Wings of the Divided: The Divided Book 1

by C. J. Sullivan

  The Elitist stepped back, and the warriors broke contact, their weapons scraping as they parted. The wind died down. Calmly, Malynko sheathed his sword, but Laphelle held onto his. Malynko watched the snake on the First Rank's sword slowly resume its original position, the pulsing, bleeding scars on the rogue's arms closing up once again.

  "I'm sorry," said Laphelle. "You're—you're too suspicious. Do you actually think I'd turn on you after all this time?"

  Malynko searched within himself for the answer and realized that betrayal was impossible. Laphelle didn't possess the stupidity to turn against one of his own. The Elitist shook his head.

  "We're on Earth, Laphelle. Earth. I find it odd that you're not out toying with these people. Any other time you'd be elated at the thought of it. You're not yourself."

  "I don't have a list!" He reached down and revealed a piece of flesh-colored parchment that was wrapped around his perfect, pale calf. "Lucifer has sent me nothing."

  He pulled the string that bound it to his leg, and as the curved material touched the air, it darkening, revealing that no words were written upon its surface. Empty. Eerily empty.

  "I'm here," Laphelle said, annunciating each word filled with disgust, "because Lucifer chose you and me to create some stupid religion that won't go anywhere once we've left. And to be honest, I don't think the angel really cared in the first place what we did here. I think he wanted to get rid of us."

  He crumpled the mission parchment and let it drop to the carpeted floor.

  "You refer to our commander as 'the angel'?" Malynko's voice softened. "You border on blasphemy."

  "Has he sent you anything?"

  "No, but he clearly explained the mission beforehand—"

  "Hah! You're worried about me when we don't even know when he's opening the portal again!"

  "Don't be tricky with me, Laphelle. You're trying to change the subject." Slightly cocking his head to the side, he said, "I think you know better than to question Lucifer's orders."

  Laphelle narrowed his eyes.

  Enough of this ridiculous banter, Malynko thought. He tried penetrating the rogue's thoughts but found his mind sealed tight. There were definitely secrets he was keeping.

  "What do you plan to do the rest of the night?" Malynko asked.

  "I'm going downstairs for starters." Laphelle began to walk away in brisk strides. "To sit and think about how we've been betrayed by our supposed leader."

  Malynko looked down at the discarded mission parchment. Laphelle had made a good point. When was Lucifer coming to open the portal again? The Elitist felt a slight twinge of concern that maybe the Dark Prince had permanently left them there. Looking up, he folded his wings and straightened his posture.

  No.

  Betrayal by Lucifer was impossible. He forced himself not to worry about it. He was sure the Devil had everything under control.

  ***

  Gidyon

  Max, Gidyon, and Noam gathered around a piece of paper that lay on Christine's empty bed. The Thanatakran's hands were in tight fists as he read aloud the words on the paper, which the Elitist had taken from a pad in Max's study. Gidyon's heart fell into pieces, his secret pain digging into him like a jagged knife. He couldn't breathe.

  Each letter written in sinister cursive, Malynko's note read:

  To the Angels Who Hide,

  I have taken the girl. If you would like to see her again, I will spare her life for the sacrifice of yours. Max will be spared as well if you cooperate. If not, his fate rests with the girl's. You have one week to decide. I will return Sunday at midnight.

  -M

  Part IV: And They Knew They Were The Same

  Max

  Monday morning, a somber mood hovered over Edenton Manor like a thick cloud. Max told his employees that Christine had gone to stay with a girlfriend from school and would not be back until the end of the week. There was no need to get the hired help worried. Somehow, he felt as if the whole ordeal was his fault. If only he had awakened when Malynko was in the house. But then, what exactly would he have done? He slowly paced his study, then stopped to pick up a picture of Harry framed on his desk. Gidyon entered the room.

  "You and Christine will be safe," the healer said. "Even if Noam and I must give our lives to stop Malynko."

  Max felt his stomach tie in wrenching, guilt-ridden knots. Tears came to his eyes. If he got through the week without gaining another ulcer, it would be a miracle.

