“You need to take up running or something,” Beezle said. “And maybe lay off the desserts for a while.”
I smacked the side of his head, and the movement pulling on my ribs caused me to see stars. “I’m not out of breath because I’m fat, Beezle. I’m out of breath because I’ve gotten beaten up three times in the last couple of days.”
“Three?” he asked.
“Ms. Greenwitch, Antares and Ramuell. You know, the soul-sucking demon I have sworn to destroy because he killed my mother and Patrick.”
“I forgot about that,” Beezle said, with a little note of wonder in his voice. “It seems like a long time ago. But, you know, you probably could stand to lose a few ...”
“Beezle, if you finish that sentence, I will never buy popcorn again for the rest of my life.”
He snapped his jaws shut and crossed his arms, going into broody mode.
I walked very carefully down the sidewalk, intending to disappear into a nearby alley that ran underneath the El tracks and unobtrusively push out my wings. Ms. Greenwitch lived a few short blocks from the Western El stop, and a steady stream of late commuters flowed past as I shuffled my way down the street. Most of them appeared not to notice the gargoyle glaring from my shoulder, and the early-autumn darkness did a fair job of disguising my bruised face unless I passed directly beneath a streetlight.
A young woman and man, both of them in their late twenties, went by. They were dressed like young professionals, just off work. She carried the cardigan that matched her short-sleeved sweater over one arm, while he had a take-out bag in one hand and a leather messenger bag slung over the other shoulder. A bottle of wine protruded from the top of a slim paper bag that she had tucked inside her oversized tote. They looked tired but anticipatory, the way that people do when they’re almost home from work and they know they can put on their comfy socks and be with the one they love.
The two didn’t even notice Beezle and me as we passed. I felt a stab of jealousy, a tiny flutter in my stomach. I’d always accepted that it was my fate to be an Agent. I’d had no choice in the matter. I could do my duty kicking and screaming, but I would still have to do it all the same. And being alone, without a person with whom to share the wine and takeout, that was part of the package, too. There was no other way to be when you were an Agent. My mother had taught me that.
Of course, Mom had her little fling before you were born, didn’t she? an insidious voice whispered in my head.
I tried not to think about it, because if I thought about it too closely, I’d realize that I was angry with her. Angry with her for loving a fallen angel. Angry with her for not telling me about my father, for not preparing me for the day when demons would come knocking at my door, for not helping me learn what to do with the magic that was bound up inside me.
So I wasn’t going to think about it. I squared my shoulders and marched into the alley, and Beezle shifted on his perch and muttered, “What’s the matter with you all of a sudden?”
“Nothing,” I snapped as we passed beneath a streetlight and into a patch of darkness. No one could see me once my wings emerged, but there was no point in freaking out the nice commuters by disappearing from sight in front of them.
I closed my eyes, thinking of home, and as my wings unfurled I caught a whiff of burnt cinnamon. My eyes flew open just as Beezle cried, “Maddy!” and I saw Ramuell’s gaping maw open before me. I felt his hot breath scald my face and I shot upward in an explosion of black feathers before he could close his mouth around my head.
The monster roared and stood to his full height, slashing at my legs with his scarlet claws as I flew up. I managed to tug away, flapping my wings desperately and blasting him in the face with a blue ball of nightfire. Ramuell released me, howling and clawing at his eyes. I zipped out of the alley and realized that my left pant leg had ripped open. The inside of my leg burned where the claws had rent my flesh and blood was running into my left boot, soaking my sock. The burning acid ran up my leg, traveling through my bloodstream, contaminating everywhere it touched.
I arrowed toward home with desperate speed, looking once over my shoulder to see if the creature was following me. There was no sign of it. It had disappeared as cleanly as if it had never been there.
“What the flaming hell was that all about, Beezle?” I shouted. “How did it just appear out of nowhere? How come people weren’t screaming and yelling at the sight of it? It had to get into the alley from somewhere, and it wasn’t there when we went in—I’m sure of that.”
