Ascent of the Fallen

by Rebecca L. Frencl

  He turned his back to the mirror inspecting Joss’ work. If he looked closely enough he could see the individual spines on each of the feathers. Joss did beautiful work. He could almost believe that if he flexed his shoulders the furled wings would spring from his back. Joss was a good man, Rue decided. He understood, truly understood that man was the battleground for the soul. He recalled the artist’s tattoos—the angel and devil—and the explanation behind them. He shrugged into the t-shirt they’d given him downstairs. Maybe Michael had been right.

  Twilight darkened the sky beyond his window. He felt restless. Couldn’t settle. Couldn’t decide what to do. He paced from door to window and back. He could read one of the books on the community shelves downstairs, or play cards with a couple of the other men in the lounge, or zone out and watch Wheel of Fortune. Though he was careful now to keep his mouth shut and let the other men have a few chances at guessing the puzzles every once in a while.

  No. He wanted to walk.

  He swung on his trench coat. The scents of home had faded, but he was thankful to Michael. He wanted to walk. He needed to be out in the air. He loved the sharp bite to it—a cold so deep it made him choke out that first breath. But, heavens above, it made him feel alive! The biting nip of sleet, the gentle kiss of snow. Rue idly wondered what the other seasons would bring. Would he still be here when the sailboats currently dry-docked in the marina nearby skimmed the waves of the lake? Would he see the leaves turn golden, feel the summer breezes? No use wondering now. He would see what he saw. And learn to appreciate each season as it came.

  Martha, the dragon at the gate, raised one dark eyebrow as he swung through the entry vestibule. “Goin’ out late tonight, Rue,” she observed.

  He nodded. “I need to walk.”

  She chuckled. “There are just some who need to go out every day to make sure the world’s still there.” She shook her head. “You can take the boy off the street, but sometimes can’t take the street outta the boy.” She waved him through the glass doors. “We lock down at ten, Rue, you know that. Not here by ten you’re locked out until the morning.”

  “I know.” He shot her a smile. “Mom.” He’d never been mothered and her concern warmed him.

  She laughed at the joke and waved him away.

  He wouldn’t be back by ten. He needed more freedom than that. What was that she’d said? He needed to see if the world was still out there? Maybe he did. What did it mean when his world consisted of fleeting glimpses of a red-headed angel trying to save the city one soul at a time?

  He’d seen her sprint through the traffic on Michigan a steaming cup of coffee in her hand to rescue Mackey. He’d watched her hurry out of her shop to help a woman who’d dropped her overstuffed purse chase down the last fluttering receipt. He’d sampled one of the brownies she’d dropped off for Herm and Joss. Chocolate chunk. He pressed his lips together in remembered appreciation. Heaven itself couldn’t boast such a delicacy. Not that he’d have been able to taste them if he’d still had his wings. He pushed his hands deep into his pockets, willing them to warm up.

  Maybe there was something to be said for humanity. There was plenty of bitter, he noted, watching a homeless man struggle to get comfortable in a nearby doorway, but as he remembered the warm chocolate coating his tongue, there was also plenty of sweet.

  * * * *

  Maybe this hadn’t been the brightest idea. Serafina tucked her mittened hands under her arms to warm them and marched down the alley. It had seemed like a nice little short cut. Her shop and the cozy little apartment above it was just at the other end of the alley. She was near Columbia University, the Auditorium Theater right in the Loop. It should be safe to duck down an alley—even at midnight.

  She hadn’t anticipated the long shadows unfurling themselves from the side of one of the buildings to dog her steps. She kept her head down, her hand already fisted around her keys. They were just taking a short cut too, she tried to tell herself. The shadows drew closer, words and laughter materializing out of the darkness.

  They chattered in another language, something she didn’t understand, though she suspected it was something rude. She picked up her pace. The steps behind her quickened. Breathless laughter, the pound of running feet and she felt a hand wrap a bruising grip around her arm. Her scream choked off into a sharp squeak when the hands slammed her roughly into a wall, the building at her back. “Here now,” the man holding her laughed, “why you in such a hurry?”

