Black Wings

by Christina Henry

A moment later an opening appeared in the air before me, growing longer and wider quickly. The hole was filled with swirling white mist.

  “Step inside,” Gabriel said.

  Two cast-iron pans wielded by a sumo wrestler, I thought, and then said, “What the hell.”

  I stepped inside.

  Immediately my body was sucked forward as if into a vacuum tube. The skin of my face was pushed back until my teeth were bared. My lungs gasped for air. And yes, the pressure between my ears was so intense that it did feel like my head had been clamped between iron. All around me was wind and white mist, like I was caught inside a tornado.

  All I wanted was for the pain to end. And abruptly it did. I tumbled out of the tornado and crashed onto a cold marble floor. Half a second later, Gabriel appeared beside me, stepping coolly out of the portal just before it closed.

  “How come you didn’t crash?” I asked sulkily as he helped me to my feet.

  “I have done this a few times,” he said, looking around as he spoke.

  I followed suit. We had landed in some kind of antechamber, a small room with double doors at the east and west ends. The floor was black marble, the walls a stark white. There were no paintings, sculptures or decorations of any kind except on the doors. The doors were a heavy dark wood, polished to a high gloss. In the center of each set of doors was carved a large five-pointed star, and crossed over the star was a sword with a rose wrapped around its hilt. Outside the eastern set of doors was a small bench, with cherry legs and a red velvet cushion.

  There was no one to greet us, and no movement from behind the doors. I felt a little tremor of nerves in my stomach. I was about to meet my father.

  “I know it is not in your nature, but please hold your tongue and let me speak when we enter your father’s court,” Gabriel said as we approached the eastern set of doors.

  “Afraid I’ll start a civil war?” I asked dryly.

  “Something of that nature,” he said. “And you must not mention Evangeline unless you are alone with Lord Azazel. My lord has not revealed your visions to Lord Lucifer as of yet.”

  “Why not?” I asked. “Isn’t that a little . . . seditious?”

  “Quite probably,” Gabriel replied. “But Lord Azazel knows what he is about. He is understandably wary of drawing Lord Lucifer’s attention to you. Finally, you must not be too familiar with me when we enter the court.”

  “Why not?”

  “I am your inferior. It would be seen as an insult both to Lord Azazel and to yourself were I to behave as your equal.”

  He sounded so matter-of-fact that it pissed me off. “You are not my inferior in any way.”

  “To the Grigori, the fallen, the demonic, I am. This is a very different world you are about to enter, Madeline. Be careful where you tread.”

  Just as he reached for the silver doorknob, the handle turned on its own. The door opened inward and a surprisingly familiar figure stepped out.

  “You!” I cried. “What are you doing here?”

  Ms. Greenwitch narrowed her eerie gray eyes at me. “I could ask the same of you, cursed one.”

  I heard Gabriel’s sharp intake of breath beside me. “Whatever. I don’t really care why you’re here. You just keep the hell away from me.”

  “Madeline,” Gabriel said in an undertone. “You must not be so disrespectful. She is ...”

  “Disrespectful?” I said, my voice rising. “This crazy bitch blasted me for no apparent reason the last time I saw her.”

  The door was slightly ajar behind Ms. Greenwitch and I heard a rustle of movement from inside.

  “She did what?” Gabriel asked, looking from my furious face to Ms. Greenwitch’s stony one.

  “She blasted me. I tried to shake her hand and she lost her mind. Those bruises I had on me the last time you healed me weren’t just from Ramuell.”

  “Obviously I didn’t use enough power on you,” Ms. Greenwitch said icily. “I will take care to remedy that the next time.”

  “Cease at once,” Gabriel hissed. “Both of you. Your lives are in danger if you continue this quarrel. Lady Greenwitch, this is Lord Azazel’s daughter.”

  Greenwitch blanched. “What? She is his daughter?”

  “I’m guessing you didn’t check my references thoroughly enough,” I said snidely.

  “And Lady Greenwitch,” Gabriel said, turning to me, “is the mother of Lord Azazel’s only son, Antares.”

  I was confused. How could this woman, witch or otherwise, be the mother of that monster? But anger overrode my curiosity.

