by C. Gockel
The angel began to glow slightly and I tensed, ready to dive in front of Wyatt if I needed to.
“Don’t believe your silly folk tales,” he continued. “Being human is no protection against me. I’m allowing you to live because you are useful to me at this moment. Cease to be useful, or become too much of an annoyance and I will not hesitate to kill you.”
Wyatt did not look like he was about to back down. Admirable, but stupid. I knew Gregory fully meant what he said, so I grabbed Wyatt’s hand under the table and squeezed it. He looked down at me and I could see him struggling to retreat. I got the feeling Wyatt had never backed down from a fight in his life, and this was terribly hard for him. I could sympathize, but in this instance it was either back down, or die.
Candy distracted Gregory with some discussion on strategy as I smiled at Wyatt and rubbed my thumb on his palm. This was going to be hard trying to stay alive, escaping the clutches of this angel, and keeping Wyatt’s knight–in–shining–armor impulses from getting him killed. I needed to keep a lid on my stupid mouth and go back to my meek and submissive routine if I had any hope of success. Somehow I managed this throughout dinner, and even crammed up against Gregory on the drive to the campground.
The cabins were tiny and the ranger wasn’t pleased that we were squeezing four people into one. There was no other cabin available though, so he let it go. The campground had winding loops of dirt roads leading to areas for tent camping, RV camping, and finally the cabins. Our section had ten cabins, spaced about an acre apart and surrounded by woods. Each cabin had a grassy patch in front of it, kind of like a lawn that reached from the porch to the road. The road widened in to form a parking area where campers were expected to carry their belongings across the lawn and into the cabin. Worn paths showed where hundreds of campers had lugged their gear back and forth for years.
Rough hewn logs made up the exterior and interior of the cabins. Electricity service ended with the street lights, and Wyatt grumbled that he would need to charge his electronic devices through the cars. There was no television, no phone, no coffee maker, and no vibrating bed. There was no bathroom, either. We’d need to walk down the road about a quarter of a mile to a shared bathroom that thankfully had propane heated showers. There was a woodstove in the cabin; not that we’d need it in August. Hopefully, the woods would help cool things down in the evenings and we wouldn’t miss the conveniences of air conditioning or fans.
As soon as we got in, Gregory announced he had some things to do and left. I was shocked he actually left me behind. Perhaps the meek and submissive routine was working? I doubted it. Of course if the tattoo thing was a kind of homing device, then he wouldn’t really need to have me within eyeshot every waking moment. He’d be able to locate me within seconds. The thought was depressing.
No sooner had Gregory left then Candy’s placid air disappeared and she rounded on me. “You are going to get us all killed! I manage to get him calm and cooperative, then five minutes with you and he’s ready to go on a massacre with that sword of his.”
“I’m just trying to keep myself from getting killed.”
“If you were helpful and stopped making him so angry, he might let you live.”
“What planet are you from? His sole purpose is to kill my kind. And he has a perfect kill–ratio, so far. If I don’t get away from him soon, it’s game over for me. Do you seriously think he’s going to decide I’m not so bad, after all, and let me go? Trust me, it’s not gonna happen.”
“He’s an angel. He’s supposed to be merciful and on the side of law and order. If you toe the line, he’ll probably just banish you and let you live,” she countered. Clearly she’d forgotten Gregory’s ominous speech to Wyatt in the restaurant.
“No fucking way he’s going to let me live,” I told her vehemently. “They don’t banish us, because we keep coming back if they do. They kill us, every single time. The only mercy I’d get is a quick death, and I seriously doubt he’s got an ounce of mercy in him.”
“He’s not like you,” she insisted. “He’s good and you’re evil.”
“The fuck he’s not like me. You go ahead and swallow the Kool–aid propaganda they’ve doled out over the centuries. He’s just like me. He killed a fucking cop today just to keep me from getting away. An innocent cop who was doing nothing but his job. He’s probably got a wife and kids, and that fucking angel didn’t think twice about it.” That gave Candy pause.
