by Alicia Ryan
“Because they’re the same ones you made?”
“More or less.”
“Can I trust you, Ariel? I don’t want to just slowly slide toward evil. But I don’t think I could ever just abandon my ward to cruelty – whatever the cost.”
“I can only promise that my reasons are true, and I’m not setting a trap for you on Lucifer’s behalf.”
“But will you help me not to fall into his traps?”
She smiled at him. “For as long as you want me to, I would be delighted.”
He frowned. “Aren’t you worried about making him angry?”
“Not really,” she said. “The fact that it will piss him off is just a little icing on the cake.”
“And the cake is getting me as a lover? Are you sure the heat down here hasn’t made you a little mad after all?”
She grabbed him by both wrists and pulled him up. “The lack of you has almost made me mad. Take your clothes off and let me show you how archangels make love.”
In an instant, he dissolved the thought that had created the shirt and jeans he wore, and he stood as naked before her as she was before him. “I’m no archangel, Ariel.”
“But I am. All you have to do is let me in.”
She extended her night blue wings, and Tuesday followed suit, his body lanced with a desire so strong it was almost pain when she touched the tips of her wings to his. “Oh, God.”
“It’s perfectly all right to take his name in vain down here. I hope to hear you do it repeatedly.”
She drew her wings back, and Tuesday gasped, attacking her lips like a drowning man. She kissed him back, clutching the sides of his face. “This is just the beginning,” she whispered, “but you have to let me in.”
He raised his head. “I don’t know what that means.”
“You are spirit, as am I. We can be one, fly together as one.” She let go of his face. “Turn around, and let me in.”
Tuesday did as she bid, and he felt her move to stand directly behind him. She ran her hands down the arched top of his wings, as far as her arms would reach. Her breasts rubbed against them where they lay over his back, making him groan. He tilted his head back and her arms came around his chest.
“Let me in,” she whispered. “And come into me.”
He relaxed against her, and flame seared his back as she pulled him closer. Burning desire flooded into him, his back, his legs, his loins, his head, his heart – and finally his wings. He couldn’t think. He could only burn.
“Look down.”
It came from Ariel, but it wasn’t spoken. It was a thought in his head that simply wasn’t his. He followed her direction, too shaken to do anything else.
And where there once had been two, he now saw only one – or more precisely the space that had once been his now contained them both. Her smaller body was transparent and visible within his larger one. Her wings matched his, tip to tip, differing only in the arch of their design – hers sharp where his were smooth.
He felt her all over – outside, inside. She possessed him fully, as he possessed her. And the flame burned ever higher. Her desire stoked his, his became hers, until they were one in body, thought and need.
“Fly.” The thought came, and he didn’t know if it was his or hers, but their wings beat the air in tandem, pushing them up into the light-filled aerie. With every stroke against the air, their wings and bodies stroked each other. Tuesday felt air rushing around him and fire burning in his veins. He pushed harder, propelling them faster, ever higher. Ariel moved her hands, their hands, over flesh that wasn’t flesh, and everything within him, his very spirit, burned and rejoiced.
They climbed, they fell, they careened and swooped, riding currents of warm air and hotter desire. And when the waves and currents peaked, he felt an old soul open within him and the joy and love of an archangel pour out. It filled him until he knew nothing else.
When his vision cleared, he saw a world inside himself, inside of her. It was a world full of beauty, pain, and fire, and he loved it all.
She cried out then, holding him tighter, burning brighter, and they began to fall. Tuesday pulled them up and guided their still combined bodies to his conjured sofa. He looked dazedly around, finding his vision clouded with blue flame.
Ariel began to move, to separate herself, and Tuesday was aware of both a sense of exquisite pleasure and of a pain so intense it was like having his soul dragged out by fish hooks. He screamed her name, and then she was gone – sitting before him, shaking and smiling.
“You might have warned me,” he said when he finished drinking in her awestruck face and could find his voice.
“I wasn’t sure it would work,” she admitted. “You’re not an archangel.” She turned toward him, shattering him all over again with her radiance. “But you are definitely something.”
He grinned at her. “I don’t know if you’re good for my soul, but you haven’t done my ego any harm.”
Her laughter washed over him.
“What did you see in me?” he asked. “At the end, I saw inside of you – what you are. What did you see in me?”
“A great, unfulfilled capacity for love, Tuesday. It took my breath away.”
Realization dawned as he weighed her words. “And love sometimes goes hand in hand with hate. That’s why I have the black wings.”
She nodded. “But you give me joy, and I can try to give it back. If you have joy, it’s hard to remain grounded in hate.” A frown creased her perfect marble features. “But there’s danger there, too, I’m afraid. Hatred can fill a void when other intense emotions are taken away.” She looked down at the floor. “Just look at Lucifer.”
He sat up and wrapped his hands around her upper arms, dragging her to him. “Then don’t take them away, Ariel. Don’t ever take them away.”
She groaned and was inside him again before he could draw breath. “Never by choice, my love.”
And their flight began again, two souls joined this time from the very beginning – burning, loving, lighting each other’s darkness – until finally, exhausted, they fell back into a bed Ariel must have willed for them, taking refuge in sleep, still joined as one.