  “You’re Antares’s mother? You? You need to keep that jackass on a shorter leash,” I said, furious.

  “Now do you see the danger?” Gabriel said to Greenwitch.

  “I did not . . . I did not know,” Greenwitch said, her hand over her heart. “I had the vision . . . The vision I had did not show her origins, only her curse. Lord Azazel has always been careful to disguise her identity—I could not know!”

  “Nevertheless,” a voice said behind her, a voice so melodic and beautiful that it made me dizzy to hear it. “You have broken the word of Lord Azazel, and so must be punished.”

  The double doors swung open and revealed a crowd of about twenty people, all avidly listening to our conversation. At the forefront was a man so blindingly beautiful that I had to close my eyes and turn my head away for a moment. When I reopened them and turned back, his shine seemed to have dulled a bit, enough that I could look at him and the assemblage gathered behind him.

  There were no demons in this crowd. Each figure was clearly one of the fallen. Every one, male and female, had soft golden hair and dark blue eyes filled with a deep canvas of stars. Every one was surrounded by a soft aura of light and warmth. They were dressed in modern clothing—very expensive and chic modern clothing that looked incongruous next to the enormous white wings folded at their backs. I felt bereft without my wings, like the only one without a gun at a gunfight. Especially when I realized that Gabriel’s wings, usually hidden beneath his omnipresent black coat, had appeared sometime after we had arrived in the antechamber.

  The leader of the group was very tall, even taller than Gabriel, who outstripped me by at least a foot. Every feature was perfect, but there was no warmth in his face, only the coldness of stone. It diminished the effect of his beauty somewhat.

  “Lady Greenwitch,” he said, and reached out to grip her by the elbow. She looked like she was about to faint. He handed her off to someone standing behind her and the crowd moved farther into the room, the murmuring of their voices like the tinkling of silver bells.

  “What’s happening?” I hissed to Gabriel.

  He shook his head at me, as if to say, “Not now.”

  “Yes, now,” I whispered.

  He gave another little headshake as the leader turned back to me. The fallen angel gave me an embarrassingly deep bow.

  “My lady Madeline. It is my greatest honor to welcome you to your father’s court.” He reached for my hand and I sidled out of reach, put off by his obsequious manner. Annoyance flared in his eyes but he banked it quickly, so quickly I almost thought I imagined it.

  “And you are?” I asked.

  “Forgive me, my lady. You are correct. I am Nathaniel, Lord Azazel’s most trusted advisor, and he has asked me to escort you to his presence.” He looked at Gabriel and his mouth twisted into a sneer. “You are also to report to Lord Azazel, thrall.”

  Nathaniel held out his hand for me to take. I stared at him until his hand dropped to his side. Two bright spots of color appeared on Nathaniel’s cheekbones and I heard Gabriel sigh softly next to me.

  I didn’t care if I offended Nathaniel. Something about him struck me as shifty. And I didn’t like the way he talked to Gabriel at all. I didn’t want that creep touching me. What I did want was to take Gabriel’s hand and hold on tight, because at that moment I was terrified and unsure. What was happening to Ms. Greenwitch? What would my father think of me?

  “If you will fol
low me,” Nathaniel said abruptly and turned on his heel. I noted his pricey black leather boots as they rang out on the marble floor.

  We crossed into the room, which seemed to be a kind of parlor. I didn’t think much of the decorations, which leaned toward the Baroque. Gold leaf and heavy velvets everywhere, dark carved woods, silk wallpaper. There was a doorway at the far end of the room that led to a hallway, and at the end of the hallway was a wide marble staircase that swept upward in a long curl, so that the top of the stairs faced the direction opposite the bottom step.

  Nathaniel said nothing further. He led us past several more carved doors in the hallway, all closed, and I wondered what was behind them. Kitchen, dining room, guest room? Torture chambers? My father’s harem? Armies of the undead?

  We followed Nathaniel up the stairs in silence, my trepidation growing with every moment. The stairs opened to an enormous room flanked by white columns. The ceiling was at least thirty feet high and the room was about a hundred yards long. It was like entering a cathedral.

