by Bea Paige
“Who are you? What are you?” I whisper. Fear and attraction scatters over my skin, two polar opposites messing with my emotions, pulling me in different directions. He took that baby’s life, and yet I can’t hate him for it. I should, but I don’t, and I have no idea why.
He presses his eyes shut, not able to look at me.
“Tell me who you are,” I insist, a sudden anger making me bold.
His eyes snap open and I swear I can see ice mountains form within them. Unscalable, impenetrable. I back up into his wings, stilling when a feather trails across the bare skin of my neck. It shoots an electric current straight over my skin until I feel like a streak of lightning crackling in the sky above us.
“I think you know already what I am. You saw what happened. You looked right into my very soul, but you didn’t run. Why did you follow me?”
He’s right. I know exactly what he is.
“I want you to say it. I want you to tell me, Gabe,” I add, the unfamiliar name strange on my lips. “Why did you take that baby’s life? Why?” My voice cracks, the past year’s pent-up emotions releasing.
“It’s what we do…”
“We?”
“Yes, Mihr, Ether, the rest of Clan Vitae. We take life now…” He struggles with the words, anger and pain marking them, making them sharp.
“We are the Angels of Death. We are the Death Bringers. We are Clan Vitae, and you, Fern, you are our saviour.” He lifts his hand to my face and cups my cheek. His eyes widen as he does so, as if he’s surprised by his own actions. He moves to pull away, but I capture his fingers under mine and press his palm back against my skin, savouring his touch.
For a moment time ceases to exist as we hold each other’s gaze, as we stand toe to toe, hand to cheek. An eternity passes.
His touch starts off warm, like Ether’s and Mihr’s, but then rapidly evolves into something cold and dark.
Something dangerous.
My head swims the longer he cups my face. Black spots begin to mar my vision. My body sways.
“No!” he shouts, yanking his hand away. His wings pull back, allowing the rain to fall on my numbed cheek.
“How cruel this twist of fate,” he says, before launching himself into the sky and disappearing just like the others.
My knees buckle, and I fall to the sodden earth.
Chapter Seven
I’m not sure how long I remain clutching wet earth in fisted hands, staring up at the sky, hoping they weren’t a dream.
Wishing they would return.
Scared that I want them to.
There are no stars, just endless black sky. They could be floating high above me and I would never know. They could be watching me staring blankly up at them. They could be soaring somewhere far, far away.
I remain like this long enough to feel the muscles in my shoulders and neck lock painfully, long enough to risk my health with the freezing rain. I am a statue carved in stone. My body feels heavy, sluggish, slow. My heart, though beating, feels burdened. My fingers still burn from Ether’s brief touch, my arm still zings under the warmth of Mihr’s hand, and my cheek is still numb from Gabe’s palm. They’ve all touched me and yet it feels like so much more than just skin brushing against skin. I feel sick, I feel alive. I feel inordinately different.
What is happening to me?
Next door’s security light turns on in their back garden, snapping me back into focus and into the here and now where angels shouldn’t exist. What am I thinking?
Angels don’t exist.
In this world they’re a myth dreamt up by people who wish for the impossible, who hope that there is something more than the life they lead. Guardian angels, fallen angels, messengers from heaven. Belief, hope, fiction, fantasy, all wrapped up into the consciousness of this society we live in.
But I know angels, I’ve met them.
The real kind, the kind that are selfless, that save lives daily, that fight to keep people alive. My colleagues, the doctors and nurses, the midwives and obstetricians, the registrars and surgeons, the men and women at the hospital where I work. They are the kind of angels I know. The ones who should be revered.
And yet, the feathered angels of stories had stood in front of me not moments ago. They are real.
Where had they come from?
Out of the corner of my eye I see a flash of white. It’s Maggie, my next-door neighbour’s cat. She leaps up onto my garden wall, pausing briefly to look at me. Her eyes are wide, reflecting the light. Had she seen the angels too? Had her animal sense understood something about those creatures my human brain had not? I wish Dani were here, she has such a way with animals, all animals. She would be able to interpret what Maggie is thinking.