Chapter Nine
“I need to go, Ariel.” Tuesday leaned up on his elbow, drinking in the serene beauty of a sated archangel.
“Your charge?” she asked.
“Yeah. I’m reluctant to leave him alone with Price for too long. I’m still supposed to be the Good angel in all this.”
She put her hand on the snake tattoo that circled his left wrist, and her warmth and joy flooded into him, making him gasp.
“Go if you must. You can leave through the aerie or the way we came in. The mark will protect you from the heat.”
“Does that thing work both ways? Or is it just that I can feel you?”
“It works both ways. If you touch it, I can feel what you feel.”
He sat up, instantly clothing himself in jeans, a gray shirt, and a brown leather jacket. “I won’t touch it now, then,” he said, his back to her. “It pains me to leave you.”
She moved behind him, trailing her hand down his back.
“Good. Maybe you’ll come back.”
He snorted. “Maybe?”
“Any idea when I can expect you?” He could tell from her voice she was smiling.
He shook his head. “It will probably be at least a few days. Things are starting to fall into place with Charlie.”
“We all have a purpose,” she said. “As much as I wish yours was solely to be my companion, I know it’s not – just as mine is not solely to be yours. There’s no reason for guilt between us.”
“You’re still Lydia at the townhouse?” he said, latching onto the part of her speech that troubled him most.
“I am.”
“Why?”
She put a hand on his shoulder, and he turned to look at her.
“Go see your charge, Tuesday. We’ve had enough explanations for one night.”
H
e laughed at that. “Maybe you’re right. My head is still spinning.”
He got up and leaned over to kiss her, then sighed and unfurled his wings. “Goodbye for now.”
“Godspeed.”
He cocked his head at her, shook it, and pushed through the sapphire door without any further questioning. With two downbeats of his great wings, he was outside the hardened levels of hell and on his way back topside. For reasons he didn’t think about, he couldn’t bring himself to fly alone through the cool aerie.
He emerged at the same place he’d entered – out in the desert, and flew back to the apartment where he had to rouse Price from another drunken stupor.
“You’re a real pain in the ass, you know that?” Price grumbled into his pillow.
“Get up. We need to take Charlie out to that Route 8 diner.”
Price raised his head. “Why? Is Mary still working there?”
“No – at least I don’t think so, but either way, you were right. It’s not quite like any other place I know of.”
“Yeah. Worst coffee on earth.”
“And other shape shifters. I’m pretty sure two of them are responsible for killing Red Bull after I ran him off.”
Tuesday knew he finally had Price’s attention when his brows went up and his eyes opened all the way. “Shit – you don’t say?”
“I think it might be good for Charlie to know he’s not the only one.”
“So you want him to hang out with murderers?” Price rolled over onto his side and propped his head on his hand.
“He’ll have to make his own choice about that. I don’t think I’d cross any of them off my list just because they put Red Bull out of his misery. I don’t think Charlie would either, for that matter.”
“All right.” Price sat up. “Just let me brush my teeth.” He smacked his lips a couple of times. “My mouth tastes like something crawled in there and died.”
“Wow – that’s disgusting, even for you.”
“What can I say? I’m full service.” He pushed the sheet down and swung his naked legs over the edge.
Tuesday kept his gaze fixed on the framed 80’s rock band album cover hanging on the far wall.
“So are we driving to the were-diner or flying?” Price asked, holding his head in his hands.
Tuesday shrugged. “If you think you can fly hung over, I probably need the practice.” He backed out into the hallway. “I’ll wait in the living room.”
He didn’t have long to wait. Price must have only brushed his teeth and then made himself a new set of ragged jeans and a long-sleeved dark blue t-shirt.
The color reminded Tuesday of Ariel.
“Come on,” Price said. “Let’s go then.”
They walked out onto the street and into the alley on the other side of their building. “Couldn’t we just fly through the building like before?” Tuesday asked.
“Yeah, but it takes quite a bit more concentration, and I’m not really up for that this morning. Now let’s go. Maybe flying will clear my head.”
In minutes they were ringing the bell at Charlie’s house. Tuesday was surprised to find it was a quaint, tasteful, gray stucco in a nice residential neighborhood on the other side of town.
Price leaned on the buzzer when Charlie didn’t immediately appear. “If I got up for this, he can damn well get up, too.”
Another minute of persistent ringing, and a rumpled Charlie opened the door. He looked back and forth between them. “Who’s your friend?” he asked, looking at Price.
“Oh, sorry,” Tuesday said, shifting back into his old form. “It’s me, Herman.”
“Why are you in disguise? And why are you standing out here ringing the bell like the building is on fire? Couldn’t you just pop up quietly inside the house?”
Price grinned. “Not nearly as much fun.” He gestured toward Tuesday, who’d slipped back into himself. “And angels can wear many faces. Herman prefers this one.”
Charlie subjected him to closer inspection. “Can’t say I blame you, though maybe I should have known. You’re not totally different. You just look like you live in a gym. Wish I could do that.” He stepped back. “You two might as well come in.”
Price led the way into a small foyer, and then into a living room furnished with some of the things Tuesday remembered buying. The overall effect was tasteful and masculine, but not too masculine.
