Angelfall

by L. Penelope

  “Do you not hear their thoughts?”

  I focus and discover the low-level hum I had been ignoring since we arrived is the noise of human minds. My hands cover my ears in an attempt to hush the din, but it’s no use. They’re inside my head now, buzzing like the inborn knowledge I emerged with, only these thoughts are even more invasive. Instinct must have kicked in initially, muting the racket.

  “You can hear them?” I ask.

  His lips thin to a straight line. “Only the most vile thoughts. It’s one of my weaker gifts.”

  I close my eyes and shut down my other senses to pinpoint the thoughts around me. They flit by like gnats, swarming and then dissipating in cloud-like formations.

  Look at them, eating American food.

  I certainly won’t be eating here again if they serve Chinamen.

  Isn’t it enough they’ve taken our jobs? Now they’re taking over our restaurants and shops!

  I open my eyes to find Wren staring at me.

  “They think we’re immigrants.”

  He nods.

  “I suppose we are, in a way.” I shut out the nasty thoughts once again and ignore the looks of the people around us. “Should we charm them? Make them view us as equals?”

  Wren looks around. “Charming is only temporary. It’s not the answer.”

  I know he’s right, but all of a sudden I feel heavy. The smooth-as-water silk dress that I’d loved only an hour ago feels like sandpaper on my new skin. Something stings my eyes and pressure rises in my throat. My body’s reaction is unnerving. I’m not sure what all of these sensations mean.

  The silverware and plates begin to rattle on the table. Overhead the chandelier sways as vibrations shoot through the room. All talking around us ceases as people look up in wonder.

  “What’s happening?” I whisper.

  Wren’s gaze takes in the shaking room, then lands on me. He squeezes my hand. “Lyrix.” His voice is a command. Only then do I realize that I’m doing this, causing the room to shake. The coil of pain inside me has sprung itself into this world. It wants to escape the confines of my heart and affect everything around me.

  “Take a deep breath,” he says, his voice warm and low. “That’s it. Now another.”

  Tears escape to race down my cheeks. The shaking ceases. Around us, people murmur in urgent tones about the earthquake, wondering if there will be aftershocks.

  “You will need to control your emotions. There is a reason that angels are so dispassionate. Pain can cause a lack of restraint,” he says.

  “I didn’t realize I was in pain.”

  “What were you feeling just before the shaking began?”

  I describe the symptoms to him—the tightness in my chest, the weight.

  “Remember those feelings. That is sadness.”

  “Why am I sad?” I scrub at the tears wetting my face.

  “Because these people mistreat you with their thoughts.”

  “Are you sad too?”

  “No.” He pulls his hand back and clenches it into a fist. “I’m angry. For their thoughts and for how they’ve affected you. I want to hurt them the way they’ve hurt you.”

  “You mustn’t, Wren.”

  He locks eyes with me, a look of sorrow coming over him. “I know. But I want to.”

  We spend a week walking through the city, learning its layout and absorbing the feel of humanity. The wonders of existing in my body continue to unfold. I love stretching my muscles on our long walks, I love running and feeling the wind and rain on my skin. I love the chill in the summer air and the heat of the fire in the hearth. But I love eating the most.

  We sample a range of flavors and types of cooking, from Italian to Chinese to Portuguese, and enjoy every bit of it. I charm our way past the objections of restaurant staff when they arise, but there are many who are happy to serve us without complaint.

  Wren acquires a billfold and money, but won’t tell me how. I don’t push him on it, yet he needs to save his powers—the more he uses them, the faster they’ll run out, and I’m having too much fun to go back to Euphoria just yet.

  We find lodging at a boarding house just off of Montgomery Street in an area called the Barbary Coast. It’s considered a rough part of town, full of saloons and gambling houses, but no one stares at us here, and their thoughts are far more consumed with themselves and their survival than worry about where Wren and I were born and whether we should be in this city or country at all.