“You’ve seen what the angels have done to your own kind — to your werewolves. Althean is on a killing rampage, and Gregory cares only to cover it up and subdue Althean before he gets caught and Gregory gets his ass nailed by some higher up. He doesn’t give a shit about humans, werewolves, anyone but his own kind. I killed your pack mate in self defense. I’ve been here forty years living as a human and you don’t see me enacting some genetic cleansing program, do you? I may be a tough bitch, but I’m not killing pregnant women and cops.” Well, there was that one cop in Atlanta, but she didn’t know about that.
Candy paused, considering my words. “All right, so he’s not what popular culture has made angels out to be. He does seem to be more like you than unlike you, honestly. I don’t just have my life here to think about, though. I’ve got the future of my species. I know this sounds callous, but I’m trying to figure out what course of action to take that will result in the best outcome for my kind.” She looked at me sympathetically. “He’s cleaning your clock, Sam. He may be the better bet here.”
Wow, that was brutally honest and I actually appreciated it. I had suspected Candy was calculating and ruthless, and these were qualities I admired. I could hardly fault her for them. Besides, Gregory was cleaning my clock. Hell, I’d throw my bet behind him in her place, too. The odds were much better.
“I know this sounds crazy, but I don’t think he truly wants to kill you,” she added with that shrewd look in her eyes. “I don’t think he really hates you, I think he feels something else for you. I think he’s attracted to you in his own way,” she said carefully.
Well, that wasn’t the right thing to say in front of Wyatt who’d been silent up until then.
“I knew it. Did he make a pass at you Sam? Is he trying to Own you?”
Angels don’t Own, but I got what he was saying. And maybe, in a way, that’s what the strange red purple stuff was. Some sort of ownership mark. “Mine,” that voice deep within me announced, silently and unexpectedly. As if I were the one trying to Own, trying to take possession. That was weird. I shook my head and chalked it up to the unnerving events of the day.
“No, he doesn’t have any attraction toward me at all,” I replied. “He’s not trying to Own me. He beat the crap out of me and did this.” I showed them my arm, which I had been keeping carefully glued to my side all evening.
They both gasped, and I was taken by the drama of the moment. Candy actually paled. “What does it do?” she asked.
“Is that a hickey?” Wyatt said, practically foaming at the mouth. “He gave you a tattoo and a hickey?“
“I think the hickey is just a byproduct of the tattoo.” I needed to be careful with Wyatt. He was on the verge of going on a kamikaze attack, and I really didn’t want to see him die. “I don’t know what it does.” I lied. I knew one thing it did, which I assumed wasn’t its intended purpose. I hardly wanted Wyatt to know Gregory had put a big ‘fuck me’ spot on my arm.
“It looks like a brand,” Candy said. “Like maybe some kind of tracking or homing device?”
That’s what I was assuming, but it wouldn’t need to be rooted so deeply within me for that. Wyatt came over to look closer and before I could stop him, he ran a finger around the outside of the sword tattoo, right over the hickey. Lust rushed through me in a hot wave. “Don’t touch it,” I hissed between clenched teeth. If he did that again, I was liable to knock him over and screw his brains out.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “It must hurt.”
Hurt. If only. I looked at Candy and she had th
e one eyebrow, wise Spock look going on. Didn’t fool her. She might be a total prude, but she knew exactly what had happened when Wyatt rubbed the mark.
Slowly, she walked over and held my arm up to examine the tattoo and hickey closer. “Don’t touch it.” She’d get the lesbian shock of her life if she did.
Instead, she leaned in and sniffed it. I hoped my deodorant was still working. Not that it mattered with a wolf’s sense of smell. Letting my arm go, she looked at me thoughtfully.
“I like you,” she said slowly. “You’re amoral. You screw anything you can hold still. You don’t care about anyone beyond what they can do for you at the moment. You’re nasty, irritating, crude, and reckless. You’d sacrifice us without a second thought, even him,” she gestured to Wyatt, “to serve a selfish purpose. But in spite of this, I like you. Let me know what I can do to help you get away, to help you live, and I’ll do it. Within reason,” she added hastily.
