All Who Wander Are Lost (An Icarus Fell Novel)

by Bruce Blake

  Michael smiled and said nothing, but she thought she heard his answer in his lack of words.

  “He didn’t kill her,” Piper said derisively. “You did.”

  Poe looked at her, surprised, mouth agape.

  “No. I saw him.”

  “Everyone knows you took her soul.”

  “It was my job. I had no choice.”

  Piper took a step away from the bars toward Poe, lips curled in a smirk.

  “Really? Is that what you tell Icarus?”

  Poe’s lips pressed into a colorless line as she struggled not respond to Piper’s baiting but found herself unable to stop.

  “He doesn’t know,” she said, her cheeks flushing at the memory of him standing by the doorway.

  It wasn’t real, it was an illusion, part of my Hell.

  “Or so you think.”

  “No.” Poe stepped away from the bars, closing the gap between her and Piper to less than ten feet. “I’ve never told him. I never told anyone.”

  “And yet he was there, wasn’t he?”

  “How do you know?”

  Piper shrugged. “I know what he knows. If you’d refused, none of this would have happened.”

  “I had no choice,” Poe said and glanced back at Michael for help. His smile was gone but his eyes shone as if he enjoyed their exchange. He offered no assistance.

  “There’s always a choice,” Piper chided.

  “No. They’d have punished me.”

  “Instead you allowed Sister Agnes to be punished. And Icarus. And Trevor and the others.”

  “No, I--”

  “It’s your fault. All of it.”

  “No.” Poe forced the word through her gritted teeth.

  “You could have stopped it. You could have saved them all.”

  Each woman took a step forward, further closing the gap. Piper glanced over Poe’s shoulder at Michael, then looked back into her eyes, the smirk on her face expanding.

  “Why don’t you admit you fucked up. Your selfishness cost people their lives.”

  Piper’s words poked Poe’s heart, the truth in them catching her off guard. She may not have caused all this on purpose, but her actions—her own or those she was made to perform—were the first in a long string of cause and effect leading them all here to this place, this moment.

  Poe’s resolve quaked, her lip quivered.

  She’s right. I could have stopped it.

  “It’s my fault,” she said, her voice merely a whisper.

  “What?” Piper prompted.

  “It’s my fault,” Poe repeated, louder this time. “I took the nun’s soul. I could have kept all of this from happening.”

  “So it’s true.”

  The familiar voice at her back made it feel as though her heart sank into her gut where the acid in her stomach immediately began the job of digesting it.

  Icarus.

  She didn’t face him. The mish-mash of feelings in her—embarrassment, anger, sadness, love—made her head spin. She couldn’t bear to see the look on Icarus’ face, the disappointment she imagined in his eyes. Her head lolled forward in despair as she tried to sort through the emotions and use them to decide what to do next.

  Then Piper laughed, not with humor, but a heartless, hurtful laugh. One emotion burst to the fore, making her decision for her: hatred.

  Poe’s fist connected with Piper’s mouth driving the stud piercing the spot below her bottom lip hard into her teeth. Piper stumbled from the blow and Poe jumped her, driving her to the ground.

  †‡†

  “It’s my fault. I took the nun’s soul. I could have kept all of this from happening.”

  Poe’s words entered my ear and echoed around my head, each ricochet adding to my anger. Michael looked toward me, then his eyes found Trevor and his expression changed.

  “So it’s true.”

  Poe didn’t turn but I saw her body tense, her head droop. Next, I expected her to face me with apologetic puppy dog eyes seeking forgiveness but Piper laughed and Poe snapped. Her fist looped out and caught Piper in the jaw.

  “No,” I shouted as Piper staggered back a step.

  Poe launched herself at my one-time lover and rode her to the ground. I took a step forward, thinking I might reach the cage and stop Poe before too much damage was done to either of them, but I walked directly into the brick wall of the archangel Michael. I didn’t bother asking how he got from there to here so quickly—understanding the dynamics of angels was worse than figuring out quantum physics.

