Angelfall

by L. Penelope

  We acquire clothes and food in a bustling business district, though Caleb is reluctant to use his power to charm the humans into providing these necessities. I have no such compunctions and enjoy a delicious meal as he grumbles about fairness. He will have to get over these petty concerns; we have too much at stake to worry about the cost of a pair of trousers or lunch to fill our empty bellies, which haven’t held food since we were exiled.

  Before we part, I share with him the knowledge Beetrix passed to me as her parting gift: the name and location of his human soul mate, now reborn. This proves that she was watching me, and knew that I would not hesitate to help my friend. I am glad he has the second chance we often talked of.

  The one I love has no soul to give, so my time here is short—the Guardians will not stop searching for me. I expect they’ll find me quickly. But before they do, I will finally get to right the wrong I did her by not admitting my feelings. It does not matter that in another cycle it will no longer matter.

  “Good luck, Caleb. Make this time count,” I tell him before leaving to find my heart.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Early in my exile, I believed I saw him everywhere. He would appear, seated on the golden sand, looking up at me with a thoughtful expression on his face. I would tell him all of my thoughts and regrets, and discuss with him the changing world I viewed through the portal.

  Watching the humans, I would catch glimpses of him among them. Any man with his general build or an air of mischief in his eyes became Wren. But as the decades passed, I knew it for what it was, a delusion. Wishful thinking and guilt.

  Eventually, I stopped seeing him in every man with a shock of dark hair and obsidian eyes. I stopped hoping. I didn’t speak aloud anymore. I grew content with the silence.

  So fate is cruel, or this is some further trick or torment, because it could not possibly be Wren, my Wren, floating onto the beach in front of me wearing a pair of modern jeans and a button-down shirt. It could not be my Wren kneeling before me on the beach and grasping my face in his hands.

  “It can’t be you,” I whisper almost inaudibly.

  “It is,” he says. The voice is his own—the delusions never spoke. The timbre of his voice sends chills through me. Years of ice thaw in an instant, and my body is jelly in danger of melting into a puddle at his feet.

  He catches me in an embrace. Our lips crash together. I feel his heartbeat through his chest, feel the firm muscles of his back as my hands grope him, tighten against him, pull him against me. His body fits against mine the same. Everything the same.

  His kiss is tentative, as if he doesn’t know if I will accept him. I prod at his lips with my tongue and they open. We drink each other in. I hold him tighter, fearful he will be ripped from my arms again. When I pull back, it’s to look at him and make sure he is indeed the same Wren.

  “How?”

  “Beetrix. Somehow she created a portal in the Wasteland.”

  I want to sing praises to her and share my gratitude. The risks she’s taken, the courage she’s shown. For giving me the gift of Wren again, I owe her an eternal debt.

  There is so much emotion in his eyes. Words pour from his mouth in a torrent. “I should have told you how I felt then, I should never have tried to hide. I love you. I always have. It frightened me because you were leaving and changing and what we had couldn’t last, but I love you. Then. Now. Forever.”

  My breathing comes in gasps as I still struggle to believe this is really happening. I close my eyes and kiss him again, drinking him in, trying to disappear inside him.

  “I knew you did. I always knew. And I love you too.” I pull at his shirt. He draws back to undo the top buttons and lift it over his head. His body is the same: lean muscle, smooth and tan. Long-dormant desire heats me from the inside out; I’m vibrating with tension when he pulls my ragged shirt off.

  His eyes dilate as they focus on my breasts. Fingers gently stroke me and I hiss in a breath. There is a long, pregnant moment when nothing else happens. Each of us breathes deeply, staring at the other. Thoughts have left me; I can’t believe he’s really here.

  I blink and the urgency of the situation hits me. If he’s really here, he can’t have long. They will find him and bring him back. I pull at the button of his jeans, wanting to see and feel and taste every part of him, while I can.

