Angelfall

by L. Penelope

  We stand out of the way, at the edge of the dance floor, both searching for Desi. Finally, I spot her at the bar on the other side of the room. I pull at Wren’s sleeve and motion over. He takes my hand and leads me painstakingly through the crowd until we’re standing just a few feet away from her.

  She’s short, only five foot two or so. Both Wren and I tower over her, but she makes up for it with tons of personality.

  “Barkeep!” she shouts, launching herself onto the bar, kicking her heels behind her, to flag down the attention of the harried-looking man on the other side. She waggles her fingers suggestively and orders three shots, then hops down. Her balance is a bit off, and she wobbles before tipping to the side and crashing into Wren. He tries to steady her, but she collapses into his arms. Wren looks up, alarmed, and tries to right her again.

  “You’re very hard,” Desi says, falling into a fit of giggles. “I wonder if you’re hard everywhere.” Wren’s alarm quickly morphs into panic. I step in, pulling her towards me and out of his arms.

  “I think you’re intoxicated,” I say, peering into her eyes, knowing it’s more than alcohol running through her system.

  “Intoxicated,” she repeats, giggling. “No, I’m just a little tipsy. You can’t go to a club and not get tipsy.”

  “Well, perhaps more drinks aren’t the answer.” Her amusement fades suddenly, replaced by a frown. She jerks away from me to stand on her own, unsteadily. Her eyes are somewhat unfocused, but they peer at me. I think I catch a flicker of what might be recognition within them, before it’s extinguished by her inebriation.

  She turns back to the bar just as the bartender places her drinks in front of her. I watch helplessly as she downs each shot in succession before stumbling into the man on her other side. With this many people packed in one space, I’ve muted the thoughts of those present, but it doesn’t take inhuman powers to read the intention in the man’s wolfish gaze. He rakes his eyes over Desi’s body and smiles lasciviously.

  I’ve watched her go home with strange men, only to wake in the morning disoriented and escape to the bathroom to cry. What seems like a good idea late at night in the midst of her quest for numbness is something she regrets in the light of day. I’ve never been able to do anything about it. Until now.

  One look at Wren is all I need to know that he’s supporting me on this. We each link an arm through one of Desi’s and lift her, carrying her away from the bar.

  “What are you doing?” she says, trying to wriggle out of our grasp.

  “You wanna close out your tab?” the bartender says. I charm the predatory creature who was so willing to take advantage of an inebriated girl into paying the bill. Then for good measure, I add an aversion to sex that should last for weeks. Not being something that benefits the Flame, this type of interference is against the rules, but what are they going to do? Exile me again? Force me to become a Seraph?

  Desi struggles against us, but this time, charming doesn't work. Many humanborn are immune to certain or all angel powers, and Desi appears to be one of these. I try to think of other ways to calm her, when Wren picks her up. Her fighting ceases, and she sags against him instantly, appearing to pass out.

  Outside, I avert the eyes of everyone on the street as Wren and I take to the air. With tears welling in his eyes, he cradles his great-great-granddaughter in his arms.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Wren carries a still-unconscious Desi up the stairs of her apartment building. I check her pockets, looking for a key but finding only her phone, a small wad of money and several pills wrapped in aluminum foil. The door to the apartment is locked. Sometimes her roommate leaves it open for instances like these—Desi forgetting her key is not uncommon—but a spate of robberies in the area over the past several weeks has inspired more caution.

  It’s nearly three o’clock in the morning, and while Wren and I can shift into our angel forms and travel through walls, Desi cannot. I knock on the door, preparing for a long wait. Jessye, Desi’s roommate, is sure to be asleep, but to my surprise the door opens quickly and she stands there peering at us, her gray eyes worried.

  She frowns down at Desi, then looks from Wren to me, her shoulders tense with anxiety. I soothe her, sending her the feeling that she can trust us. That we’re not there to hurt either of them. She strokes a lock of hair from her face and shakes her head.

