Woe for a Faerie

by Bokerah Brumley

  Below ground, I existed as an independent. I had been recruited by the previous priest. He had been convinced that I would be perfect for the position, given the nature of my family’s unique history.

  Unbidden, thoughts of an androgynous Woe delivering divine messages danced through my mind. Then, on the front stoop after her choice, after her fall, naked and fully female. Living in my apartment. There were definite drawbacks to this job.

  My obsession with my cause had diminished as my age increased. And then Woe happened and my obsession had shifted to her.

  I strolled up the aisle, considering the course of my life. Long wooden benches slanted away from me on both sides like the fletching off the shaft of an arrow. The eyes of all the saints followed me from the leaded stained-glass windows that lined the basilica. At the end, the altar was intricate, updated from time to time with tithes and offerings, always more ornate than before.

  I ducked through an arched opening, adjacent to the altar, and hurried down the ancient stone steps that spilled out into a windowless room. The ceiling was not much higher than my head. Old, clear glass electric bulbs lit the space.

  Two doors had been carved out. Over the closed slat door on the right, in white paint, it read Office. On the keystone over the open doorway on the left, the word Library had been painted and re-painted. The secret spiral staircase led from the rear of the church library into the Atheneum.

  However, I opened the door on the right. I had work to do, but first I needed to tell Vic and Lev about the feather. Maybe the Librarian would have some insight.

  Inside the office, I punched the antique double-button switch for the light. A wrought-iron chandelier sparked to life, hanging over a roughly hewn square table. The candle holders had been retrofitted to old electric bulbs. Overstuffed, floor-to-ceiling shelves lined the perimeter of the dusty space, each one dated with an engraved plate.

  I pulled three ancient tomes from the shelf marked 1940 and put them on the table. Next, between the fire-scorched shelves marked 1600 and 1800, on the 1700 shelf, I pulled on the upper spine of The Monk by Matthew Gregory Lewis until it leaned outward. Finally, I counted ten down the row. At La Religieuse by Denis Diderot, I pulled on the top edge until the volume slanted identically to The Monk.

  A hiss sounded and then a rush of air as the bookcase moved into the wall and slipped behind another, exposing a metal-riveted door with a glass porthole centered in the upper half. A wheel with a single handle rested beneath the fisheye window. The door had been salvaged from the warships of the First World War when my predecessor had become concerned about security.

  I twirled the latch until it opened and I stepped over the knee-high threshold, my cassock flaring wide. Then I hurried down the second, shorter flight of stairs.

  At the bottom, damp, must, and mildew assailed my nose. I stepped from the stairs into the large, warehouse-like room, divided by columns and arches. In each segment, two metal doors faced each other. Three lined the left wall and three matching ones lined the right. I heard Vic banging around in her suite.

  Lev made a quieter neighbor, but, then again, Lev was hesitant to take on romance when he had so much to work out. He hadn’t shifted once in almost one hundred and seventy-five years. He wasn’t even sure he was a shifter anymore, though he still smelled like one to me.

  I strode straight toward the entrance at the end of the room. I pressed down on a cast-iron lever. Dust blew out from around the door and fell around me in a cloud.

  In contrast to the stone outer room, lamps illuminated the interior of the Atheneum. More books lined every spare shelf. Plush, red-velvet seating filled the room. A circular staircase led to a second-floor catwalk that skirted the room.

  I slipped into the room, triggering a double-beep alert. The familiar whir signaled the arrival of the Librarian. I crossed the deep shag carpet toward the desk as light collected in the center of the room.

  The sparkling swirls coalesced into a humanoid shape, dressed in nineteenth-century style. As he came into focus, he tugged on an oiled mustache.

  “Jason,” he said, his tone as clipped and formal as always.

  “Could you let Vic and Lev know that I need them?” I asked.

  The Librarian’s chin dropped with consent. “Should I return after summoning the team?”

  “Yes, please,” I answered, shifting papers on my desk. He disappeared without another word.

