Feathers, Tails & Broomsticks

by Dionnara Dawson

  Harrow sighed. ‘You’re putting me in a tough position. You’re putting us in danger.’

  Hella felt her grip tighten on the blade, it gave her comfort. ‘Are you sure you’re a good guy?’

  The warlock frowned. ‘Have I given you reason to think otherwise?’ He looked genuinely concerned.

  She considered. ‘No, you haven’t. But apparently I don’t know anything anyway.’

  Harrow sighed. ‘Hella, I’m trying to help you. You can trust me. We should go back to the store. I don’t want to tangle with any demons.’ He looked around into the still night. ‘Or anything else for that matter. We shouldn’t be alone out here.’

  ‘I didn’t think a warlock like you would be so into stranger-danger. It’s fine. There’s hardly anyone in this town anyway.’ Hella waved her hand around, expecting the block to be empty of night-time wanderers.

  ‘No, you don’t understand. Angels could come, for us or the demons, it doesn’t matter. We shouldn’t be out here.’

  Hella saw his tail twitch anxiously. She paused for a moment, thinking of the angel who attacked her in the park while she was alone.

  The dark street lit up like a firework display, but all in white. Hella and Harrow froze.

  ‘Angels,’ Hella breathed. She felt her voice tremble. Then Harrow’s hand was in hers, and she squeezed his. ‘Are they here for the demon?’

  Harrow started to nod, then stopped. ‘Oh, no. Meele. They’ll take her.’ He ran into the light, after his friend. Hella followed, her blade at the ready.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Meele

  Meele’s head whipped to the side, and she shimmered, her faerie ears pricking. ‘Remy, we need to go.’

  The old witch looked up to her. ‘But the demon?’

  Meele shook her head, afraid. ‘I can hear them. Angels are coming.’

  ‘You and your damned faerie telepathy,’ Remy said. ‘Okay, the demon will have to wait.’

  Meele started to back up, looking around. ‘We need to leave, now.’ The women started back down the street, but were cut off. In a collective thud, six angels soared down from above, their wings and golden halos blindingly bright against the darkness.

  Remy whispered. ‘Can the angels hear you, in their heads?’

  Meele shook her head. ‘No. Only other fae can communicate telepathically.’

  Remy’s eyes shone. ‘Well, I do believe we’re outnumbered. And under-armed.’

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Hella

  Hella ran after Harrow. She tried to keep up with his long strides as he bolted into the fray, desperate to save Meele from the oncoming angels. She held her athame by her side, careful to keep it away from her leg as she ran. They both headed toward the bright white lights falling from the sky to the ground. Hella counted six streaming to the earth like comets.

  Six angels.

  She felt the ground shake as they landed. Two immediately located their target of the building, with—Hella assumed—Azazel, and possible other demons inside, and broke off. Those two found a way into the building, leaving four behind to stand guard. The remainders stood in a diamond shape, with a dark-haired angel at the front, their posture stiff and sombre. Their wings splayed brightly.

  Harrow shimmered, ready to fight, then halted as he saw Remy and Meele. They looked unharmed. Hella and Harrow stopped at the same time, bumping into each other. Harrow tried to run to Meele, but Hella caught the back of his shirt and pulled.

  ‘No,’ she hissed in his ear. She didn’t need reminding that the angels were the real threat.

  The angel at the front held up a hand, his fist closed, then dropped his arm and stepped forward, leaving the other three steady in formation. As the light caught his smouldering emerald eyes, Hella drew in a sharp breath.

  ‘That’s him,’ she whispered to Harrow. ‘That’s the angel who attacked me.’ The angel left his comrades behind, who stayed perfectly still, waiting on his order. The one who had been to his right, directly behind him, looked mildly annoyed. His blond hair shone under the light of his wings, and he was the only one who seemed hesitant to stay put.

  ‘We’re only here for the demon,’ the blond one called out to the other angel. But the dark-haired one stepped forward, ignoring him. Remy and Meele scrambled over to the two teenagers.

  The angel who attacked Hella strolled right on up to her with a little smirk pasted on his pale face. He shook his head a little. ‘Your aura is a beacon, little witch. How comes your powers?’

