Bladed Wings

by Davis, Jarod

  “Thanks.”

  A few minutes later he knocked on the door to Jenny’s apartment. He paced a few times, unsure what he should expect. The door opened to someone he didn’t recognize.

  “Oh, hey. It’s Timothy, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I’m Terrance, Jenny’s boyfriend,” he said, holding out his hand. Timothy shook it as Terrance’s fingers clenched. It felt practiced. He kept his eyes on Timothy’s, looking down a few inches. Debating between a curse on genetics or fate, Timothy realized Terrance was taller. The universe deserved its reputation for unfairness. “Come in. The girls should be back any minute.”

  Timothy moved inside, standing on the brown tiles that led to the kitchen. Terrance went back to one of the lounge chairs. They were twins to the set Timothy and Jeremiah shared. The furniture was the same, though there weren’t any coasters or women’s magazines in Timothy’s apartment. Glancing down the hall, Timothy wondered what Jenny’s room looked like. Seeing a girl’s room seemed a lot like reading her diary.

  “So how’s it going?” Terrance asked as he sat down on one of the chairs. He kept his feet apart, one hand at the end of each armrest. He sat like a king looking at a peasant. Tapping one finger against hand, Timothy reminded himself he wasn’t being fair. Terrance was her boyfriend. He should try to be nice.

  “Fine.”

  “So how do you know Jenny?”

  “We’re neighbors.”

  “No classes together?” Terrance said.

  “No.” Timothy searched for something to say. Nothing else popped up. The really mature thing to do would be to lower his defenses. He should have come up with some conversation. He could acknowledge that this guy got to be with Jenny, that the universe didn’t want a demon and an angel together. He should’ve been okay, but looking at this guy with his blond hair, spiked into obnoxious little horns, made Timothy want to kick something. The second and somewhat less mature thing he could do would be say he felt sick, go back to his apartment, and play video games with Jeremiah. Bashing robots might have felt good.

  Or he could spend his night blasting alien insects and call them Terrance.

  “You go to Sac State?”

  “Yeah. You?” Timothy asked. He managed a question. It wasn’t a bad start.

  “Definitely. It’s a great school. Going for Business Administration. Two more years in stupid classes before I get the piece of paper to conquer the world. I’ll take over a giant company and have a thousand employees, each one dedicating to making me happy.”

  “Business Administration. What is that exactly?” Timothy hovered by the door. If that bothered Terrance, he didn’t let it show. “Like what do you study?”

  “No one really knows, but hey, it’ll make me a lot of money.”

  “And that’s why you’re in college?”

  “That’s why everyone is in college.”

  “A bit cynical.”

  “A bit honest,” Terrance said with a predator’s confidence. “Two years and I’ll be off to work at a firm somewhere. But what I do doesn’t really matter as long as I get to do what I love.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Money. Money and influence. There’s nothing more vital than respect. Idiots go after physical strength without ever realizing money makes influence, and together they’re everything that ever matters.”

  “You are honest,” and that didn’t sound like a compliment to Timothy’s ears.

  “Thanks. What’s your major? Are we going to be competing?”

  “I haven’t decided yet.”

  “Second year?”

  “Yeah. How’d you know?”

  “You have that almost vacant look of someone who’s started to learn stuff but doesn’t know how to use it. I suggest you figure it out. Everyone’s running and everyone’s hunting. It’s a competition. Best you realize that early on.”

  “You think it’s that much of a fight?”

  “Limited resources. What do you think?” Terrance asked.

  Those ideas dug into Timothy, burning and itching, but he managed, “So what does Jenny think of your philosophies? She seems a lot more relaxed.”

  “She has a good heart.”

  “What’s that mean?”

  “It means I like the way she sees the world. I think she’s wrong, mind you, but she’s a good person. So it’s a good thing she met me. I’ll take care of her.”

  Timothy would have pushed the conversation, would have found the clarification, but the door opened and Jenny came in. She said hi to Timothy and hopped over to Terrance on his throne of faux leather. A kiss on his cheek and she turned to their guest, “So we have some bad news.” Seeing her smiling there, lounging in her sweatshirt, Timothy couldn’t imagine bad news when he got to see her. Even if an ass had to be so close.