  “I am Lyrix and this is Wren.” I pause, trying to find words to explain what we’re doing with her unconscious roommate in tow, but understanding is written on Jessye’s face.

  “Come on in.” Her voice is a hush, like a brush on paper. Not just because of the late hour; she always speaks like this.

  I look up at her as we enter. Even barefoot, she must be six feet tall. Willowy and graceful, her long limbs are covered in freckles. She smells like springtime and shoots darting glances at us from under her fringe of auburn lashes.

  She gives a small smile and motions us forward, towards Desi’s bedroom. “I’m Jessye. And thank you for helping her. I usually try to go with her, especially after days like today, but I had to work tonight. I couldn’t get out of it. She’s…” Her hands flail at her sides. “Do you know her from art school?”

  I freeze, wishing I could speak a lie. “No, we just met her tonight.”

  Jessye’s eyes widen briefly before flitting back to Desi. The two girls have been friends since childhood. Jessye is the one steady presence in her life, other than Desi’s grandmother, and has seen all of the ups and downs, but being brought home by two strangers may be a new low.

  “She just looked like she needed help,” I say. Wren lays our granddaughter on her bed and stares down at her, his expression guarded. “She’ll be all right.”

  “I’m not so sure,” he whispers, so low that only I hear.

  We exit the room, and Jessye closes the door. I want to stay and watch over Desi, to offer some comfort, but for now we must act human.

  “Sorry for awakening you,” Wren says. Jessye jumps slightly at hearing his voice for the first time and pulls her robe closer around her. Wren backs away from her; he can feel her growing unease just as I do. We head toward the door.

  “Thank you again,” Jessye says.

  “It was no trouble,” I say as we leave.

  Wren follows me down the stairs and out into the night. I have a suspicion that Jessye is watching us from the front window but don’t look up to check. Once we’re around the corner, I turn to Wren and lean into him, taking some solace in his embrace. I open my mouth to speak, but go rigid when the flapping of wings sounds in the distance.

  Wren’s shoulders sag in defeat. I could try to fight the Vultures off again, but this time there’s nowhere to run to. We stand there, hand in hand, as not two, but three angels come to a stop and hover above us. One of them moves forward and floats near to the ground. Recognition dawns as he moves into the light.

  “Ajax? The Archangel of War comes personally to retrieve a rogue angelborn?” The words are bitter leaving my mouth.

  His massive black wings flap slowly, keeping him aloft. With skin the color of deep umber, lined with age, and silver-white hair, he looks like the aged warrior he is. A scar runs down his weathered cheek from the corner of his eye to his chin.

  “Lyrix,” he says with a slight bow. “Wren.”

  I tense at his attention to Wren, whose confusion and fear flows down the bond.

  Ajax’s deep voice rattles my bones. “Your…mate…escaped from the Wasteland with another angelborn. The law says I must bring him back.”

  I cross my arms and allow a derisive chuckle to escape. “And of course, you always follow the law, Ajax.”

  He raises his eyebrows, as if to say you're one to talk. I shake my head. “I have broken the law, I admit, but the Warriors broke it first. It was one of yours who influenced a human to take Wren’s life. So you will excuse me if I am suspicious of your adherence to angelic law.”

  At my trial, I had told the story of the angel who whispe
red in the thief’s ear that night, right before the man stabbed Wren. Ajax denied the claim, insisting he had not ordered the action. Angels cannot lie, which left us at an impasse as, in theory, both of us must have been telling the truth. But what Warrior would commit such an act without his archangel’s knowledge?

  Ajax gazes at Wren, his eyes hard, but not cold. “Your anger is not without merit. The halfling was done badly by, though not by my command.”

  “By whose, then?”

  His emotionless scrutiny turns to me. “You came here for what reason?” He spreads his arms to indicate the city around us. None of the cars driving by or the few people on the street pay us any attention, though we are not invisible. Ajax or the Guardians must be doing something to remove us from the humans’ view.

