Dying Breath

by Kory M. Shrum

  I’m trapped.

  “Have I been such a terrible mother?” she sniffs.

  “No.” I choke on the word.

  I remember her on Navy Pier, shoving an ice cream cone into my face, soaking my nose in. Her laughter as she dabbed it off before kissing the tip of my cold nose. Her walking me to the library to check out books, my hand loosely clasped in hers the whole way. Her arms enveloping me in the night when I woke screaming and afraid. Her bringing me a glass of water and rubbing my back until I fell back asleep again. Her bright laugh. Her lips on my forehead. How completely she hugs me, squishing me to her like she’ll never let me go. No one else hugs me that way.

  “No,” I say again. This time it sounds like the word. “You weren’t a terrible mom.”

  “He’s the only one who can protect me from her,” Georgia says. “You have to wake him up. For me.”

  I’ll protect you. I want to say it, but she’ll only laugh at me. I can’t protect her. I don’t have fancy powers like Jesse and Dad. Mom can protect herself better than I can.

  “She would spare you if you’d just stop fighting. She only wants Dad.”

  Mom’s anger explodes. She launches to her feet, her face red. Her elbow clips my jaw accidentally, and my ears ring.

  “Just Dad! Maisie, listen to yourself! He’s your father!”

  Anger starts to burn in my chest, hot in my cheeks and throat, but the clenching muscles in my lower gut win out.

  What would I say anyway?

  I could remind her how many people he has killed.

  I could remind her how many lives he’s destroyed.

  I could pull down the baggy jeans cinched in place with Sam’s belt and show her my scars. But if I dare to go there, she’ll only defend him. The only thing worse than my mother’s manipulative tears is listening to her justify Dad hurting me.

  He’s been through so much.

  And that makes it okay he hurt me? That he locked me in a tower? The impenetrable fortress he’d had built with no entrances or exits, suspended above Lake Michigan. Perfectly inaccessible except for him with his teleportation abilities. He locked me away like a freaking Rapunzel, and my imprisonment had been a compromise.

  I had to give up my bedroom, my friends, my school in Chicago. My freedom.

  Why?

  Because when Monroe’s son died, and I inherited his partis power. I tried to hide it. I didn’t understand what was happening to me, but as soon as I felt the change, I knew it was big trouble. Dad had felt the power overtake me too.

  I’ll never forget the feral look in his eyes. The hungry, crazed expression.

  He’d said, special delivery. Right to my door.

  He’d almost killed me on the spot. He’d snatched me off the floor, my feet dangling in the air. Mom had pleaded, begged for him to spare me.

  If I don’t take it from her, someone else will, Dad had said. He wanted to rip the power out of me then and there. I didn’t think anything Mom said was going to stop him.

  We can send her away. Please, Eric. Please. You know what I’m like without her.

  I was moved to the tower. Alive, but knowing perfectly well Dad is going to kill me, sooner or later. Do you know what happens to bad girls, Maisie? A knife glints in my head, and I squeeze my eyes shut as if I can block out the memory.

  “You leave me no choice.” Mom’s sadness morphs into anger like it always does.

  Kill me. Shoot me and end it. Maybe it’ll be easier for everyone if I wasn’t here in the middle.

  “I’ll kill her myself.” Mom storms out of the room, and a moment later I hear the screen door bang against the wood.

  I lean over the twin bed and strain to see her cut across the front yard. She crosses the sparse lawn, if one could call the dead clumps of grass and sand a lawn, and heads out the gate. She's barreling toward the black smoke.

  I should be scared for Jesse, but I’m not. As long as her shield is up, Jesse can’t be hurt. And since Ally’s back at the compound, she’ll be fighting fit. She’s more than a little dumb with Ally around. Without Ally around, Jesse’s focus will be better.

  If I’m scared for anyone, it’s Mom.

  You leave me no choice, she said. Yeah, well, she isn’t leaving me any choices either. All she’s leaving me with is heartache. I want to help her. It’s stupid and psychotic, but I want to protect her. I want to protect Mom even though she’s wrong.

