Angelfall

by L. Penelope

  A sense of deep satisfaction pervades me. I frown at the intrusive feeling; it’s not my own.

  Wren climbs on the bed with a very self-satisfied expression. He lies on his side and pulls me up until my back rests against his front. One arm is around my stomach, his fingers drawing circles on my skin.

  I am finally able to speak again after what feels like a short eternity.

  “More,” I croak out, my throat dry and creaky.

  “What’s that?” he says. I hear the smile in his voice and want to wipe away the smugness, but truly, he’s earned it.

  “More,” I say again, more clearly. I turn in his arms and roll him until he’s on his back with me on top. “I want more.”

  His look changes from one of lazy contentment to hardened will; it’s almost like looking at a different person. His determined expression makes the space between my legs even wetter than before. I must be leaking onto him by now. It’s an embarrassing thought, accompanied by a distinct lack of shame. But Wren simply looks up at me, unmoving. I must impress upon him the seriousness of my need.

  He’s hard again. His erection rests against my thigh as I press more fully into him with all my weight. I roll a bit against him, and he sucks in a breath. Perhaps this will convince him I am in earnest.

  I lift my lower half and undulate again. Before I’ve even finished the motion, I find myself turned over on my back, squealing, with Wren between my legs, positioned against my entrance, the very tip of him nudging against my wet opening.

  It’s my turn to gasp in a breath when I feel him breaching me. The delicious sensation brings back everything I felt in the thoughts of the people in that theater. Desire builds within me, along with that sense of emptiness. I want—no, I need him to fill me. I widen my legs to explain this to him. He seems to understand my message. He leans forward to assault my lips with his own in a deep kiss at the same time as his lower half surges forward, pushing him fully inside me.

  The invasion stretches me in a way that is both pleasurable and painful, and then we are one—he is with me and I am with him.

  He pauses, his breaths heavy, arms shaking, keeping his full weight off me. His eyes are closed. He appears to be in deep concentration. I stroke his face and place a kiss against his lips, urging him forward gently with another roll of my hips.

  His eyes fly open, pinning me in place as he begins to move. This time I close my eyes, determined to understand every fiber of sensation flowing through me. It’s like a fast-moving stream of aether, and I’m plucking bits of data out as quickly as I can, but they’re passing me by. I cannot analyze all of the feelings and sensations I’m experiencing. There are just too many.

  Wren must somehow know what I’m doing, for he places his palm against my face, and my eyes open. “Just feel it,” he says, and I do. I feel every inch of his length inside me and the slickness of my inner walls as they accept him, caress him, squeeze him. I feel his weight, his sweat, my need, my breath, his kiss, his look, my moans, his grunts, and all of it combines in the most beautiful medley of sensation. It rivals any other human experience I’ve known.

  More than that, I feel his emotions too. The joy, the wonder, the love. Yes, this is love, I’m certain of it. His responses are clear. Somehow I’m now privy to his emotions as well as my own.

  I go over the top of an endless crest and fall, weightless with the same feeling as flying through the air. There is no wind or atmosphere, no birds or clouds; there is only me and Wren and us together, here in this moment that both lasts forever and is over in the blink of an eye.

  We snuggle together through the night, his arms around me, and once again, I wonder how I will ever leave this place.

  Chapter Eleven

  Weeks pass and soon we’ve been in the human world for nearly two months. We’ve both taken jobs to better experience this life, me delivering produce to groceries around town and Lyrix teaching English to the children of Chinese immigrants at a church-run school. Our ability to speak and understand every human language is very useful.

  “Look at these drawings from the students,” Lyrix says one evening, stretched out in the bed beside me.

  I run my hand through her hair fanned out on the pillow. “Why does one of them show you with wings?”

  She blushes and turns her head away slightly.

  “Lyrix?”

  Sighing, she meets my eyes. “I might possibly have told some of the children that I was an angel. I guess I forgot to mention that not all of us have wings. Their ideas about us are really quite inventive.”