  Jewel-toned rugs were scattered all over the floor, and there were more pieces of uncomfortable-looking Baroque furniture artfully arranged throughout the room. Several dozen more of the fallen were here, and I got the impression that they had artfully arranged themselves as well. Whether this show was for my viewing pleasure or Azazel’s, I didn’t know.

  At the far end of the room a small crowd was gathered, blocking my view. Nathaniel walked forward, and as he walked every person in the room turned to look at us, and there were whispers as we passed.

  “That’s her.”

  “Who?”

  “Lord Azazel’s daughter.”

  “That’s Madeline?”

  “Awfully small, isn’t she?”

  “Where are her wings?”

  “That can’t be her. She’s too puny.”

  “She’s supposed to be half human.”

  I ignored the whispers, which were surely meant to reach my ears. So what if this bunch of beautiful poseurs didn’t think I looked like much? I knew the content of my own character, and I didn’t need their approval.

  But they, I thought with sudden amusement, probably need mine. After all, Gabriel said I was something like a princess here.

  The thought brought a mischievous smile. Gabriel, ever attuned to my changes of mood, looked at me with a question in his eyes.

  Later, I mouthed.

  The crowd around us parted as quietly as water, and the tableau before me wiped the smile from my face.

  Ms. Greenwitch knelt on the floor, her back to me, her hands clasped in front of her. A guard stood beside her, also turned away from me. Facing Ms. Greenwitch was the man who could only be my father. I had a little start when I realized he didn’t look that much older than I did. I supposed I had forgotten he was an angel and, though he’d lived thousands of millennia, would not have aged. I guess I had always kept a vision of him as looking, well, fatherly.

  Instead, he looked like a well-heeled businessman in his thirties, but I could see muscles bulging beneath his tailored blue shirt. He was the first person at the court that I had seen with dark hair besides Gabriel and myself. It was jet-black and cut short on the sides, longer on the top. I saw with a jolt of recognition that his nose was the same as mine, straight and defined, and his ears were also the same shape as my own. He did not have the same sunshiny aura as the rest of the angels, but there was a sense of controlled power around him that the others did not have. He frowned thunderously down at Ms. Greenwitch, and his anger was so palpable that I shuddered.

  Then my father looked up, and I had another shock when I saw my eyes, my own dark eyes, burning with the fury of the stars.

  I might have run to him, embraced him. I might have had a moment of embarrassed tears, overwhelmed by my feelings for this man who had fathered me, this man whom I had never seen before this moment. But none of those things happened.

  Lord Azazel looked at me, and he said, “Daughter, is it true that this woman harmed you?”

  Every eye was on me with laser intensity, including Ms. Greenwitch’s. There was blood on her mouth and a scrape across her cheek. Her strange gray eyes overflowed with tears.

  I realized that her well-being depended on my answer. She had already admitted to harming me in front of witnesses, but perhaps I could downplay what had happened.

  “It was a misunderstanding,” I said firmly. “No harm done.”

  “Did she physically harm you? Did she draw your blood?” Azazel demanded.

  I thought about smashing against her living room wall, being shocked by bolts of power. “It was really nothing.”

  I felt stupid, pinned by the intensity of his eyes and the lash of power in his voice. I should be doing more to help her.

  “But you were harmed at her hand?” Azazel pressed.

  “Um ...”

  “Yes or no?” he said, and the command in his voice put my back up.

  “No harm done,” I said again, meeting his eyes boldly.

  Azazel narrowed his eyes at me. “A truth of a kind, but not all of it. Gabriel?”

  “Don’t you dare,” I hissed under my breath.

  “I cannot refuse my lord, Madeline,” he said in a whisper so low that I barely heard him. “I am sorry.”

  Then he stepped forward and said, “By her own word and before a witness, Lady Greenwitch physically harmed your daughter, the Lady Madeline.”

  Ms. Greenwitch dropped her head to her chest and let out a sob. I looked at Gabriel, whose face was white.