  Hella frowned, standing intentionally in front of Harrow, her left arm out to keep him there. She pooled her magic in her mind and managed a ball of flame the size of an apple, shifting red and purple as her hair flared in the night. This time, she noticed, her flames weren’t just in her hands, but danced all over her body. It made Hella glow like a human torch, sparking red a little. Remy and Meele joined the fray, backing up from the angel.

  ‘Hella!’ Remy hissed, worried.

  ‘Hmm, fairly good for someone so new,’ the dark-haired angel said.

  ‘Malachai,’ the blond angel called. They all remained obediently in formation, but the other looked petulantly annoyed at being left behind.

  ‘So that’s your name,’ Hella murmured.

  ‘Oh!’ He clapped his hands together. ‘How rude of me. I haven’t properly introduced myself. Indeed, Malachai. Or, if you prefer, Mal. And what’s your name, little beacon?’

  ‘It’s Hella.’

  The angel nodded dramatically. ‘I see.’ Then he bowed with a flourish. ‘Well, Hella, it’s nice to see you again.’ As if for the first time, Malachai took his eyes from Hella and let them wander behind her to the small group huddled in the darkness of the empty street. ‘And, what’s this? Oh, my. Your choice of company is unfortunate.’ His green eyes fell on Harrow who backed up, away from the light of his wings. Harrow stayed near Hella, but a safe distance from her fire. He shimmered, as if he could disguise himself back to human. But the angel knew now.

  Hella hadn’t imagined that her new cocky, annoying friend could be so afraid, his fear growing deeper. She wondered if Harrow had ever faced an angel before. By the fear in his eyes, she would guess not.

  The warlock retreated, away from Hella’s bubble of safety, backed up until he was pressed against a wall, and could go no farther. She tried to stand in front him, to protect him, but Malachai merely pushed her aside as a halo burst to life around his head in a golden ring of fire, the angel reached up and took hold of it.

  Malachai towered over Harrow, picked the warlock up by the scruff of his shirt, then placed the halo over his head, around Harrow’s neck. Harrow screamed at its touch, thrashing wildly, burned by some angelic fire searing into his delicate skin. He shimmered, his tail slicing through the air frantically. Dully, Hella could hear the laughter of two of the angels still in formation nearby as they watched the spectacle, the blond one did not laugh. Malachai smiled over his shoulder.

  Hella rushed to Harrow, Remy and Meele too, as Malachai dropped him to the ground to watch the halo choke him. The angel looked down at them, as if in pity, then to Hella. ‘I warned you, little witch, not to aid or befriend the Cambions. Now your friend will pay the price.’

  ‘Let him go! He did nothing to you!’ Hella screamed. The blond angel broke formation, leaving the other two behind, who stood still as statues but still grinning, and approached Malachai.

  ‘That is not our mission. We’re here for the demon up there.’ The blond angel looked up at the building expectantly, then, in exasperation, swept Harrow up onto his feet then with both hands, took the halo from around his throat and snapped it like a twig. Now a long, flaming rod of golden fire, the angel then forged it back together by blowing on it as if his mouth were a pit of angelic fire. It was mesmerising to watch.

  ‘You’ve broken command and formation, soldier.’ Malachai seethed.

  ‘Get over it,’ he suggested. ‘You’re not my c
ommander, you’re my partner. Just because they follow you’—he nodded at the other two angels—‘doesn’t mean I do. Now let’s move.’ It sounded like an order.

  Malachai took his repaired halo, tossed it upwards, and it landed in the air a few centimetres above his head. Malachai shrugged, then winked at Harrow, who was holding his bloodied throat, then dropped another wink at Hella. ‘I’ll see you again,’ he promised darkly.

  As Malachai followed his partner back to their lookout position, a loud explosion shook the block, and someone was thrown out of a window of Azazel’s building. That someone was an angel—his wings spread wide before he could hit the pavement. The other angel was then thrown out too. Both looked surprised, then angry.

  ‘Brothers!’ one called as he hovered in mid-air. The blond angel and Malachai flew up to his aid.

  The other angel had not been so graceful, and had fallen to the ground, his wings ruffled. The others helped him up, but the angel looked awfully indignant. The angels gathered, then stormed the building together.