  "I just can't help but think it's my fault," he said. "First I lost Harry and now dear, sweet Christine."

  "You can't help what you feel, Max Edenton; that is true," said the angel, softly. "But I think that Harry would want you to stay strong."

  Max set the picture back on his desk, trying not to collapse in sobs. Gidyon silently left the room with his head bowed low.

  ***

  Laphelle

  "Excuse me, sir," said a dark-haired waiter.

  Laphelle squinted at him behind his sunglasses. The man stood directly under the late afternoon sunlight.

  "Yes?" the rogue said, just short of hissing.

  "What is that, sir?" He pointed to Laphelle's sheathed sword that was propped against the table. "If that is a weapon, I will have to ask you to take it out of the dining area."

  Laphelle looked out at the river, the sun making it sparkle like the stars. His bare feet rested on the cobblestone ground. It was a pleasant day. Jack needed to hurry up. He was late.

  "Yes, it's a weapon," Laphelle said nonchalantly, "but I'm not going to use it—unless, of course, cheeky, arrogant waiters get on my nerves."

  "Sir, I do not wish to—"

  Go mind your own business, he said telepathically. The man jumped. That's right. I'm talking to you. Go back inside and leave me alone.

  The waiter closed his gaping mouth and did as Laphelle told him. The angel slid his weapon underneath the table to avoid any further harassment; the tip of his sheath poked out from underneath the checkered tablecloth. Jack had invited him for an early supper at Giovanni's, the best Italian restaurant on the river. At first the angel had objected, saying, "I'd rather be strangled to death than suffer the humiliation of being seen in public eating with you," but the man had convinced him the food there was to die for. Laphelle had narrowed his eyes and agreed to go.

  Time passed and still no Jack. The Fallen angel grew anxious. The sun lowered behind a shield of buildings, and the gondolas carried more passengers now. This crisp, evening weather probably seemed romantic to them. Laphelle watched the sleek black vessels as they gently glided down the clear waters and under Mannsway's bridge. Other restaurants lined the river, their number of customers increasing with the night. The blond rogue crossed his arms over the plastic tablecloth, looking around at the full tables. Feeling strangely claustrophobic, he wished to be in the air, away from everyone, his patience thinning with Jack's absence. He shifted his invisible wings that hung over the back of his chair, wondering where in blazes that stupid man was. A few more minutes and he was fed up.

  So, Jack tricked me. I should have known better than to trust a human.

  More hurt than anything, he got up from his chair. As he turned around, he came face to face with Jack.

  "Going somewhere?" Jack asked.

  "Just stretching my legs," Laphelle said, narrowing his icy blue eyes.

  "Anyway," the man said, with a little sigh, "I'm sorry I'm late. We have a test coming up Wednesday, and there were several students who needed my help. Then I had to go get gas. The light in my car was on E."

  "Students," the angel said, thinking of Kiazmo. "I'd just tell the ingrates to figure it out themselves. That's the best way to learn."

  Jack laughed. "Such a heart! Hey, I've gotta use the bathroom. Go ahead and order. Get me a Diet Coke, will you? I'm not sure what I want to eat yet."

  "Diet Coke," Laphelle said and sat back down.

  Several feet away, Jack called, "Hey, do you ever change clothes? I'm getting bored looking at that
outfit."

  "You're just jealous." Laphelle grinned. "I'm not giving it to you."

  Jack stopped in back of a chair that held a middle-aged woman who looked about as friendly as a rabid dog. She glared at Jack, her face covered in thick layers of makeup. Jack didn't seem to notice her stare.

  "Jealous?" he said. "Hah! Why would I be jealous of your Vermusian crap?"

  "Excuse me," said the woman, her voice shrill.

  Jack turned his attention to her. This was going to be interesting.

  "You are disrupting our meal," said the woman, pointing to her family, the members of which were quickly turning red-faced. "If you please, quiet down your obnoxious, manner-less voice so the rest of us don't have to be deafened by it."

  "Oh, my word!" Not missing a beat, Jack bowed at the waist. "Pardon me for speaking! I didn't know the Queen of England was here!"

