Angel's Roar: Feathers and Fire Book 4

by Shayne Silvers

  Or why I had magic in the first place.

  Because I had been adopted. Left on the steps of Abundant Angel Catholic Church. The same church that Roland would coincidentally choose to make his home more than ten years later. Shepherds were typically vagabonds, traveling the world from one crisis to another, hunting down those who hunted down the innocent. They didn’t put down roots in places, but my presence had convinced him to stay.

  Of course, Roland had been put in an impossible situation recently. In order to save two women he called friends, he had been forced to become a vampire. And since Shepherds hunted vampires, shifters, and other monsters, Roland had also been forced to relinquish his duty as a Shepherd.

  He was still coming to terms with that decision, but it had forced us both out of our old home. Here. This training room beneath the church.

  Glancing around, I realized I hadn’t let myself acknowledge how much I missed the place.

  A whisper of fabric behind me…

  I dropped into a crouch, snatching up a blade concealed in my boot, and threw.

  Someone gasped, dropping to the floor.

  I called up a ball of white light – a roiling orb of glowing vapor – and approached the assassin, knowing I hadn’t killed him.

  Only because I hadn’t intended to.

  He lay on the ground, staring up at me warily, hands open at his sides to let me know he was no threat. I blinked down at the familiar face, clinically assessing the blade sticking out of his upper right chest. It had been a short blade, not intended to be lethal unless thrown at a specific target on the body.

  I frowned at him.

  “Morning, Callie,” Arthur said through gritted teeth. “Guess I asked for that.”

  Arthur was a homeless man I had shown kindness to months ago, cleaning him up and giving him a place to work here at the church. But upstairs as a janitor and security guard, not in the super-secret Shepherd’s bunker below.

  “What are you doing down here, Arthur? And how did you get down here?”

  He looked cautious, as if not sure how to answer, or if knowing his answer might just make things worse. I had trusted this man. Given him a home, of sorts. And he was… robbing the church?

  “Roland gave me a code,” he said in a rush. “Back before you left for Italy.”

  I… blinked at him. “He… gave you a code.” Arthur nodded eagerly. “For the secret military training rooms underneath the church. The ones that almost no one knows about…”

  He nodded again, meeting my eyes. Roland had never told me about that. Was Arthur lying? But… in a way, it sounded like something Roland might have done. Right before we left for Rome, Roland had known he might not ever come back – that he might not be welcome back.

  So… choosing a guardian for the place was smart. And Roland had trusted Arthur to visit us after we returned, while we prepared and packed for our final departure with the church. So, this place wasn’t a surprise to him. Maybe Roland had forgotten to tell me the full truth. We’d had more pressing matters to be concerned about at the time.

  And even if Arthur was lying, he wouldn’t have been able to get down here without a code. I could always check the security logs. Maybe he had stolen one of our codes. But that didn’t seem likely. I wasn’t even sure if our codes worked anymore. Which was why I had made a Gateway here. The Vatican technically owned the place, and for the most part, Roland and I had pretty much severed ties with them after our trip to Rome.

  Which meant it was more than likely that Arthur was telling the truth.

  “Who knows about this?” I asked him.

  “Fabrizio agreed to it this week. Said I would need some training, though,” he admitted, eyes flicking to the knife in his chest.

  What the hell? The Shepherds had recruited my homeless man? But… he was mine!

  Chapter 33

  I blinked at him. “Wait, agreed to what? You… you’re going to be a Shepherd?” I asked incredulously, eyeing the knife sticking out of his shoulder to pointedly acknowledge Fabrizio’s assessment. Arthur would need training. A lot of training. But even then… he wasn’t exactly a spry chicken. And he didn’t have any magic. Not that magic was required, but when going up against monsters, it was always good to have more tools at your disposal rather than less.

  “You might need more training than you think,” I said, not unkindly, as I helped him to his feet. “Follow me,” I said, releasing him and heading deeper into the compound. “If you’re anything like me, you’ll soon find this is one of your regular hangout spots,” I said, finally stepping into the small medical wing, complete with first-aid kits and minor surgical gear.

  I’d spent a lot of time here in my training, wrapping myself back up.

  He studied the area with familiarity. “I know how to dress a wound,” he said softly.

  I shot him a thoughtful look. “How about stitching up your own wounds?” I asked with a sarcastic smile.

  He didn’t miss a beat. “A handful of times.”

  I assessed him thoughtfully. “Right. Well, you probably did a crap job of it. It’s not like putting on a bandage—”

  “Looks like this is my first test, then,” he interrupted me. “Well, second test, since I failed the first one,” he admitted, briefly touching the handle of the blade sticking out of his chest. Now that I watched him, it was surprising how calm he was. Obviously in pain, but not debilitating. “What kind of thread do you have? And needles?” he asked, studying the cabinets in a quick sweep. “Never mind. I’ll just have a look myself.”

  I had no idea. There were different kinds of needle and thread? I usually just found something sharp, and used the thread Roland had shown me to sew up a wound. Doing your own wounds was hard, but Roland had forced me to learn it.

