Wings of the Divided: The Divided Book 1

by C. J. Sullivan

  The Elitist smiled.

  So.

  The angels of light were staying with Max Edenton.

  And the man had a new daughter.

  Surely the little girl was winning a soft spot in Gidyon's weak, bleeding heart. The sweet darling.

  His mind played through a dozen possibilities this new development presented. When he decided on one, the best one, he immediately started planning its execution play-by-play.

  ***

  Laphelle

  "You are going to love this," said Jack. He opened the CD case of Days of Future Passed and replaced the U2 disc that previously had been playing. "Let me introduce to you The Moody Blues—my favorite band."

  Laphelle lay on his back in the middle of the living room floor, utterly tranquil. He couldn't remember a time he'd been so relaxed. After he had played the violin, Jack wanted to see more of his magical talents. Laphelle humored him. (What else was he going to do? Go spend quality time with Malynko?) He telekinetically moved things around the room, closed his eyes and caught paintbrushes and pencils that Jack threw at him, and read the man's mind—the latter two games were ongoing.

  "Okay, what am I thinking now?" Jack asked, pressing PLAY on his stereo.

  "You're thinking that I'm going to love—" He halted when the music began. Letting the backwards gong bring in a burst of symphonic bliss, he smiled. "That I'm going to love this."

  He closed his eyes, but he could still hear the man moving around the room, despite his attempts to be quiet. He was near the easel now. Then the blond rogue heard a sound, and from it could make out the picture of a paintbrush being tossed at him like a tomahawk. His arm jerked straight into the air and snatched the art utensil. He placed it with the others he'd caught.

  "Jack?" he asked, opening his eyes.

  "What?" the man said, searching the room.

  "Do you humans ever think about eternity? Or are you just too stupid to conceive of it?"

  Jack grinned at the coffee table, scooting around the bills that he'd sworn to Laphelle he'd pay this weekend. "What kind of a question is that?"

  "I'm being quite serious. Can you even grasp the concept?"

  "No." He bit at his thumbnail. "And anyone who does is a liar."

  "Really? So do you think of death then?"

  "Sometimes."

  "And what do you feel when you think of it?"

  "I don't know." Jack shook his head. "I don't really want to talk about death. Too deep. Remember we're taking those small steps? I'll ask about it when I'm ready."

  "Very well." Laphelle gazed up at the ceiling that was badly in need of a new coat of paint. He was a little surprised at how freely his words were flowing. "What about just feeling dead? Like you're a wraith, pointlessly existing with no real life in you. Do you ever feel like that?"

  "I do remember some pretty bad hangovers I had in college. That count?"

  Laphelle shot him an irritated glare.

  "Sorry." Jack reached in his pocket and found a blue ink pen. "I don't know, Laphelle. I've had my slumps. No need to darken the mood by delving into the past."

  He chunked the pen at Laphelle, but before it hit him squarely between the eyes, the angel caught it between his middle and index fingers. Adding it to the stash of art utensils Jack had thrown throughout the evening, the angel muttered:

  "At least you can recall yours." Then he raised his voice. "Come here and see what I made for you."

  Jack made his way around the couch and eyed the stacked pile. Laphelle had arranged it so that it uncannily resembled a hand shooting the middle finger.

  "How nice," said Jack.

  He knocked the pen hand over with his foot. Laphelle grinned from his spread-eagle position. Then the man nudged the angel's leg with his toe.

  "Would you mind sitting up or something? You're taking up the entire floor."

  The blond rogue placed his hands behind his head and shrugged. "Buy a bigger house."

  "Hah! When I'm a rich man." Jack started to sing something that sounded like pure gibberish.

  Laphelle sat up, his black wings making two lazy arches on either side of him. "What was that?"

  Jack's eyes lit up. "Don't tell me you've never seen Fiddler on the Roof."

  "Huh?"

  "Son! It's one of the greatest movies ever made!" He rushed over to the stereo and turned it off. Making strides to his television set, he opened the cabinet underneath and started sifting through his video collection. "You're kidding me! You've never seen it? Of all people! Hah!"