Wyatt nodded in agreement. “You know I’ll help you anyway I can, Sam.”
This was odd. I wasn’t used to others volunteering to put themselves in harm’s way for me. I could see Wyatt doing it, humans did all sorts of weird things under the influence of friendship and sexual attraction, but Candy had no such motivation.
“There’s no way I can make it all the way to a gate with this thing on my arm. I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t make it out of town. I’m trying to think of a plan, though. I may just need you to distract him for a moment.” I told Candy. “In the meantime, if you could keep him more focused on the trap for Althean and less on beating the shit out of me, I’d be grateful.”
I turned to Wyatt. “See? This is why I want you to leave. You heard what he said to you in the restaurant. He won’t hesitate to kill you. Please take my car and go home.”
“I’m not leaving you, Sam,” he said stubbornly.
I sighed. I had a feeling this wasn’t an argument I was going to win.
“Well, at least go out and get me some cold beer. Please,” I added. “That shit in my trunk is probably skunked by now with this heat.”
Wyatt ran out to get beer for me. He even took Candy’s car without pestering me to drive my Corvette. I appreciated his running out for me since I had a feeling I was under house arrest. Besides, I was trying to show Gregory what a good girl I was. See? Branded, domesticated, staying within the confines of my enclosure.
Candy decided to sleep on the couch since she didn’t want to share with anyone and there was only one bed. I told Wyatt to go ahead and go to sleep, figuring I’d make some excuse to sleep on the floor later. I couldn’t take another night of straightjacket torture, and if he accidently rubbed my arm during the night, then that erection of his wouldn’t go to waste.
I sat on the porch for hours listening to the chorus of night bugs, drinking beer, and lining up my empties on the railing. If this tattoo really was some kind of homing device, then Gregory would know it the minute I made a bolt for the border. I’d never make it to one of the major gates before he caught me, and I doubted Althean’s killing pattern would take him near a major gate in the next few days. I could try to stall the project. Althean would probably head near a major gate eventually. I didn’t think I’d be able to foil his capture for that long, though. Besides, even if I did, Gregory would just decide I wasn’t helping, that I was in the way, and I’d be dispatched.
The wild gate at Sharpsburg was about half an hour away at speed in the Corvette. I didn’t think Gregory knew about that gate. I’d heard that angels didn’t even sense the wild gates. Normally, he’d never expect me to head there. With this thing on my arm, I suspected that he’d find me wherever I went, and know if I strayed more than a certain distance from him. I needed to somehow get us closer to Sharpsburg so Candy could distract him and I could be through the gate before he knew I was gone. I’d probably be ripped to shreds in that crazy wild gate, but at least I had a chance there. Staying here, I had no chance whatsoever. I’d look at Wyatt’s projection of the killings in the morning to see if we circled back down into Maryland. If so, I’d have to work hard to make the trap at Waynesboro unsuccessful. Anything to get us closer to that gate and my last chance.
I finished my beer, and started to put the empty on the railing with the rest. It was a pretty reddish brown color, as most beer bottles were. It had been molded through a rather cheap and sloppy process, and there were a few bubbles and imperfections in the glass. Humans often applied only the minimum of effort necessary to suit their needs. They were satisfied with this beer bottle as long as it didn’t stick them with sharp edges, kept the beer contained and temperature consistent, and was fairly sanitary.
Many of my kind were this way, too. Why apply excess time and energy if less would get the job done? The elves were different though. Everything for them had to be perfect and artistically formed. Everything was an opportunity for art and expression. Their homes, yards, stables were filled with intricately embellished functional items. They would never have been satisfied with this beer bottle. Its very presence would have grated on them.