  Laphelle concluded the Queen of England was either unattractive or old, judging from the look of horror on the woman's face.

  "Bless my soul," said Jack. "Still out and about, too! I do apologize, Your Highness. But I have to ask, how do you manage to stay so healthy at your age? It must be dangerous for a woman so old and frail to be dining outdoors. My apologies for using my plebian voice. Won't happen again!"

  Laphelle cackled. And it felt really good. He loved it when people got what they deserved.

  "Just what are you saying to me?" the woman asked, her face flushed to the shade of her family's.

  Jack headed on toward the bathroom, quietly laughing. He whispered so only Laphelle could hear:

  "Quit encouraging me. I'm going to get in trouble."

  The snobby lady turned to her family and asked them in a concerned tone if they could see her wrinkles. They all assured her that she looked fine, not to worry about it. Laphelle shook his head at her enormous vanity. Then, the sound of Italian music entered his ears.

  Several musicians in loose white button-down shirts and black pants had come outside to serenade the outdoor diners. One man carried a guitar. He nodded to Laphelle. The angel nodded back, identifying with the human in a way he was too ashamed to admit to himself. Resting his head on his arms, which were crossed over the table, he listened to the musicians' smooth sounds. He became so relaxed, so enthralled, so happy that he was away from Malynko and in the presence of live music, that if the world came crashing down around him, he would not be aware of it.

  ***

  The Gangster

  A man approached from behind.

  "Son of a bish," the groggy gangster growled, his sights on that blond punk's back. In his right hand he held a huge hunting knife down by his waist. "Yer about to wish you weren't never born."

  He and his gang hadn't forgotten the humiliation, the way this bastard kid played tricks with the street lights and beat him and his brothers up. He was angry. And he was messed up. His wild eyes reflected a frightening, chemically-induced strength within his shaking, hunched body.

  "Tha's you for sure, ain't it? Weeell. Thing you can get away with hurtin' muh boysss?" He ran his thumb across the blade, not feeling the drawn blood stream down his hand. A twisted smile contorted his face into that of a demented clown. "Yer gonna get a cut for every hit you gave 'em, you sorry sack a—"

  His steps quickened and he brought the knife back, ready to stab it into the angel's side, when another man jumped onto his back and knocked him over.

  ***

  Laphelle

  The musicians stopped as the couple landed hard against the stony ground. Laphelle snapped out of his daze and jumped from his seat.

  "What the hell do you think you're doing?" Jack yelled, grabbing the man's wrist that held the knife. After a brief struggle, he was on top of the gangster's chest, pinning his arms. "Who are you? What do you think you're doing?"

  "Get offa me!" shouted the gang member, spit dribbling down his chin. Jack slammed the gangster's right hand into the rocky ground, causing him to drop his knife. "Ahh! Get offa me, you crazy skank!"

  Every table was stripped of happy, evening chatter. All turned their heads to watch the fight. Laphelle couldn't move.

  "What the hell were you about to do?" Jack shouted, his anger transforming him. "Answer me! I've taken self-defense and several martial arts classes, so you'd better fess up or else—"

  "If you get offa me, I'll 'splain!"

  Jack pushed the knife away, and it slid under the snobby woman's table. She lifted her feet and let out a despairing cry. The gangster shoved Jack off of him and stood up. Jack yelled for one of the waiters, but the villain took off running. He almost escaped, had a large man not stood up from one of the tables and blocked his path. The man shook his head, crossing his burly arms.

  "Yeah, you just keep back, you son of a bish," the gangster said, stepping backwards. "Nonna anybody's business anyway!"

  He drew near the edge of the land. Still cursing at the big man, he didn't see a mischievously smiling young man extend his leg. The gangster tripped on it and fell backwards into the river with a loud splash.

  At once, the entire restaurant erupted in cheering, laughter, and applause. The villain emerged at the surface of the water screaming about not being able to swim, when a motorboat started heading his way. He turned his head to the boat and all of a sudden, he could swim very well, as long as it was away from the boat, which contained two pointing policemen.