  I pull a dental mirror out of the deep pocket of my baggy jeans. I stole it from the bathroom right after I wrapped my ankle.

  A small circular mirror sits angled at the end of a thin piece of white plastic.

  I put the mirror under Dad’s nose and wait. I count to five super slow. The mirror doesn’t fog. His chest doesn’t rise or fall.

  I lean over and look at the pinched flesh knotted together by twine. The skin is less red. The pucker is softening.

  It’s healing.

  Once it’s healed enough, his heart and brain will kick back on.

  How much longer do we have before the monster is awake?

  I slip the mirror back in my pocket—Sam’s pocket—and frown at the darkening sky.

  Chapter 10

  Jesse

  A kick in the gut stops me. I duck down between two houses and lean against its exterior. It’s hot and unforgiving even through my layers. It takes me a minute to position my body against the rock in a way that doesn’t scald my skin.

  I wipe at my face with the bottom of my T-shirt. I’m sweating like crazy.

  The kick comes again. Jesse.

  It’s Maisie. I don’t hear her voice in my head exactly, but her presence is unmistakable. As unique as any fingerprint.

  Is she in danger? I ask Gabriel. I ask with my thoughts because running half a mile has left me winded. Okay, maybe not half a mile. Maybe a quarter-mile. Or half a quarter-mile. The point is, athleticism has never been my strong suit. It’s no surprise why I developed a shield—an ability that requires me to mostly be in one place—rather than something like super speed.

  “The mother is coming,” Gabriel says. Despite his dark suit and wings, he hasn’t broken a sweat. His skin is flawless.

  I straighten, breathing through the cramp in my side. “With Maisie?”

  He cocks his head as if listening to something. “No. She comes alone.”

  “Where the fuck is Maisie?”

  “Close,” Gabriel says. But he’s turning in all directions like he’s not sure. If I’d asked a guy for directions and he’d turned a circle like this, I’d be more than a little worried.

  “Okay, where’s Georgia?”

  “Closer.”

  “That’s very specific.” I groan and straighten. My back keeps cramping. God, I’m getting old. “Thanks for letting me know I could be attacked. Somewhere. Sometime.”

  I peek around a building, looking back the way I came. No one seems to be following me. No aviator glasses or spies bobbing and weaving around the buildings headed my way.

  I’d give about anything to look up and see Gloria or Gideon right now. A friendly face. A comrade in arms. Anyone who can talk me through this, offer advice, or hell, look in the opposite direction so I can stop craning my neck.

  My throat tightens. If I die today, they’ll die without them knowing how much I appreciated their help.

  “We need to send thank you notes,” I tell Gabriel.

  He blinks at me. “Now?”

  “I guess not, but remind me to send notes if we make it through the day.”

  Smoke rolls through the street as the blaze I started grows. The fire is getting out of hand. Oops. I’m sorry about that, but those man-handlers didn’t make it easy. That guy shouldn’t have threatened me. “Why were they so mean? I was sitting in my truck minding my own business!”

  “Donnie’s truck,” Gabriel corrects me. Black feathers from his wings flutter in the hot air.

  “Okay, I stole a truck. Big deal! I’m trying to save the world!”

  “You
do not need to justify your actions to me.”

  “Don’t I?” I snort.

  But he’s right. Why am I explaining myself to him?

  Habit, I realize. Because if Ally was here, I would have to explain my every move to her. Gabriel’s serving as her proxy, forced to listen to my every rationalization. Poor thing.

  I reach out for Ally. Part of me is curious if I can feel her the way I can feel Maisie. I pinch my eyes closed. I let the darkness, the steadiness set in as I try to forget about the hundred aches and pains all over my body.

  Nada.

  I don’t feel her.

  “She is alive,” Gabriel assures me. His cold hand touches the back of my neck. God, it feels good in this awful heat. “You have drawn the danger away from her.”

  And she’s got Gloria and Nikki with her. And I haven’t seen Gideon nurture anything but his bank account.