  When Mr. Wong, the owner of the boarding house, asked us if we were married, Wren said yes and we were given a room together. He sounded very angelic when he later told me sharing a room was the most efficient use of space, but I don’t mind at all. At night, we sleep side by side. I always awake to find my limbs entwined with his in the most pleasurable way.

  My hands always reach for his; it is extraordinary to have our fingers locked together as we explore our temporary home. His skin is warm; being close to him awakens things inside me that I do not expect and want to explore further. When I bring it up to him, he becomes flustered and red-faced again. I fear I have scandalized him further. But I also like the way being scandalous feels—open and free.

  We dip our toes in the frigid waters of the Pacific, charter a boat to tour the San Francisco Bay, visit the redwood forest, listen to the musicians in Golden Gate Park, and gawk at animals in the zoo. I feel like a real adventurer.

  Sometimes people stare at us, or mutter under their breaths, and several times they display open hostility, which I squelch quickly. After these incidents, Wren is always more quiet than usual, and it takes much longer to draw him out again. I fear he’s like the caterpillars inching across the leaves in the park. If you watch long enough, they stretch out to full length. But touch them and they will revert back to their protective state of being, curled into a tight little ball. I want him to enjoy himself as much as I am, but sometimes I’m afraid that asking him to come with me was a mistake. That he isn’t happy and would rather return to Euphoria. He denies it, but I’m not so certain.

  We walk back to our rented room after a day at the pier. The gaslights flicker, lighting our way as the night unfolds around us. The Barbary Coast is vibrant at night in a way other neighborhoods are not. Though I normally mute the thoughts of humans near me, tonight I open myself to them.

  We pass a theater bearing a marquee with several missing lights, and I tug Wren to a stop. A stray thought from inside the building intrudes into my consciousness, pulling me in, making me want to know more.

  Wren looks up at the building and shakes his head. “Do you know what kind of place this is?”

  I think I do. I focus on the thoughts of a man and a woman in a small room, its window facing the street. Suddenly, their minds go silent as pleasure subsumes them.

  “I want to see,” I say, tugging Wren’s hand. He is wary, but follows.

  There is an entry fee, which I find odd, but Wren pulls out his billfold and pays. We enter a dimly lit room which reeks of cigarettes and liquor. Candles sit on wobbly tables in front of a raised stage bordered in red velvet curtains. On the stage is a woman clad only in a bustier, garter, stockings and heels. She gyrates and struts back and forth as a piano player in the corner performs a soulfully melancholy melody. The eyes of the men in the audience are glued to her.

  The dancer raises her hands to her breasts and squeezes them suggestively. A thrill goes through me. I slide closer to Wren and tighten my grip on his upper arm.

  Her sensual movements make liquid flow inside me. With exaggerated motions, she removes her bustier, revealing large breasts. Whistles and sounds of approval ripple through the crowd. Her nipples are erect; she takes them between her thumb and forefinger and rubs gently.

  My own breasts swell in response. I long to touch them like that. Between my legs a void forms and begins to ache. Moisture pools there, and my breathing quickens.

  I’m unable to look away from the rest of the performance. By the end, the woman has shed every
thing, including her stockings, and flounces around the stage completely nude. No one here is scandalized. In fact, everyone is rapt. Including me. Including Wren.

  When she exits behind the curtain and the audience begins to stir, I pull him back from the doorway and up a darkened flight of steps in the back of the building. On the landing, I become invisible and he follows suit. Our hands are locked together so that he doesn’t lose me.

  Up here, a jumble of human thoughts vie for my attention. I stop before a door and listen. Low moans greet me. I turn the door handle, ignoring Wren’s jerking hand indicating his disapproval. The door opens silently, but the noise within grows louder.

  Inside, the walls, floor, and ceiling are painted red. Thick curtains cover the window. In the center of the room is a large bed, larger than the one in our rented room. A man and a woman lie there completely nude.

