Fall From Grace

by Eden Crowne

  “How kind. My favorite.” Taking a long drink, he gave their little group a slow assessing look as he sipped.

  The Fallen's sentinels closed ranks. Transforming in one fluid motion from dogs to whatever the three silent beings were. Trick stepped closer to Evie, never taking his eyes off Marcus. Evie had once more picked up her sword. She flexed her fingers around the grip, swinging the blade in a circular motion to loosen her muscles. They all seemed to be waiting for something, though Evie wasn't sure what.

  Above them the cloud ceiling was very low and they heard the rushing of wings before they saw the swarm. Flying demons dropped from the sky, short, jagged swords drawn. They rained down around the Fallen like hail, screaming. Behind Marcus, higher demons jumped from the cliff, throwing spells like daggers at the Fallen and his dark guards.

  With a tight smile, the Baron flicked his fingers and the black wall of flame trapping them in the circle dropped. “My enemy's enemy is my friend, eh children?”

  Evie's sword flamed into life, filling her with righteous anger. The Death Mark above Trick's head flared as well and it was all Evie could do to restrain the sword from striking him down then and there. Her sword, like her wings, was always trying to think for itself.

  The demons surrounded her and for a time all was teeth, blood, talons and the overpowering smell of death. Trick had kicked a sword out of one demon's hands and was using it to carve a path towards Marcus. To what end Evie wasn't sure. As she battled, she saw the Death Mark waver then move resolutely away, coming to a stop directly above his master. There it flared brighter still. Marcus saw the Mark and laughed. He waved at her mockingly.

  Her sword urging her forward, Evie moved to follow Trick only to be cut off by a series of sharp, black spells thrown by an enormous high demon that swooped in, carried by several of the flying demons and dropped practically on top of her.

  More and more demons – both high and low – joined until she and the Fallen were trapped within a virtual maelstrom of supernatural mayhem. The demons' leathery wings whipped up the sand into a gritty curtain and she lost sight of both Trick and Marcus.

  None of the demons raised a blade against the Reaper though he killed any he could reach. Most fell back before him, opening a path across the sand. Trick and Marcus stood isolated in the carnage raging around them. Their eyes locked.

  “You have the relic, Trick. Do it. Kill her or better yet kill the Fallen. Alliances have changed, obviously, and I no longer need him. But kill someone damn it and all will be forgotten.”

  Trick removed the leather case from his pocket and took out the needle-like dagger. “I could kill you.”

  “Could you? Would you like to try? Here, I'll make it easier for you.” Pulling at his waistcoat and ripping the buttons from his shirt, the demon exposed his chest. “Go on, strike.”

  With a cry of rage Trick flew at him, the dagger held with deadly intent. Using all his strength he brought it down directly over the demon's heart and there it stopped. No matter how much pressure he brought to bear, the sliver of metal would not move any closer. Drawing back he tried different attacks: the demon's throat, his belly, his eyes. Each time the dagger stopped of its own volition and no amount of trying could inch it forward.

  Throwing his head back, Marcus gave a harsh bark of laughter. “I am your Master, Trick. You cannot harm me directly. That is how the contract works. You should always read the fine print. Now go, I command you to kill her, then bring me her wings. I want to see what all the fuss is about flying.”

  Trick was breathing hard, the blood pounding in his temples, “No.”

  “That wasn't a request you insignificant desert rat.”

  Marcus' hands flew up into a complicated series of movements. A spill of runes ran in dark shadows from his fingertips to fall onto Tricks arms and legs. The shadows hit him hard, forcing him to his knees in agonizing pain as they dug their way in, boring through flesh and bone.

  Marcus spread his fingers and with another laugh, began to wiggle them. Trick's body jerked spasmodically. His legs pushed him back into a standing position. Desperately he tried to throw the relic from him, to no avail. He could not control his fingers. Trick watched as though from a great distance as his hands positioned the deadly weapon to strike. Marcus had become the puppet master, pulling his strings. Trick walked jerkily towards Evie and the Fallen, unable to stop himself.

