasionally, if she was lucky, she sensed something deeper, something darker.

  “Pills. I need pills.”

  “He doesn’t love me. I don’t think he ever did.”

  “When she gets home she’ll find me. Then she’ll be sorry...”

  At houses such as these Gillian waited. Patient, silent. Young or old, they came to her and she gave them the peace they craved–the peace they didn’t have the courage to find for themselves. They let her take them, their last thoughts of loved ones or memories forgotten in the mire of modern living.

  Sometimes these willing victims remembered life was worth living. She sensed their thoughts, their sudden fight, and soothed them, allowing them to return to their beds, their televisions, their modern-day anxieties, each with a new-found lust for life and the peace they experienced for a few short minutes in her embrace.

  Such people were left with a connection she could call upon to slake her nightly thirst.

  * * * *

  Felicia sensed Gillian’s return long before she arrived. She could smell the tang of iron and the traces of perfume from the vampire’s victim, could hear the soft footsteps as she padded across the grass. She’d never believed in monsters until now.

  “Better?” Felicia could smell the blood. Gillian reeked of it.

  “Much. I wouldn’t expect you to understand. Just be assured that I don’t take the innocent.”

  “You’re still a killer.”

  Gillian refused to pander to the dramatic. “Yes. So will you be if you don’t learn to control yourself. What happened back there? I told you to change.”

  “I can’t.” Felicia rose with an easy grace. “If I knew how to change I would have done. Don’t I have to wait until a full moon?”

  Gillian laughed. “That really is an old wives’ tale because on a moonlit night it was possible to witness a werewolf change forms. You can do it any time.”

  “Well I can’t.” Felicia pouted. “I’m not even sure I want to be a werewolf. Why? Why couldn’t I be a vampire like you, or see the dead like my sister?”

  “You are what you are.” Gillian shrugged. “Look at that cut across your ribs. Doesn’t that hurt?”

  “
A bit.” Felicia touched it and winced. “It will heal, though, in a day or two.”

  “If you changed, it would heal instantly.” Gillian stepped closer. “At the moment, you’re just scratching the surface of what you are. You’re a dripping tap, content to let the glass fill drop by maddening drop. If you changed, you’d release the floodgates and gain all the abilities of your species much faster, including the ability to heal.”

  “I can wait.” Felicia smiled. “I have to go home soon. I’ve got to be up in the morning.”

  “Are you hungry?”

  “Quite hungry, yes. It’s been a hell of a day.”

  Gillian laughed. “Be careful what you say around here. Invoking Hell can have serious consequences. We’ll get you something to eat. It’s what hunting is for.”

  Felicia followed Gillian over a wall into an expansive private garden. “You really think I’m a werewolf?”

  “I can smell it. Now change.”

  Felicia concentrated, willing her body to alter. “I can’t. It’s not a full moon.”

  Gillian clicked her tongue. “I told you. That’s just folklore. You’re too enmeshed in your mindset to make the shift. Take off your clothes.”

  “What, here?” Felicia glanced around. “Someone might see.”

  “Here? At this time of night?” Gillian began to unbutton Felicia’s blouse. “The only other people who could see are ghosts, and why should you care about that?”

  “Isn’t there a public path through here?”

  “Only during the day.” Gillian laughed. “The footpath is closed at night. Anyone on it is fair game.”

  “You hunt people here?”

  “Of course. I have to hunt to survive. I don’t often kill anyone and all they remember is an erotic dream.”

  “That sounds good. Can I have it without being asleep?”

  Gillian frowned. “Are you flirting with me? I could snap your neck.”

  “But you won’t.”

  Gillian took her clothing. “You’d only ruin them. Now get on all fours. It will help with the visualization.”

  “I suppose.” Felicia hunkered down and tried again. “It’s still not working.”

  “Try barking like a dog.”

  Felicia tried. “I feel silly.”

  “Who cares? The visual works for me.”

  “Very funny.” Felicia looked up at the vampire. “It’s no good. Perhaps I’m not developed enough as a werewolf.”

  Gillian slapped her, sending Felicia’s head twisting away from her blow. She snapped back. “What was that for?”

  Gillian punched her hard enough to break a man’s ribs then swept her feet away to send her sprawling.

  “Don’t do that!” Felicia growled. The vampire was outlined in white against the dark sky. Felicia managed to dodge Gillian’s foot as it came toward her face.

  “Good.” The vampire kicked at her, each one delivered with enough power to break a spine. Felicia skittered about the ground, dodging them.

  A series of blows landed and Felicia howled in pain, bones and joints popping and reforming. Gillian had said she could heal herself, but hadn’t mentioned the pain. The trees came into bright focus and she launched herself at the vampire.

  Gillian sidestepped the rush, her boot connecting with Felicia's leg and sending her into a skid. Felicia recovered fast, bearing down on the vampire to give her some of her own treatment. Again Gillian dodged, this time executing a forward somersault in the air to land lightly on her feet. “Hold.”

  Felicia stared at her in monochrome. Gillian vanished into the darkness until Felicia moved her head, then the depth of field resolved to reveal the vampire standing perfectly still. Felicia’s sense of smell filled in the details.

  Gillian put her hands on her hips and strode forward, the movement clear in Felicia’s vision. “Now do you believe me?”

  Felicia looked down to see, not her hands as she expected, but hairy legs that terminated in paws. When she twisted her head, she could see the rest of her body in wolf form.

