Wings of the Divided: The Divided Book 1

by C. J. Sullivan

  "Oh, and I found the remains of my letter." He snickered. "You were pretty pissed off at me, weren't you?"

  "Me?" Laphelle's eyes sparked. How dare he know that? "No. Why would I be?"

  "Yeah, and you let my dog out."

  "Yes. I did." Laphelle crossed his arms, a satisfied smirk on his face. "How unfortunate."

  Jack laughed again, shaking his head. "It's okay. Over the five years I've owned him, he's escaped a dozen times. He always comes back. But the point is, you did it for spite."

  "Spite? I did not!" It was true. "I did it because I felt like it! Why would I care whether you were here or not?"

  "Oh, come on, Laphelle!" Jack laughed. "I think you got your feelings hurt. And I apologize again for not being here."

  "I don't have feelings."

  "Well, what's all this anger?" He laughed harder. "Really now, if you weren't upset and just wanted the violin—by the way, I heard you playing as Nancy and I were walking off a few drinks—"

  "How did you know that was me? It could've been—"

  "It had to be you because nobody's that damn good. As I was saying, if you didn't care about seeing me, you would've tossed the note, and kept that violin." Laphelle balled his hands into fists. "But you didn't. You returned it." The angel looked away like a guilty felon. "And you left your sword again, giving you two good excuses to come back. Face it, kid. You like me!"

  "I do not!" His storming eyes shot darts at Jack's. "I—hate you."

  The man released a wheeze of a laugh. "You have no idea how alike we really are. I acted just like you when I was younger. Didn't want anybody to know my heart bled. Real tough guy. Completely in denial. The clueless rebel. Had long hair and everything."

  "You have no idea what I'm like, human!"

  "Oh, come on, Laphelle! I can read you like a kindergarten-level book!"

  The angel growled. His lip twitched.

  "You hungry?" Jack asked.

  "Huh?"

  Laphelle felt his face relax. His blood still boiled, but he still hadn't eaten any Earth food yet. It would be a shame to leave the planet without taking the opportunity. It would give him something to brag about to the Elitists later.

  "Yes," he said. "And so you know, I don't get hungry. I don't need food. But I order you to give me some anyway."

  Jack snorted. "Oh, right away, master!" He went into the kitchen, howling with laughter. "Kindergarten book, Laphelle!"

  Jack placed a steaming plate of food in front of the blond rogue. The angel watched him close the curtains, and the room went dark, except for a light overhead. He slowly devoured the roasted chicken—a tad burned—spiced corn, and creamy, whipped potatoes, savoring each bit. Angels didn't need nourishment like humans did, but when they ate, their perfect bodies used every bit they consumed, none wasted. As soon as the food hit Laphelle's stomach, it turned into pure energy. Jack's home-style cooking was new to the angel, and good. Very good. But he would never admit to it. After sitting down at the opposite end of the dining table, the man picked up his chicken and dropped it, the leg hitting his plate with a clang of silverware against glass.

  "Hot," he said, licking his fingers. "Gotta let it cool. Anyway, so are there more of—whatever you are—here in Edenton?"

  "More angels?"

  "Is that what you say you are? It's—hard to believe."

  "Well, believe it or don't believe it. I don't care what you think."

  "I believe that." He laughed. "So, are there more of you 'angels'? Where are you staying when you're not here?"

  Laphelle almost told the truth but decided against it. "No. I'm the only one. And it's none of your business where I'm—"

  "Okay. But what about the rumor? Old Max Edenton's rumor that there are a bunch of angelic actors running around."

  "Who is Max Edenton?"'

  "Now you're confusing me."

  Jack tapped his foot against the floor as he chewed his food.

  "I'm not an actor," the rogue said. "Little Jack, do you know what an angel is?"

  The man rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Now, when you say 'angel,' do you really mean an alien? I'm a firm believer in what happened at Roswell."

  "What is Roswell?"

  "You know, fallen space craft, beings from another planet, government cover-up. I believe in aliens, I really do."

  "You'd be a fool not to believe. It's a very large universe. But I'm not from another world, not like that anyway."