  I bounced off his chest and looked up at him but his eyes were on Trevor standing behind me. A second later, I felt Trev’s hand on my arm, pulling at my sleeve. I looked at him and the expression of fear on his face surprised me. Until now, he’d seemed unattached from the goings-on around him, but now he stared up into the archangel’s face with a look like he thought the right hand of God was about to cuff him.

  An alarm bell went off in my head and fatherly instinct I hadn’t paid much attention to in far too long made me step between the angel and my son. I opened my mouth to ask Michael what he was doing here but was caught off guard when it sounded like someone else’s voice came from my mouth.

  “Michael.”

  It took a second to register someone else must be here—my voice didn’t usually carry the deep resonance present in the word. I hadn’t noticed Azrael standing a few yards to my left. I looked from one to the other, astounded by how much they looked alike. Other than hair color and attire, they could have been the same person.

  Maybe they are.

  “I was just leaving, brother.” Disdain smothered his last word.

  “Then leave.”

  I looked back toward Michael, but he’d already disappeared. Trevor’s grip on my sleeve tightened, yanked at me once, then let go. I spun around and found out where Mikey went. He hugged Trevor around the chest, not a bear hug, but the way an uncle might embrace his favorite nephew. Only, in this case, the nephew looked terrified.

  “What are you doing?” Some of Trevor’s panic showed up in my voice.

  “Keeping him safe from the likes of him,” Michael answered gesturing toward Azrael with his chin.

  “It is not me Icarus need worry about, is it, Michael?” Azrael said.

  I glanced at the angel of death who’d moved closer without looking like a man who’d moved. His eyes gleamed like he knew something I didn’t.

  No shit, he’s a deposed archangel. He knows a lot you don’t, idiot.

  “Worry about yourself, Icarus, not your son,” Michael said. “I will take care of Trevor.”

  Behind me, I heard the sounds of fighting—scuffling, grunting, flesh contacting flesh—but ignored it. Trevor shook his head at Mikey’s words, his look of panic holding steady as he reached out a hand toward me. His lips moved and he finally found his voice.

  “Dad, he--”

  Three things happened at once: I stretched out my hand and my fingers brushed Trevor’s. In that instant of contact, a flash of shadowy figures in a churchyard came to my mind. It was my death, but this time there were four men. I recognized myself and the two hoodlums who killed me, but the fourth face eluded my view. It might have come clear if the second and third things didn’t happen: Azrael jumped at Michael, diverting my attention from my son, and the blond archangel disappeared.

  Trevor disappeared along with him.

  Azrael’s arms swung through empty air instead of grabbing Mike. I jumped forward irrationally thinking I might somehow grab hold of Trevor and bring him back. It didn’t happen. Instead, my shoulder bumped Azrael’s and the now-familiar shock which accompanied an angel’s touch shot through me like someone soaked me with a hose and hooked me up to a car battery. My back teeth chattered together and I fell to the ground in a heap. I closed my eyes for what seemed like a second but might have been closer to eternity. When I opened them, I looked up into the face of the angel-of-death looming over me.

  “The time has come,” he said. “It is t
ime to choose.”

  He offered his hand, but I wasn’t falling for that again. When someone tricks you into touching a nine-volt battery to your tongue once, you don’t intentionally do it again. Not without someone daring you or offering money, at least.

  I climbed to my feet, all my muscles aching, and brushed orange-red dust off my clothes.

  “Where did Mikey take my son?”

  “I am sure he will be safe. I told you he did not belong here.”

  “But it’s not his time to go to Heaven yet, either. Is it?”

  Azrael acted like he didn’t hear me. Typical archangel. Instead, he gestured toward the cages encircling us. They were all populated again, though every one of the occupants looked a little worse-for-wear.

  “You can choose only one.”

  I breathed deep and ground my teeth together as I glanced from cage to cage.