  “More time,” I say. “The chance to meet one of our children. For Wren…” My eyes water. Wren squeezes my hand. His chin juts out angrily at Ajax.

  The archangel looks away as if my display of emotion pains him. “The actions of one of my Warriors resulted in the improper end of the halfling’s life, you are correct. To right that wrong, I will offer you this—flexibility in the instruction of my Guardians.”

  My interest piqued, I stare at him closely as his eyes bore into mine. “I am willing to order them to look the other way—to spend time searching for him in other parts of the world… a significant amount of time.” The words fall from his lips suggestively. “With that time, perhaps he can find a way to avoid the Wasteland.”

  I suck in a breath as the nature of his offer takes shape. “Time to find a soul mate?” He nods.

  Wren looks back and forth between me and Ajax. “Wait—what?” But his words are merely background noise. I failed Wren once. I promised that he would be in no danger if we visited the human world. Of my many mistakes and regrets, that one eats at me the most. The human souls I was responsible for killing all live again now, reborn. The tragedy was unspeakable, with so much suffering as the result, but Wren’s sentence was for eternity, without the hope of rebirth. The debt to the others could be repaid with new life; my debt to him is infinite.

  Ajax watches me expectantly. I cannot conceive of an ulterior motive that would explain his actions. He must really want to make amends. “You will vow that no one under your command will harm Wren or remove him from this world before he binds with a human?”

  “During this lifetime, yes, I vow it.” His human form glows purple, sealing his words. “However, if he dies as a human, I will have little choice.”

  “I understand.” There’s only so much he can do. Rules can be bent, but not broken. Not without consequences far out of proportion to the debt he owes.

  “Then my debt is paid.” He takes a step back and launches into the air. The Warriors all shift into their angel forms and shoot into the sky.

  “Lyrix, what are you doing?” Wren says, turning me by my shoulders to face him.

  “Saving you,” I say. They’re the only words I can speak before my throat closes up.

  I must see this through before I become a Seraph. I have eleven more days to find Wren a soul mate. The thought breaks my heart, but it’s the only way that he will have what he deserves. Unlike the torment my love brought him, a human soul will bring him peace.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  She is so changed now from when I knew her. We have both been in our own prisons, but I wonder if hers was worse. Alone for so long, watching the world but not being able to act. Her skills and empathy and heart wasted. And only the life of a Seraph to look forward to when it was done.

  By silent decision, Lyrix and I take our angel forms and slip back into Desi’s apartment to watch her sleep.

  During the long, silent hours, I replay the meeting with Ajax and his offer. Lyrix is my only heart. To bind to the soul of another is unimaginable. I would need to find a human willing to be tethered to me for the rest of their lives. To share the spark of her creation with me and allow us to be reborn, at the same time though in different bodies, for as many lifetimes as she has left. The soul mate bond is a powerful one and not to be entered into lightly. An angelborn cannot charm a human into it—they must commit of their own will, and the words of the binding must be their soul’s truth.

  I cannot see myself able to inspire that sort of devotion in someone other than Lyrix. And there simply isn’t room in my heart for another. But I felt both her satisfaction and resolve as Ajax left. She thinks it best for me to live and avoid the Wasteland. I’m in no hurry to return to that place, but the price of my freedom is steep.

  Throughout the night, Desi tosses and turns, her sleep fitful. I try again to soothe her, but it’s just a waste of my power. Whatever humanborn abilities she bears makes her immune. If there is a way to help her, it will have to be a human way.

  The smell of vanilla seems to rouse her out of sleep late in the morning. She wakes sluggishly, her eyes puffy and red. She slides off the bed, resting for a few moments half on and half off the mattress with her knees on the floor, before rising and shuffling into the main living space.

  The kitchen area takes up the back wall. Jessye is at the stove, a stack of waffles growing at her side. Desi drops into a chair at the tiny kitchen table and waits for her roommate to bring her a plate of waffles. The girls sit quietly, eating breakfast, the silence between them comfortable. Jessye doesn’t nag or admonish; her gentle care is in her actions, and though Desi doesn’t verbalize her gratitude, it’s there, pouring from her.