  Jack nodded. "Okay, so not an alien. Then, are you some strange, new thing scientists are making up? I know everyone's freaking out about cloning. I've got it! They're mixing bird DNA with human DNA to make winged men! Are you a product of—"

  "Can a bird or a human do this?"

  Laphelle raised his hand and tickled the air with his long, elegant fingers, his piercing, otherworldly eyes boring into Jack's soul. His crystal began to shine like polished glass against his flawless chest and cracks crawled up the walls. The overhead light dimmed, and Jack's face lost all expression.

  "Okay," said the man. "Give me a second." He stared into Laphelle's icy blue eyes, his body stone still. "Shit. This is really weird."

  "Deal with it."

  "Oh, I'm trying." He stabbed a piece of meat with his fork. "So." He smiled. "You're a male. I at least know that much."

  Laphelle blinked. "Do I look like a woman to you?"

  Jack seemed to nearly choke on his food. "No, for Pete's sake, you're pure testosterone. I just always thought that angels were asexual."

  "We are."

  "What?" He huffed. "You just said—"

  "Humans," said the rogue, slightly rolling his eyes, "are too preoccupied with which sex a person is. It really doesn't matter. Angels can choose either anatomy or none at all."

  "Huh?" Jack turned his head to the side. "So you're born with both?"

  "No, we were made with neither. We can shift it into either organ. At random. At any moment."

  "What, like an instant sex change?" A mixture of amusement and disbelief crossed his face. "How does that work exactly?"

  "Hard to explain. Focused energies. It's a gift, if you could call it that, something Lucifer bestowed upon us."

  "Can you give birth?"

  "No, that we can't do. We can, however, focus so much of our energy into a male organ that it leaves us and connects with a female human's egg. Some of us did quite a bit of that in the beginning, but it got very draining. Not good for battle. And the offspring were just giant, bumbling fools. Now angels hold back and don't focus quite so much of the energy—"

  "So wait, you—excuse my French—blow your load?"

  Laphelle raised an eyebrow. "What?"

  "Sorry, Earth slang." Jack shook his head, clearly trying not to grin. "You orgasm."

  "Something like that. From what I understand, though, it's not the exact same as what humans feel. The physical pleasure builds as the act goes on, you see, just like with humans. But the climax occurs when we want it to. We simply expel the collected energy out of us, like an invisible wave. Human women enjoy the feeling of it because it rushes through them like a mild, enjoyable electric shock."

  "Well, hot damn." Jack leaned back and crossed his arms, his face lined with an entertained grin. "You learn something new every day." He nodded. "Got a few old girlfriends who would've loved the whole electric-shock thing. Wow. So, do you do a lot of that angel sex stuff?"

  Laphelle snorted. "Not anymore."

  He didn't want anything to do with the whole stupid game. It'd turned into more of a competition than anything, the Elitists constantly bragging about how much better they were at it than the First Ranks, etc. And it was distracting. He couldn't even count the times he had to fly in and save the day because his comrades were too caught up in their revelry to pay attention to the war around them.

  "But for the sake of your puny brain, Jack, you may refer to me with the dominant, masculine pronoun."

  "Okie dokie."

  "Next question?"

&nb
sp; "Hmm," the man said. "You know, I should've attended Mass a little more often than I did. And Dad—God rest him—was always riding my butt about that, but from what I recall from paintings and poetry, well, I was under the impression that angels had…white…wings?"

  "I don't have white wings," Laphelle said, his face deadpan, "because I have chosen a different path than those who serve the Almighty."

  Jack put down his fork.

  "So," he said, "what different path did you, umm, take?"

  The room was oddly still without Hermes wandering about at their feet. Laphelle looked at Jack a long time before finally saying:

  "I'm Fallen."

  The man's apprehension radiated from his soul like a gust of heat.

  "Calm down," he said. "Do I look like I'm trying to hurt you?"

  Jack licked his lips, cleared his throat, and said, "Why not? I always thought that demons liked to hurt people."