  Hella’s group stood silently, in shock, on the side of the street, as the angels made a ruckus of noise inside the building.

  ‘Who would win,’ Hella asked dully, ‘six angels, or a demon?’

  The others shook their heads, at a loss. Only the sound of Harrow’s choked sobbing drew them back. His hands and throat were slippery with his dark blue blood. Hella ducked down to him. She didn’t know what to do. Hella put a hand on his back.

  ‘It’s okay. We have to get you back to the store.’ Maybe Meele’s salve would help? She turned to look over her shoulder at Meele, but the women were looking down the street, frozen.

  The six angels were on the ground again, one of them rather dishevelled-looking; his uniformed white gear was a mess of blood or dirt, something black strewn along his face, even his feathers looked ruffled. They collectively roared in their rage, as if they had been defeated. Then they spotted the four of them on the sidewalk.

  ‘Guys,’ Hella said slowly, ‘I think we should run.’

  And they ran. Even Remy in her old age seemed able to hold her own, perhaps assisted by her magic. Hella led the way, pulling the injured Harrow along with her. They rounded the few corners on their short run before the bookstore was in their sight.

  ‘Remy!’ Hella called. ‘Can you cast a spell or something?’

  ‘Once we get inside!’ the old witch yelled back.

  Next to her, Hella could hear Harrow’s whimpering, how he struggled to breathe. The halo had almost killed him. As they sprinted the final stretch toward the store, they all burst through the wooden front door, then slammed it closed. Remy was already chanting, and the others stepped back hastily, Harrow collapsing on the floor. Remy crossed her arms over her chest, then a bright blue light flashed over the door, and, Hella suspected over the entire store, just as one of the angels tried to fly into it. There was a thud—they seemed to hit a wall—and the angel yelled out, annoyed.

  Harrow slumped on the floor, exhausted, losing blood.

  Hella looked up, then around the store. ‘Remy,’ she asked slowly, ‘where is Meele?’

  Remy’s cobalt eyes grew wide as saucers. The old witch rushed to the window in the training room, looking out onto the street, Hella behind her. Together, they saw Meele, unconscious, in the grip of one of the angels.

  ‘We’re not going home empty-handed.’ Malachai chuckled. They could still hear him through the spell, plain as day. He waved, happy.

  ‘No!’ Remy called. She moved her arms, and somehow Hella knew what she wanted to do.

  ‘Don’t.’ Hella held her arms down. ‘You can’t undo the spell. They’ll come in and kill us all. We’ll get her back.’

  Remy took a steadying breath. ‘I don’t know that we can. We’ve no idea where they take them. It’s not like I can… Wait.’ Hella watched the cogs in her guardian’s mind turn. ‘Her place. I can contact someone there. Someone must know where the angels take Cambions.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’ Hella asked.

  ‘Meele has hotels set up. For Cambions who are abducted by angels. She rescues them, always has. There must be someone at one of those hotels who has some idea of where Meele rescues them from. Or maybe she has notes or research that could help us.’

  Hella frowned. ‘Okay, but what do we do about him?’ They both looked at Harrow, who lay bleeding on the floor.

  ‘I… I don’t know much about healing warlocks.’ Remy frowned.

  ‘I think it’s time we found out,’ Hella said, wiping dark blood onto her jeans.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Hella

  Passed out, Harrow was quiet. Remy and Hella lifted him carefully onto the couch, resting his head on a cushion. ‘We can’t do anything for him,’ Remy said, ‘and with Meele gone—’ She broke off. ‘I can’t make the salve she made. She used her own magic, and blood, for that. We have to take him to the Faerie House. They could help him. There must be a Sana there to heal him.’

  Hella frowned, trying to follow. ‘I don’t think we can carry him there like this. How far is it?’

  Remy shook her head. ‘Not sure. I’ll call ahead.’ She disappeared into the main room to use the phone, leaving Hella alone with Harrow.

  Hella watched as dark blue blood dripped down Harrow’s throat, seeping into the fabric of the couch. Hella twisted her hands together anxiously, then saw that they were gloved in Harrow’s blood from when she had tried to help him. Harrow had warned her about going out. And look what had happened.

  Remy returned looking relieved. ‘They’re sending a Sana over, and since he’s a warlock, they’re also sending an emissary, of sorts.’