  “You going to the nursing home?” Jessye asks. Desi nods. “Today is bound to be better than yesterday.”

  Desi sops up the syrup on her plate with the last corner of waffle and shrugs. “She’s due for a good day.”

  “Just like the rest of us.”

  Desi looks up, the ghost of a smile on her face. When they’re done eating, she does the dishes and heads off to the shower.

  A tug on my hand must mean Lyrix wants to leave. While invisible, we’re still audible to humans nearby, so I shift to go through the ceiling and wait for her on the roof of the building.

  “What do you think we should do?” I ask when she appears beside me. “Introduce ourselves? Tell her who we are?”

  She takes a deep breath and shakes her head. “Revealing ourselves to humans is a delicate thing. They won’t believe if they’re not ready and will go to great lengths to continue to delude themselves. I don’t know what to do. Maybe we should watch her a bit longer and try to find the right moment.”

  I want to remind her that she’s been watching for Desi’s entire life. There isn’t much time for action, but Lyrix’s distress and concern are evident. We’re both in uncharted territory.

  “Sounds like she’s headed to see Clara. Following her there may bring some insight.”

  Lyrix’s gaze is far away. “You go. I’ll stay here and see if I can come at the problem from another direction.”

  I narrow my eyes, trying to understand. “What other direction?”

  She steps back, not meeting my gaze. “I just… I need to look into something.”

  What could be more important than this? I don’t feel any strong emotions through the bond, which worries me. I’ve never known Lyrix to be evasive, but I don’t press the issue. “All right. I’ll meet you back here later.”

  I approach to kiss her, but she jerks back, then gasps as if surprised by her own action.

  “Later,” she repeats, then disappears before I can ask her again what’s really going on. A cold apprehensiveness spreads through me—pain from the rejection plus anger at our situation. I push them both aside and focus on Desi. The mysteries of Lyrix will have to wait until later.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  I track Desi invisibly as she takes two buses west across town to the Sunset district. The neighborhood is comprised of neat rows of quaint, pastel-colored houses stretching to the ocean. She walks a few blocks before entering a two-story building of gray stucco with red clay roof tiles in orderly columns. Immaculate la
ndscaping decorates the front with bursts of color exploding at every turn. The sign out front reads: Pacific Comfort Nursing Home.

  Desi has already entered, so I slip inside when a middle-aged couple exits through the main doors. Two women wearing brightly colored tunics sit at the welcome desk. The cheerful outfits and brilliant flowers out front are at odds with the smell of the place, which reeks of decay.

  Wide doorways interrupt the hall. The greenish tinge of the overhead light makes even the walls look sick. I stop in front of an open door. Inside, an elderly man lies in a narrow bed, snoring softly. Pictures grace the dresser under the window. His life, captured on film: wife, children, grandchildren. The entirety of a human experience on display. I swallow the stab of jealousy.

  I search for Desi and my granddaughter, Clara. The facility isn’t large, and I spot them through a narrow window embedded in a door. Desi sits next to a tiny woman who barely makes a dent in the hospital bed.

  Clara’s paper-thin skin is nearly the color of her sheets. Her silvery hair is short with a gentle curl. Her features only hint at the Asian ancestry apparent in both Lyrix’s appearance and my own. Perhaps that made her life a bit easier. I wonder how quickly the prejudices and judgments we faced changed. Did my son live to see it? I enter the room and rise to hover in the opposite corner and observe them.

  “Look what I got for you,” Desi calls out in a singsong voice.

  “Contraband?” Clara asks, obviously pleased. Her voice is musical, aged but comforting.

  “I know how much you love these.” Desi pulls a white paper sack from her messenger bag and swings it in the air. The contents crackle as they shift. She reaches in and produces several golden wrapped butterscotch candies. My mouth waters—I love butterscotch. Apparently, my granddaughter does too. She wastes no time unwrapping the treats and popping two in her mouth.