Little Bird (Anna Series Book 2)

by Lee Alan

  Corey heard the creaking hinges of the door behind him, and he silently sent up a prayer of thanks. He’d suffered from panic attacks since the death of his parents, and the bag trick had proven to be one of the few things to control his breathing when experiencing the worst episodes.

  He could see a dainty hand curl around the heavy, antique frame and push it further inward. Corey didn’t recognize the woman in the spectacular dress, at first, until he registered the visitor as Claire. Although she’d spent a lot of time with Anna over the past few months, she’d treated him with something approaching disdain. With that in mind, as well as the fact that Anna so obviously needed female company, he’d learned to avoid her. So it was with some surprise that he greeted her now. She appeared drawn, even under her heavy makeup.

  “How is she?” he asked, the collar of his starched shirt feeling like a noose around his neck. “Does she like the day, so far?”

  “She likes the boat.” Claire’s expression didn’t match the sentiment.

  “Oh, thanks, I was so worried she’d freak about,” he waved a frilled sleeve around at the grand venue, “all this.” For some reason, Corey didn’t feel the relief he’d just indicated.

  Claire stepped into the room and glided toward him, lifting the heavy dress as she did so.

  “She asked if you are okay.”

  Corey held his head in response. “I’m just so nervous,” he said. “I wanted to make this the best day for her, but now that it’s come to it, I wish I’d just booked a suite in Vegas without all the…” he waved his hand again.

  “Wicked self–indulgence?”

  “Well, sorta, but… was it too much to expect that arrogant, overpaid ass, Lawrence, to at least give me a God damn hair cut?” he said, picking up the steel scissors that, a few minutes before, he’d considered using to give himself a trim. He tossed them back onto the table to emphasize his frustration.

  “Don’t insult the Lord’s name.”

  “What? Oh, sorry,” he mumbled, embarrassed by his outburst. “I know its Anna’s big day, and I wouldn’t change that for the world, but I look like a sack of shit!” he added, trying to explain in more reasonable terms.

  There was a pause. “I can cut hair.”

  “Really?”

  “I used to be hair dresser.” The offer sounded genuine, but he just wished it had been made with a little more warmth.

  “Claire, thank you so much. I’d really appreciate it.” He felt happier, already. “I don’t want to get married looking like a scarecrow in a suit.” The joke only gained fleeting movement from her lips.

  Without speaking, she lifted the dress once more before moving to stand behind him. Only then did he notice the sea–grey gaze contemplating him. He hadn’t been this close to her until now, and he made a mental note to be a little kinder to Claire. They hadn’t gotten off on the right foot, but this was a favor he planned to return.

  She picked up a nearby towel and placed it around his shoulders before grasping the scissors. The heavy metal of the sharp blades grated against the ancient, dark wood dresser as she brought them behind his head. He found the slow, deliberate action strangely disconcerting. Is her hand trembling?

  He could see her inspecting the lethal, yet mundane implements, and then came the sensation of the cold steel sliding against his neck. She took a single snip of hair while resting her other hand on his left shoulder.

  “Thanks so much, again. Do you think we have enough time?” he asked, finding the silence uncomfortable.

  “If the Lord wills it.”

  His gaze flicked back to her. Above her cleavage, a small, silver cross hung around her neck. “That’s a pretty necklace,” he said, determined to distract himself from the events ahead.

  “My father gave it to me.”

  There was another snip as the steel started to warm against his skin. “That’s nice.”

  “Not really.” Snip. More silence. Corey didn’t trust himself to speak further. “Do you really know her?” she asked.

  “Anna? I’d like to think so.” He laughed uncomfortably.

  “Then she must have told you she was engaged to another.”

  “Yes, but we don’t talk about it.” His face flushed in anger at the inappropriate question.

  “God sees a betrothal as a contract, you pathetic fornicator!” Claire spat the words. “She already belongs to him!” The hand on his shoulder became a clamp, and Corey turned to face her, shocked. “We both belong to him—to Tony,” she said, as the raging torrent beneath the calm surface rose to the fore. “An eye for an eye, my love.”