  His fingers are clumsy, so I undress both of us. Once we’re free of the last article of clothing, it’s like a mutual attack. We fall onto the sand, him on top of me, my legs wrapped around him. With breathless movements, I shift until his erection is at my entrance. With my hands locked in his hair, I pull him down to me for a kiss at the same time he plunges inside.

  Gasping into his mouth, I let the ecstasy overwhelm me. I grip his short hair even tighter, fusing our bodies together, holding him to me. Our movements are desperate and hurried. He squeezes his eyes together. Sweat drips from his brow. His hand shoots to my hip, holding me in place for his assault as he pumps into me harder. I scream out, my little-used vocal chords straining with the action.

  Wren shifts my hips, changing the angle of penetration, and it’s only a few more moments before a moan escapes me and the buildup pays off. The orgasm crashes through me, taking over every part of my body, every nerve and every synapse. He falls over the edge just afterwards. Hot, panting breaths on my neck make me shiver, as the impact of our lovemaking leaves aftershocks rippling through me.

  I struggle to catch my breath as his arms tighten around me. We stay there, locked together, holding on to each other like lifelines in a thrashing storm.

  The stars overhead are brilliant against the blue-black sky. Next to me, Wren’s breathing is steady, his face peaceful and serene, illuminated by moonlight. The night is sticky hot, and we’re stuck together with sweat, but it’s still perfect. I can’t tear my gaze away from his beauty and the sense of home he brought with him. Tears prick my eyes as the love I bear him overwhelms me.

  But something is wrong. I sit up, gently disconnecting myself from the tangle of legs and arms we’ve made. Standing on the brightly lit sand, I shift into my angel form for the first time in a century. Immediately, the power of the Eternal Flame rushes into me, restoring all of the powers that went dormant long ago.

  That’s when I feel them, not yet visible, but approaching steadily. Two Guardians of the Wasteland. In their angelic forms, they’re black and cloud-like. Wraiths racing across the starry sky. An icy fear forms within me, muted to my angelic senses, but still potent. They’ve found him already—of course they have, they knew exactly where to look.

  I know he must go back, just as I must return to Euphoria, but I want more time. Just a little bit more. The Guardians burst into view and shift to their physical forms. I do the same. Imposing, they beat their giant black wings, blowing back the leaves on the palm trees. I focus on the energy coursing through me, fed directly from the Flame.

  The Seraphim believe my connection is more potent because of my youth. Though I bear the form of an unaffiliated angel and have no specific guild abilities to back me up, I am ready to test my Nascent strength against the angels who approach. I will fight for Wren; I will do whatever I must.

  “You can’t have him,” I say, gathering my strength. “Not yet.”

  “Lyrix,” Wren calls out from behind me, a warning tone in his voice. Both angels raise their obsidian swords. Masks cover their faces and armor protects their bodies. Their transformations turn them into giant, muscle-bound soldiers ready for combat. My human form is five foot six and one hundred and fifty pounds, but this does not deter me.

  “Stay close to me, Wren.” I sense him float into the air behind me. His hand brushes against my shoulder.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispers. What for, I’m not certain, but if his words are meant to be a goodbye, that’s not happening. Not yet.

  I unleash the destructive power simmering just under the surface. Newly recharged from the Flame, it’s more potent than ever. Below us, the ocean r
ocks and churns. The ground rumbles its distress, shifting and quaking. Tall palm trees sway and bend under the assault.

  Power cascades through me, feeding me from the source. It needs some sort of outlet. Acting on instinct, I release the energy flowing within me in its pure form. A crackle of white light zings from the palms of my hands and strikes the Guardians in their chests, breaking through their armor. The force of the surge pushes them back, far back towards the dark horizon. They tumble into the ocean out of sight.

  Shock freezes me. I stare at my hands, not knowing exactly what just happened. Whatever it was bought us enough time to escape—I hope. The Guardians, like all Warriors, are incredibly strong. I shocked them, certainly, but it is guaranteed not to last for long.

