A Gift of Wings (5 page)

“Aren’t you going to invite me in?”

Zeke moved aside and gestured for Aidan to enter. Aidan hesitated a fraction of a second before stepping into the house. He was anxious about this first conversation with Zeke after so long with no contact.

As Zeke closed the door behind him, Aidan walked into the formal living room. It still looked the same: filled with slightly faded but valuable antique furniture, the windows hung with dark drapes. The room had a cold, abandoned air, as if no one lived there. That was because, as Aidan knew, no one did. Zeke seldom used the formal living room. When he was home, he was most often in the library on the lower level.

Zeke raised his hand and pointed toward the door to the hall. “You know the way.” His voice was deep and resonant, the sound so substantial it was almost like another presence in the room.

Aidan tilted his head in acknowledgement, and preceding Zeke into the hallway, he made his way to the stairs that led to the library. He was hit with a strong wave of nostalgia as he walked into Zeke’s sanctuary. The room was filled with floor to ceiling bookshelves, every inch of them covered with books, stacks of folios, and ancient objects of power—statues of gods, religious symbols, and icons from various traditions. An imposing black walnut desk sat at one end of the room, its surface covered with curling parchment scrolls and opened leather-bound volumes. The sleek silver laptop pushed to one side looked incongruous sitting next to a statuette of an ancient Sumerian goddess.

Aidan couldn’t help himself; he started singing, “One of these things is not like the others. One of these things just doesn’t belong.”

Zeke raised an eyebrow at him, but said nothing. Aidan stopped singing. “It’s good to see you, Zeke,” he said.

For the first time, Zeke smiled, and Aidan could see the affection in his light gray eyes. “It’s good to see you too, my boy.” Even though his voice was quiet, the sound rolled into the room like a wave.

“Have a seat.” He nodded toward the four scuffed leather chairs that circled the heavy, low oak table in the middle of the room. Aidan took off his black leather jacket and tossed it over one of the chairs before seating himself in another.

“Would you like a drink?”

When Aidan answered in the affirmative, Zeke opened a small cabinet to the right of the desk and took out a bottle of cognac and two snifters. After pouring a generous amount of the liquor into each glass, he handed one to Aidan and then seated himself across from the young man.

Aidan slipped the stem of the snifter between his index and middle finger, cupping the glass in his palm and swirling the liquid to allow it to absorb the warmth from his skin. “How very civilized,” he remarked.

A corner of Zeke’s mouth quirked upward and he replied, “We must take our small pleasures where we can find them.”

There was a moment of silence while the two men sampled the cognac. Then Zeke directed a rapier sharp look at Aidan. “What brings you here, young Aidan? The last time I saw you, I believe you swore something to the effect of never darkening my door again.”

“That I did.” Aidan grimaced. “And, believe me, I wouldn’t be here now if it weren’t important.”

Zeke leaned forward. “Your wings have been returned.” It was a statement, not a question.

“Yes, they have, but that’s not why I’m here.” Aidan settled more comfortably into the soft leather of the chair and took another sip of his cognac before continuing. “I had planned on ignoring them. If you don’t use them, you lose them, right?”

“Still as cocky as ever, I see. If it’s not the return of your wings that brings you here, what is it that’s so important?”

“There’s this girl,” Aidan began.

Before he could continue, Zeke interrupted. “Isn’t there always?” His light eyes shone with mischief, a look as incongruous on his serious face as the laptop was on his ancient desk.

“It’s not like that,” Aidan’s tone was impatient. “This girl—her name is Lucky—she’s a Sensitive, I’m pretty sure. But she doesn’t know. She doesn’t know anything. And she’s going to be eighteen in less than two weeks. I wanted you to know, so you can do your thing—help her.”

Zeke’s eyes narrowed, and he leaned further forward in his chair. “A Sensitive? One of whom I was unaware? Who is this girl, and how do you know she’s a Sensitive?”