With a flick of her tail, Maggie turns her back to me and jumps into her garden. Her action forces me to move.
Pushing up onto concrete feet, I walk slowly back indoors, reluctant to move back towards reality but grateful for my neighbour’s cat for snapping me out of whatever weird state of mind and body I found myself in.
Once inside, I lock the back door with trembling fingers, take a few steps then find myself grasping the wall for support. Great shudders wrack my body from the cold, from the adrenaline that rushed through my veins with prickly heat, from the shock, from something else that feels much more sinister than that.
Angels of Death.
I had thought the same a year ago. Gabe had said it just now.
Gabe, Mihr, Ether.
They have names, these strange creatures that scare me, that intrigue me.
Am I going mad?
As my body begins to deal with the aftermath of the encounter, I remember the ring and what I’m still holding clutched in my hand. Opening my palm, I stare wide-eyed at it. I have been holding it so tightly that the uneven edges have marked my palm and fingers with deep grooves. It’s a dark blue, dull not shiny, and heavy too. I hold it up to the light and the stone brightens, changing appearance from dull to bright, dark to light. My skin burns once more under the ring on my finger. I drop the stone, not wishing to hold onto it any longer. It rolls across the floor, stopping when it hits the leg of the side-table. I don’t bother to pick it up.
Instead, I grab at the ring and attempt to pull it off my finger. It’s stuck fast. I don’t mean that it’s just a little tight but will come off with a bit of effort. No, this isn’t moving a fraction of a millimetre. It won’t come off.
My teeth chatter so much my jaw begins to ache. My hands shake so much I can barely grip the ring. My leg muscles tremble with the effort of standing upright.
What have they done to me?
This ring is to do with those angels, the stone on the floor, and the singing I’ve heard all my life despite my deafness. It’s all connected. I have so many questions, but the answers lie with three Angels of Death who have left me to my thoughts for reasons I cannot fathom, given their sudden arrival.
Sudden debilitating panic washes over me. What is happening to me? Why do I feel so conflicted? Why do I feel so terribly afraid, so completely bereft, so utterly shattered, so completely alive? With a heavy heart and confused mind, I make my way to my bedroom, peel off my clothes and climb into bed. Sleep takes an eternity to come, and only when dawn begins to rise do I finally fall into a deep, dreamless sleep.
Chapter Eight
I awake in darkness.
My body feels better, the ache in my muscles is gone, but I am left with a desperate thirst and a pounding headache. I must have slept all day. On my bedside table is a bottle of water. I open it and take deep gulps, drinking every single drop and still feeling as though I need more. Hauling myself out of bed, I head to the bathroom. I know it’s only been a few hours, but I feel like I’ve been asleep for weeks. Needing to wake up, I flick on the light switch, turn on the shower and step into the welcoming warmth.
Half an hour later, freshly washed, dried, and wearing clean clothes, I make my way downstairs to the kitchen. The moment I step into the room, my sto
mach growls in hunger.
I’m starving. Opening the fridge, I grab what I need to make something to eat and set to work.
A couple of minutes later, I have a steaming mug of tea and a sandwich large enough to stave off the hunger pangs. Sitting at my kitchen table, I eat. On the wall opposite my clock tells me it’s nearing midnight and that I have slept for almost seventeen hours. Seventeen hours?
I eat like the starving. I don’t savour the food, just shovel it in, hoping to rid myself of the growing nausea I feel from too much sleep, from lack of food, from waiting on their return. Ether said they would be back, but when? Do I want them to return?
The answer is, emphatically, yes.
Yes, yes, yes.
I think I’ll go mad if they don’t return soon. I can barely concentrate now. How will I feel in a few days’ time? A week, a month, a year? I don’t think I can wait that long.
Scratch that, I know I won’t be able to wait that long. I need answers. I need to understand.