  When Hella frowned, she elaborated.

  ‘Faeries and warlocks are allies, but since it’s one of their own who’s injured, by an angel, no less, they’re sending a warlock over too, to make sure everything goes smoothly. They’re on their way.’

  ‘Who’s the emissary?’

  ‘Nephew of one of the council members. Thomas Terra, I think. I don’t know him.’

  Hella nodded. ‘As long as they get here fast. His breathing has slowed.’

  Now that there was nothing for them to do but wait, Hella couldn’t stop looking at Harrow’s blue blood on her hands. It was strange that though the colour was different, there was no mistaking it for anything else. It was blood. He was bleeding, dying. Suffering. Something caught in the back of Hella’s throat as she watched his closed lids dance, as if he were having a nightmare. She had done this to him as much as Malachai had. Harrow had come with her to protect her. And now he might die.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Harrow

  Harrow lay on the couch of the Witches’ Wares bookstore, his throat a ring of searing pain from where the angel Malachai had used his halo as a ring of fire to try to kill him. Harrow’s eyes closed as he passed out, and he dreamed of the last time he had been attacked.

  Four Years Ago

  A long shard of broken glass, a slice from the neck of a smashed beer bottle, protruded from Harrow’s left hand. He had thrown his hands up to protect his face, the jagged bottle had cut deep into his skin, dark blue blood spouting. His fingers twitched. Harrow gaped at the wound, shaking. Something in his chest made him want to gag, to look away.

  The human’s eyes were ferociously angry. Like a mad, wild dog let loose to chase its natural prey; chickens. In this case, Harrow felt like prey, although being hunted by inferior creatures. The little warlock stood, his blue eyes narrowing. He was only young, but his heart was strong, fearless. He would not be bullied by a simple human.

  ‘You’re going to regret that,’ Harrow promised the older man looking down on him.

  The human had scars on his cheek and forehead, even one on his chin, under his bushy brown beard. The man was stocky, broad-shouldered, with big arms. He seemed to like getting into fights.

  ‘Oh, yeah?’ the man said, re-arming himself w
ith another bottle. There were dozens of them tossed carelessly outside the bar, not even close to the dumpster behind Dave’s Dive, on the darker, dingier side of Mill Valley.

  Harrow’s small frame straightened as he squared his thin shoulders. He was slim for a twelve-year-old, but his anger made him feel bigger. He stood straight, glowering. ‘Yeah,’ Harrow said. Harrow closed his eyes, then, when he opened them, the man jerked back.

  The little warlock shimmered, showing shining azure scales that bloomed across his cheek, once-pale skin turned shining-blue, and his fingers changed to razor-sharp pointed claws. His once blue eyes were now slit vertically. His hand still streaming blood, Harrow approached the man.

  ‘You still want to pick on me?’ Harrow asked seriously. Harrow’s pointed tail twitched, eager to be used.

  The night air brought with it a ghastly chill, but the man was dressed only in dark jeans and a white singlet. Tattoos spiralled his chest, skulls with black eyes, their mouths open, with snakes for tongues.

  ‘Is that supposed to be a demon?’ Harrow asked, indicating one of the skulls. ‘Because that’s not what we look like, as you can see. Would you like a closer look?’ Harrow stepped under the single streetlamp which lit the back alley behind the bar.

  The human was trapped at the mouth of the alley, nowhere to run. But he sure tried to back up, almost falling over himself to get away from what only a moment ago was a small, innocent-looking child. The man stepped back, right into the dumpster, its foul stench engulfing him. He shook his head at Harrow’s question, but the little warlock moved closer anyway.

  ‘I think you should see what we really look like,’ Harrow said. ‘Because I’d hate for you to have the wrong impression of my kind. I may look ordinary to you, sometimes, but this is what I am. I have demon blood. Which allows me to do really cool things, like this.’ Harrow held up his right hand, producing a mist of cool air that travelled to the human in a thickening fog. The blue-tinged smoke wrapped its arms around the man, who began to yelp and scream as his body was slashed with razor-sharp shards of ice, gnawing at his skin, burning his flesh away. ‘Now, isn’t that just awesome?’ Harrow smiled through the mist.