Changing my mind, I took the glass bottle back off the railing, melted the glass and pulled out the air bubbles and tiny bits of debris marring the glass quality. I needed to keep a thin buffer of cool between my human hands and the molten glass as I pulled and rolled. Looking at the blob of clean glass in my hands, I was suddenly inspired, stricken with the urge to create. It was an urge that demons occasionally had. I warmed the glass again, twisting and shaping it. When I was satisfied, I let it cool in my hands. It was now a small brown glass horse in gallop with mane flying and nose to the sky. I ran my finger down the glass muscles in its back and smiled to myself.
“That’s beautiful,” a deep voice said behind me. Gregory. His tone was that soothing rumble. I got the impression he’d been there watching me for a while as I’d been engrossed in my glasswork.
I looked up at him. His black eyes were hard to read in the moonless night, but at least he didn’t appear pissed off. Maybe whatever errand he’d run had allowed him to relax and recover his control.
“Back home, I’d gift it to the one of the elves,” I told him.
The elves loved art, but they were not often satisfied with their own creations. I thought their art was beautiful and perfect, but they deplored the lack of emotion and feeling. They were always grateful to get something we had made, and they frequently invited us to their social events. We annoy them, but they’ve always tolerated us like we were crazy eccentric relatives.
“You know elves?” Gregory asked in wonder. “You actually see them socially?”
Oh yeah, the prodigal children. The elves as a race had always been doted on and favored by the angels. They had originally sided with the angels during the war, but became increasingly disillusioned with them as the fighting dragged on.
To everyone’s surprise, and seemingly against their own best interests, they ended up pulling themselves from the conflict and declaring neutrality. The angels had been winning before, but after the elves pulled out, we reached a stalemate and thus the division of the realms and the treaty. I’m not sure what caused the elves to come to our turf, but they carved out their own space and refused to enter this realm. The whole reason the angels had created the big stable gates was in hope that their beloved species would come to their senses and join them again.
“Yeah. They ward their land heavily against us, and their adults are kind of stodgy and boring, but their young are fun and playful. They sneak over into our land and play pranks on us, and we reciprocate. It’s all in good fun. We sometimes perform services for each other. If we establish a business relationship, then it results in being invited to their social functions.”
“Do you go? Are you invited?” Gregory asked, sitting beside me.
“Occasionally. I’ve performed some services for one of the high lords, and he invites me to holiday functions, and the occasional great hunt. Honestly, I think I get invited to the hunts because I ride like shit and th
ey all get a huge laugh at seeing me hit the ground regularly.”
I handed him the glass horse and he examined it carefully.
“I saw you pull the impurities out of the glass. Why did you bother?” he asked, sending strands of himself into the glass to better feel its structural integrity.
I wasn’t sure how to respond. Elves would have said that things of beauty should not be marred, that they should attempt to approach divinity in their perfection, that sloppy imperfect work was an offense against nature and the forces of creation. Perhaps the elves had just rubbed off on me?
“I don’t know,” I replied shrugging. “I didn’t have any particular reason, I just did it.”
“It’s perfect,” Gregory handed the horse back to me. “And it has such feeling and expression to it. That I expected, but I would never have expected this level of detail from a demon. Honestly, I would have expected you to shoot the bottles off the railing or twist them into a horrific mass. Not create this delicate thing of beauty.”
“There is equal beauty in the things called horrific. The act of destruction is an expression of beauty, too. I destroyed the bottle to make the horse. Is a pretty glass horse worth the loss of a bottle, but the sound of shattered glass and bits flying through the air isn’t? Is transformation only worthy if you approve of the end result?”
Gregory stared at me in silence for a while. I think I shocked him. He’d probably expected me to say “fuck that” and blow up the glass horse or something. Well, I wasn’t always a stereotype.
He reached out a hand to me and I tensed involuntarily expecting him to blast me with that white stuff or pop my head off. Unfair, I know, since he was calm right now and we hadn’t exactly been arguing. Still, after today, I was leery of his intentions toward me. And it’s not like he’d necessarily have to be angry with me to kill me. The whole process could be as emotionless as pinching the top off a dandelion. Gregory paused for a second then gently took a piece of my hair and carefully rubbed it between his thumb and fingers.