Beezle said nothing, just clung to my neck even tighter. The burning acid in my leg had spread to my hips, and my stomach, and my chest. I slowed my speed as I saw the familiar rooftop of my house. My lungs felt tight and my vision blurred.
I aimed for the kitchen window and was off by a hairs-breadth, slamming my shoulder into the window frame and tumbling end over end to land flat on my back. The breath whooshed out of my body as from a deflating balloon. Beezle had released me before my swan dive and now he fluttered above my face.
“Maddy, Maddy, are you all right? Your leg doesn’t look so good,” he said, and I could hear the anxiety in his voice.
I tried to focus on his face, to tell him that I was all right, but everything looked like it was covered in thick fog. My lips and tongue and throat felt numb, and in my pain-filled haze it seemed somehow that my blood was moving more slowly, that my heartbeat was winding down like a clockwork toy.
“Maddy, say something,” Beezle pleaded. I could feel his little clawed hands on my cheeks as he pressed his beak against my nose. “Maddy, please get up. Please speak to me.”
You never say please, I thought, but it was too much effort to say the words. It was hard to focus on Beezle’s cat eyes, so I let my eyelids drift closed.
“No, no, you wake up right now!” Beezle said, and I could feel his hands shaking me ineffectually. It seemed like his voice was at the other end of a long tunnel, pleading and angry at the same time. I wanted to pat him on the back but my hand wouldn’t move.
“What has happened here?” Another voice, silky and dangerous. Gabriel.
“Ramuell,” Beezle said. “He slashed her.”
Gabriel said nothing, but suddenly his hands were on my leg, pulling away the tatters of my jeans. I heard the sharp intake of his breath but it echoed oddly in my ears.
“You have done a very poor job, guardian,” he hissed, and I thought vaguely that he had never sounded as frightening as he did now. “I only hope that I am not too late.”
His arms went under my shoulders and knees, pulling me to his chest. I wanted to see his face, but I couldn’t open my eyes. I felt very far away, floating.
“And what of you, protector?” Beezle spat back. “Isn’t that why Azazel sent you here? To keep her safe?”
“Quiet,” he said, and I felt a strange warmth emanating from his hands. “The venom is everywhere now. I have only a little time and I need to concentrate.”
The warmth from his hands spread through his arms, and his chest, and it burned hotter and hotter. It was like standing too close to a furnace. The heat grew more intense, and it hurt. I wanted to scream but the noise wouldn’t come out of my mouth. Everywhere Gabriel touched me, the heat touched me, too, and it was like wildfire in my veins, burning away the acid.
And then his mouth was on me, too, at my throat, and my cheeks, and on my eyelids. And where his lips moved he left a trail of flames behind. He whispered against my mouth, “You have to live,” and then he was kissing me, and his kiss was like the heart of the sun. The fire careened in my veins, scorching, burning me clean and whole. I felt my legs again, and my arms. Then my lungs inhaled and exhaled, and my heart resumed its regular beat.
The heat subsided, and my eyes flew open. Gabriel’s mouth whispered across mine once more, and then he pulled away, and he smiled. His dark eyes were lit by starshine, and I felt I was falling again into the heart of the universe. Not by some spell of Gabriel’s, but by my own foolish wan
ts and needs. He had kissed me to save me—this much I understood. But my heart, my very lonely heart, ached for what I had never known before.
Gabriel must have seen something in my own eyes. His smile faded and his expression flickered, unreadable, and then he carefully released me, placing me in a sitting position on the floor. His hand rested against the small of my back, making sure that I didn’t fall backward again.
I looked away from him. I didn’t want him to see how the little rejection had hurt me. My body felt remarkably whole, like it had the morning after Ramuell’s first attack. I suspected that if I looked at myself in the mirror, I would find all my cuts and bruises were gone. “Thank you,” I whispered, and my throat felt rusty and unused.
“You are welcome,” he said softly, and there was something in his voice that hadn’t been there before.