  “What’s wrong?” Terrance dripped all of the world’s concern. He put his arms around her and he squeezed Jenny once with the soft affection of the world’s most dedicated boyfriend. Timothy watched this guy cling to her like there was no other place he could imagine being. He acted like someone who saw the world in his girlfriend.

  Timothy couldn’t blame him for that.

  “Nothing too bad, I promise,” Jenny said, nuzzling his cheek. Way too cute, they were a great couple. Anyone else would have sighed or smiled at some pleasant memory. Timothy concentrated on keeping his face even, set, and neutral. No sign of how much this hurt or how deeply a cute couple could cut. Finally, she pulled away and said, “Jessica wasn’t feeling too well. So she won’t be able to make it tonight.”

  “Oh,” Timothy managed.

  “Dude, you still need to come out with us.”

  “Yeah, totally!” Jenny added.

  “No, that’s fine.” Timothy fumbled for an excuse, “I have other things. Uh, stuff that I really needed to get to anyway.”

  “Oh come on,” Terrance said, “You only live once.”

  “But I have a test tomorrow.” A lie was easier. “I should really study.”

  “A test? Since when did grades mean anything?”

  “I want to do well.”

  “It won’t matter. A year after graduation no one will care about your transcript.”

  “Maybe I’d like to learn something.”

  “Like you’d ever learn something in school you couldn’t in real life.”

  “I don’t know. How many people study art or philosophy in real life?”

  “Plenty.”

  “They might see it, maybe think about it, but it’s hard to go deep.”

  “That’s true,” Jenny said.

  “How much is the test worth?” Terrance wanted to know, jumping strategies.

  “It’s a midterm.”

  “And you’ve been to most of the classes?”

  “Yeah.”

  “And your teacher knows you’re the kind of student who does his homework?”

  “I guess.”

  “Then you should come with us. You’ll do fine no matter how you answer.”

  “C’mon Terrance,” Jenny said, “We can’t force him.”

  “It’d be fun.”

  “I know,” Timothy said, turning around.

  Jenny got up and took a foot or three closer to Timothy. Every inch was a push to go, though no one else would’ve felt it. “You’re sure, Timothy? It’d be fun. I promise we won’t be too much of a couple. Besides, I was really hoping to get to know you.” She sang more siren than angel in that moment. As hard as he tried, he couldn’t hear anything but good intentions in her voice. She looked at him with big eyes that insisted she only wanted to hang out with a friend. It wasn’t a trap, and saying no would disappoint her.

  That’s why he went with them. That’s why Timothy discovered a new kind of pain.

  First they saw a movie. And no one else would have snuck glances at the way Terrance’s hand slowly crept over Jenny’s. Timothy tried to focus on the screen. That was close to impossible. The explosions weren’t loud enough to
wash out thoughts about how they looked happy. Timothy tried to cling to hope, to remember her worries about Terrance, but then that was probably a bump in their perfect relationship road. After the movie they went to get something to eat.

  Luck or intuitive good sense always kept him away from hanging out with cute couples in love who used Timothynames like Snuggle Bunny and Honey Bee. That night Timothy listened to Terrance, snuggling closer to her, whispering how much he loved his Badger Girl. She didn’t do it, though she smiled. Timothy couldn’t spot the glazed stare of someone trying not to look embarrassed. After all, they looked perfect as Terrance joked about how they’d graduate and work in little cubicles. Jenny argued they could do something better. She relaxed, laughing more, and hunted for the best answers to her boyfriend’s predictions. Terrance started telling stories about monstrous cubicles, creatures of metal and canvas that would hunt people, these blocks of sectional walls chasing workers down the streets. And Timothy sat there, pretending this wasn’t the worst moment of his life.

  They were cute.

  They were a perfect couple.

  Timothy watched them. He could just watch. Nothing else.