  “I don’t think we should be watching,” Wren whispers to me. A thrill runs down from my ear, tickled by the warmth of his breath, all the way to the gentle throb between my legs. I hadn’t known I was so empty there before. I hadn’t known that it would feel so ravenous.

  The woman moans as the man laves her breasts with his tongue. I understand that the woman is being paid for her services, but she does not seem to be in distress. I delve into her thoughts, but then pull right out. They cool the longing inside me. She thinks about how quickly this will be over and how many more clients she can see tonight. She is grateful for the man’s cleanliness and kindness and that he isn’t doing anything vile. She grabs his erection and places it at her entrance, then pushes it inside her. I switch to his thoughts, which are centered on the pliable softness of her body and the motion of thrusting in and out of her wet heat.

  The warmth within me rises. My skin flushes even more. Though Wren apparently feels like we’re violating the privacy of these humans, he makes no move to leave. We watch the rolling, undulating movements and listen to their cries. Hers are for show, just as much of a performance as the dance downstairs, but his are real. A few minutes later, his thoughts blank out as ecstasy overtakes him. I believe the woman could have been moved to pleasure as well, but it is not what she seeks. As he withdraws from inside her, I tug on Wren’s arm, wanting to leave.

  We are half a block down the street before I speak. “Why did she not receive the same pleasure?”

  “I think it was because she had no feelings for him, it was just a transaction. It is different for people in love.”

  “But how do you know if you are in love?”

  The corners of his mouth raise a fraction. He tucks an errant hair behind my ear. “Isn’t that the question for the ages? Beetrix told me that she knew she loved my father when she couldn’t imagine life without him. She knew that he would only be a tiny blip in her existence, but the feel of him would always be there. Perhaps that is love, when it is not merely based on the presence of another, but when the feeling transcends the need for the other person to be with you. When it is there long after they are gone.”

  "Could she not have stayed with him? Followed him through his lives?"

  "Perhaps, but she missed Euphoria. Though if it was possible for angels to bind with human souls, I think she would have..." He looked off into the distance.

  The idea of love makes me both happy and sad. I don’t want to imagine a moment without Wren. When I wake up and see his face in the mornings, I feel like I’m home—just where I’m meant to be. But I know that I would feel this way, even if we were separated by thousands of years or millions of miles. Is this love?

  I shiver in the night air. He wraps an arm around me, and I melt into his side. But melancholy plays at the edges of my thoughts. Love is something that cannot exist in Euphoria, especially when I am a Seraph. If this is love, then I hope it’s able to last long after we’re separated, for we cannot stay in the human world forever.

  Chapter Nine

  A light rain starts as we make our way back to the boarding house. Lyrix and I run through the shower breathless, still affected by the display at the burlesque club. I’m not sure what to make of her fascination, but her face lights up as she runs through the rain. Water plasters her hair to her head, her dress to her body, outlining her shape in a way that makes my pants tighten. She’s beautiful, undoubtedly, and I fear exactly how much of humanity she wishes to experience.

  Back in that room, watching the coupling of the man and woman awakened the desire in me that I grapple with every day. Lyrix and I do everything together; we are almost always in physical contact. It’s exquisite torture.

  When we are back in our room, she strips down shamelessly, removing all her wet clothing, standing nude in the lamplight. I follow her lead, removing the thick, heavy layers until we are both naked before each other. Light still dances in her eye, but my face hardens to stone, almost as hard as my cock. Her gaze lowers until she is staring, making me impossibly harder. Her expression is a mix of curiosity and desire as she walks toward me, her hand outstretched as if she wants to touch me.

  I fear this will be the end of me. Her curiosity is endearing, but I am not sure she knows what she is getting herself into. I’m not sure I do either, quite frankly.

  That familiar hunger overtakes every part of me. My gaze rakes over her ample curves, the swell of her breasts and the roundness in her belly. Her buttocks as she turns slightly to the side to regard me coyly from lowered eyelids. Her hand reaches for me and I grab her wrist to stop her.