I whipped my head back to look at him, but whatever I thought I’d heard wasn’t there in his face. Stupid, stupid, Maddy, I thought. Did you think he was going to fall madly in love with you after one kiss?
No, my life was no fairy tale. I was not a princess woken from sleep by her true love. I was an Agent, the daughter of a fallen angel, and he was . . . whatever he was, but certainly not normal or human.
I shook my head, glanced at my watch and remembered that I still had a duty to perform.
“Well, this has been fun, kids,” I said. “But I’ve got a pickup to get to shortly.”
I wobbled to my feet and grabbed the counter as my vision spun in circles.
Gabriel put his hand on my shoulder. “You are in no condition to go anywhere.”
I shrugged off his hand. “I just need a minute.”
“You look like you need more than a minute,” Beezle said.
“No,” I said, shaking my head. “I need a shower, and some food, and I’ll be fine.”
“I will go with you,” Gabriel said.
“I don’t think that will be necessary,” I said. I wasn’t sure that I wanted him around. I didn’t want to make a fool of myself in front of him. Still, he was the one who had kissed me in the first place, so maybe he wouldn’t object if I flirted a little in his direction.
And should you really be thinking about a supernatural romance right now? I chided myself. I had to keep my head in the game or Ramuell was going to eat me alive—literally.
“I must confer with Lord Azazel,” Gabriel said. “Then, whatever activities that you have planned for the evening, my lady, I will be at your side.”
“ ‘My lady’?” I said. “Since when am I your lady?”
“You are the daughter of my lord; therefore, you are my lady. Forgive me for not addressing you so sooner.”
“Are you crazy?” I asked, totally unnerved by his sudden formality. I was no one’s boss. I could barely control my own small life. “Don’t even think about acting like you’re my servant.”
“When you are ready to leave, I will accompany you,” he said. “I will retire downstairs for the moment and confer with my lord.”
He headed out of the kitchen and down the short hallway. My shout stopped him at the door.
“Wait,” I said. “You need the keys. And what are you going to do in an empty apartment for the next half hour?”
A ghost of a smile flickered across his face. “I do not need the keys, and the apartment is not empty.”
“It isn’t?” I was confused. I didn’t want him to leave, even if he was only going downstairs. I didn’t want this sudden feeling between us, either. Was this what normal people felt like?
“No, it isn’t empty,” he repeated. “After all, I do have a little magic of my own.”
9
FIFTEEN MINUTES LATER I STEPPED OUT OF THE shower and wrapped a towel around my body. Gabriel had healed my injuries, but my jeans had been mutilated beyond repair and my skin had been covered in flakes of dried blood. Cleaning up had been deemed prudent.
As I walked into the bedroom I saw Beezle exactly where I’d expected him to be—perched on my dresser, arms crossed, opening and closing his wings in an annoyed little metronome. He narrowed his cat’s eyes at me as he took a deep breath to begin his tirade.
“Don’t even start with me, Beezle,” I said mildly as I pulled my underwear from the top drawer. Basic, boring black cotton bra and basic, boring black cotton underpants.
“You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into,” Beezle snapped. “I see that look in your eye.”
I crossed to the closet and pulled out a black turtleneck sweater and jeans. Basic, boring. Black and blue. I looked critically at my wardrobe. Didn’t I have anything to wear that wasn’t completely drab?
“Madeline, are you listening to me?” Beezle asked.
“No,” I said absently, pulling on my clothes. Maybe after I got paid for my current writing assignment I could go out and buy a few new things. Maybe something red. Red would probably look nice with my dark hair and eyes.
Beezle launched himself from the dresser as I sat on the bed to pull on my boots, which looked mighty crummy after a couple of days of stomping in alleys and bleeding on the leather. As I finished tying the left lace Beezle came to a halt, hovering in front of my face.
“Now, you listen here, Madeline Black,” he said, stabbing a little claw in the direction of my nose. “Whatever ideas you have in your head about Gabriel, you had just better get them out right now!”