  I spin around and pull Wren to me, encircling his waist with my arms. With all of my powers back now, I create a portal directly above us. His expression is awed as he stares at the black waters.

  “We have to go,” I say.

  He nods, his eyes wide. “But where?”

  “Home. There’s something you need to see before…”

  His knowing gaze melts in sympathy. We both shift and speed through the portal. It closes behind us with a pop.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Taking my angel form puts me at a distance from the shock Lyrix’s action against the Vultures produced. When I awoke to the sound of their thumping wings, I knew my time was up. I’d said what I needed to say and had been able to hold her in my arms one last time. I had expected no more. Nothing could have prepared me for Lyrix’s fury, her power, or the determination in her gaze when she faced off against the angels.

  We travel in the space between worlds until the portal spits us out amidst the skies of San Francisco. A city of light glimmers below us, and I get a pang of nostalgia for Euphoria. In our human forms again, Lyrix takes my hand and gently leads me toward our old neighborhood, just at the edge of Chinatown.

  The familiar smells hit my nose as we sail over the tops of the buildings. There are changes both drastic and subtle to the place we once called home. I ache to discover the names of the hulking vehicles filling the streets and the glowing boxes so many people stare down at, pressing their thumbs into, but I doubt I’ll have the time. The Vultures will find me again soon.

  Lyrix comes to a stop on a side street and focuses her attention on a narrow structure wedged between an office building and a storefront. She squints at it, a thoughtful look on her face. I’m momentarily lost just watching her. Soaking in her different expressions, enjoying seeing them with my eyes and not just my memories.

  The front door to the building opens, and a girl exits and walks swiftly down the street. Dark hair falls in waves to her shoulders. Her skin is a deep copper brown. She wears thick-soled leather boots that lace all the way up to her knees, a short skirt, and a shirt with ragged edges displaying her arms and most of her midriff. A colorful tattoo peeks around her right side, but I avert my eyes before I can determine what the design is. It feels wrong to look at that much skin on display.

  Lyrix tugs on my hand, still pensive, and we follow the girl to Montgomery Street, where she hails a taxi.

  “What are we doing?” I ask. “Who is she?”

  Lyrix’s eyes are wide when she looks at me. “Today is Friday. She’ll be headed to Liquid Metal.”

  “I don’t understand.” She tugs on me again and leads me west across the city. Her face looks pained now, and I’m afraid to ask her what’s wrong. Afraid that I won’t be here long enough to comfort or calm her. Half of my attention is on her obvious distress and half on the skies, scanning for Vultures.

  It’s hard to see clearly through the haze of city lights, and we’ve been stopped for several moments before I notice. In front of us is a brick building, its black exterior somewhat menacing. A line of people stretch out from the front entry, waiting to get in.

  “Lyrix—”

  “Wait, she’s coming.” She looks down, intensely focused on the cab that pulls to a stop out front. We’re a bit closer now so I can see the girl’s face when she exits. She’s very pretty and would be more so if she weren’t scowling. However, a brilliant smile covers her face when she greets the enormous man guarding the door—it doesn’t reach her eyes, though.

  The guard envelops the girl in a hug and whispers something into her ear. She winks at him and I think I see her deposit something in his pocket, but I can’t be sure. It seems an odd action. Then she’s through the door, ignoring the grumbling of the waiting people in the long line. They soon quiet with a pointed glare from the door guard.

  Lyrix drops her head and releases a breath. When her eyes meet mine they’re brimming with tears. She swallows audibly and wraps her arms around her middle as if suddenly very cold. “She’s ours, Wren.”

  Though I’m hovering a dozen feet in the air, I feel as if the bottom just dropped out of the world. “What?”

  “Her name is Desiree—Desi. She’s our great-great-granddaughter.” Her voice is breathless and airy. I look to the doorway through which the girl disappeared.

  “But, the baby… I saw you shift. Why didn’t you tell me our baby survived?”