  The storm of demons parted before him, sliding away to either side like butter off a hot knife. They were screaming and calling to each other, as pod demons do, and the noise was deafening. Praying that Marcus had not thought to take his voice, Trick called out to Evie.

  “I'm here,” she said, her voice faint above the unholy din.

  He saw the flash of her sword. She slashed at a higher demon cutting him completely in half, opening a space between them.

  Holding the needle-slim dagger, he could not stop himself from closing the distance. “Evie, kill me. Use your sword. Marcus is controlling me, I can't...” He broke off as his Master, realizing the error, took his voice.

  Evie looked from the relic raised to strike, the evil reaching out like taloned fingers, then to Trick's face.

  His lips mouthed the words, 'Kill me'. In his eyes she clearly saw the agony and desperation as he fought vainly against his Master's control.

  Her sword sensed the danger as well, flaming higher and brighter, pulling her forward. She had to force her arm down to keep it from striking. “I won't, I can't! No Trick, there must be another way.”

  She threw all her power into warding spells trying to break the Demon's hold, pull him from that deadly grip. Trick fought with her, fought a battle magic to magic with his Master as fierce as any on the battlefield. Control, he needed just one moment of control. 'Heavenly Father', he pleaded silently, 'please, please'.

  The Fallen was near. Trick felt him. For a moment, as happens in battle, their eyes met. The Baron's were scarlet with fury. At his feet, one of his sentinels clutched its side, a terrible wound from a spell shredding the creature from the inside out. The sentinel whined, a sad dog-like sound, the first Trick had heard the sentinels make, and then, went very quiet. Still staring at Trick, the Fallen gave a slight inclination of his head.

  Miraculously, Trick felt Marcus' control lift completely, though only for seconds he was sure. With one last look at the Angel, he whispered, “I love you Miss Evie Grace, forever and always, in this life and the next.”

  Trick plunged the evil dagger into his own chest.

  Chapter 13

  Trick fell at her feet, both hands still clasping the blade piercing his heart. His sea green eyes stared into hers. The pain only lasted for a moment. During those short seconds before eternity took him he saw not his childhood nor his mother and father, not the torments of more than a century of enslavement. He saw these last two days and every moment he had spent with Evie. Her face in the bar, sneaking looks at him while he sneaked looks back. Her body naked and shining next to him in the hotel room with those damn wings all over the bed. Then later, with sweet abandon on the beach as she let him enter her, forcing fate to take this course. They were just seconds but they seemed to go on and on and Trick was happy. Happy to the very end.

  Evie watched the light go out in his eyes. She lay one hand on his chest. He was still warm, burning with the last vestige of his power until, in seconds, that, too, was gone. His body now only an empty shell. The love and laughter, his kiss, his touch, everything that was Nathan McKitrick taken from her by the demon.

  Vengeance surged through Evie like liquid fire. Her wings flared out. Molten with rage, the air around her burst into flame, surging, burning. At her feet the sand melted and turned to glass. She became terrifying in her avatar, her Avenging Spirit made fully manifest. Running, she fell upon Marcus with her flaming sword sworn to vengeance. He was an old demon and very strong. He fought confidently at first, sure of his powers, his spells – and the wicked blade he pulled from the scabbard at his back. Th
at confidence did not last long. She pressed her attack, heedless of the pain of his spells and blows, relentless.

  Vengeance her mandate.

  Vengeance her will.

  He ran finally, trying to trance jump up the cliff. Her wings were swifter. He signed a transference spell hoping to vaporate into smoke. Evie's counter spell was faster. He summoned the rest of the demon host yet Evie's sword was unstoppable. They battled up and down the beach until at last they stood by Trick's body. His beautiful eyes closed forever now.