  An hour later, in the underground Atheneum, I placed the alabaster peacock quill on the table while Vic, Lev, and the Librarian watched. The white feather contrasted sharply with the dark mahogany wood of the low coffee table. I leaned back in the red velvet wingback.

  “There’s something in the park,” I said. “I’m not sure what he is.”

  Vic’s head wobbled on her neck. She lifted the goggles and set them on the top of her head. Our chemist and resident techie, Vic dressed to the nines with attitude. Her florescent pink buzz cut stood out against her midnight skin and dark eyes. “He?” she demanded as she adjusted the 70s eyewear and fiddled with her big, gold hoop earrings. “How can you be so sure it’s a he?”

  I shook my head. “The feather is from a male of the peafowl variety. Only the males have display tails. The logical assumption…”

  Lev threw his head back and laughed his whale song, nearly dislodging the flat cap that rested on his round head. “In this case, I agree with Vic. You yourself say you cannot determine what it is and such assumptions are foolish in the paranormal. Your predecessor taught you that.”

  The old seafarer slapped his knee, took a drag from his seaweed cigar, and then a sip from the algae and ocean water concoction Vic gave him every day. Lev helped me keep track of the paranormal and restore balance when needed. He had years of experience and remembered life with the previous List Keeper like it was yesterday.

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” I said. “Have you ever seen anything like this before?” I asked the room. We had a wealth of knowledge and experience between us.

  Vic studied her fingernails. I glanced at Lev, his expression pensive.

  We were paranormal plumbers, and Lev was our oldest member. We were always on-call, not often necessary, but when we were, it meant the situation was desperate. We kept New Haven City’s supernatural underground running, well-oiled, and balanced. While we hung around, waiting to be needed, Lev entertained himself searching through the archives for a hint of his family. He had earned the right to a slower pace.

  It had taken Lev over one hundred and fifty years to remember that he even had a family. In all that time, he couldn’t remember anything from before he arrived in the waterproof crate on our church doorstep. Yet, every so often, he would have a bit more to tell. Last week, he recalled that he had swallowed a prophet once. The hairy fellow upset his stomach after three days.

  “Nothing to add?” I wanted them to know something I didn’t. They both shook their heads.

  The Librarian cleared his throat and brought me back to the present meeting. The hologram nodded, his light-form bright. The guy was fantastic at organization. He’d been created as an interactive program to help keep the history of experience down through the ages.

  A few years ago, in an unplanned trip to a different galaxy, he got himself a girlfriend and she gifted him with self-awareness. These days, he stuck around because he loved his job. It had taken some work, but she had promised not to kidnap our Librarian anymore. Though, every few months, the bookkeeper took a vacation to see her. I checked the calendar on the wall. The Librarian was about due for another romantic rendezvous.

  I sighed. “Then this will make it even harder than I thought.”

  Vic pursed her lips. “You need Woe. We could use the extra help.” It was my turn to nod in agreement. That is until she added, “And Arún.”

  Well, that…that was going too far.

  I turned the ornate key in the door to the library, Woe on my mind again. She wasn’t making the logical choices I needed her to make, and
maybe I wanted her to turn some of her illogical attention on me.

  My bed sheets clung to her scent, and my resistance crumbled each time I tucked myself in. It wasn’t fair to ask a woman to share the danger in my life, but I couldn’t get her out of my head. She couldn’t get mixed up with that alien Fae.

  She had a job to do. The sooner she realized that the better. The happier we’d both be.

  I leaned into the heavy office door and crossed the floor to touch the stained-glass lamp. It tossed a dim light across the room.

  I nearly tripped on a silver topped, fine mahogany cane, made by the same artisan who’d fashioned the confessional. The cane lay across the stone floor rather than leaning against the opposite door. I’d left it there for years out of respect for the previous father.

  They’d been there. Perhaps Woe’s arrival had emboldened our enemies.