“She came to the Icarus show tonight—well, last night, I guess. She’s the cousin of the guy who’s dating our bass player. From the first notes of the first song, she drew my Gift out of me. I thought she was doing it on purpose at first, that she was one of the Dark Ones trying to expose me or something. But then I could tell she was shocked by what my voice was doing to her. She had no idea, and she tried to put up defenses, tried to block it.” When he continued, his voice was tinged with admiration. “She did a pretty good job, too. I could feel her pulling herself back together, marking her mental boundaries.”

He paused to take another sip of his drink.

“Did you talk to her?” Zeke asked.

“Yes, when we took a break. That’s when I found out she’s just shy of eighteen. By that point, I was pretty sure she was a Sensitive, but what made me certain was the conversation we had after the show. During the final number, I sensed my wings. They’ve shown up in small ways over the past couple of weeks—the occasional muscle twinge or feeling of weight. But this was the first time they were really
there
on my back, a part of me again. I had the glamour up anyway, like always, just in case, and when I felt the wings, I turned it up a few notches.”

He stopped speaking, and his eyes locked on the angel’s. “She saw them. She made some remark after the show about ‘that special effect thing’ where the lighting made it look like I grew flaming wings. I played along, pretended that’s what it was. I mean, I couldn’t just tell her that I’m half angel, and what she saw was real, could I? She would never have believed me.” He hesitated and then continued, “I almost told her anyway a little later. But then her friends showed up, and everyone started saying good-bye. Then she was gone. So I decided to come to you.”

Zeke leaned back in his chair and sighed. “Who knows what she might have believed? She probably had some inkling that what she saw wasn’t an effect of the lighting—especially if she experienced even a part of your Gift. Did you find out exactly when her birthday is?”

“A week from Sunday.”

“I’ll see what I can do about contacting her before then. If she truly knows nothing of what she is or the world she’s about to join, that makes matters a little more difficult. I can hardly walk up to her and introduce myself as the angel who’s about to take on her training. I’ll have to engineer some kind of event.”

Aidan gave him a sardonic look. “I have no doubt that you’ll come up with something. I’ve never seen you at a loss.”

Zeke’s face took on a somber expression, his eyes filling with sadness. “Yes, you have, my boy.” His voice sounded like the waves at ebb tide. “Yes, you have.”

Aidan knew exactly what the angel was referring to. Regretting his hasty comment and unable to shape any words in response, he just nodded in agreement.

“Well, then,” Zeke said, as he stood up, “I will contact Malachi, see what I can find out, and arrange something suitable. I will be in touch.”

Knowing he was being dismissed, Aidan swallowed the last of his cognac, appreciating the way it burned his throat, and rose to his feet. He grabbed his jacket and shrugged it on as he followed Zeke up the stairs and through the formal living room to the front door.

When he stepped outside, Zeke closed the door behind him without another word.

***

Lucky’s first thought when she awakened late Sunday morning, after passing a less than restful night, was that she needed to visit G-Ma. It had been only a couple of days since they’d moved her into the assisted living facility, but Lucky didn’t want her to think her granddaughter had abandoned her. Checking the time, she found that she could make it to Lincoln Park by lunchtime if she hurried. She rushed through her shower and towel-dried her hair as best she could before twisting it into a thick braid that hung between her shoulder blades. Pulling on jeans, a long-sleeved black t-shirt with a white Icarus logo on the front, and a pair of lime green Chuck Taylors, she swung her tattered backpack over her shoulder, grabbed her keys, and headed for the door.

She didn’t see or hear Josh, and his bedroom door was closed, so she assumed he was still sleeping. She hesitated then turned toward the kitchen, where she scribbled a quick note on the small whiteboard stuck to the refrigerator door. That way he wouldn’t wonder where she was when he found her gone. Since she was in the kitchen, she decided to pour herself a glass of milk as fortification for the trip. She downed the milk and walked back down the hall and out the door, her keys jangling as she locked the door behind her. Out on the sidewalk, she turned east toward Lake Park, where she could catch the #6 bus downtown.