Finishing the last mouthful, I pick up my mug of tea and head back to my studio. When I feel anxious like this, drawing is the only way to release some of the tension, to make me feel at least a little bit more human again. As a child, drawing was a way to feel good about myself when harsh words and mean children made me feel worthless. Being deaf was hard enough but having a speech impediment to match made growing up even harder. With speech therapy I was able to overcome my difficulties, but it took several years to get my speech to a point that people didn’t realise immediately that I had a hearing loss. I learnt British Sign Language too, though it’s been a while since I have used it. Dani and I spent hours chatting together as kids this way. I taught her how to converse using sign language so that we could talk without my mum understanding what we were saying. Mum never bothered to learn, insisting that I always wear my hearing aids because it was too much of a pain to ‘faff around’ with silly hand movements.
Even now her rejection hurts.
That had been my way of communicating, opening up a world of wonder when only muffled silence spoke to me.
Pushing open the door to my studio, I enter once more. Inside, the room is as I left it, filled with images of Gabe. He peers at me from every direction, but something’s missing.
Ether and Mihr.
Now, I need to fill this room with all my angels… There’s that my again.
They were no more mine than I am theirs, and yet I feel as though they belong to me, that I belong to them somehow. It’s ridiculous, I know.
Now these images of Gabe aren’t enough. I’m missing two more men and I have a very real need, an almost painful desire, to capture them all. Placing my tea on the desk, I grab a clean sheet of paper and pick up my favourite pencil to draw with. It’s well used, the end indented with my teeth marks. I begin to draw, sketching their outline first, then filling in the detail. Shading here, touching there, filling in the background before I concentrate on the angels themselves. Satisfied the basic form has been drawn to the best of my ability, I pick up another darker pencil and begin to draw in the details; the strong jaw of Ether, the full lips of Gabe, the reverent gaze of Mihr. I try my best to capture them, imprinting them for eternity on paper, searing their images in my mind.
As usual, I lose myself to hours of tranquillity. The act of drawing, bringing a memory alive on paper, is both soothing and hypnotising.
Eventually, when my hand aches from gripping the pencil so tightly and the last line is etched on paper, I lay the pencil down and sit back in my seat, stretching my fingers to ease the tightness. The white sheet of paper has been transformed. Ether, Mihr and Gabe look up at me, their clothes heavy with rain, their expressions burdened by something I don’t understand. I run my finger over their outline, wishing that I could conjure them up with some kind of magic spell.
Magic?
My skin prickles, the hairs on my arms pull upwards as a tingling sensation passes over me. The ring on my finger sizzles just as a cold blast of air tickles my bare neck.
“It’s a good likeness,” a familiar voice says from behind. “Though I think you’ve made me a little more angelic than I am…”
I twist in my seat, standing abruptly. Fear ricochets in my chest, followed swiftly by relief. The relief hugs my shoulders, then makes me feel limp. I back up to the edge of the table, eyes wide with wonder and confusion. Where are his wings? Why can I hear him when my hearing aids are still sitting in the same place I left them yesterday?
Ether steps back, holding his hands upright. “I apologise. I shouldn’t have scared you like that,” he says, misinterpreting my reaction. His white blonde hair is in stark contrast to the black clothes he wears. I notice they are crumpled, that he looks a little dishevelled. Dark circles ring his eyes, he is less sure of himself than he was yesterday.
“I’m not scared…” I mutter. “At least, not as much as I should be. Where are the others?”
Ether nods towards the door. “Mihr is in the kitchen. Gabe is…”
“Gabe is what?”
“Gabe is in the garden, keeping watch.”
“Keeping watch? What for?” I say, my voice quavering as Ether takes stock of me. He looks at me with interest, curiosity, fascination even. But it’s soon replaced with concern, worry. He looks over my shoulder and out into the darkness of my back garden.
“Trouble,” he says, pulling himself straighter, taller.
“What kind of trouble?” I say slowly.
Ether sighs. “There’s much to tell you. You have many questions, yes?”
I nod my head.