  "I'm not a demon. I'm an angel. Trust me. There's a difference." He leaned back in his chair and said, "Jack, there are many things that humans will never know about. Lucifer has the powers of God. Therefore, he should be worshipped like God. But the jealous Almighty wouldn't let that happen. He betrayed us."

  "But Lucifer—"

  "What about him?"

  "He's an angel too, isn't he?"

  "Yes, he is. The highest kind of angel. He was an Archangel before he Fell."

  "Who made you?"

  "What?"

  "Who created you?"

  "Well. The Almighty, but—"

  "Has Lucifer ever created anyone?"

  "No, but—"

  "Hmm. Then Lucifer isn't a god. He's only an angel."

  "You're missing the point." Flustered, Laphelle tried to push back the rush of blood flooding to his cheeks. "No, Lucifer did not create us, but his powers are immense. He can charm absolutely anyone, change shape, and perform terrible acts of destruction. But most importantly, he created the night."

  "What? I've never heard that before."

  Jack's boldness had returned full force. Laphelle didn't know if he liked it.

  "Of course you haven't," said the rogue. "It's in none of your texts, I imagine. God saw to that. They've all been modified to say what He wants you to believe." He cast his eyes downward. "Lucifer was the one to harness the suns into spheres and make the moon and stars. Without his magic, we would be in complete light or utter darkness. He made the balance."

  "He harnessed the light? I thought demons—err, Fallen angels—didn't like light. You obviously don't like it."

  "Lucifer did his magic before the Fall. We all liked the light then. Or so it is said."

  "What was it like?"

  "What was what like?"

  "Seeing him make the stars?"

  "I—I don't know."

  "How could you not know a thing like that? You didn't see him do it?"

  "Look, none of us remember anything before the Fall. We remember Lucifer's speech but nothing else. I can't remember if I was there to witness his magic or if I just heard about it. But I was there when he gave his speech. All of the Fallen were. It was enough to convince us to join his side. That's all I know."

  "Well," Jack said, deep disbelief darkening his tone, "I'm not surprised he was convincing. I've done plenty of bad things from listening to convincing people." He lowered his gaze. "Politicians, car salesmen, oh, and take history, for example! Hitler was damn convincing." Then he looked up again. "Isn't the Devil known as The Father of Lies, Laphelle? Or is that just a false rumor, too?"

  "You have no idea what you're talking about. You didn't even know what I was five minutes ago—you thought I was an alien or a science project!" Laphelle leaned forward. "We were living in ignorance, thinking God was the only one with the power. And now our eyes are opened."

  The man stared at him. "Hmm."

  He gathered up the plates and took them into the kitchen. Laphelle slumped back in the chair, not knowing if he'd made a dent in the man's stubborn ideology. He looked up to the violin case, and his heart fluttered. He could hear Jack—now abnormally quiet—washing the plates. After a couple of minutes, he returned to his chair across the table from the Fallen angel.

  "So," he said, "I guess the next question is, why are you here? In Edenton of all places."

  "Ah." Laphelle smiled and leaned forward for effect. "When rocks are thrown into a lake, they make waves, ripples. They disrupt the calm surface. Humanity is the lake. I am one of the rocks."

  "Oh." His right cheek erupted in dimples. "One of the rocks."

  "Yes. I could easily kill you, but why? We have no need. Our intent is not harmful because there is no such thing as evil. The church made up 'good and evil' as a tool for controlling people." It was one of the lies he was trained to tell, but this time he actually felt a trace of guilt for saying it. Odd... "We just want you to see things like we do."

  "Uh-huh. And Lucifer, your angel boss, sent you here to make waves then? No ulterior motives? The mighty Devil just sent you here to play?"

  Laphelle shrugged. "Is that so hard to understand?"

  Jack cut a piece of chicken and put it in his mouth. He chewed, seeming to savor the bite, and stared at something above Laphelle's head. Laphelle glanced over his shoulder to see what he was looking at: a mere cobwebbed corner of the ceiling. He turned around again. Swallowing, Jack met Laphelle's eyes and nodded.

  "Well, I believe in evil," he said.

  "Typical." Laphelle said. "I suppose your mind isn't developed enough to understand."