  Jack, still breathing heavily from the struggle, turned to Laphelle. "Did you know that guy?" Laphelle only stared at him. "You know what? I don't even want to know."

  The Fallen angel could hear his heart beating in his ears. He slowly reached up to his face and pulled off his sunglasses. His cold blue eyes softened into an expression of deep, painful confusion.

  Jack had quite possibly saved his life.

  And risked his own in the process.

  Malynko never would have…

  But Jack. Why? He had no reason to keep Laphelle alive. And the other two people who had helped—they were complete strangers. They didn't have to interfere. It was as if the entire applauding crowd at Giovanni's was a team, ready to aid any one of their human teammates in need. Laphelle had never seen such a display of camaraderie.

  "What is it?" Jack asked. "Son, you sure are intense." He laughed. "You never do anything small, do you? It's either 'I hate you' or 'I'm too shocked to speak.' Never a medium."

  The lump in Laphelle's throat spread to his chest. He didn't like the new emotion swelling in his soul—the sudden obligation he felt, the appreciation for the man who saved his life. And the sadness of what it all meant. He stared on in disbelief, fighting himself. He wanted to thank Jack, to just say those two words and release what his heart needed to say, but his fierce pride absolutely forbade it.

  "Come on," Jack said. He moved to the opposite side of the table. "Let's sit down and forget that little episode even happened, huh? Guy's up the creek without a paddle now, heh. Don't worry about it."

  Laphelle sat down cautiously; he felt as if he were made of glass and his body would shatter if handled too roughly. He didn't say much through dinner, couldn't even taste his food. He just listened as Jack talked about school, movies, and being excited about the coming concert. He asked Laphelle if he had decided whether or not he would participate in the latter, and the angel replied with another "Maybe."

  When dessert arrived, the man smiled and took hold of his fork.

  "I've talked enough," he said. "I want to know about you." He dug into his cake.

  Laphelle looked at him, startled. "Me?"

  "Yeah! What do you do when you're not being one of the rocks thrown into the pond? What do you like to do for entertainment? Do you have a favorite color?"

  "Well—" What petty, worthless questions! "I, uh, my favorite color? What?"

  "Your favorite color. Mine's green."

  Laphelle shrugged. "I don't have a favorite color! How ignorant do you think I—"

  "Well, let's say for argument's sake, that you did. What would it
be?"

  "Jack." Laphelle calmed himself down. He had to remind himself how weird the man was. "I don't know what you're getting at with this, but—"

  "Okay, fine. You want me to guess." He leaned back in his chair. "I think it's gotta be red."

  "Well, red's not a bad color. Blood is red."

  "True. Okay, next question."

  "But Jack—"

  "Be quiet or I'm gonna forget it. Okay. This is a good one."

  Maybe now Jack was going to probe him about what the afterlife was like, or perhaps how the angels traveled outside of time, all the normal things a curious human would want to know. He readied himself for the most eloquent, possible answers. Then, Jack asked:

  "What, out of all the things in the universe, is the one thing that you want most?"

  Laphelle opened his mouth a hair then froze. Another personal question. This had never happened to him before. His wasn't sure if he should be flattered or suspicious.

  "You don't want to know about the mysteries of the universe?" asked the rogue. "How old the planets are? Where you go when you die? All these things you could ask, and you want to know about me? What I want most?"

  "Think hard. It can be a material object, or a social status, or even another person if you're that kinda guy. I like this question because it shows me inside someone's head. If he says 'money,' I know he's greedy. If he wants somebody to die, there's an obvious psycho. If he says 'women,' that tells me things, too. What's your opinion on what's truly valuable? What do you want out of life?"

  "Life…isn't the same for angels. Our bodies never age. But we can be killed in physical form. Did you know that?"

  "I don't care about that right now. That's not what I'm asking."

  "Jack."

  "What." He took another bite.

  "You are the strangest human I have ever met."

  "You can choose only one thing."

  "I—I don't know! I've never been asked that before. I'll have to think about it."

  "Take as long as you like. Maybe you don't even know the answer yet. But you'll find it."

  "Why don't you answer that question then? What do you want out of life, Jack?"