  The scissors glittered in the afternoon sunshine as she raised them above his stunned face. The point plunged downward and time slowed. Something primal took over in Corey, and he felt himself thrusting his body to the left and knocking her arm aside.

  He continued his desperate bid for life, even as he knew his efforts would be too late. A searing lance of agony erupted in his collar bone, sending pulsing aftershocks down his right arm like a rolling sheet of molten lead. He tumbled to the floor, his skull cracking painfully against the edge of the table as he went.

  Corey scrambled while his mind tried to respond to the alarm bells ringing through his body. Clawing back some semblance of rational thought, he realized that he lay face down against the flags. He tried to push himself upward, but the effort made him scream as a fresh wave of jarring, hot fire coursed down his injured right shoulder. The dark stones swam before his vision as he felt himself passing out. At which point, you are dead, and Anna will be left to pick up the pieces.

  “No!” he cried, pressing down with his left hand and flipping himself onto his back, like a stranded turtle. He found her bending toward him with blood dripping from the end of the scissor blades. Any semblance of sanity had left her face, only to be replaced by a hate–filled sneer.

  “Heretic filth!” she screeched, going in for the kill. ”You led her from the righteous path, away from the family of our lord. I will bring her back to the light, back to our betrothed.”

  The heavy dress slowed her enough to give his battered senses time to come up with one last roll of the dice. He pushed himself further onto his good shoulder, straining with effort, until he lay panting on his side. As Claire approached, he swept his leg around and connected with her ankles. She tumbled to the ground beside him, thudding against the hard floor, causing the air to rush from her jolted lungs with a gasp.

  He tried to clamber on top of her and wrestle away the vicious weapon still clutched in her fist, but the problem became clear with brutal speed. With his good arm pinned beneath him, this left only his damaged right to try to grab the blade from her. He tried a feeble snatch at the pincers while she remained stunned, but the metal was slick with blood, making a firm grip impossible.

  Claire blinked, like a corpse revived, before turning her head toward him, her gaze fixing on his once more. The blow to her head must’ve hurt, because one of her pupils had blown, causing a red ring to form around her grey iris. The once–mysterious sea of hers now ran red with blood.

  Corey could feel her body tense before she whipped the scissors over her head at his exposed face again. He caught her wrist halfway, though, and she roared in frustration, redoubling her efforts to push against the resistance. At the same time, she turned her frame to lever more force.

  He could feel himself losing the battle; the agony was unbearable, and he was getting weaker as his life force ebbed from the bleeding wound she’d inflicted. Sweat broke out on his forehead while the deadly struggle continued. Inexorably, his vision filled with the blade point moving ever closer to its soft destination.

  Corey’s soul filled with horror, but overriding this was the knowledge that the woman he loved would be destitute, yet again. She didn’t deserve that. The thought sustained him beyond endurance to withstand the agony, but willpower alone would not be enough. The blade loomed, and at any second, his tortured muscle would give way.

  Please, le
t her get through this and be happy, he sent up a final prayer before the inevitable.

  The sound of a crashing slam interrupted their death struggle, and then the pressure lifted. At first, he thought the battle had gone against him and what he now experienced was the cocoon of oblivion before the final curtain descended. He closed his eyes, sending up thanks for not feeling further pain.

  “Mr. Young? Sir! Are you okay?” The gravelly, low voice belonged to Matt Smith, the head of his security team.

  Corey’s eyes flicked open. The final proof that he remained with the living came from the fresh protests of agony coming from his body. Under normal circumstances, Matt wouldn’t be considered a good–looking man by any stretch, but right then, he appeared like an angel.

  “Sir, we’ve got her,” he went on. “Jesus, you’re injured! Johnson, get me an ambulance!”

  “Get me up,” Corey said through lips which suddenly felt parched.

  “No way! You can’t be moved,” he replied. “I can’t believe it! We got a call from the US to warn us. Jesus! That was way too close, damn it!” Corey heard the ripping sound of cloth and then pressure being applied to his collar, causing him to cry out in pain.