  "Yeah. And I suppose that sword of yours is merely for decoration."

  "Well, then," the angel snapped, the strength of his little sham crumbling as the root of his rage bubbled to the surface. "If you believe in such evil, as you say, how can you sit here and talk to me like this without being one bit afraid?"

  The man had a strong will, that was for sure. But Laphelle was not willing to back down on this silent staring match.

  Finally, Jack said, "Because. Despite what you really came here for, or who you think you are, there's something good about you."

  Laphelle hooted. "What could possibly be good about me?"

  Jack stood up. His eyes still on Laphelle's, he pushed his chair neatly under the table and walked over to the violin. Then he held the instrument out at arm's length in both hands.

  "This is good," he said. "I daresay I felt a piece of Heaven when I heard your music."

  Laphelle only stared distantly at the violin, his anger sedated.

  "I'm done with my questions," Jack said. "I don't think I'm really ready to hear the mysteries of the universe just yet. I'd like to take this one step at a time. First step is you are going to give me an answer to why you acted so psycho the other night after you played this thing." He raised his eyebrows. "It was the most beautiful sound I've ever heard in my life. And to me, you looked scared out of your wits that it came out of you. What exactly does that mean?"

  Laphelle's heart raced as he looked at the black case.

  "I was just—just surprised that I could play," he said, his soul profoundly relieved that he could share the truth with someone. "I didn't know I could."

  "Hmm. Do you think that the violin has something to do with your past before the Fall, you know, the time that you can't remember? You just said you had trouble remembering that part of your life."

  Laphelle refused to reply. He knew it could be true. That secret thought, now in the open, had been crossing his mind constantly. But until he had some sort of proof, he was going to deny the possibility with full force. He wanted nothing to do with the Almighty, even if He held the answer to every last question. Without answering Jack, the angel took the case from his hands and laid it on the table.

  "This Friday," said the man, "there is an amateur concert for anyone who would like to show off their musical talents. It's an annual thing, and I've gone every year since I've lived here. Over those five years, they've never had anyone like you play. I think you should show up.
Hide your wings. Show 'em what you can do. Impress them. What do you think?"

  Laphelle pondered the idea of performing for an audience. "I might."

  Then he opened the lid, took out the instrument, and played another song that, somehow, he knew.

  ***

  Malynko

  The Elitist flinched upon entering Fortunes By Eva. In front of him was a line of four gentlemen wearing suits, a group of businessmen who had consumed a few drinks and were ready to get their future told by a beautiful woman. The men gave the angel sneering glances. They were clearly jealous of his dominating good looks. Frowning, he silently cursed Eva's busy schedule.

  His floor-length coat brushing the narrow carpeted walls, he turned to leave when he heard one of the men say to his co-workers, "Yeah, have you seen Max's guests? The 'actors'? What's this angel production all about, anyway?"

  "I don't know," said a younger man. "I saw the spot on TV where they were interviewed. Didn't believe it. You know, I've got this theory—"

  His comrades rolled their eyes and emitted loud, teasing groans.

  "No, seriously," he said. "My cousin saw one of the actors flying, said it looked too real. He doesn't make shit like that up. If you ask me, I think we're getting a visit from the people at AREA 51."

  More groans, joined by laughter.

  "Well," said the first, "whatever it is, I don't give a damn."

  "Hey," added a second, "maybe they know that Borg babe from Star Trek."

  "Come on now, I'm being serious. Oh, and another thing about Max. It's more everyday news, but I found it sweet."

  "What, his new daughter? The one he adopted?"

  "Yeah."

  "You don't reckon she's a Borg, too, do you?"

  "Hey."

  More laughter.

  Malynko stared at the men as the conversation fell into unimportant banter. He focused his energy on the younger man, probing into his mind, opening door after mental door, sifting through recent memories of his workplace, girlfriend, what he had for breakfast. Pushing further, he came to the memory of Max Edenton's TV appearance. And sure enough, standing beside Max was Noam and Gidyon. Reaching deeper, he found that Max lived in a large estate on the north side of town—gorgeous mansion, beautiful gardens, it was no trouble to find.