  My father nodded at the guard standing beside Ms. Greenwitch. Before I could speak, he pulled a sword that looked like it was made of lightning from a sheath at his side. The sword swung to her neck as I stood frozen in horror, and her head rolled and came to a stop at my feet.

  15

  AZAZEL LOOKED IMPASSIVELY AT THE BODY OF HIS lover, now slumped and headless on the ground. The lightning sword had cauterized the wound immediately, so there was no blood leaking on the fancy rug.

  Pretty handy. You know, for when you’ve just got to have that execution in your living room, I thought a little hysterically.

  Despite all of Gabriel’s warnings, somehow I had never really considered that it would come to this. I hadn’t believed that a person could be killed so easily, so blithely, for nothing at all.

  And it was my fault. I hadn’t done enough, said enough, to prevent Greenwitch’s death. My own fear was not an excuse. Her murder was on my soul, even if I hadn’t been the one holding the sword.

  “Your forgiveness, my lady,” the guard said as he bent before me to scoop up Greenwitch’s head. I noticed, in a distant part of my brain, that he looked completely human save for the large fangs that jutted over his lower lip.

  Azazel raised his eyes to the assemblage. I turned my head slightly to look at them, and I noted that not one of them seemed shocked by the suddenness of death in their midst. I also realized that I hadn’t seen an Agent come to take Greenwitch’s soul. What did that mean?

  “Lady Greenwitch has been tried and executed according to the law. Let this be a warning to all those who would doubt my word. If you harm my daughter, you will pay the same price.” My father turned his burning gaze upon me and held out his hand.

  Something inside me froze, like a small mammal hiding from a predator. But I knew what was expected of me. I walked to him, coolly stepping around the body that lay between us, and placed my icy hand in his outstretched one. His skin was hot, hotter than Gabriel’s, so hot that it hurt me a little to touch him.

  Spontaneous applause broke out as Azazel kissed my hand.

  “Daughter,” he murmured, and his eyes surveyed me keenly, as if assessing my value.

  “Father,” I said, and gave him a little nod of acknowledgment.

  “Walk with me,” he commanded, and I didn’t dare disobey.

  The assembled crowd fell back, breaking into small groups. Cocktails and hors d’oeuvres appeared on trays that floated around the ro
om. Murmured conversation filled the air.

  Azazel tucked my arm through his and walked toward the front of the room, away from the crowd. The proximity was uncomfortable. The power that radiated from him was much more potent up close, strong enough to make me feel a tinge of nausea. The heat coming off him was also too much in close quarters. Finally, I didn’t know him, for all that he was my father. I have never been comfortable touching strangers.

  Nathaniel and Gabriel followed us, hanging back far enough not to eavesdrop. My father led me to one of the many windows that ran along each side of the chamber. Each one started at the ceiling and fell to about three feet above the floor. On a sunny day, with all the windows open, the angels would have sparkled like jewels in the light. But the day that we faced as we came to the window was overcast and gray. I wondered what it was like at home, and what Beezle was doing while I was gone. Eating popcorn and pacing, probably.

  Azazel released my arm and turned to me. I was relieved that he had let me go and hoped that it didn’t show on my face.

  His eyes flicked over me again, penetrating. I said nothing. Gone was all of the bravado that I had spat at Gabriel in my living room only an hour earlier. I was afraid of this man. I had seen his ruthlessness, and I had no doubt that he would kill me as easily as he had killed Greenwitch if I displeased him.

  After several discomfiting moments he spoke. “You look very like me.”

  “You could have found that out anytime in the last thirty-two years,” I said, and immediately regretted it. What had happened to my caution, my self-preservation?

  I expected him to hit me, or blast me with magic, but instead he threw his head back and laughed.

  “Gabriel told me that you had spirit. I am glad. It will aid you in the future.”

  “Aid me in what?” I asked, my usual truculent personality emerging despite my best efforts. “My snappy wit hasn’t prevented Ramuell from trying to kill me several times over.”

  Azazel sobered immediately. “Yes, Ramuell. I am sorry, Daughter, that I have not done a better job of protecting you.”

  “Are you sorry that you weren’t there, or that you didn’t send Gabriel sooner?” I watched him carefully. This answer was important to me.