  "I don't watch movies. It's the same with music. I never have time."

  "Well, you've got time tonight, don't you?" He pulled out the two-tape set and slid the first cassette from the box. Sliding it into his VCR, he said, "It's kinda long, but it's worth it."

  After crossing the room in an awkward prance to turn off the stereo, he grabbed the remote control and turned on the movie.

  "You're thinking I'm going to love this," said Laphelle, before the man could voice the question.

  "How'd you know?"

  "Because I know everything."

  He reached up to the couch and moved the Sivli so Jack could sit down.

  "Thanks," Jack said, letting his back sink into the crease cattycorner to the lounge's right arm. "Comfy down there? I can trade you spots."

  "No, just stay where you are. I don't want to sit where you've already put your filthy body."

  Laphelle softened his wings and wrapped them around his waist as he propped his back against the coffee table. He bent his legs to sit cross-legged with his sword lying across his lap.

  "Am I in your way?" he asked.

  "No."

  The blond rogue moved to the right until he was sure he was in Jack's way. "Now?"

  "Won't bother me," said Jack. "I've seen this movie a hundred times. I know it by heart."

  Lips lifting into a side smirk, Laphelle scooted to the left again as the show began. He had never watched a movie before. Never saw the point in it. But as he watched the fiddler proudly play his song as the credits flashed, he wondered if movies were perhaps more important than he'd deemed them in the past. He listened as Tevye talked of tradition, watched with curious eyes the Jewish town of Anatevka participate in their daily rituals, the people adamant followers of the Almighty. They all seemed happy playing their special parts in keeping everything within their simple, little world harmonious.

  "Hmph," Laphelle muttered under his breath. "Fools."

  "You know what I love about this movie?" Jack asked.

  "What."

  "It starts out one way, and you think you know how it's going to end. But then it takes some incredible turns that make it much more interesting. The ending is—strong, to say the least."

  Laphelle turned around, but Jack's eyes were glued to the screen.

  Without glancing away, the man gave an upward jerk of his chin. "Just watch."

  The Fallen angel turned around and tossed his hair out of his eyes.

  Jack stood up during his favorite song, "If I Were a Rich Man," to demonstrate how well he knew it. He sang it flawlessly, performing the choreography down to the last shimmy. Laphelle decided that he almost liked the character Tevye. Tevye dreamed of the day others would bow down to him, he questioned the Almighty, and he loved stirring up a bit of good old-fashioned mischief.

  Though Jack left the room several times, once for the bathroom and twice to the kitchen for snacks and a drink, Laphelle didn't move. The angel sat there. Watching. The Sivli resting across his bent legs.

  Once they reached the second videocassette, he realized that Jack was correct. This movie had a darker, sadder theme, and he hated to admit it, but he was engrossed. What incredible creatures these Jews were. Having lost everything, the people of Anatevka still believed the Almighty was on their side.

  Why?

  And Tevye. Still singing. Still sarcastic. After all that had happened to him.

  The Fiddler brought the movie to a close with one fin
al solo, and the orchestra flared once more to play through the credits. Laphelle sat through them, not even blinking, until the screen at last went black. He could hear Jack's deep breathing behind him. He had fallen asleep.

  Laphelle set his weapon on the floor and walked over to the television. He turned it off. Then he stood in front of the dark screen for several minutes.

  He started thinking.

  Jack shifted on the couch and nuzzled his head into his arm. His crooked position was almost comical. He would probably wake up with a crick in his neck. Laphelle looked down at the floor. Taking short, slow steps he reached the Sivli and picked it up. It felt heavier than ever before. He placed the weapon on his back, sliding each arm through the straps of the sheath with slow grace. Yes. The sword was definitely heavier. As his bare feet soundlessly padded the floor, he stopped for a moment when he arrived at the couch.

  He observed the sleeping man.

  Then he quietly saw himself out.

  ***

  Gidyon

  "Stealing isn't very nice," Noam said, then turned to Gidyon. "Is it?"

  His hand was tightly gripped around a man's wrist. The angels' wings were cloaked. Noam had caught the man in the act of trying to hijack a car in the parking lot of a grocery store. The shop's neon light lit up the lot with a sign advertising its 24-hour access.