  “Sorry, sir, but I need to stop the bleeding.”

  “I said get me up!” Corey demanded.

  “But—”

  “Just do it!”

  He feared that the burly ex–marine would refuse his request at first, but after a pause, Corey could feel strong arms move him into a sitting position. For a second, his vision swam before settling enough to allow him to focus on the bloody scene around him. Claire still lay beside him, pressed face–down on the floor underneath two members of the security team. She didn’t struggle against the plastic cuffs binding her wrists, but continued to radiate a look of pure venom toward him.

  “I stopped it!” she hissed. “I stopped the wedding, just as he asked of me. Praise the vengeance of the Lord!”

  Corey hadn’t had time to grasp the full nature of what the attack had meant through the turmoil of the past minute. While he stared into her wild, blood–shot eyes, though, the words she’d spoken hit him with a terrible force. She said, “Tony…” he realized, “We both belong to Tony.”

  A deep rage filled him. She served the creature who’d brought such anguish to the person he loved most. Somehow, the bastard Eckerman had managed to slink into their lives again. The specter of evil had returned to haunt them.

  She cackled. “Lost for words, eh, fornicator?”

  The urge to kick her took him over, and with a sudden burst of anger propelling him through the pain, he rose to his feet.

  “Sir, please, wait for the ambulance!”

  Corey shuffled over to Claire. If she was scared by the gesture, she didn’t show it. “Go ahead, strike me. I am but a daughter of Eve—we deserve to be punished for tempting Adam! We are but the rib!”

  Cool understanding washed through Corey. He knew how to defy the beast and this pathetic excuse for a woman. “Fetch me my jacket,” he said to a fourth member of the security team standing in the open doorway.

  “But the ambulance?” Matt sounded confused. “You can’t…”

  “I said: fetch me my jacket. My hair will have to do,” Corey said, looking into the mirror at the glassy–eyed figure before him. He grabbed a packet of wet wipes off the dresser with a trembling hand before cleaning the red flecks from his face. Matt followed his movement, pressing the rapidly–soaking cloth against him.

  “What are you doing?” Claire asked with a note of apprehension in her voice.

  “Matt, wrap my shoulder,” Corey said, ignoring her.

  “I really don’t think that’s a good idea, sir.”

  “Just do it.”

  “You’re the boss,” Matt said reluctantly, taking his make–shift bandage and binding his employer’s wound. No sooner had he begun to adjust the position of the dressing than Corey went light–headed. He swayed until Matt clamped him between two vice–like hands.

  “Where are you going?” Claire asked, her voice rising.

  “To get married.” With that, he turned and began to limp down the hallway.

  “No, stop!” she screamed as he reached the exit and leaned against it.

  He paused to take a breath. “You’re not fit to be called a woman.” He pointed in the direction of the great hall. “She belongs to herself and no one else.”

  ***

  Anna didn’t feel the least bit surprised that Claire hadn’t returned. In fact, she felt relieved, because her friend had clearly been wilting under the pressure. She hoped Corey had spotted her obvious distress and told her to take some time out. Hermon, however, remained a concern.

  As promised, the boy had followed her closely since his mother’s departure. Anna gave him the occasional glance to check that he was okay, and whenever she looked, the little man beamed, seeming happy to tag along in such grand surroundings.

  She made slow progress toward the wide, stone steps leading to the ornate building dominating the view from the lawn. So many guests passed ahead of her into what the staff called the painted hall that her throat ached from returning their compliments. By the time she came to stand before the surprisingly modest, rectangular, stone entrance, she felt like a marathon runner with one last milestone before reaching the finish line.

  The columns lining the entire face of the structure on either side of the doorway dared her to wonder what might be on the other side. Two uniformed footmen opened the wood–panelled doors and beckoned her to enter. Only she and Hermon remained outside, and he took her hand.

  “Here goes,” she said, squeezing the posies for luck before stepping forward. On the threshold, she paused and looked down at Hermon. “Hermie?”