  But they weren’t rude. That’s what made it so impossible to get up and sneak away, or excuse himself and grab a bus back to campus. Instead they’d slide in and out of being a couple. They’d laugh, whispering to each other for a few seconds. Terrance would pull her back, teasing her with how much he loved her. And she’d let him until she remembered Timothy was there. They looked drugged, too happy, and that was like an ice cream scoop to rip into Timothy. But he smiled and laughed because he didn’t want to make her uncomfortable.

  That felt stupid.

  By the end of the evening, Timothy started to wonder if Jeremiah wasn’t right. Being a good guy couldn’t be worth all of this. But Jeremiah couldn’t be right because that would mean hurting Jenny to get what he wanted. Timothy wouldn’t do that. Ever.

  Then they were about to order desert and Jenny said something.

  Timothy didn’t notice at first. He was debating whether or not he wanted to spend the six dollars to buy one of the really nice deserts and test Jeremiah’s theory about how a blitz of sugar could make anyone feel better.

  But Terrance stopped at Jenny’s question. All night his laughter and confidence had been on the periphery of every sound, but right then Timothy didn’t hear it. He lowered his menu and watched. He didn’t know if he’d be a terrible person for enjoying it when things went wrong. He wanted the best for her, someone who wasn’t Terrance.

  “C’mon, tell us something,” Jenny repeated.

  And it sounded like this word got dragged from his stomach, “What?”

  “I don’t know. Who was your fourth grade teacher? Why’d you pick Sac State? What’d you want to be growing up? What’s your favorite song?” They were all generic questions with easy answers, yet Terrance’s face flooded white.

  “It doesn’t really matter,” Terrance said before he took a pull of soda his glass.

  “Of course it matters. Tell me something I don’t know about you.”

  “We should get going.”

  “What?” Timothy asked, checking his watch. “It’s still early.”

  “I know,” Terrance said, “But I just remembered something. I have an early class tomorrow. We need to go.”

  Jenny had her arms crossed over her chest, “Really?” No way she believed him. “This isn’t just some obvious and lame attempt to blow off my questions?” Timothy blinked at her. Badger Girl had claws.

  “Yeah, I really have to get out of here. Let’s go.” He sounded sincere, but Jenny’s glare continued to swear she smelled the dishonesty.

  “C’mon man,” Timothy said, “You can be honest. We’re all friends here.”

  “Let’s go,” Terrance ordered. The conversation died with Jenny’s one question about his past. After that there wasn’t anything but uncomfortable silence until he dropped them off at The Verge.

  Timothy and Jenny walked the concrete path to the stairs. With every inch, Timothy wanted to find the right words for this and say something profound and comforting. They got to her floor, she mumbled something about good night, and headed back to her apartment. Timothy waited there, deciding he wanted to be sure she got home safe. Key in hand, she stopped at her apartment. “Timothy?” Jenny asked, her forehead against the door to her apartment. He could barely hear her.

  “Yeah?” he asked, approaching with cautious steps.

  “Have you ever been confused?”

  “Definitely,” he said, half a smile because he wanted to cheer her up. She didn’t see it since a curtain of hair covered her eyes.

  “It feels like something’s not right. Really not right.”

  “What?” Part of Timothy wanted to hug her and try to fix her world. That’s what one of her friends would do. But he didn’t feel like a friend, not then. And he had so many other reasons. Watching her this way dug into him, the call to help, to make her feel better.

  “I don’t know why we’re together.”

  “You and Terrance?”

  “I love him.” She stopped. “I think I love him.” She stopped. “No, I know I love him.” She stopped again, “But I don’t know why, and if I don’t know why, can I really call this love? This doesn’t make sense, doesn’t feel right.”

  “Trust your feelings,” Timothy managed to put one hand on her shoulder. Her sweatshirt was soft, but it was real and solid. Timothy saw her so much but that was the first time he touched her. Months of a crush and now he touched her. Yeah, he didn’t have a chance. But self-pity would wait until later. Now he cared more about Jenny. “I wish I had a good answer for you.”

  “It’s okay,” she turned her head to look at him. “You’re a good friend. You’re a good guy, you know that, right?”