  Papers were strewn across the floor. The antique roll-top desk slanted forward, balanced precariously on the open pencil drawer. Pens littered the floor from one side to the other. The waste basket had been emptied onto the settee. Disposable coffee cups spilled week-old drips on the beige carpet. Clerical books lay across the area rugs, pages bent this way and that. It would be by God’s own mercy if the collection weren’t ruined.

  I sighed. As though I’d keep the list out in the open. What sort of fool did they think I was? The key was always with me. My fingertips grazed the chain around my neck.

  A sound tugged my attention to the corridor outside. I dashed to the door. From shadow to shadow, a small man tottered back and forth down the hall toward the open window. Trained monkey, maybe?

  I grasped the cane and ducked into the hall. When I glanced again, the shadow morphed into a feline shape that leapt to the top of the buffet. It looked back at me, and then jumped out the half-open, high transom window.

  I pressed my palms to the top of the buffet, wedged a toe into the deep-cut designs in the door panels, and pushed down. I swung one foot to the top and then the other. The sturdy gothic furniture held me steady as I peered out the window.

  Gone.

  The Boss had sent flunkies sooner than I expected.

  I dropped to the floor and gave a harsh tug on my collar. This changed things.

  I returned to the room and propped the cane back in its rightful corner. I pulled the cell from my pocket. Vic needed to know so she could rig the Cavern and locate Woe’s tracking device, and I’d better check the library.

  I hit the stapler against each corner of the flyer. Tiny holes riddled the thick oak doors, leftovers from all the other functions and services of the last hundred years.

  My to-do list included attending the special service, feeding the hungry, and then I could listen to the homeless talk about the weird things they saw in the shadows where nobody else went. Maybe it would help figure out where to start searching for clues.

  My heart thudded in my chest when I heard an unexpected voice close behind. “Hello, Father, I have sinned.”

  I whirled, an image of a spinning dervish flashed in my mind. “It’s been over a week. Where have you been?” But I knew where she’d been, thanks to the tracking device.

  “I made a man die.”

  I studied her. Her claim surprised me. She hadn’t gone very far. Just what had she been doing? Is that why she’d found me? Time for confession?

  Woe leaned against the building. When she stepped forward, my gaze tripped down her body, and I got a healthy dose of drop-dead sexy.

  I wanted to sweep her off her feet. Right then. I wanted to… My face flushed.

  A tear trailed down her cheek, and she swiped at it.

  Bare legs, no makeup. A scuffed leather jacket over a torn mini dress. “What have you been doing?”

  She didn’t answer. She pushed her hair back from her face.

  “You look like a…” A hooker. She looked like a hooker. And I wanted to touch her.

  Look. Don’t touch. Instead, I continued with, “You look like a teenager.”

  It wasn’t altogether true. She exuded an allure that she hadn’t had before. It struck me then. Confidence made up the extra something. She was surer of herself than she’d been before.

  It made her tantalizing.

  Her dark hair fell back over her cheek, the same shade her burned feathers had been and probably just as soft. My fingers twitched. I wanted to touch her, find out for myself. I made two fists instead.

  She snorted. “I’m twice as old as Westminster.”

  “Not anymore,” I said. She made it hard to stay focused. Surely, I’d get used to her as a woman.

  “I’m a fallen angel, Jason.” She tapped her temple. “I still have a lot of stuff tucked up here.”

  “True.” I pointed to the church. “Want to come in?”

  She shook her head.

  “After our talk, I had hoped...”

  “Hoped what?”

  “You’d return to the church. Let me teach you some things.”

  She sighed. “I can’t do that. Besides, I hear the last fallen angel didn’t fare so well long-term. Isn’t he locked up somewhere?”

  She waited for a response, but I let the silence stretch. Finally, I nodded. “The last time I saw him, he bellowed, ‘These iron bars can’t hold my soul.’”

  “I’m not sure I have a soul, Jason. Do fallen angels have souls?”