  Another man, shorter and broader than the first laughed from behind him, “Yeah, me and my amigos just want to have some fun.”

  Serafina’s eyes rolled. She counted three of them: the one who held her, the one who’d just spoken and a silent shadow as look out who danced a switchblade from hand to hand. She felt her heart hammer in her chest, the breath back up in her throat. “M-my purse,” she stammered. The second man jerked the purse from her shoulder, the first didn’t move except to flex his hands on her shoulders. “No jewelry?” One hand unzipped her coat, then scrabbled under her sweater searching for a necklace. He didn’t find a necklace, but grinned at finding her breasts. She squeezed her eyes shut, shuddering at the bruising grope. Her mind spun, head pounding, what to do, what to do, what to do? Her arms shook and the scream welled up in her throat. The man assaulting her shifted his grip, letting her right arm loose.

  She screamed, whipping the hand with the keys up to slam into the side of her attacker’s head. He howled, swearing in something that sounded a bit like Spanish and fell away, blood blossoming in the street lights. She bolted.

  “Get her!” Her attacker shouted, and Serafina poured on the speed.

  She slammed against her building’s back door, hands shaking, trying to fit in the key. “You hurt my cousin!” A hand snagged her hair, spinning her around. Her hat dropped to the slushy ground. The keys jingled musically to the pavement.

  Her scream cut off sharply when he banged her head against the brick. Eyes rolling, she searched the shadows. Someone heard her, right? Right? Someone had to have heard her.

  The bulk of the second man filled her vision. The thug holding her grinned and slapped her hard across the face. She whimpered. Sharp needles of pain lanced through her head. For a split moment streetlight gleamed across his face. Cruelty etched deep lines under eyes that glittered unearthly green in the uncertain illumination. A large hand reached over, but instead of hurting her, it wrapped around her attacker’s throat and ripped him away. She dropped, her knees weak, to the cold alley. She scrabbled for her keys, clutching them in numbed fingers. With her own breath harsh in her ears, she fought to force her shaking hands to work. She heard grunts of pain behind her and the solid thump of a fist on flesh.

  “Serafina,” the low voice in the sudden silence stopped her. She’d only heard those tones once before, but she recognized them.

  “Rue!” She turned, her voice a breathless squeak. “Thank God you were there!” Her keys clinked to the ground again.

  She’d only seen him once since he’d helped her into the shop with her grocery bags. It must have been as he left the Den from his appointment to drop money in Mackey’s cup. He’d cast a look over his shoulder at the Trove before disappearing for another week into the city.

  Rue retrieved her keys and had the door standing open. “Let’s get you inside and call the police.” He looked back over his shoulder. She followed the line of his gaze to see the three men littering the alley way like so much garbage.

  “Before they crawl away.” She smiled, though her hands still shook. She looked up at him, “I think I still owe you a cup of coffee? Tea?”

  She saw him hesitate, but he eventually nodded, ushering her up the stairs after firmly locking the door behind them. Her hands still shook when Rue opened the door to the apartment. She fumbled the phone. Rue caught it before it hit the floor. She laughed. It sounded shaky. “Why don’t you go make that tea,” he suggested. “I’ll call.”

  She nodded and left him. Tea sounded good r
ight now. She pressed fingers to her throbbing head. Tea with a little Irish in it sounded better.

  * * * *

  Rue dialed 9-1-1. He explained to the tired-voiced woman on the other end of the line what had happened. He’d been walking through the alley, a short cut on the way home, when he found a friend of his, also taking a short cut, being assaulted. He’d fought the toughs and left them in the alley—unconscious, but mostly unharmed.

  He placed the phone gently on the table and looked around. Officers were on the way. Don’t leave, he’d been told, they would want to talk to him. Rue figured the men had already crawled away, slithered back into their holes, but he’d do what he should. They wouldn’t be there, he knew. He rubbed a hand over his face. The numbness of adrenaline began to fade and his shoulder started to throb. He’d been injured; a knife that had shimmered just for an instant in his vision changed into a claw, and had gotten past his defenses. The glittery gleam in the acid green eyes of the attackers, the flash of fang, the dance of flame... he shook his head. What did it mean? He knew the creatures of the dark sometimes slithered out of their holes between the worlds to play with humans, but why here and why now?