“And what makes you think I have any ‘ideas’ at all?” I shot back, annoyed. Gabriel may not be perfect. I may have had doubts about his motivations and his actions. But I was attracted to him. That much I could admit to myself. And I had been so alone for so long. I wasn’t about to let Beezle take that away from me just because he didn’t like the fact that Gabriel was fallen.
“I told you,” he said grimly. “I’ve seen that look in your eye.”
“I doubt that very much. I’ve never had anyone around to put that look in my eye.”
“I didn’t say I’d seen it in your eyes,” he said. “I remember Katherine mooning about just the same way that you are now. And may I humbly remind you that Katherine’s romance with Azazel was not the smartest thing she had ever done.”
I stared at him, stricken. “So what are you saying? I should never have been born?”
“No, no,” he backpedaled hastily, waving his arms. “Of course not. But it is very likely that her death was caused by her relationship with Azazel. I don’t want to see you fall into the same trap.”
I tried to put aside all the raw emotion that I had been carrying around the last couple of days—the lust, the longing, the anger, the hurt, the sense of betrayal by all and sundry. The flayed nerve that was the source of magic deep inside me. When I sifted through those things, looked at them critically, I could agree with Beezle. I was a mess right now. My life had changed too much and too quickly, and I hadn’t exactly responded like a mature adult. Maybe I wasn’t examining Gabriel close enough. Maybe I was letting myself get sucked in by his beauty, by my needs.
“My lady?” he called, knocking on the front door and opening it. “Are you ready to leave now?”
The sound of his voice made my body pull tight like an arrow about to be loosed.
“Maddy,” Beezle pleaded. “Please think about what you are doing.”
I heard Gabriel call me again and I patted Beezle on the cheek. “Don’t worry, Beezle. I promise to be careful.”
Careful. I would be careful. But I hadn’t promised to stay away.
At ten thirty-seven Gabriel and I stood on the corner of Clark and Belmont, watching the teeming masses of humanity rush to and fro. The buildings and the people reflected the constant state of flux that was any Chicago neighborhood. This particular corner had been something of a punk mecca—the Dunkin’ Donuts on the northwest corner of Clark had been affectionately known as the Pun-kin’ Donuts for years. Behind it stood the Alley, once a tiny purveyor of Gothic and punk fashion, now a venerable old Chicago institution that took up several of the buildings on
Clark and Belmont. The Alley still hawked Doc Martens, plaid pants and black satin corsets, along with bondage gear, vibrators and just about any other accessory required for the young and alternative, who still flocked to this neighborhood in droves despite the increasing gentrification.
On the opposite corner, a Starbucks packed with the young and the fashionable bore a sign that proclaimed NOW OPEN 24 HOURS. The sidewalk was covered with scaffolding that wrapped around the corner, protecting pedestrians from falling debris as the building next door to the Starbucks was renovated.
Farther west on Belmont were an independent video store, a used bookstore, a Japanese goods emporium, several fashionable boutiques and a Middle Eastern take-out place called Sinbad’s that had the best falafel and hummus in the city, as far as I was concerned. East and closer to the lakefront was Boys Town on Halsted, with its strip of nightclubs and open-late eateries.
The proximity of this intersection to such a variety of businesses, restaurants and people, as well as the convenience of three bus lines and a major El stop, meant that Clark and Belmont never slept. Even at ten forty-five on a weeknight, there was still a snarl of traffic, buses trying to negotiate in and out of bus stops while car drivers cursed through their windows, cabbies zooming to pick up and drop off fares without any regard for pedestrians, cyclists or inanimate objects. People stepped off the sidewalk willy-nilly and crossed portions of the four-way intersection, not bothering to wait for the crossing signal.
Gabriel and I leaned against a storefront on the northeast corner and watched the crowd of neo-Goth and emo kids lurking in the small parking lot of the Dunkin’ Donuts, sharing cigarettes and coffee cups. Students and young professionals intent on their laptops could be seen through the window of the Starbucks.
Black Wings Page 9