  "They have interpreted our existence in many ways over the millenia," I say and shake my head and peer at the crude picture again. A figure colored like the rainbow hovers over a building that I guess is meant to portray the school.

  “How did they know your coloring?”

  “Lily Yu must be humanborn. She was able to see me in my angel form a few weeks ago. That’s why I had to reveal what I was. She was frightened—I was trying to calm her.” Humanborn, like angelborn are half-angel, but have human mothers. They are benefitted by being born with souls, but often have powers they don't understand.

  “And she believed you?”

  Lyrix nods emphatically. “The girl sees many strange things, she’s quite odd. I cannot believe that her angel sire allowed her to be raised with no knowledge of her lineage. I don’t even think her human mother knows the girl’s father is an angel. I thought knowing the truth would help her, but now I’m not so certain.” Suddenly, she rolls onto her side and clutches her belly.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask, leaning across her.

  “I don’t know. I've been feeling strange the past few days,” she moans. “It's growing worse. My body is hot, and the smell of Mr. Wong’s dinner is making me feel…wobbly inside.”

  “Wobbly?” Her face has taken on a strange pallor. She’s pale, almost like an ill human. “I’d say you were sick, but that’s impossible.” I focus on her body, listening to it the way I would if I were to heal, though I must save my powers—they’ve begun to fade during our months here.

  I grab Lyrix’s hand and squeeze, taking note of the flow of her internal systems. Then I notice it, small and delicate. “Oh, no,” I whisper. She pops up to a sitting position.

  “What’s wrong?”

  I place her hand over her abdomen and press gently. Her face scrunches up, then clears as understanding dawns. “I’m—but—”

  Lyrix carries a child in her womb. The weight of my carelessness crashes down on me. A child? An angelborn child. I am not aware of an angel and angelborn mating before. The child will be three-quarters angel, but that is still not enough for those in Euphoria. A sickening feeling seizes me as I pull away to go stand at the window. Tears sting the backs of my eyes. “I’m so sorry. This is my fault.”

  Lyrix appears beside me, one hand still covering her flat belly. A grin breaks out across her face. “What is there to be sorry about? I’ve always wondered what it would be like.” Her smile is blinding. “I’m going to be a dam!”

  I cannot share her enthusiasm. The only thing inside is emptiness. The life of an angelborn is not one I would wish on another. Never fitting in, caught between worlds—I choke back a cry and clench my fists to keep it all inside.

  A sound, like the tinkling of bells, rises behind us, and a burst of light explodes in the room. We turn around as the light fades, revealing a man. He appears to be in his early twenties, as we do, but the dark double-breasted jacket, covering a gold waistcoat, is about twenty-five years outmoded. Angels coming from Euphoria appear in the clothing they wore the last time they visited the human world. I don’t recognize him, but Lyrix does.

  “Cynnix. Why have you come?”

  Steely blue eyes peer at us from a chiseled face. Dark, curling hair peeks out from under his charcoal top hat. “We have received a pearl that is most distressing, Lyrix.”

  I sink into the chair next to the window. Our room is small, and the addition of another a
ngel seems to suck the life out of it. Lyrix approaches him, her head cocked to the side.

  “What did it say?”

  “That you are with child.”

  Her hands fly to her stomach protectively. Cynnix narrows his eyes. “Then it is true.”

  “Yes,” she whispers, her lips curving up. “I’ve just found out I’m going to have a baby.”

  His glare focuses on me. I clench my jaw but hold his challenging gaze. “Do you care nothing for the future of our kind, halfling?”

  Lyrix steps in front of me, blocking our eye duel. “I am just as responsible as Wren is. Don’t speak to him that way.”

  “Neither of you has been responsible. It is time to end this exploration of yours and return to Euphoria immediately. The next Adjustment has been scheduled. You are needed on the throne.”

  Her brow creases, confusion washing over her face. “Will the baby survive my transformation to Seraph?” She looks back at me, but I have no answers.

