Out In Blue

by Sarah Gilman

  But she wasn’t the kind of person to let fear or dire odds turn her away from what she felt was right, and being with Wren felt…very right. The depth of her emotions was illogical; she’d only known Wren for two days. But somehow, she had connected with him in a way that transcended the calendar.

  “Ginny?” Devin prompted.

  Wren returned her gaze with a slight shake of his head. “Goodbye, Gin. Be safe.”

  Simple words, toneless voice, but his gaze remained intense.

  “Wren…”

  He stepped further away. Ginger swallowed and fisted her hands, digging her nails into her palms. What choice did she have? Besides, she had her dignity. She would not make a scene. She respected the hell out of him for this, truth be told. He wanted her as much as she wanted him—no way he’d kiss her with so much intensity if he didn’t—yet he wasn’t asking her to stay. He was putting her safety over his own desires. She didn’t consider herself a fragile female who needed constant coddling, but Lark wasn’t a speeding bus or even a simple killer. That demon was evil incarnate.

  Ginger lifted her chin.

  “Goodbye, Wren,” she said, feeling like she was watching herself from a distance, making a huge mistake. She turned back to Devin. “Yeah, I’m ready.”

  She fell into step next to Devin as they headed down the groomed path. She did glance back, but moonlight illuminated an empty lawn. She clenched her teeth and kept walking.

  Silence and darkness reigned at first, but the forest exploded with life as they neared the heart of the colony. Music and voices wafted through the trees. Three young demons darted across the path in an apparent game of tag.

  The first houses came into view, constructed of pine logs and stone, all lit with demon-fire torches. Demons of all ages mingled around tables of food and blazing fire pits, most with beverages in their hands. The curiosity of many gazes lingered on Ginger as she and Devin passed. She squared her shoulders to look confident, unused to being the unknown human amongst the demons.

  “I didn’t realize you missed Haven so much,” Devin said, regret thick in his voice.

  “Vin told you?”

  Devin nodded. “I’m sorry, honey.”

  “Don’t be. I did need to experience both worlds. Now I can never doubt where home is.”

  She couldn’t stop herself from glancing over her shoulder again. The archangel house had disappeared from view, but it pulled at her with magnetic force.

  “Something wrong?” Devin followed her gaze.

  “No, nothing’s wrong.”

  He arched a platinum-blond eyebrow.

  She didn’t want to talk. “I’m just tired.”

  His narrowed-eyed expression said he didn’t buy it, but he didn’t call her on the lie. “Sorry for my timing, but we’ll travel a lot faster in nighttime traffic. I brought blankets and pillows. You can sleep in the backseat.”

  “Thanks.”

  “I’m damned proud of you,” Devin said. “You scared me to within an inch of my life, but what you did for Wren was phenomenal.”

  Ginger hooked her arm around his and took in her surroundings as they walked. Sanctuary reminded her so much of Haven, of home, despite the hard stares hitting the back of her head. She sighed. At least she was going home, not back to that lonely house she’d rented for the past several years.

  Devin exchanged brief greetings with some demons as they passed through the colony center. Suddenly, a female darted across the path in front of them, drawing a startled gasp from Ginger. The woman, covered in a gray mourning robe, glanced up, her eyeshine bright in the light of the lanterns. Wisps of platinum-blond hair escaped from her hood, framing her face.

  “Apologies,” she said, dropping her eyes to the ground. She hurried off, away from the others, toward the lake.

  Ginger stared after the female demon, her light-gray robe visible in the darkness until the trees swallowed her. “That’s peculiar.”

  Deaths, births, matings…demons celebrated and commiserated as a group. If there’d been a death, everyone would be dressed in gray and engaged in the mourning rituals, not these festive activities. Why was one woman off on her own, dressed so?

  “Indeed.” Devin cocked his head. “That must be Amelia. I’ve heard she’s worn only her mourning robes since her mate and son were killed, years ago, in the same attack on Sanctuary when Wren killed Thornton Bailey. Let’s keep moving.”