  “Yes, Auntie A?” He’d never called her that before.

  “Will you give me away?” The question caught in her throat. She’d agreed with Corey, considering her family situation, that they’d be bold and do without the tradition. Now, however, as she stood on the verge of the most important moment of her life, she missed her daddy.

  “Give you away?” Hermon cried. “I can’t give you away! You’re worth, like, a million–billion dollars!”

  Just a million or so, kid, she thought, smiling. “Just to Corey, kiddo.”

  “Oh well, that’s fine, then. I like him.”

  She let out a long breath, puffed away the wisp of hair falling into her eyes, and then stepped in. At first, Anna could only see a checkered marble floor. As she gazed beyond a short flight of stairs leading up, however, her jaw dropped open.

  The most vivid, life–like frescoes covered every inch of the walls and ceiling of the massive hall. High above her, within a halo–like, golden border, a couple wearing crowns sat upon a cloud surrounded by cherubs. It was a vision of Heaven. To her right and left, the guests had gathered upon rows of silver chairs, and all looked to her. Light blazed through high, wide windows, illuminating her path to the altar. The two figures standing at the far end made her heart leap with Joy. Corey. The traditional sound of the Bridal March burst through the hall, making her swell with expectation. It’s all for me, Anna marvelled.

  She stepped carefully up the short set of stairs leading onto the main plaza and became entranced by the spectacle. Every column plinth had been painted a radiant gold and each windowsill appeared embossed with silver roses.

  Corey hadn’t looked back, yet. He gazed ahead at the most stunning of all the images in the painted hall, which depicted more angels upon their celestial thrones. The whole elaborate scene gave the illusion of real depth, though, as if Corey and the green–robed priest stood before the gates of paradise, waiting for someone to join them before crossing over.

  The music surged, and she stepped down the sun–dappled length of the checkered floor with Hermon in hand. Everyone fixed their attention upon her and the boy, and she continued through the fairytale scene, until stopping beside her groom. Only then did he turn to face her. Corey looked ve
ry pale, but he still managed a wan, genuine smile. She took his left hand and squeezed his palm.

  “Thank you,” she mouthed.

  His smile widened, but not with his usual puppy–like enthusiasm. He looked deeply weary, and bead of sweat ran down his brow. And as he took her hand in his, she could feel a slight tremble in his clammy palm. It appeared that this day had tested even his boundless energy. The song ended, and she could hear the guests shuffling and whispering in anticipation.

  “We are gathered here today to witness one of life’s greatest moments—to bring together man and woman under the union of marriage.” The red–cheeked priest greeted them all. “Marriage is a sacred promise to be made between two people that, once made, shall forever unite you both until death.” He paused to stare at them from under metal–rimmed spectacles, as if to emphasize the point.

  Anna realized this would be a good time to inform the cleric of her decision about Hermon. “He is giving me away,” she whispered to him while nodding toward the boy. The rotund man of God gave a solemn nod and then winked at Hermon.

  “Before I continue, may I ask who is giving this woman away?”

  “Lord Hermon of Arizona!” Hermie declared, puffing up his chest with importance. The congregation chuckled at the grand announcement.

  “Very well, Lord Hermon of Arizona. You may join the other guests, now,” the priest said. An usher stepped in to lead the boy aside, leaving both of them to complete their vows.

  “Corey Young, will you take Anna Price to be your wife? Will you love her, comfort her, honor and protect her, and, forsaking all others, be faithful to her as long as you both shall live?”

  “I will.” Corey’s voice sounded strained, and Anna wondered if the emotion had gotten the better of him.

  Oh dear, I hope he doesn’t faint.

  She noticed that Matt, the head of Corey’s security team, stood close by. He had an unusual look of anxiety on his rugged features, causing a small measure of worry to mix with her excitement.

  “Anna Price, will you take Corey Young to be your husband? Will you love him, comfort him, honor and protect him, and, forsaking all others, be faithful to him as long as you both shall live?”