  He wanted to rush back to the alley, hunt the shadows and blast the demon spawn into oblivion. Impossible now in this form. He could only follow the rules of his new human world. He ran a hand over his face, tired down to his bones. This attack didn’t seem to be following the rules of humanity, but when had evil ever done so?

  Glass clinked and he looked up, then ducked across the room to take the tea cups from Serafina. “Thanks,” she sighed, dropping to the overstuffed sofa. She tugged a cork out of a bottle of good whisky, tipping a generous dollop into her cup. She shook the bottle. “It’s not polite to let me drink alone.” She smiled even though he saw the shock still in her eyes.

  The weariness decided it for him. He nodded, holding out his cup.

  She tossed a couple of blue pills into her mouth, chasing them with the liquor-laced tea. At his raised eyebrow, she blushed. “Headache. I get migraines. It’s just some Advil to take off the edge.” She dropped her head back to rest on the couch. “I think I’m actually going to have to go to the doctor and get something stronger, though. I’ve been popping advil like Pez and they barely do a thing.”

  He cradled the cup in his hands, leaning forward to brace his elbows on his knees. His right shoulder started to throb. How hurt was he? He was still unused to this new form. How much could it take before it ceased to function? What would happen if it did stop?

  A pounding on the downstairs door and the muffled call of “Police!” shot Serafina into action and halted his musing.

  “One minute!” she called down the steps.

  He reached out, touching one hand to her wrist. “I’ll go,” he offered. He gestured to the couch. “Sit down.”

  Rolling his wounded shoulder, he bounded down the stairs. It pulsed in time to his heartbeat, becoming something he could ignore for a little while longer at least. A memory stirred. Some of the demonic denizens of the world between worlds were venomous. The wound gave a nasty throb as if to underscore his worries. Something to think about later he decided as he opened the door for the police.

  The two officers regarded him with heavy eyes. He could see the weight of their jobs on them in the flashing red, white and blue lights from the cruiser parked across the alley. Window curtains twitched in upper windows, but no one came out. A glance down the alleyway proved that he’d been right. The men, or creatures, he’d knocked unconscious had managed to creep away before the authorities arrived. A long buried urge to drag them back for justice fluttered like broken wings in his soul.

  “Do you need me to show you…?” he began.

  The taller cop shook his head. “No need.” He gestured behind him, “Mugging was interrupted.” He jerked his chin toward the stairs. “The lady okay?”

  “Why don’t you come up and ask for yourselves?” Rue could feel irritation beginning to burn in his chest. Admittedly, they didn’t have a chance of tracking and arresting the villains, but they weren’t even interested.

  “Might as well.” The younger cop nudged his older partner. “Might be the break we’re looking for.”

  The older cop sighed but nodded, gesturing with his flashlight for Rue to lead them up the stairs.

  Back in Serafina’s tidy apartment, Rue leaned against the wall next to the door. The burn of his shoulder wound was fading into sharp little shocks whenever he moved. Leaning against the wall, not moving was working for him right now. Serafina sat where he’d left her, the tea cup warming her palms. Light from the fringed lamp on the side table picked out the gold highlights in her red hair. He fisted his hands in his jeans pockets. His fingers itched to brush through the tangled mass. He wondered if it was as soft as it looked.

  Her low voice trembled as she related the story. Had they found them? No, they hadn’t. Of course, the police assured her, they would be on the look -out. Had she gotten a clear enough view for a line-up if it came to that?

  They younger cop kept casting nervous glances over his shoulder at Rue. “Anything you can add, sir?” he asked, swiveling on the couch.

  He shrugged and immediately regretted the move. He could feel blood slip warm and wet down his arm. Claws weren’t usually venomous, he finally recalled. Only the fangs. Relief made his knees weak. “Serafina’s covered most of it,” he said. “I was cutting through the alley and heard the scream. I came running.” His eyes moved from the suspicious younger cop to the older one doodling now on his pad. “I did what any upstanding citizen would do.”