  Imagining Nikki cooing and coddling Al irritates me to no end, but I let it go. Obsessing about Nikki’s eternal quest to steal my girlfriend is the least of my problems right now.

  “They are coming.” Gabriel’s eyes fix on the blaze. “You should hide.”

  He doesn’t have to say it twice. I dart through the back door of the nearest house. The latch pops open with one hard shove of my shoulder. I stumble into the house and shut the door behind me.

  Unlocked?

  That’s practically an invitation! I can hardly be frowned upon for ducking inside. There’s a door, and the door is unlocked. What says come on in better than an unlocked door?

  Thank goodness for small town folk and their trusting ways.

  I squint through the low light. Why is it so dark in here? All the blinds are down. To keep in the cool air probably. I can only imagine how hot a house gets in the desert during the day. Keeping the blinds down probably saves a million dollars a year on their cooling bill.

  A pang of remorse hits me in the chest. I used to have a house. I used to have utility bills. That was before I burned it down. I was trying to murder Caldwell, not destroy my shit. And it wasn’t the first bit of damage my house suffered. The local church members vandalized it every other week the first time I was outed as a death replacement agent. Later, they upgraded from eggs and toilet paper to throwing bricks through my window.

  Okay, my house wasn’t a paradise or anything but it was mine. It had a big bed and soft pillows and a great shower with a rainfall shower head. A big couch I liked to nap on and a deck where I could drink root beer and stare into the trees.

  I can’t help but move through the kitchen, past the sturdy oak table and laminate countertops of this house and miss the evenings when I came home and kicked off my shoes after a long day.

  Will I ever have this again?

  A home?

  A peaceful place where I feel safe?

  I press my fingers into a loaf of bread until it leaves indentations. Then I feel bad and eat the bread I smooshed. The owner of said bread loaf will never know. I’m munching on crust and fluffed wheat as I meander down the hallway stretching from the kitchen to the living room. Photos line the wall in a makeshift gallery. Mostly it’s a woman and two boys, smiling. Well, in one the youngest boy looks rather grumpy. Obviously not his best day. But in another a woman and a man are dancing on their wedding day. Unless they went as husband and wife for Halloween.

  “Am I ever going to have a wedding?” I ask Gabriel.

  He says nothing, leaving me to my thoughts.

  I turn away from the pictures and finish off the smooshed bread.

  People live here. Love here. Feel peace each night when they come home and dump their bags by the door here.

  I’m going to try really, really hard not to burn it down.

  The living room sits in the front of the house. Three pieces of soft pink furniture: a sofa, a loveseat, and a chair, point toward a ridiculously large television. Sports fan, I guess. What else would a person watch that looked best in blown up high-def?

  I grin. I guess I could think of a few other channels.

  The room smells like cinnamon and orange. Potpourri? Or one of those plug-in air fresheners.

  Car doors slam outside. I whirl on Gabriel. “Shit! Are they home?”

  “No.” As he shakes his head, he rains feathers onto the soft pink chair. Lucky for the owners, they won’t be able to see them, what with Gabriel being incorporeal and all. “Look out the window.”

  I do as he says. I cut wide around a coffee table with six issues of a knitting magazine fanned beside a remote. I move the standing lamp and peek through the side of the curtain. I try to keep my body hidden by the wall rather than stand in plain view.

  Real subtle.

  After my entrance into Cochise, I’m not sure why I’m even trying for subtle. Dousing half the town in flames is far from subtle.

  I pull back the curtain and see a cop car pull into the driveway across the street. Two armed cops enter the house, guns drawn. Then at the next house, another police car swings into the driveway, and the car doors open.

  They’re on my trail. I wonder how long I have before I’m found.

  Chapter 11

  Maisie

  “Azrael,” I whisper. My voice breaks. I lick my lips. Why do we love the people that hurt us the most? Or is it because we love them the most, they hurt us?

  Light shimmers in the corner of my eye and I look up. Azrael stands leaning against the wall, her wings dragging along the carpet. Her arms hang ready at her side.