  Remembering how those eyes looked so lovingly into her own, the passion she had seen there, Evangeline Grace, Avenging Angel, gave a cry of anguish. Channeling her fury into energy, she created a fireball that swept from her outstretched arms to engulf the beach and all upon it in a terrible revenge.

  The fire burned for a very long time. When the flames at last died down and the dark ash of the charred corpses began to blow out to sea, nothing remained on the beach except the Fallen, his two surviving sentinels, Evie and Trick. Breathing heavily, her sword still glowing white hot with the passion of her righteousness, she knelt down next to his still body. Laying aside her sword and cradling his head in her lap, she kissed his lips, now cold. So cold.

  She said very quietly and very clearly, “Bring him back, Baron. Bring him back to me. You are the Fallen. I know you can.”

  Though he was nowhere near her, she could feel the immense aura of his power, dark and hard as tempered steel. He was far older and far stronger than her. The two sentinels turned to dogs and cringed, whimpering and fawning at his feet.

  After a time he spoke. “Nothing comes without a price, even for an Angel.”

  She looked up, meeting his flat gray eyes, unflinching. “Name it.”

  The Baron swept her a courtly bow worthy of the eighteenth century aristocrat he so resembled. Raising his sword, he walked towards her.

  Chapter 14

  Trick's eyes fluttered open, those sea green eyes. Lifting his hand he rubbed them as though waking from a deep sleep. He yawned and then smiled at her, a newborn smile of dazzling honesty.

  “Hello, Angel.”

  Evie sobbed.

  He was up on his elbow in an instant, his face creased with concern. Looking down he saw the blood on his chest and above it, a small white scar. Everything came rushing back in a whirlwind. A kaleidoscope of images: the swarm of demons, Marcus, the evil dagger, his desperate effort to save Evie and the Fallen's unexpected help. Finally, the thrust of the knife into his chest. The relic had been cold, a terrible cold that choked him, pulling him into the darkness. A darkness that had turned to light in those long, last moments as he remembered the Angel.

  In Evie's eyes he saw those events mirrored, watched as they filled with tears, spilling down her cheeks one silver drop after the other.

  “I'm so glad Trick, so very glad.”

  He reached round to grab her shoulders, pull her to him and kiss away the tears. Automatically his hands sought to avoid the thick bones of her wing blades. Inexplicably one hand slid right over.

  Almost afraid to look, he felt the flat shoulder blade where her magnificent wing had been.

  “Evie, your wing.” He gave her a stricken look. “Where is your other wing?”

  She flushed, folding the remaining wing behind her back, hiding her shame. Trick felt the emotions running through her. Courage, pride, remorse. Then she stared into his eyes with that uncanny vision and he saw the rest.

  “You did it for me.”

  “This was the only way to save you. He brought you back. The Baron.”

  “For your wing.”

  She nodded, “That's what this was all about, Trick. Marcus had a bargain with the Baron. Why you were supposed to kill me. For my wing. Even with all his power he couldn't take it from my living body. I could...” Her voice caught in her throat. “I could, however, give it to him of my own free will.”

  He grasped her hand and said so softly it was just a whisper, “I'm not worth saving.”

  She thought of what she had seen each time she looked into his heart and soul. Yes, his soul was still there, right where it should be though he knew it not. Part of the demon's magic, to hide such small comfort, make him think all links to God's ear severed. He should have more faith.

  “Nathan McKitrick you are worth saving a thousand times over. You, too, are meant for great things. Far greater than your brother.” Extending her one wing she brought it around, caressing his face gently with the long, flexible flight feathers.

  Running his fingers lightly over the feathers, he said, “Let me see.”

  Her tank top had been burned to threads in the flaming. Folding the wing away, she turned her back to him. Where her wing had been was a wide, raised scar.

  He reached out to touch it, then pulled back as though afraid. “Oh, Evie, Evie. I am so sorry to have been the cause of your fall from grace. Did it...did it hurt?”

  On this one thing, at least, she could reassure him. “No. He could have made it terrible for me, unbearable. Unaccountably he didn't. I don't know why.”