“The place looks nice,” he said.
Charlie mumbled something that sounded like thank you and headed down a hallway.
“Don’t take forever,” Price called out. “I need coffee!”
He looked down at Tuesday who’d taken a seat on the sofa. “Even that crap the diner serves has got to have caffeine in it.”
Charlie emerged again a few minutes later, wearing new jeans and a smooth, thin gray sweater. “Like the new shoes?” he asked, sticking one foot out to show them a stylish black loafer. “They’re Kenneth Coles. I ordered them online.”
“Nice choice,” Tuesday conceded.
“Yeah,” Price said, getting to his feet. “Charlie’s on the way to becoming the men’s fashion trendsetter for all of Strawberry.”
“All with your assistance?” Tuesday shook his head. “I can’t believe it.”
Charlie laughed. “Don’t believe it. Price just took me to some fancy stores he’d heard of. The guys that worked there did the rest.”
“I find that incredibly comforting,” Tuesday replied, “because if Price has a stylish bone in his body, I might have to change my entire worldview.”
“Ass.”
Tuesday opened his mouth, but Charlie interrupted before he could think of an appropriate retort.
“Are we off to some place exciting?” Charlie asked. “Or did you really just come to pick me up for breakfast?”
“Yes and yes,” Price explained. “We are going to get breakfast, but not at a place like any you’ve ever been to before.”
Charlie took a step back. “But it’s still here, on earth, right?”
“More or less,” Tuesday said, getting up from the couch. “Come on. I assume you have a back yard?”
Charlie nodded and pointed over Tuesday’s right shoulder to a wooden door with a small glass window.
Tuesday strode over, pulled it open, and ushered Charlie and Price out into the sunshine.
“My car’s not in the garage,” Charlie said, turning around. “I use that for my workshop. The car’s out front.”
“We’re not taking your car,” Price told him.
Tuesday walked over and stuck his head around the frame of the open garage door. Piles of wood were stacked along the sides, and a workbench and saw horses took up the rest of the space. A small end table looked to be about half-complete.
“So you’re really into this, huh?”
“I guess so,” Charlie said. “I started when I was a kid, just whittling things, and then went from there.”
“Okay, whatever,” Price interjected. “Are we getting coffee or what?”
“It’s pretty far, so we’re going to fly,” Tuesday explained. “You’ll have to hold on to Price.”
Charlie’s head swung back and forth, looking to both of them for confirmation. “Fly? Really?”
Tuesday nodded. “Otherwise, it’s a damn long drive.”
Price opened his arms. “Come on, sweetling. Give ole Price a hug. And hang on tight.”
Charlie eyed him, not moving. He looked back at Tuesday. “You’re sure we can’t drive?”
Tuesday unfurled his wings.
“Guess that’s a no.” Charlie stepped up next to Price. “Okay, what do I do exactly?”
“Just give us a hug and don’t let go. We’ll be there in a couple of minutes.”
Charlie wrapped his arms around Price, locking his hands behind him and grimacing only slightly.
Price winked at Tuesday over Charlie’s head. “Ready?”
They left the ground at the same time, and Tuesday kept pace with Price, flying just behind a
nd slightly below. If Charlie happened to let go, Tuesday thought he could probably grab him from there.
They reached the diner without incident, setting down beside the dumpsters behind the empty side of the parking lot. The dust-covered silver building gleamed dimly in the morning light.
‘Route 8 Eats’ glared at them in neon red when they came around the front, and Tuesday noticed the wolfman’s jeep parked near the door. When they entered, a chunky, gray-haired waitress showed them to a booth.
The wolfman was at his regular table, and Tuesday gave him a nod.
Price and Tuesday slid onto opposite benches, Tuesday with his back to the door. Charlie went around and forced Price to slide over. The waitress, whose name tag declared her to be ‘Margie’ slapped menus down in front of them and turned away.
“Hey,” Price called out. “I at least know I want coffee – regular, black coffee. Think you can manage that, sweetheart?”
“I’m not your sweetheart, and hollering at me won’t get your coffee here any faster. I’ll bring it when I’m good and ready.”
She stalked off, and Price raised his brow at Tuesday. “Now the service here sucks, too?”
Tuesday shrugged. “First I’ve seen of her. Maybe you should try your famous charm.”
“My charm is hung over.”
A figure suddenly loomed large over their table – a hairy figure with gnarled hands and cloudy blue eyes. His left hand shot out and gripped Charlie around the neck, lifting him up off his seat.
“What?” Charlie squeaked, his form beginning to shimmer and shift. He looked helplessly across at Tuesday.
Tuesday shot Price a look to keep him in his seat.
When Charlie’s head and limbs began to shrink, the wolfman let him go with a laugh.
“What have you brought us, friend?” he asked, turning to Tuesday.
“Charlie Woodson, sometimes beaver, meet-” He looked to the wolfman.
“Fang Thompson, sometimes wolf.”
The wolfman looked back at Charlie. “I can see you don’t have it under control, kid, but look on the bright side, at least you’re one of the lucky ones who don’t resemble their shift shapes.”