  I do not love, she says. Her face is smooth and unreadable. It makes me think of Jesse. Not because Jesse’s ever unreadable. As if. Her face is super expressive and whatever her face doesn’t give away, her mouth does. I’m pretty sure my sister has zero filter.

  Even though Azrael seems super serious and Jesse’s a huge goof, there’s something about Azrael that reminds me of Jesse.

  “She’s coming,” Azrael says.

  I feel her. Her fear for Ally’s safety. Her hurt and confusion over Rachel’s betrayal. Her guilt over Brinkley. Like with my death-sensing ability, when we’re far apart, it’s hard to notice, but it doesn’t disappear completely. The connection’s there, thrumming inside, if muted.

  “I should help her.” Only a loser would sit here and wait to be rescued.

  “No,” Azrael disagrees. “You are safer here.”

  I laugh. It’s a bitter, sour gurgle in the back of my throat. “You think I’ll be in the way. I’m always in the way.”

  “You must not lose hope,” Azrael whispers. “She is coming.”

  I turn to Azrael. She’s watching me with those bright silver eyes. Her big eyes sparkle. Something about her eyes makes me think of deep water. A reflective surface which hides unfathomable depth.

  I look around Sam’s room. It smells like him. Like boy. “What should I do?”

  “Wait,” she instructs in her husky voice. “It will not be long now.”

  “Before the end of the world?”

  Azrael regards me with her heavy gaze, but I manage to meet her eyes. Mostly because she’s pretty. It’s hard not to stare. I mean, I’m not into chicks like my Jesse, but sometimes girls are so beautiful I can’t help staring. I wish I had Azrael’s hair. Thick, dark and wavy. It’s the exact opposite of my thin, straight hair.

  I wish I knew more than the few pieces I’ve cobbled together about Azrael and the angels like her.

  Why would the Reliance choose you? Why? What does your angel say?

  Daddy, I don’t know! I don’t know! I don’t have an angel.

  I rub a hand on the back of my neck and sigh. I wasn’t lying. I didn’t see an angel at first, not until Mom begged him to move me to the tower. Not until I was alone. Then Azrael came and explained she isn’t always there, but she’s accessible. Whenever I’m with my parents, her voice is drowned out. If I’m with Mom only, I can hear Azrael’s whisper, but that’s it.

  “Are you always here? Even when I cannot see you or hear you?” I ask her.

  She pause
s. “No.”

  “Where do you go? Back to the Reliance?”

  I’ve never asked about the Reliance. I thought Dad was out of his mind when he accused me of being some spy for a secret angel organization. Oh, make no mistake. He is crazy. But maybe there’s some truth in his ramblings.

  “No. You do not remember?”

  I sit up straighter, my hand brushing Dad’s. Goosebumps break out on my arms. “No.”

  She huffs. It’s something Jesse does all the time. And there it was again. Something about Jesse looking back at me in those gray eyes and black hair. Though Jesse’s eyes are hazel like Dad’s.

  “The demands of the flesh never cease to amaze me,” she murmurs, looking away, giving me a view of her profile. She’s got a strong jaw for a girl.

  “Are you actually an angel?” I ask, hoping that while she dismissed my direct question about the Reliance, maybe she won’t dismiss me entirely. I’ll take anything.

  “I am many things, across much of space and time.”

  I’m not sure where to go from there. “So you are an angel…and a lot of other things.”

  “Yes.”

  “Why do you care what happens here? We’re morons. I can’t imagine we’re worth saving.”

  She doesn’t say anything. I catch myself staring at the soft, downy white of her under feathers, where it meets dove gray. I bet the wings are soft. I want to touch them, but I don’t dare. If some weirdo came up to me and started petting me, I would freak out.

  “The Reliance,” Azrael says. She watches my face, her eyes darting the way Mom’s does when she’s searching for a word. “It is not as you imagine it.”

  “What is it then?”

  She looks at the ceiling. “You would call it an ideology.”

  Confusion oozes into my thoughts, making everything sticky like peanut butter.

  “No,” she says, her eyelashes fluttering. “That wasn’t the right word. A philosophy?”

  “A belief?” I offer.

  “This is not religious.”