“Will you come with me, Fern?”
“Where to?”
“For now, just your kitchen. After that, I’m not sure.”
I grit my teeth. I’d wanted them to return. I’d wanted answers, and now that I am about to get them I find my feet can’t move.
“Do you feel okay?”
“I don’t know. After you left last night I slept for hours.” I touch my cheek where Gabe had pressed his palm. Even now it feels weird, as though I’ve had a filling at the dentist and my cheek is still numbed from the injection.
“Last night? Ah, yes, time passes slower here.” Ether’s eyes narrow as he watches me press my fingers against my cheek. “Are you hurt?”
Here?
“What do you mean, here? Where do you come from? What are you? Why did you leave? The singing, what is that?” I can’t seem to stop myself from asking the questions that have been burning my tongue these past twenty-four hours, this past year, my whole life. I ignore his last question. I don’t know if I’m hurt or not. I don’t know anything right now.
“I will answer every single question you have. You have a right to know it all. I do not believe in keeping secrets. But first, I need to know, are you hurt, Fern?” He steps forward, overshadowing me with his presence. He is tall. Tall frame, strong shoulders, white-blonde hair, blue eyes that make me want to look away, that make me want to fall into his arms.
Conflicted, that is how I feel.
Yet, overriding all that is the power he exudes. I find all sense has left me, as I sway unsteadily on my feet. Towards him, away from him, I don’t know which direction to head in. A knot tightens in my stomach, whilst anxiety fizzes in my chest.
“Are you hurt, Fern?” he repeats, darkness clouding his features.
“I don’t know… After Gabe touched me, I felt strange.”
“Gabe touched you?” His voice is sharp, angry.
“You all did,” I whisper. I had not forgotten the brief fiery stroke of his fingers against mine as he handed me the stone, or the fleeting warmth of Mihr’s hand as he held me steady.
Ether nods his head sharply, remembering our touch. His lips press in a hard line as he considers me for a moment.
“Come with me,” he says, turning abruptly and striding towards the kitchen. I look at the space where his wings had been yesterday. All I see is a dark shirt pulled taut by firm muscle. I follow him, wonder
ing where the hell his wings have gone, why he is suddenly so angry and more importantly, wondering if I have finally lost my mind.
Chapter Nine
Mihr is standing by the window, his back to me. His wings are absent too, and I begin to wonder whether I imagined them completely. It’s possible, I suppose.
No, Fern. You know what you saw.
He turns the moment he hears us enter the kitchen. He looks tired, as though he hasn’t slept in months. Ether moves to stand near him. Mihr looks completely ill at ease. Tension radiates from them both. It makes me uneasy.
Mihr dips his head, acknowledging me, then begins conversing with Ether in his version of sign language. If I didn’t know any better, he’s asking Ether if I’m okay. He’s worried about my health. He doesn’t think I look well. I’m not sure whether I should be offended or not. I must admit, I still feel like crap even after all the rest I’ve had.
“He wants to know if you’re okay?” Ether says, confirming what I already knew.
“I know. I can understand him now.” I frown. Why the hell can I understand him?
“You can?” Mihr asks me with his hands.
“Yes.” We lock gazes. I’m the first to look away. What is it with these men and their ability to stop my heart beating with one look? “I didn’t yesterday. I do now. I hear you when I shouldn’t,” I say, looking at Ether. “I understand you when I shouldn’t,” I confirm to Mihr, who is just as surprised as I am by the news.
“You are deaf?” he asks me, waving his hands over his ears.
“I am, except I appear to be able to hear Ether and Gabe perfectly well. I appear to be able to understand you too, even though the sign-language you use is so completely different from what I am used to.”
“Interesting,” Ether says. He cocks his head to the side again.
“I am not a specimen under a microscope, so stop looking at me like I am,” I snap. I don’t know where the sudden anger comes from. I don’t feel right.
The backdoor swings open and Gabe enters, stepping over the threshold. He pulls up sharp when he looks at me.