  “Sometimes I have my doubts.” Timothy couldn’t help but think of the shadows around his soul. They weren’t supposed to mean anything. They weren’t supposed to do anything, but they were demonic. Nothing could protect him from that.

  “You are,” she reached, and her lithe fingers were around his, a squeeze. Letting go, she said, “Have a good night,” before disappearing in her apartment.

  “You too,” Timothy said, his head down as he walked back to the next floor.

  Fumbling with his lock, he had all of his attention on his keys. That’s why it was so easy for someone to knock him in the head.

  At first Timothy didn’t know what happened. He couldn’t explain why he was on his back, an explosion of pain and the half-held memory of something cold and hard bashing into the back of his skull. Timothy inhaled, and a pain flared through his head.

  Staring up, eyes big, Timothy saw someone he didn’t know and probably wouldn’t remember if he had to talk to a sketch artist. Black hair slicked back with too much gel, eyes he wouldn’t remember, a thick build, big shoulders, and muscles that made his shirt cling like a second skin, made up Timothy’s attacker. Heavy hands grabbed him by both arms and yanked him up.

  Air rushed by, and Timothy flew, thrown from the balcony. Everything exploded in a blur, weightless, then the smashing pain of hitting concrete. It must have been at least thirty feet, so he should be dead. He should’ve heard the crunch of spine and skull. But he didn’t. Instead, he rolled over and looked up, coughing. The metal taste of blood in his mouth clung to his tongue.

  The pain froze his lungs in place as he forced himself onto his hands and knees. Everything hurt as he gasped for tiny breaths to fill his deflated lungs. Another second and he spotted them.

  Swirls of shadow clung to the ground. Tendrils or a disk of that shadow stuff cushioned his fall. Up on the walkway, the same black haired guy looked down. He looked irritated, mildly surprised and annoyed about how Timothy managed to keep his heart beating. There was a curse. The guy grabbed the railing, pulled himself over, and jumped.

  Timothy was on his feet when his attacker landed.

  He had to think, h
ad to figure what he’d do.

  Empty parking lot in every direction, Timothy tried to feel for his phone. He had his fingers around it as his attacker landed a few feet away. Arms slashing air, he ran at Timothy. Abandoning the phone, Timothy threw up his hands, stumbling back on bruised legs. A web of shadow crisscrossed in front of him. The square of demonic energy came from his soul, an instinctive protection.

  The attacker didn’t stop.

  He didn’t look surprised, like it wasn’t anything Timothy could get up from a thirty-foot fall.

  Almost flying with speed, this guy pulled one shoulder back, threw out a fist that knocked into Timothy’s shield. The shield stretched like rubber. Timothy watched, waiting to see it tear and have those knuckles come right at his face.

  The shield held, vibrating even as the attacker pulled back.

  “Fight me. Fight me coward. Fight me like a demon,” his eyes smoldered crimson.

  Timothy felt his tongue when he swallowed. He took a couple steps back; cops couldn’t help. The Verge’s security definitely couldn’t help.

  “Who, are you?” Timothy coughed. Everything hurt. His words came out cracked, a little more than a broken whisper.

  “I am Darkor, and I am the demon who will feed on your soul.” With that, he flicked his hand and a blade of curved black stone appeared in his palm.

  Okay, Timothy realized, there was no way he could get help. Cordinox or Isis might have helped, but they weren’t around. If he wanted to survive, he had to fight.

  Concentration hurt, like he had already used a lot of his strength surviving the fall. But that didn’t stop him. Instead, Timothy sucked air with the pain as he scraped into his body to find the shadow. It felt faded and diffused, like he had to think harder to hold it together. But he managed, and twin tendrils of shadow sprouted from his wrists. They hung low, only looping up a few feet.

  “You’ll be useful,” promised the demon.

  “You’re not going to kill me.”

  “Child,” Darkor said right as he ran at Timothy again.

  Timothy threw his hands forward, palms out. The tendrils spiked forward, twin lances at the demon. The first struck Darkor in the stomach, knocking him back. One hand to the wound, the demon dropped down, rolling away from the second tendril.