  Arthur began digging through the cabinets, grunting when his motion shifted the blade still stuck in his chest. I watched the slow dripping of blood on the counter as he reached up for a small box. He glanced inside, muttered, and set it to the side, reaching back up into the cabinet for another box.

  He also set this one aside.

  He glanced over his shoulder, face set in stone. “Would be mighty kind of you to lend a hand. I can’t reach the top shelf.”

  I jumped to help and pulled down the items he indicated, surprised to find myself obeying so easily. But I didn’t question it. If this was a test, my job was to observe him, study not only his skill at the task, but his mindset, reactions, and inner psyche as he performed the task.

  But I’ll admit I was more than a little impressed already.

  He read a few boxes before finding one that was apparently suitable. He found some latex gloves, snapped them on without even looking, and sat down on the counter. He watched me, meeting my eyes as he expertly weaved the thread through the eye of the needle, tying off a knot from obvious experience.

  He jerked a chin over my shoulder. “Any good whiskey over there?” he asked, biting down on a wooden stick he had found in one of the drawers. He was like an entirely different person than the kind, pleasant, harmless man I had first met.

  I was already halfway to the sitting room with the liquor decanters he had indicated before I consciously realized it. Instead of making a fuss about it, I picked one up and walked back over to him. He was sitting on a chair, eyes closed, breathing steadily.

  I held it out and his eyes opened, even though I hadn’t made a sound. He accepted the decanter with a nod of thanks. “Probably not that sanitary,” I said, “and I know we have iodine in that dr—”

  I realized he had already taken off his shirt and splashed the iodine around the wound. “This is for me,” he replied, and took a big swig of the liquor. “The knife, if you please.”

  “I’d rather you continue the show, Arthur,” I said with a faint smile.

  He shook his head. “Your knife, your fault. I’m paying the price of being caught off guard, so you’ll pay the price of inflicting harm upon a friend, and putting your knife in the wrong…
sheathe. Pull it out on my signal,” he said, settling the glass decanter down beside him.

  I carefully wrapped my fingers around the hilt in a loose grip, ready to withdraw it on his command. He gave me a nod and I pulled out the knife as quickly as it had broken his skin. Blood instantly pooled, but he shoved a wad of gauze over it, pressing down tightly.

  I was quite surprised I hadn’t seen a flicker of pain on his face. Not even a hint of it.

  He took a few more swigs from the decanter, then leaned back into his chair, breathing steadily for a solid minute. Then he set the decanter down and put a wooden stick in his mouth.

  He bit down, testing it, before removing the gauze and beginning the stitching. The location wasn’t as awkward as I had thought it might be. Now, I had been ready to swoop in if he looked to be making a mess of it, but… he might have done a better job on his own than I could have. He spat out the wood after he crossed his last stitch, then looped the needle through the thread.

  I opened my mouth, realizing the wound wasn’t closed very tightly and it appeared that he was about finished. Then I stopped as he placed the needle in his mouth, biting down on it. Instead of cutting the thread, he leaned back with his neck, tugging the threads neatly closed.

  “Finger,” he said in a muffled tone, still gritting the needle in his teeth.

  I leaned closer, holding the sutures tight, and he plucked the needle from his teeth to weave a final knot. I cut the thread for him, rolling my eyes at his stubborn grunt. I offered him one of Roland’s shirts, even though it was too big, but he filled it out better than I had thought, and for the first time I realized he was much stronger than I had assumed. Hunger and living on the streets had eliminated any excess fat, and he was slim, but covered in tough, corded muscle that had been too stubborn to be starved away. Like a wolf.

  I studied him thoughtfully. He studied me back.

  “Fine. You did well,” I admitted, folding my arms. “But I’m taping you up.”

  He snorted as I pulled out fresh gauze and began taping it over his stitches. “It just means I have practice stitching myself up. Not a good habit for a would-be-fighter.”

  I nodded thoughtfully. He had known Fabrizio’s name, which kind of verified his claim, because I was sure Roland wouldn’t have told him that. “How exactly was this supposed to work? Are you heading off to Rome?” I asked him.

  He shrugged. “Fabrizio was considering whether it was wise to send someone here,” he said with an amused smirk my way. The indication that Roland and I might not find that particularly reassuring, and rather than doing it anyway, they were sitting on their hands. Probably waiting for Roland to return so they could discuss it with him, first.

  Which… was pretty courteous of them.

  I shrugged. “Not sure how the majority would feel about it, but maybe I could help here and there with training. Or Roland.”

  Arthur nodded appreciatively. “I would like that, but I’m not in the decision-making circle. I could offer the option. Might help bridge the gap between you and them. A little.”

  The silence grew as I thought about it all. “What were you doing down here in the first place?”

  He shrugged, eyes scanning the room. “Getting familiar. Maybe work out a little bit. I lived on the streets for a while, as you well know. I can scrap with what’s available, but I’m far from a warrior.”

  I remembered him telling me his life story after we first met. He had made me promise never to share or ask about it unless he expressly gave me permission. As in, him initiating that I could ask about it. I couldn’t even pester him. Until then, it hung between us. But it suddenly gave me a lot of questions, especially with his possible recruitment into the Shepherds.