  “I would never have believed it possible.”

  Gillian shook her head. “You’ve lost your vocal cords. All I can hear are barks and whines. Use your sense of smell. Can you detect anything worth eating?”

  Felicia yipped and sped off toward the pasture land surrounding the estate. Gillian raced to keep up with her. “No! Not the sheep! The farmer will have a fit!”

  * * * *

  Gillian dropped the remains of the sheep down a pit on the grounds of the manor. Originally for the purpose of incarceration, it was now a handy repository for her kills. The imps periodically poured lye down to speed decomposition and mask the smell. She nudged Felicia from an overeating stupor. “Sated?”

  Felicia gave a low whine and rolled over on her back. Gillian squatted to pat her stomach. “Too full, I bet. Still, you need the energy to transform back. Come on.”

  She began to jog back to the manor but the wolf didn’t follow. Gillian stopped and looked back. “Heel.”

  Felicia trotted after her.

  When they reached the stable yard Gillian knelt down. “You need to change back. I know it feels good to be in this form, but you’ve got a human inside you that needs to come out. The more you change form, the more you’ll be able to control it. Trust me on this. We can hunt again tomorrow, if you like.”

  The wolf whined and sat, shuffling forward as the change began. Bare skin absorbed the fur as bones snapped and reset into new positions, and calcium stored in a thickened skeleton rushed to add length to femur and metacarpals.

  Sinews stretched and twanged like the music of the damned while muscles shifted to different groupings.

  Paws grew out into hands and feet, ears slid down the head and its snout shrank back into a skull that quickly altered from wolf to human.

  Felicia lay on the tarmac, tears of pain and frustration coursing down her cheeks. “I felt free.” She looked up at the vampire. “Free for the first time in years.”

  Gillian offered her an arm to help her stand. “You will again. You’re a joker in a deck of jokers. You’re no longer part of the mortal world.”

  Felicia looked toward the hills and the patch of lighter sky above them. “I feel alive, as if all my life I’ve been asleep.”

  Gillian smiled as she threw Felicia’s clothes to her. “Welcome to living.”

  Chapter 13

  Felicia woke to sunshine slanting through her bedroom window and the sound of blackbirds singing in the trees around the apartment block. After only three hours of sleep she felt better than she had in years. The general aches and pains she’d suffered for years–the groaning knee from a running injury and the pelvis that froze in place once in a while and had to be painfully manipulated until it clicked–had melted away like a headache before sex. She checked the clock. Eight o’clock was still early enough to enjoy a leisurely shower and a relaxed coffee.

  She took time to read the newspaper, passing the time until she could phone people during business hours. Harold would understand her leaving the gallery closed while she mourned her mother. As an unexpected silver lining she could legitimately cancel Emily Baker’s installation piece.

  Felicia frowned. Why was she not more upset? When her father had died she had grieved for weeks despite shouldering the responsibility for her sister. Now that her mother had died, she felt hardly anything. It was as if the bereavement process was happening to somebody else and all she could do was watch and add platitudes of comfort.

  Page three of the Laverstone Times had a late breaking story: Mysterious fire kills mother of two

  Another fire broke out yesterday at the home of Patricia Turling, 67, a widow of five years and the mother of two single daughters. Like the fire at Park View, the house on Sandringham Crescent was burned to ashes within minutes. Firemen, alerted to the scene by an anonymous caller, arrived too late to provide assistance.

  The fire lasted only fifteen minutes but was hot enough to melt brick and concret
e. Police are anxious to speak to Mrs. Turling’s daughter, Felicia.

  Foul play is not suspected, though firemen are at a loss to explain the sudden inferno. Police are asking anyone with information to step forward.

  Included was a picture of what used to be her mother’s house, the yellow tape echoed by the jackets of the emergency crew.

  Felicia closed the paper and picked up the phone. The police didn’t wait for business hours unless one were reporting a burglar after midnight, when they invariably asked, at least in Felicia’s experience, to call back in the morning with an inventory of the items stolen.

  Despite asking for DS Peters, she was put straight through to Detective-Inspector White.

  “The newspaper said you needed to speak to me. I told everything I could think of to Mr. Peters yesterday.”

  “DS Peters neglected to ask some questions.” White inhaled through his teeth. “Could we impose upon you one more time?”

  Felicia nodded, despite White not being able to see her. “I’ll drop in later on. I’ll be in town shortly.”

  “Thank you, Miss Turling. I shall look forward to it.” White put the phone down, leaving Felicia with nothing but the dial tone.

  She looked at the clock. It was almost nine. She dialed the hospital, enduring several menus and a blast of tinny Dvorak before being connected.

  “Mr. Patterson’s office?”

  “Hello. I just want to confirm Mr. Patterson will be able to see me today.”

  “I don’t see any appointments. May I ask who’s calling?”

  She frowned. “Felicia Turling, regarding Julie Turling.”

  “Ah, I see the confusion. There was an appointment booked for you, Ms. Turling, but it was canceled after Julie was discharged.”

  Color faded from her vision. “What do you mean, discharged? I saw her on Sunday and spoke to the matron. I was told she couldn’t leave unless I signed the paperwork. How can she have left?”

  “According to the notes, you saw Mr. Patterson yesterday.”

  “I think I’d know if I’d seen him. I think my sister would be sitting in a chair in my flat if that had been the case. Trust me, she’s not here.”