  Cynnix snorts. His human self is a jackass. “The baby will not survive outside of your human body. Once you next take your angel form, this inconvenience will be ended. The Seraphim are expecting you to return with me at once.”

  Lyrix’s jaw hangs open. Her lips quiver as she tries to form words, but can’t. Just seeing her like this tears me out of my self-pity. Rage boils inside me. This angel is casually discussing the death of my child.

  I stalk over to him and stand nose to nose. He leans back with a startled gasp. “You need to leave,” I tell him. “Now.”

  Cynnix eyes me warily and steps back. “Do I take that to mean that you will not return?” His question is for Lyrix—though I’m mere inches away, he treats me as if I’m invisible.

  Her jaw snaps shut. “If you think I will jeopardize this baby that I’ve been entrusted with, I can only conclude you’ve taken leave of your senses.”

  Cynnix’s eyes close in a long blink. “You have a duty, a responsibility to attend to. Playing at being human does nothing to serve the Flame. Your selfishness will be relayed to the Seraphim.” With a blinding flash, another portal opens and he is gone.

  Lyrix crumples into a heap. I’m at her side immediately, drawing her to me. Her tears fall fast as I rub her back in soothing motions, but she only grows more emotional. Soon the mirror over the dresser begins to shake. The pictures hanging on the walls rattle, and the water basin vibrates.

  “Calm down,” I say softly. “They cannot force you to shift. They cannot force you to do anything.” She suppresses her sobs and dries her eyes. The tremors in the room fade away. I press a kiss to her forehead and smooth her hair. She clings to me, her grip almost painful.

  “I don’t know what to do,” she whispers. “I have a duty to the Flame, but what of my duty to our child?”

  I think of Beetrix’s sacrifices. Living here for years until I had control over my shifts and could live in Euphoria. Returning to her home only to be looked down on for bearing an angelborn spawn. She should be the archangel of Records now, but she chose to care for me and never once complained. I know Lyrix will be every bit the dam that Beetrix was. Through the bond, I can already feel the love she has for our child.

  “We will get through this together,” I say, holding her tighter.

  She sniffs through her tears then looks up at me. “Wren? Do you love me? What I feel through our bond is so strong, but you never say it.”

  I freeze. The moment drags on as thoughts leave me. She stiffens, and I try to cover with a nervous laugh. “What do angels and angelborn really know of love?”

  She pulls back to stare in my eyes. “I know. I know that I love you. That you are part of my very being, and I don’t want to ever be without you.”

  My mouth dries as I try to respond. Wanting and reality are entirely different. I’ve wanted a great many things that I could never get. It isn’t my lot in life to get what I want. Living among the humans, it’s easy to forget. “When we’re back in Euphoria, it won’t matter what we felt here. All of this will be gone.”

  “But I will know.” Her voice is sad.

  “When you are a Seraph, you will not care.”

  “I care now,” she says, almost too quiet to hear.

  I hold her, unable to say the words she longs to hear. Unable to admit to my feelings because her destiny does not lie with me. The same human emotions that allow me to feel such joy with her will also bring unimaginable pain. One day very soon, she will be snatched from my arms and transformed into a cold, red shell—an angel queen. What good will my love be then?

  Chapter Twelve

  The dreams start during the early weeks of my pregnancy. Until now, I have not dreamed at all as a human, but once my body begins to protect and grow another, the nights are no longer my own.

  Almost as soon as my eyes close, I find myself someplace new, often somewhere I have never been before. A trinket shop, a dark apartment, a city park. Nothing much happens in the dreams, they are just slices of daily life, the normal goings on of humanity. But then, usually within a day or two, I find myself in just that shop or visiting that apartment, or walking down a sidewalk across from that park. I see the actions in my dream play out in real life, right before my eyes.

  At first, they are clear as water, and I became used to their simplicity. But then, they change, as subtly as a sunny day slowly growing overcast. The images become murky until all that is left is a single sense: the smell of a heavy perfume, the feel of something rough across my skin, the taste of burnt bread.