  Her hands fly to her mouth as a sob escapes. “Micah. His name was Micah. When I shifted back to human, he was there, just a tiny little human bawling his eyes out with the city falling down around us.” Her tears flow freely. Misery gushes through the bond. “My body must have released him before I changed forms.”

  I pull her to me and crush her against my chest. “You have to tell me everything.”

  We settle on the roof of the building, and Lyrix tells me about the earthquake. About the force that came from her that destroyed the city. About having to leave our child in one of the makeshift orphanages created for survivors when she was called to Euphoria to answer for her crimes. She weeps against me, recalling the first days of her exile, watching our son through the portal. Time passes differently in Euphoria, so by the time her trial was over and she was sent to the island, Micah was already eight years old.

  “I watched him grow. His adoptive parents were good people; he knew love,” she says.

  “But what of his soul?” I think of our angelborn son with no idea of what he was—could he have been in the Wasteland with me all that time and I not known it?

  Lyrix must read the thoughts as they cross my face because she places a palm to my cheek and shakes her head. “Beetrix convinced one of the Destinies to walk his dreams. When he married, their vows were very unusual in that they included the words of the binding. He thought he’d dreamt up the perfect way to pledge their love to one another. In doing so, his wife shared her soul with him.”

  She looks out across the city. “He’s out there somewhere. Reborn.” I exhale, the relief slackening my body. “He had a child. A girl named Clara. She’s Desi’s grandmother, and she’s still alive.”

  Tears well in my eyes. A son I never got to meet. Grandchildren. So many pieces of me and Lyrix out in the world. “How many? How many are there?”

  She avoids my gaze. “Just Clara and Desi, now. There were others, but they’re gone. They're humanborn—so they have souls, but can be unpredictable. Often they have powers they don’t understand or can’t control. Micah and Clara fared well, but Clara’s children—including Desi’s mother—their powers confused them, pushed them into terrible situations.” She shakes her head. “And I’m worried for Desi.”

  “What are her powers?”

  “She manipulates memories in some way. I’m not exactly sure how, but people forget or remember things around her quite often. And she’s very empathetic. She feels far more than she lets on and she—” Lyrix swallows. “She does a lot to dull her senses.”

  Worry gnaws at my belly at her ominous tone. I quickly scan the skies again. “Let’s go inside and meet her.”

  Lyrix gasps a little, her eyes wide. “You mean talk to her? Are you sure?”

  “Of course. I—maybe there’s something we can do while we’re
here. To help.” She nods and we rise, then she looks down at herself.

  “I don’t think I can go inside like this.” She wears a threadbare cotton shirt that may have been blue at one time but was bleached by long exposure to the sun, and a long, equally threadbare and hole-ridden skirt with no shoes.

  “Things would wash up on the island over the years. Probably from shipwrecks hundreds of miles away. I didn’t exactly have a department store there.” She shrugs. “I spent much of the 1960s naked.” I force the image that conjures out of my mind.

  “Well, I know something about acquiring clothes in this time,” I say, pointing at myself. She smiles and takes my hand, and we go rob a clothing store.

  Chapter Twenty

  The interior of the club vibrates to the rhythm of the music blasting from dozens of speakers. Colored lights flash and spin in time as hundreds of bodies writhe on the packed dance floor. Wren’s eyes widen to the size of dinner plates, but he recovers well. I’m well acquainted with the sight of the debauchery, but being here in the flesh is quite different from observing.

  I close my eyes and feel the pulsing of the bass in my blood. The smell of cologne, perfume, body odor, and alcohol mix in an unappetizing blend. I search the crowd for Desi and wobble in the heels I’d taken from the boutique across the street. I chose the skintight jeans and tank top in order to fit in with the club-goers. Wren nearly swallowed his tongue when he caught sight of the outfit, but the residents of Euphoria are nothing if not adaptable—I can see the tension of the unfamiliar leaving him with each passing minute.