  "No," said Gidyon in lighthearted agreement. He watched the man struggle and tried not to laugh. "It isn't nice at all. Especially on a Sunday night. Do you think we should call the police?"

  "I don't know," said Noam.

  "I'm sorry, okay?" the man cried, his crew-cut hair greased with car oil. "Listen, I just got off work, man! You understand. You work, right? They had me working way after dark. And to top it all off, this guy gave me a check that bounced! I could get fired for that!"

  "So you steal his car?" Gidyon asked. "I'm not making a logical connection here."

  "I'm going to let you go under one condition." Noam gave Gidyon a serious look. "Is that fair?"

  "Well—"

  "Sure, man! Whatever! Whatever you want me to do. You can have all the cash I've got."

  "I don't want your cash." The Thanatakran shook his head. "I want you to write this man a note telling him you're sorry for trying to steal his car."

  "What is this, third grade? If I do that, then—"

  Noam squeezed the man's wrist, resting his other hand in his brown coat pocket. The man bent his knees, turning his body into dead weight like a stubborn child. His body hung there, hovering above the ground as Noam's iron grip held his arm.

  "Okay," said the angel. "Then it's off to jail."

  "No man! I'll do it! I'll do it! Jeez!"

  Gidyon bit his tongue, trying not to snicker. He crossed his arms tight over his chest.

  "Let's go take a walk and find you some paper to write that note on," Noam said, dragging him to the store's entrance. "You know, you're only going to hurt yourself by doing that."

  "I'll stay here," said Gidyon, "to make sure the car's owner doesn't drive away without getting his apology."

  Noam nodded, and the healer saluted him then leaned against the car. He was happy they were doing something helpful. Looking up at the vast vault of black that twinkled with stars, he breathed a deep breath. But as he let it out, the smile drifted off his face.

  Something wasn't right.

  ***

  Malynko

  Malynko stood in the circle drive outside of Edenton Manor, blending into the shadows, one with the night. He knew the angels of light would not be there. What surprised him was the absence of security cameras on the house; there were no alarms on that he could sense. Max was a trusting man. Too trusting. The dark angel approached the front door, unsheathed his sword, and placed the tip of it against the doorknob. The metal lock turned malleable from the fiery heat the blade emitted, and he invited himself inside.

  He could feel Christine's innocence giving away her location. Like a sweet song to his senses, her aura led him upstairs. Just as he thought, Max was fast asleep in his room and the angels were gone. After creeping up the tall, carpeted stairway, he slowly pushed open the door to Harry's old bedroom where the little girl lay in gentle slumber.

  ***

  Noam

  Noam returned and slowed his walk when he saw Gidyon's face was a sickly, ashen hue.

  "What is it?" the Thanatakran asked.

  "I don't know. Something's wrong."

  "Is somebody in trouble?"

  "I don't know—I just don't feel right."

  Noam tensed. "Is it Malynko?"

  Gidyon whispered, "I think we should go back to Max's."

  Noam nodded, his heart heavily weighted with worry.

  ***

  Malynko

  Christine clutched onto Malynko's chest, fast asleep. The dark angel comforted her mind with sweet images, drawing from her memory, creating dreams of pretty dresses, chocolate bars, and ponies. Holding her under his coat so the night air would not be cruel to her soft skin, he stopped flying when a woman screamed in terror below.

  "Kiazmo," he said, feeling the little angel's presence.

  He was curious to see his student at work and descended into an alleyway. There the pretty bloodsucker hovered over his latest victim. He sank his teeth through the woman's neck, slurping up her rich blood like an infant suckling milk.

  The Elitist's proud smile fell into a frown.

  Kiazmo was completely oblivious that he was being watched. How utterly foolish. It was a mistake too many demons made, and it often proved fatal. Malynko let the little angel finish the woman off, waiting patiently for him to realize who was standing behind him. When Kiazmo didn't, the Elitist grew even more disappointed.

  He broke the silence. "I could have been an angel of light and there you sit like a human drunkard."