  “Of course you do.” I shifted in the cassock, and my hand drifted to the beads tucked beneath the fringed sash that cinched my robe. “What have you been doing?”

  “It doesn’t matter. It didn’t work.”

  She drew a slip of paper from her pocket and handed it to me.

  I took it, sighed, and my shoulders drooped. “What’s this?”

  “A report on the escapades of the evening.”

  I scowled. “Where are your shoes?”

  “I kept tripping in them. I’ll get different ones.” She rubbed the top of her foot against the back of her opposite calf. Woe stood on the corner. Overhead, a traffic light switched from yellow to red. “Why do you care what I’ve been doing?”

  “It’s my job.”

  “I’m not your job, not anymore.”

  A cloud covered the moon, and the shadows leaned in.

  “We can talk about it tomorrow. I have some questions for you. Come home. Get some sleep.” Fat raindrops spotted the pavement. “We need you.”

  Her shoulders drooped. “Fine. I’ll be around. Meet me at the park.”

  “You won’t regret helping,” I said, draping my arm around her, trying to be friendly, picturing dragging her up the stairs. I bit back a growl. “Have you ever tried a donut?”

  15

  Yesterday

  Woe

  The next morning, while I ate the donuts he’d brought me, Jason took a seat at the table in the middle of his room. He crossed his arms. The leather stretched between his shoulders, groaning in complaint. He looked odd in the trench coat. Either his jacket was shrinking or he was growing wider with age. I’d known him for too many years.

  “How do you find fallen angels?” I wasn’t the first one he’d cared for.

  “I have a sense about these things.” He took a donut from the box. “I have some questions for you. Do you mind if I ask them?”

  “Questions about what?” For the first time, I suspected he wasn’t wholly human.

  “Your fall.”

  I brushed white powder off of the table. It was a reasonable query. Keeping balance was his job, and he kept tabs on the paranormal. That was who Jason was. That included me now. “What do you want to know?”

  Jason eased a long black feather from his satchel and placed it between us. It stretched the three-foot length of the table, the sheen on the keratin capturing a rainbow of colors.

  “A detective found this at a crime scene, and he called me in for questioning. So far as I know, you used to have the only black wings in town.”

  I had forgotten how beautiful they were. I reached for what had been a
part of me for so long. Sometimes, I dreamed I still had them, but…

  “Had them, Jason. I don’t anymore.” Singed by another memory, I pulled my hand back.

  “Why did you do it?”

  “Because…” I recalled the feeling afterward and considered my answer. The ripping away, the tearing… The loss.

  I’d been thrown into a forge, melted from one thing to another. It could’ve been worse. My penance resulted from action. It couldn’t have been worse than what she had endured in that alley… that night…

  Finally, I offered the only answer he would understand. “That night, I arrived too late.”

  He frowned. “Too late for what?”

  “An angel isn’t allowed retribution. An angel isn’t allowed to directly impact the balance.”

  He didn’t flinch. I watched from the corner of my eye. I expected him to flinch.

  Instead, he replied, “Tell me what happened.”

  Three Weeks Earlier

  I don’t remember why I was there. Something pulled me down the stairs and onto that car. It’s hard to explain kismet. I watched the man stroll through the sliding doors of the subway car. I didn’t recognize him at first.

  He took a seat. When the car lurched forward, he grunted. That sound brought the memory forward and sent horror curling in my belly. The troubling scene played out again. It seemed I’d only just managed to go a few hours without thinking of her.

  That awful night, gargoyles had been on either side of me above a dark alley funneling hundreds of prayers, their stone tongues forming all the words. I listened while I watched falling snowflakes. Each falling snowflake made a peculiar sound, a single part in an orchestra. They were crystals in the moonlight.

  An odd night. I didn’t often see snowflakes fall in a thunderstorm.

  But, in the corner, by the dumpster, I finally noticed the sound of grunts and a little girl whimpered until her small voice begged for mercy.