  Guileless eyes peer up at me. She is not the teasing dancer we witnessed previously. Everything about her is open and clear, wanting to know and experience and learn.

  All of the control I mustered in Euphoria trying to fit in with the rest of the dispassionate angels has been sorely tested these past weeks. Human feelings are far more intense than I remembered. Every moment with her is electric, every touch a lightning storm. I don’t know how I will survive an eternity without it when we return.

  Every time I curb my pleasure at some new experience with her, I see her disappointment, but it’s the only way I know to manage what’s to come. Pain will come with our eventual separation, and I must control it. Never let it through. It is how I’ve survived thus far. But this, now, the sight of her before me with that look in her eye—there will be no hiding from this.

  “Are you certain this is what you want?” I ask.

  “Do you not want to know what it is like?”

  The hand not in my grasp snakes around to grip my hardness in her firm palm. I convulse at the contact, giving in to an uncontrollable shiver. The worries and fears cease as I focus on not spending in her hand. She strokes me, her stare intense. I release her other wrist and allow her to explore as she chooses—I have never felt anything so pleasurable.

  Sifting through human records for generations of their lives has acquainted me with much knowledge of them, but the sensation of the soft skin of her hand gliding along the firmness of my rigid cock—it’s almost too much. A feeling builds within me, and I give a shout before spurting warm liquid onto her belly and thigh.

  She looks on in wonder as the tension keeps me in its grip. I cannot control this body now; it has control of me, or rather Lyrix does, for she doesn’t let go.

  When I am finally finished with my eruption, her excited eyes meet mine. She looks like she’s just been given the greatest present ever. I sense a fluttering thrill—not my own—it feels like it’s coming from outside of my body. The shame that had been building flees, and in its place, pride charges through me. Her matching expression marks the emotion as hers. Somehow, her feelings are bleeding through to me.

  She rubs her stomach where the sticky fluid resides. I go to the washbasin and return with a wet cloth to clean us off with.

  “How did that feel?” she asks. I wipe down her skin and then settle her down on the bed. I take the time to rinse and replace the cloth, gathering my thoughts.

  I cannot describe how it feels, not in words. Perhaps flowing through the stream in Euphoria
is a bit of data that she can absorb and understand it for herself, but that is not how human knowledge works.

  “I think that I can show you.”

  Her eyes widen even more when I kneel before her, spreading her legs apart so that I may fit between them. The dark thatch of hair at the apex of her legs is at mouth level, but I do not taste her yet.

  “Lie back,” I say. She does, but props herself on her elbows so that she may see what I’m doing. I run a hand across her belly, sliding into the grooves of her hipbones and then down her full thighs. The skin on the inside of her legs is cool and smooth. I brush my fingertips across it and watch the gooseflesh rise. Lyrix is tense with anticipation.

  “Relax.”

  She takes a deep breath, but the tension remains. I graze the juncture of her thighs with my thumbs, just avoiding her center lips. I skim her folds again and again—with each touch she relaxes visibly. The last time she gasps in a breath.

  Using my thumbs, I spread open her lower lips and view the beauty of her form. Tentatively, I give the sweet, pink flesh a lick. She nearly bucks off the bed, her back arching high. Heat radiates through me and I do it again, finding a rhythm that has her moaning in pleasure, chanting my name over and over.

  Acting on instinct, I slide my index finger into her depths. It is then that she clamps around me and screams loud enough that I’m certain people outside hear her.

  I chuckle under my breath and sit back on my haunches, watching her come down, my finger still inside her. She finally releases her hold on me, allowing me to retreat.

  “That is what it felt like,” I say. She looks up at me breathless, speechless for the first time ever.

  Chapter Ten

  Aftershocks ripple through my body from what Wren did to me with a single finger and tongue. I am completely undone. My throat is raw from screaming. As my breathing comes back to normal, I want more. More of that feeling, more of whatever it was that I have no words for. It was exactly the opposite of everything in Euphoria. Raw and wet, physical and carnal. I do not know how I will ever go back there.