  Kiazmo spun around, dribbles of crimson dripping down his chin. His eyes were glazed over with a white film. They slowly opened, realizing from the look on Malynko's face, that he was in deep trouble.

  "Hell—hello," he said.

  "You careless fool." Malynko grabbed him by the neck of his cloak. "Have I not told you to be aware of your surroundings? Did I not clearly go over those instructions long before we passed through the gate?" Kiazmo started shivering. "You must pay attention! I'm afraid you'll have to be punished for this."

  Kiazmo went along without a fight. Malynko gazed down at the woman, her neck clean, her body drained. Her lifeless, glassy eyes stared straight ahead, her soul freed and far away from the empty shell. Where her liberated spirit was now, he did not know. Nor did he care. He shook his head again and took the little angel by the hood of his cloak.

  When they reached John's mansion, he threw his irresponsible student into a closet underneath the stairwell and closed the door. Kiazmo started screaming. Malynko, unaffected by his cries, latched the lock on the door and threatened to kill him if he wasn't quiet. Immediately the cries died down and were replaced with growls and slurps—probably licking his skin to save any lost droplets of blood. Disgusting. Malynko located the set of keys that locked every room in the house when Christine began to stir. The Elitist barely reached the spare bedroom that would soon become her prison cell, when she opened her eyes and looked at his face.

  "Who are you?" she asked, squinting.

  Malynko put her down and smoothed the wrinkles out of the cotton nightgown that draped her tiny frame. He smiled, went to the bed, and pulled down the covers for her. Then, lifting her up, he tucked her in and kissed her forehead.

  "I am an angel, like Gidyon and Noam," he said, looking down at her from the shadows.

  "You are?" she asked, smiling. "Could I see your wings?"

  He took the cloak off. The glossy black feathers came into view and she gasped. Malynko grinned at her, big and frightening, his canines glinting.

  "Where is Noam?" she asked, her eyes beginning to fill with tears. "Where is Gidyon?"

  "Go to sleep, my dear," he said and
closed the door, locking her in.

  He turned to walk down the hallway but halted abruptly. Laphelle blocked his path.

  "Laphelle. I—"

  "What did you do?"

  "If you'd let me explain. It's all part of a plan to bait Gidyon and Noam." He slipped the keys into his pocket. "Christine will not be a bother—"

  "I'm not concerned with that. Why is Kiazmo locked up?"

  "Because he needs to learn a lesson."

  "So you're going to keep him in the closet by the kitchen, so I can hear him scream all day?"

  "If you slept during the day like you ought to, you wouldn't have a problem with it." He frowned at the daring First Rank and eyed the Sivli on his back. "Sometimes I wonder what you do when the sun is out. Why you stay awake all the time. You left very early today."

  "We don't need sleep. And I had things to do. They couldn't wait until tonight."

  Malynko crossed his arms and let out a sigh. "Talk to me."

  "About what?"

  "About you." The Elitist's voice was sweet but sardonic. "Open up to me, Laphelle. Tell me what's on your mind. I know being a First Rank isn't easy. How small you must feel."

  Laphelle's eyes darkened. "You don't have a clue how small we all are. How much we don't know. Even you Elitists. But, yes, I do happen to be one of the unlucky ones who have been cheated out of that title as well as other things I deserve. And I won't try to explain anything to someone who mocks me."

  "I'd like to help you." Malynko continued his sarcastic tone. "But if you are intent on throwing a fit, go ahead." He was ready to put whatever was bothering Laphelle behind them. Even if it meant getting brutal. "Just whine and complain about how terrible your life is. Let it all out, you pitiful, little infant."

  As if on cue, Laphelle grabbed his sword from his back, the snake flying up his arm. Ready for the attack, Malynko unsheathed his, and the two weapons clashed between them. Grabbing the handles with both hands, the angels froze as the tense, metal X separated their bodies. An eerie breeze stirred in the dark hallway from their rising energy.

  "You," Malynko said, "are extremely defensive. Why? You aren't becoming a traitor, are you, day-lover?"

  "Stop asking me all these questions! I've done nothing wrong!"