  Saying so much without saying anything at all, they came together. Evie held him tightly, reveling in the strong beating of his heart next to hers. She had been so close to losing him forever. Her wing, as beautiful and perfect as it was, remained only an appendage. What was that in comparison to a life? He had been ready to sacrifice everything to keep her safe, he would do it again. How could she not do the same?

  They made love, slowly, carefully, as though each was afraid the other would break apart and blow away in the sea wind. The desperation of their first encounter replaced by wonder at their survival. The fact that somehow, miraculously they were together. For however long that was. Evie could not touch him enough, her hands stroked him restlessly, her fingertips memorizing every inch as though he might vanish at any moment. He almost had.

  Side by side, he held her tightly. Her heart beating next to his. A light rain began to fall, blown in from the sea, spattering over the sand, wetting their hair and skin. The waves crashed, nearly reaching them. They never felt the rain nor heard the sea's roar.

  With her remaining wing she gently pushed him back into the sand, sliding off his jeans and her soft pants. Gracefully she positioned herself over him, straddling his strong hips with her thighs. Evie leaned over until her breasts brushed his chest, caressing the flat hard planes of his body, her long, tangled hair on his face. His back arched and he moaned. She grasped him, feeling him engorged with blood and desire.

  For a time she just stared, thinking and yet trying not to think of all she had done. For him and to herself. He was breathing hard, chest rising and falling in anticipation. She moved him to the dark sheath of muscles between her legs, watching him watching her. He pushed up, trying to enter but she tipped her hips away, the goal just out of reach. They looked into each other's eyes, then much deeper. Enough. She positioned him where he wanted to be – where she wanted him to be. Moving her hips exquisitely, slowly, she pushed down.

  Trick gasped, feeling the pressure as he tried to enter. Supporting herself on her arms, she arched her back, raising her full hips just a little. Unable to restrain himself any longer, Trick grabbed onto her with his broad, strong hands and pressed her down. The skin burst through and the rest of him followed. Her muscles clamped tightly and convulsively around him and he moaned as the sensation ripped across his nervous system, spreading over his hips to climb up his spine and explode everywhere at once. He throbbed in time to her passion. And his.

  Evie rocked back and forth, reveling in the sensation of him. She had given up so much for this Reaper, yet she could not regret it. Even now, maimed as she was, she felt beautiful and whole and so very much more than just alive. Maybe saving him is what she was meant to do all along. The reason for her transition from human to Avenging Angel and now to this. As Father Cortez said, things don't always happen to us. Often they happen because of us.

  The rain slicked her hair down on her
head and she suddenly looked very young and very human. With a cry, Trick sat up, pulling her to him, saying her name, holding her so tightly he knew it would leave bruises, however fleeting, on her skin. He couldn't stop himself. She had given up so much for him, fought so hard. How could he deserve this?

  Evie seemed to know what he was thinking. She held him just as tightly, sheltering him with her remaining wing, whispering words into his ear. Afterwards she couldn't even remember what she said but gradually, slowly, the awful tension and anguish left him. Then his lips were once again on hers.

  She stretched her legs over his thighs and his arms wrapped around her waist. He was hot, she could feel the heat coming of him and it inflamed her. He increased the rhythm and she held her breath, the passion building, centering, then spreading far and fast, unstoppable. She cried out, falling back, trusting his arms to hold her up, letting the wild storm of feelings sweep her along.

  Letting go of the pain and fear and doubt, he followed her down in the sand. Pulling himself on top of her now, never ceasing his movements. He held her close, pushing his chest and belly into hers, his arms under her shoulders. She whispered his name, and he felt the release. The climax took him like a storm, nearly shattering what little control he had over himself after the events on the beach. It was almost painful, as though she was drawing out all the poison of his past life, burning it away with the purity of her spirit. No longer some horrible half-demon. For the first time since 1879, he felt like a man again. A man with a life worth living. Someone worth living for.