  The houses thinned as they took a path that meandered uphill, toward the town hall. Ginger shivered as the music and chatter faded.

  They reached Sanctuary’s central building, the only access point to the colony for large vehicles. Instead of heading directly to the parking area, Devin led her through the town hall front doors, into the immaculate lobby. Post and beam architecture, the staple of Sanctuary’s buildings, gave the formal space a cozy atmosphere.

  He guided her toward the stairs. “I need to speak to Vin, but it’ll only take a moment.”

  “I’ll wait here.” She pulled away, eager for a moment alone.

  He hesitated, glanced around the empty lobby, then nodded. “I’ll be right back.”

  He disappeared up the stairs. She was about to sink into a chair when her skin crawled, followed by a bone-deep chill. Glancing around, she rubbed her arms.

  A Guardian she hadn’t noticed a moment ago stood by the opposite wall, staring at her from under tousled red hair. His sudden appearance didn’t alarm her; Guardians patrolled the colonies constantly and discreetly. However, she saw the potted tree and chair through his transparent form, and his feet didn’t quiet touch the ground. That made her back up against the wall, her lips parted in a silent shout.

  The spirit’s gaze bored into her and shock registered on his expression as she stared back. He looked over his shoulder in a “she can’t see me, so what is she staring at?” fashion.

  “Hello?” she managed to ask, her voice shaking. She’d never been the type to panic, and she chanted mentally to herself to remain calm. This was a Guardian, after all. A Guardian’s ghost. An actual ghost! She took a cautious step forward.

  “Not possible,” he murmured, his face twisted in a frown, his voice distant as if speaking from the bottom of a well.

  “What’s not possible? That I can see you?”

  His copper eyes flashed and he rushed forward, stopping only a few feet from her. A gasp escaped her throat and she staggered back against the wall once again. The ghost held up his hands, palms forward.

  “Listen to me,” he began. “I don’t know how you can see me, and I don’t care right now. I know where Raphael is.”

  “What?”

  “You have to tell Vin. Follow me.” The spirit walked across the lobby even though his feet never quite touched the floor and passed through a wall.

  Ginger ran to the door nearest the point where the Guardian had vanished. She entered a small office. The spirit stood behind the cluttered desk and pointed down at a pad of paper. “I need you to write down what I have to tell you.”

  Ginger dutifully sat down and snatched a pencil.

  “Raphael is in Burlington.” The spirit gave an address. “The house is in a heavily wooded neighborhood on the edge of the city. Lark converted the basement level into a prison.”

  “Burlington!” Ginger glanced up. Vermont’s largest city sprawled along the shore of Lake Champlain, west of Sanctuary. “That’s only a few hours away!”

  “Yes.” The spirit folded his arms. “But getting Raphael out safely is going to be difficult. The building looks like a normal farmhouse, but the security is cutting edge. Five human mercenaries patrol the grounds. The only way to open the steel doors to the prison is with the small remotes Lark and two of the mercenaries wear on chains around their necks…”

  As Ginger wrote, she worried. She’d pass the information on to the Guardians, that was a given, but what if they didn’t believe her? They had no reason not to trust her; she had no history of lying, mental illness, or even wild imaginings. But
a ghostly messenger? Would they believe that?

  She wouldn’t. Not if she didn’t see it with her own eyes.

  But this was Raphael’s life on the line. They had to listen to her.

  “You’re certain?” God help her if she gave this information to the Guardians and it was wrong. “I need you to be certain. When did you see Raphael last?”

  “Ten minutes ago. I can travel very quickly.”

  She exhaled. “How is he?”

  The spirit grimaced. “Bad. His wing was recently broken, and he’s terrified Lark will get his hands on Wren. He has an assisted suicide arrangement with one of Lark’s men. The Guardians must get to him as soon as possible.”

  “Suicide? Why—”

  “So Wren won’t turn himself over to Lark, of course. Raphael’s given up hope of rescue.”

  “Shit.” She wiped her clammy hands on her jeans and touched her moist forehead. The room lurched and swayed.