  Bruce Blake-All Who Wander Are Lost

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Father Dominic slouched in the farthest corner of the first cage, though it hardly appeared he needed anything to keep him from leaving. He looked more like a heap of old clothes than a man. I peered in at him, curious to see what damage he’d taken and only slightly disgusted with myself to find I hoped it was real bad. It was. His left arm was twisted at a grotesque angle, the dent in his skull was big enough to keep a small melon from rolling away.

  “Not him, take me.”

  Marty’s voice. He occupied a cage by himself rather than sharing with Todd like before. It seemed odd they weren’t together, they’d become a package deal in my mind: Marty and Todd, Todd and Marty. Where you found Marty, you found Todd.

  “You wanted to kill me,” I said amending my path to take me to Marty.

  “I was doing what I had to.”

  He glared at me, hands gripping the bars, drool running down his chin, the skin on his face reddened like he’d spent way too long at the beach. The man before me resembled the Marty I’d spent nights drinking away my life with, but in a distant-cousin kind of way. Like someone peeled his face off for a souvenir and left behind vague remnants. I cringed at the thought and started to walk away.

  “Ric, come on. You don’t know what it’s like down here.”

  “Don’t listen to him, Ric. I’m the one who was always there for you.”

  Todd populated the cage beside Marty’s. It appeared he’d escaped the effects of Trevor’s bucket of water, which explained why I’d lost track of him at Hell-Sully’s—he’d been hiding.

  “What the Hell did you ever do for me? You were a puppet. Marty may as well have taken a ventriloquist course to keep me from seeing his lips move every time you spoke.”

  My comment made Marty spew an abbreviated guffaw, but Todd looked as though I’d spit on the love letter he handed me.

  “I didn’t try to kill you.”

  “You didn’t stop them, either.”

  His mouth opened and closed a couple of times like a suffocating fish. I moved on to the next cage while he found his voice and found Tony McSweeney slumped in the corner. He scrambled to his feet. I flipped him the bird and moved on.

  Orlando Albert looked like a man clinging to life. The holes in his flesh had begun to rot around the edges; brownish blood and green-tinged pus oozed from his open wounds. The smell emanating from him made me crinkle my nose in disgust, reminding me of the head butt the priest so kindly gave me without asking for recompense. Considerate.

  I touched my poor nose and flinched at the pain as I moved past the half-eaten drug dealer without pausing to make rude gestures at him. He was a bad man, but he already looked to have gotten what he deserved. Why waste a good bird flip?

  The next cage must have been designed for a small animal, because it wasn’t big enough for an adult to stand in. My mother sat cross-legged in the center, the black and white nun’s garb she’d been wearing when I last saw her replaced by a gray, shapeless dress streaked with dirt. Her chin rested on her chest, her long hair was fallen forward hiding her face. I stopped in front of her and gripped the bars with both hands. The cage was small enough I could have reached in and touched her. I didn’t.

  “Mother.” She didn’t look up. There was blood on her hands. “Please.”

  She raised her head. As her hair fell away from her face, a few strands stuck to the tears streaking her cheeks. She peered into my eyes for a moment before speaking.

  “Your face,” she said reaching between the bars.

  At first I pulled away. My nose hurt incredibly—much thanks to the drug dealer for reminding me—and didn’t want her to touch it and remind me further. But, for some reason, I couldn’t keep myself from her touch.

  It might be the last time.

  I leaned in and allowed her fingers to brush the bump that wasn’t there before Father Dominic’s introduced his forehead to the bridge of my nose. Pain shot through my face, but I didn’t pull away. She moved her fingers to my forehead and laid her palm over my nose. My face throbbed. Beneath the pain, unnoticeable at first, a warmth kindled and spread, filling my nostrils, my sinuses. It overtook the pain until my mother’s hand resting over my face felt like a gently applied hot water bottle.

  When she took her hand away, I brought my own fingers to my nose, tested it. Both pain and bump were gone. I smiled at her and she did her best to return it but looked like she dealt with her own pain, though I expected it wasn’t physical.

  I felt it, too.

  “Come with me.”

  She shook her head like she did before. “I belong here.”