  The older cop flushed and snapped shut his book. “Thank you, Mr…..” he paused significantly.

  “Rue.” His voice was sharp in his own ears. “Just Rue.”

  The silence stretched thin between the two men before the older officer snapped it. “If we find anything we’ll be in contact.” His partner nodded to them and led the way out the door.

  “I suppose I’ll get going now,” Rue murmured, pushing away from his slouch against the wall. He wanted to check the shadows one more time. He wondered if he’d still be able to sniff out their presence or if he’d lost that gift with his wings as well. It was late enough that no one should be able to see him crawling around the shadows.

  Serafina’s eyes had widened; her hand flew to her mouth but didn’t muffle the gasp. “Heavens, Rue, what happened?”

  He turned. A smear of red painted the wall like a careless child’s art. “Hmmm,” he moved the wounded shoulder, feeling nausea now roil in his stomach, “it’s worse than I thought.” He gave Serafina a thin smile. “I wonder if I could have a bandage or two?”

  She rushed to him, her face paling. Cold little hands guided him to the floor, tugging on his long leather coat. He shrugged it off, the scrape of the leather sending a new surge of pain down his arm. He closed his eyes, pressing his forehead into the plush carpet next to her coffee table.

  “Let me... ” her voice quavered, “just let me.... ” Footsteps pattered across the room to disappear. Rue closed his eyes wondering if he wanted to see the gash. Not really. She returned with a bowl, bandages and disinfectant. He let her tend him, her competent hands soothing more than the gash.

  “One of them had a knife,” he muttered, a small smile curving his lips when she sprayed the disinfectant and blew on it like a mother for a child’s scraped knee. She could understand a knife. He could almost believe that he’d imagined the claw now, with her hands moving on his skin.

  “You should probably go to the hospital.” She dabbed and blew again.

  He grunted a negative.

  “You should have told the police.” She pressed gauze to the wound, binding it with medical tape.

  With a sigh she sat back on her heels. He turned his head to watch her. Lamplight glowed behind her red hair giving her a halo brighter and more beautiful than any he’d seen in heaven. “Thank you,” he whispered, sitting up. He needed to touch her. He took her
hand in his and brought her fingers to his lips, an old fashioned gesture that he suspected she’d enjoy. Her cheeks reddened. “You’re a ministering angel.”

  She tugged her hand away scooping up her supplies. “Let me look through the pile of things Dan leaves here. I’m sure he has an extra t-shirt.” She paused, her eyes running speculatively over his form. “It might be a little tight, but should keep from getting you arrested.”

  He rose to inspect the damage in his coat. The gash was a straight line about three inches long. The wound was a constant burn, more irritating than anything now. “I’ll get out of your way, then.”

  She paused in the doorway, a t-shirt twisted in her hands. “It’s after two a.m., Rue. Way too late to go wandering the streets.” She rolled her eyes, gave a nervous laugh. “You can bunk on the couch.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Serafina stared at her ceiling and wondered if she should have bolted her bedroom door. Though, against whom? The t-shirt she’d given Rue had been way too tight and had done little to stem the desire to run her hands through that tarnished bronze hair and down that chest. It had been a test of will to not trace the delicate feathers inked so meticulously across his shoulder blades. She could almost imagine the brush of feather on skin.

  She bit her bottom lip and rolled over, pummeling her pillow. Five-thirty in the morning. She’d dropped off to sleep like falling into a well for about two hours. Dreams filled with haunted dark eyes and the shadow of wings had driven up her blood pressure and pulled her out of slumber. Part of her wanted to be embarrassed that she was having such dreams. But seriously, wasn’t Rue the perfect candidate for dreams? Mysterious, kind, a touch of danger and God, he was gorgeous. A knight in shining armor, who’d taken a knife for her, rescued her from a fate worse than death and kissed her fingers with courtly old-fashioned genteelness. Or was it that he didn’t find her nearly as intriguing. Intriguing, hell, she ruefully admitted to herself. He was sinfully gorgeous and she was more than willing to indulge in a little fantasy about him.