  The Guardian leaned forward, scrutinizing her. “Jesus, you have a psychic talent, that’s why you can see me. I’m draining your energy by being here.”

  Ginger stared. “A psychic talent? That’s impossible. I’m human—”

  “There’s no time to discuss it now. Write, please. Lark has a predicable schedule…”

  When the spirit finished, she’d filled several pages with technical specs and maps, schedules and other data. She rubbed her temples and breathed deep and slow, nausea sweeping over her like a wave. “Who are you?”

  The demon shook his head, his expression dark. “I don’t matter. Only Raphael matters. His life is in your hands now. See that the Guardians act as soon as possible. I must go.”

  The spirit vanished and motion drew Ginger’s gaze to the doorway. Devin stood there, his blond eyebrows high.

  “Ginny,” he said. “Who were you talking to?”

  She stood up, clutching the notepad to her chest, unsteady on her feet. “Dev, I know where to find Raphael…”

  The room tilted and she slumped back into her chair as Devin rushed over. Her vision swimming, she dropped her head into her arms.

  §

  Wren flew in circles high over the colony as fast he could go, beating his wings hard until even his specialized heart raced from the effort. His wings ached like they had when he’d been a fledgling at age thirteen. He kept pushing himself until the pain was all he could think about, until enough time had gone by that Ginger and Devin had to be on the road and miles away.

  Not that he couldn’t catch up with them at his top speed. But he put that thought right out of his mind.

  When he landed back at the house, he had to pace the length of the deck to keep from passing out. The moonlight illuminated his feathers. Stretching, he stared at his wings and cursed. While he’d never allow himself to be butchered, he wished he’d been born human. Without wings and psychic talents, he could have had normal relationships with others. A fair trade.

  He went inside, showered, and pulled on black jeans from the clothes Jac sent over. After a moment of hesitation, he crossed the hall and opened the door to the room that had been his parents’.

  Like his room, the space was bare. Empty shelves lined the walls. Boxes stood in stacks. But somehow, despite the cleaning and the passage of time, the room still held the scent of his mother’s rose oil.

  The contents of the closet had been packed into well-organized cedar boxes and he quickly found one of his father’s specially tailored shirts. Normal in the front, the back had been cut to fall to either side of each wing. Wren couldn’t remember the last time he’d been fully dressed. He pulled the smooth, black material over his head and fastened the clasps below his wings.

  Wren stared into the wall-mounted mirror as he adjusted the wrist cuffs. He rolled his shoulders and flicked his wings. The feel would take some getting used to, but his movements weren’t restricted.

  Wren returned to the kitchen. A single voicemail message, two missed calls, and the remnants of dinner awaited him. He ignored the pang caused by the sight of the two plates and two wine glasses, and focused on the phone. The message was from Vin, requesting a call back as soon as possible.

  But as Wren held the phone in his hand, he stared at the unfinished food. Ginger’s lip prints marked the edge of her wine glass. She had picked mushrooms out of her lasagna and pushed them to the side of her plate.

  Wren didn’t like mushrooms either, but he would have scraped his plate clean if dinner hadn’t been interrupted. During months of scavenging for food, mushrooms were the tastiest form of fungus he’d consumed. He envied Ginger the little luxury of being picky.

  He’d done the right thing by sending her away. If she were his, he’d banish every damned mushroom from her presence. But he’d never be able to give her a life in which mushrooms were her biggest problem.

  Wren finished the lasagna on the plates, including Ginger’s mushrooms, and washed the dishes. The clang of porcelain against porcelain seemed loud in the silent house, so he opened the door to the flight deck, letting in the distant music and voices of the colony.

  The grandfather clock chimed ten. Done procrastinating, Wren picked up the cell phone and dialed Vin. Hopefully, the demon had some good news.

  Chapter Twelve

  Ginger opened her eyes and realized she no longer sat at the reception desk. She lay on a window seat under a heavy blanket. Darkness reigned outside and cold radiated from the glass, but the room was warm and the blanket cozy. Disorientation subsided as she lifted her head and spotted Devin and Vin huddled over a computer at a nearby desk.