  “She wants to stay,” Azrael’s all-male-choir voice sing-songed behind me.

  I pivoted toward the sound of his voice and was surprised to find he stood only a few paces behind me.

  “You did this to her,” I said feeling a familiar anger building in my gut. “She’s here because of you.”

  Azrael didn’t answer. His eyes glowed, his hair moved as if blown by some unfelt breeze, but his expression remained neutral, unreadable. I felt my mother’s hand on my shoulder.

  “Don’t blame him. Why I’m here is of no significance. I’m here and I shall stay.”

  I looked back to her, at the sadness in her eyes. This wasn’t an easy decision for either of us, but it was out of my hands.

  “Will I ever see you again?”

  “Who knows what the future holds.”

  She drew her hand back through the bars, settled back into the tried and true ‘criss-cross applesauce’. It made me smile a little.

  “Take care of yourself, M--.” I realized I didn’t know what to call her. All the forms of ‘mother’ felt unfamiliar and uncomfortable on my lips.

  “Azrael takes care of me.”

  I nodded and reluctantly moved on to the next cage.

  Poe had climbed off Piper, allowing her to regain her feet. They stood on opposite sides of the enclosure, eyeing each other warily. A trickle of blood ran down Piper’s chin from her swollen lower lip.

  “Icarus,” she said, the word distorted by the swelling.

  I didn’t respond, instead looking at Poe before turning my attention to Piper. Memories swirled through my head, confusing me, throwing a haze over my ability to make a decision. Only two possibilities remained: my guardian angel whose loyalty was in question and a woman who’d come out of nowhere with uncertain motives.

  How can I decide?

  Bruce Blake-All Who Wander Are Lost

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  I stared at the two of them, blank faced. Behind me, I felt Azrael’s presence as he looked on, waiting for me to choose who would go back with me and who would remain in Hell, and I wondered if he preferred one choice over the other. Did one soul hold more value to him? Should that be part of my decision?

  “She killed your mother,” Piper said pointing across the cage at Poe.

  “She’s a Carrion,” Poe responded.

  I stared at Piper for a few seconds then moved my head without taking my eyes off her so Azrael would know I spok
e to him.

  “Is that true?”

  I heard a movement, a brush of fabric, and the cage in front of me disappeared. I stood at the corner of a busy street, traffic rushing past me. I’d been here before, when Mike showed me what happened when I wasn’t available to do my job. Directly across the street, the woman gripped her son’s hand while the boy held a red toy car concealed in the other. I wanted to look away but couldn’t.

  I’ve seen this before. Why send me here?

  Curiosity kept my eyes on the woman and child.

  The boy moved his hand to look at his prize and it slipped from his grip and fell into the street. He released his mother’s hand, leaned forward, and I saw something I didn’t see before—he could have reached the toy safely. A black-clad figure I hadn’t noticed standing behind them pressed a finger to his back, over-balancing him.

  I knew what happened next but found myself rushing across the busy road anyway, avoiding cars as the mother threw her son to safety and took the impact meant for him. She hit the post, spun a circle, the collision jarring her soul free of her body. Within seconds, the Carrion appeared at her side, gripped her arm to lead her away, but his time I was close enough to see the Carrion’s face.

  This time I saw Piper.

  I reached out to wrest the woman’s soul from her, my fingers brushing the back of the soul’s arm, then I was back in the clearing surrounded by cages, my arm stuck between the bars, reaching for Piper. She stared at me, a look of confusion on her face.

  “It’s not true,” she said. “Whatever you saw, it’s not true.”

  I glared at her, not knowing what to say or believe. Even with the fat lip, her beauty touched me, triggered pleasant memories of the cave, her body, her flesh pressed against mine. I remembered the straw stuck in her hair when our lovemaking concluded.

  And I remembered the choice wasn’t completely mine.

  I’d been a willing participant who didn’t really have a choice. I remembered how Piper appeared out of nowhere, both that time and others, like someone who knew their way around Hell. I thought of how often she’d come with news of Trevor yet did nothing to stop it.