  These things, too, come to pass in short order. After a while I stop thinking about them, they became normal parts of my life. Like the green floral wallpaper in the hallway of the boarding house, or the stained curtains over the windows.

  “Bed rest for the rest of her confinement,” the doctor says. I sink back into the mattress, too weak to protest. I don’t want to be in bed for the next several months, I want to be out and about, experiencing the world, doing my work. Being ill was never something that crossed my mind—I hadn’t thought it possible.

  Wren thanks the doctor and sees the man out. When he returns, his face is drawn and closed off. He always looks that way these days.

  “I will be perfectly safe here in bed, Wren. You must go back now and reconnect with the Flame. You’re very nearly human.” He settles on the bed next to me and draws my hand to his. Though his expression remains impassive, growing a bit colder each day, his skin on mine is warm. He touches me nearly constantly and, as usual, it sends ripples of awareness through me, dulling the constant pain in my back and sides.

  “I will not leave you alone here,” he says, pressing a kiss to my knuckles. “It could be months in human time before I’m strong enough to return. Timing across the realms is too unpredictable.”

  I shake my head, struggling to sit up farther in the bed. The movement causes the baby to shift inside me—at least he’s moved off my bladder, relieving that particular human need. Wren strokes my belly, worry creasing his face.

  It’s not just concern over my physical condition, anxiety about the baby flows through our emotional bond. Who will the little one grow up to be and where? It’s the reason Wren has been drawing away from me and into himself. He doesn’t speak about his life in Euphoria before I emerged, but I see the pain in his gaze. Every slight we experience in this world when we venture outside of borders of Chinatown deepen the wound. Wren is in a haze of pain that I can’t penetrate.

  I wait until he meets my gaze. “The baby is fine, we are both fine.”

  “You’re not fine, Lyrix. Without reconnecting with the Flame, your human body is ill. I only wish that I could heal you.” He shakes his head.

  “You must save what little power you have left in order to shift. I want you to go back to Euphoria. Please. If you’re stuck here as a human—” The thought of him in the Wasteland frightens me more than I can say.

  He pulls me in to him, and I rest my head on his chest. “The baby will be here soon, and you’ll be a
ble to shift and access your power again, then I’ll go back and recharge.”

  His voice is confident and sure, but the tension in his eyes belies his true feelings. I’ve been trying to change his mind for weeks now, convince him to go and be done with it, but nothing will sway him. I feel such a sense of betrayal to this human body of mine that has been so ill during my pregnancy. If I were stronger, he wouldn’t feel the need to stay and take care of me.

  An empty teacup rattles on the nightstand to the beat of my distress. Wren strokes my hair and tells me everything will be all right. I want to believe him so badly. I really do.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The dream begins quietly. A crisp summer day in the city. The bell of a cable car a few streets away dings merrily. But then the peace and calm is broken. A bright light flickers wildly. A shout. Blood on the pavement. Pain, so much pain.

  I wake to a contraction that feels like the baby is stabbing me with tiny knives. Our child is coming, but I must find Wren. This dream was so much worse than the others.

  I have no clothing that fits over my enormous belly, so I wrap my robe over my nightclothes and slip my swollen feet into my boots. I alternate between withstanding the pain of the contractions and the fear my dream instilled. Fear for Wren. And the knowledge that this adventure of ours has come to an end.

  For by the time this night is over, he will be lost to me forever.

  Chapter Fourteen

  THE WASTELAND, Now

  The first thing that hits me every time I awaken is the smell. Human legends talk of a hell that is filled with fire and brimstone, a place of never-ending torment, torture and pain. The Wasteland is none of those things, but somehow it is worse. The odor that permeates the air is not sulfurous; it merely reeks of desperation and lost dreams. It is foul not because it assaults the nose, but because it lacks hope. I never believed hope had a smell before, but now I know it does. It smells like Lyrix.