  He had left a lot of blanks in his story, but had spoken vaguely enough that I got the feeling Arthur might just be one of the humblest sons of bitches I had ever met. Always polite, kind, commenting about how he didn’t know much of this or that.

  Then he performed a suture on himself as if he had done it hundreds of times. In war zones. While under fire.

  Totally opposite of the calm, polite, almost cute older man who had been ecstatic to receive a small security job working for a church.

  I decided I was going to press Fabrizio for a finder’s fee since I had brought Arthur into the game, even though I hadn’t intended him to become a Shepherd. He didn’t need to know that part.

  Because if his resolve and calm resiliency under pressure was any indication of his potential, Arthur might just go down as a legendary Shepherd.

  “Roland taught me one lesson pretty early on…” I began, speaking softly.

  Arthur grunted, climbing to his feet. “May as well get this over with,” he said, turning away from me and heading to the sparring room.

  My jaw might have been hanging open. Then I was jogging after him. “How did you know what I intended?” I asked him.

  “The single most important lesson for a warrior – other than learning which end of the weapon to stick into your enemies – is to learn that flesh wounds, and any other form of distraction, must be ignored during times of crises.” He said it simply, not turning to look at me as he inspected a rack of wooden sparring weapons.

  I nodded, scowling. Had it been my tone? I had hoped to come off as a wise badass mentor like Roland. Arthur must have sensed my frustration, because he finally glanced back at me.

  “Don’t worry. You did well. I’m just good at reading people.” He studied me thoughtfully. “You haven’t told anyone about me, have you?” I shook my head insistently. He studied me for a few tense moments before letting out a breath. “Bless you, Callie. Soon.” His eyes grew distant, staring out at his memories. “Soon enough, I imagine.” He shook off his memories and managed a sheepish grin. “I’ll admit that I’ll need a lot of practice with these. My previous skillset was singularly focused.”

  I studied him suspiciously. “I don’t rightly believe you, old one.”

  He grinned. “That’s because you’re smart.”

  “Let us begin,” I said, pulling out a staff and letting it thump onto the floor at my feet.

  He rolled his shoulders and pulled his own staff, dipping his head respectfully.

  Chapter 34

  Arthur studied me across the mat, the staff held loosely in his fist. I let out a calming breath, bowing back at him.

  “We aren’t going to start off sparring,” I said, approaching him. “We’ll begin with drills to loosen up, so you can get a feel for the weapon.” He nodded.

  I showed him the motions, and he caught on quickly. It wasn’t complicated. A simple attack, attack, block sequence with us alternating, to get used to the feel of staff striking staff, familiarizing our fingers to the sensation of the wood buzzing on contact with each blow while not losing track of the sequence.

  I thumped him a few times as he lost track, rapping his knuckles twice, but I kept my face a cool mask, emotionless and without sympathy. That would do him no favors, depending on who the Vatican chose as his future mentor. But he didn’t seem troubled or overly embarrassed about it, just resolved and determined.

  As we fell back into formation, I kept an eye on his chest. I saw blood through the gauze, but it wasn’t soaking the bandage, and it didn’t slow or distract him.

  “Why is it such a secret?” I asked him.

  He didn’t lose focus, but I sensed his face tighten momentarily. “I’m not who I was. Let people think so, and it’s liable to get them killed. Thinking I’ll swoop in to save them like some bloody hero.”

  I nodded, having expected the answer. Still, it was frustrating. He had told me enough to let me know the truth, but also enough to give me a million questions… and since I had promised not to speak about it – even to him – I was toeing a fine line at the moment. His eyes flashed to mine, reminding me of that promise and how close I was to breaking it. I smiled apologetically and focused back on the steady clacking of wood.

  After a few more minutes, I st
ruck his staff harder than necessary, and stepped back just enough that his rehearsed attack slipped past my nose, the combination of a solid hit and suddenly finding no resistance in the next motion throwing him off.

  But he kept a solid grip on the staff, even dipping his head in amusement.

  “Want to show me what you can do with a sword?” I asked mischievously.

  He smirked, but lowered his eyes. “I wouldn’t know what to do with it.”

  I scoffed, but he winked at me.

  “Another time,” he finally said – gently but firmly.

  I sighed. “Fine. But you did well today. Get used to the various weapons. You can use the bag to practice striking, and there are several books back in the small library where I got the whiskey. Read over them if for no other reason than to familiarize yourself with the terms. The seemingly useless information will come in handy when you have an actual mentor, saving you time as you begin your training in earnest.”

  He nodded, glancing past me towards the room. “I like a good book,” he said. Then he held out a hand for my staff. I handed it over, years of training with Roland subconsciously preparing me for a sneak attack, but Arthur simply took the staff from me with a chuckle, reading something about my body position that let him know what I was thinking.

  As he racked our weapons, I found myself watching him thoughtfully. It would be fun to teach Arthur, but also frustrating. It was hard not to see him as an authority figure since he was older, and I knew about his past. So, teaching him how to spar almost made me feel like a fraud. Not that I wasn’t skilled, but…

  Knowing his past was making me think of him as a legend, and that would only get someone hurt if he didn’t end up living up to the reputation. His point was valid. But it still made it hard for me to regard him as a simple student.