  “Did I pass out?” She pushed the blanket aside and sat up. Her muscles protested the shifting of her weight, but her stomach no longer churned.

  The two demons looked up in unison, the lamplight catching their reflective eyes.

  “You slept.” Devin straightened. “You needed it after expending that much energy. Were you talking to the ghost the whole time I was gone?”

  Ginger blinked and rubbed her head, certain she’d heard him wrong. “I’m sorry…what?”

  Devin came around from behind the desk and sat in a leather chair near her window perch. He leaned forward and clasped his hands on his knees. “You were half asleep already, so you probably don’t remember. But earlier you tried to tell me you spoke with the ghost of a Guardian.”

  Ginger sucked in a sharp breath. “Devin, I—”

  “If you’re worried about us not believing you, relax. Psychic talents are not unusual.”

  Ginger did more than relax; she slumped. But she dropped her head into her hands and a humorless laugh escaped her throat. “You’ve seen these skills in humans?”

  Devin paused. “No…”

  “But you believe me?”

  Devin sat back and flattened his hands on the arm of the chair. “I have complete faith in you, daughter mine.”

  Relief swept over Ginger, and she leaned back against the pillows. She hunted around at her sides. “The notepad. Where—”

  “I have it,” Vin said from behind the desk. “And I have the address up on Google maps now, and there’s a photo. Cute place. Covered porch, lacy curtains. I look forward to burning it to the ground. You did good, Ginger. We have enough information to formulate a decent plan.”

  “Thank goodness,” she said.

  “Did you get the name of this Guardian?” Devin asked.

  She shook her head, recalling the haunted expression on the spirit’s face when she’d asked. “No…he avoided the question.”

  “Strange,” Vin said, his eyebrows low.

  “That doesn’t sit right,” Devin said, a deep frown on his face. “Why would a Guardian withhold his identity?”

  Vin stood up and moved to stand in front of a packed bookshelf. He selected a thick, leather-bound album, and carried it over to Ginger.

  “There is too much on the line for our informant to be anonymous,” Vin said. “In this album is a snapshot of every Guardian who has died for this colony in its existence. It�
��s a grim task, but can you look through this, Ginger?”

  “Sure.” She accepted the heavy volume with a lump in her stomach. So many dead. She smoothed her fingers over the leather.

  “I’m meeting with the other Guardians to develop our strategy,” Vin said. “We’re not going to let Raphael sit in that prison a moment longer than necessary, but we’re not going to go in without a solid plan and a little backup intelligence. I’ve already sent my reconnaissance team.”

  Devin added, “And we’re staying here for tonight, in case the spirit has anything to add.”

  “How long did I sleep?”

  Devin glanced at his watch. “Only an hour. Psychic talents drain a great deal of the user’s energy, so you need to rest some more. Sugar and caffeine will be in order in the morning.”

  “I have more blankets if you need them,” Vin said. “Are you comfortable enough?”

  She nodded, adjusted the pillow behind her back, and opened the photo album. “Yeah. I’m going to get started looking through this.”

  “You should sleep more,” Devin said.

  “I’m too awake at the moment. I might as well put the time to good use.”

  “We’ll be across the hall in the conference room—” Vin broke off as his cell phone rang. He glanced at the screen and his brow furrowed. “It’s Wren. I still need to tell him what’s going on. Excuse me.”

  Vin left the room as he put the phone to his ear. Ginger stared after him, wondering how Wren would react to her sticking around for a little while longer. Her shoulders sagged. The prospect of a second goodbye made her queasy. Maybe it would be best not to see Wren again at all. But running into him was probably unavoidable.

  “Ginny, about this psychic talent.” Devin stared out the window, his light skin paler than usual, a heavy weight to the lengthening silence.

  “Dev?”

  When he finally returned his gaze to her, his eyes didn’t seem to focus. “All archangels have psychic talents, as do one in a hundred demons, give or take. Never humans…”

  She chewed her lower lip. “I thought you believed me?”

  “I do, honey. What I’m questioning is your family history.”