Standing at the bus stop, she found herself thinking of reasons to go back home, to change her mind about going to visit G-Ma. She wanted to see her, but she didn’t want to go to the assisted living facility. And, in all honesty, she wanted to see G-Ma as she used to be. She wanted to be able to talk to her about art and literature and politics, to curl up in her arms and know that she was protected and loved. Instead, she had to be the one doing the protecting, and conversations sometimes took a turn toward the surreal. Not only was G-Ma not always sure what year it was anymore, her grasp on reality was getting more tenuous all the time. Well, at least her grasp on reality as she used to know it and as the rest of her family knew it. Maybe there was some other reality that she was able to tap into now, some other level of awareness that those who thought they knew “the real world” couldn’t begin to comprehend. Lucky liked to think so. Rather than seeing G-Ma as an aging woman who had lost too much of herself too soon, she preferred to think of her as moving beyond this realm and into another. It was just that her mind went there before her body.

Seeking distraction from her thoughts, Lucky rummaged through her backpack and located her iPod. Popping in the earbuds, she searched for one of her favorite playlists. When the music hit her ears, she smiled. This song always made her happy. Even though the words were sad in places, the music was upbeat, and it somehow made her trust in possibilities.

She tapped her foot with the rhythm and resisted the urge to dance. If she had been alone in her room, she would have. Here on a public street, waiting for the bus, on the other hand…. If Josh or Mo had been with her, she would have danced here too. She wondered why it seemed more acceptable to do silly or outrageous things in groups, even just a group of two, than it did alone. If strangers saw her dancing with a friend on the street, they would probably call them spontaneous or whimsical, but if they saw her dancing alone, they would be likely to question her mental stability.

Lucky’s thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of her bus. Climbing aboard, she swiped her pass through the reader and made her way to one of the few empty seats. She sat down next to a young African-American man who gave her a slight smile before turning to look out the window.

Lucky glanced around her at the variety of people on the bus. Four white kids about her age sat in the seats across from her, the two in the front turning around in the seats so they could talk to their companions in the seats behind them. All were dressed in black, and three of the four had multiple earrings and facial piercings. One had a tattoo on the back of his hand. She guessed the others were tattooed as well, the marks hidden beneath their clothing. A few rows up, an elderly Asian woman in an orange coat sat next to a large African-American man in leather with gold rings in his ears. An old man in an overcoat and hat sat in one of the seats that faced in toward the aisle of the bus, his hands in his pockets and his eyes closed as if he were trying to sleep. He was sandwiched between two young women, one black and one white, who looked to be in their early twenties and were leaning forward to talk around him.

When the bus stopped, a few more passengers got on. One of them, a tall, sallow-skinned man with longish, jagged dark hair and wearing a charcoal gray duster, stopped in the aisle next to Lucky and stood holding onto the support bar. He glared at Lucky when she glanced up at him. An elderly woman got on at the next stop, and seeing there were no empty seats, Lucky stood to offer hers. The action brought her uncomfortably close to the man in the gray duster.

At Lucky’s murmured “Excuse me,” he looked at her through narrowed yellow-gold eyes and scowled, but he stepped aside to give her room to get around him so she could find a place in the aisle to stand. The bus took off before she could grab hold of the support bar and the movement knocked her against the man. The noise he made sounded to Lucky more like a growl than anything else, and the eyes he turned toward her when she apologized were filled with malice. Lucky jerked away from him and put as much space between herself and him as she could.

She was conscious of his proximity for the remainder of the ride to the Loop. He had turned so his back was towards her, but she kept remembering those venomous yellow-gold eyes. Her clumsy stumble hadn’t been enough to warrant such hatred. Lucky had ridden city buses all her life and had encountered many angry, frustrated people over the years. She usually took such things in stride. But this man was different; something about him seriously scared her.

When the bus reached her stop at Michigan and Randolph, Lucky was a little unsettled to find that he was getting off the bus there as well. At the same time, she was glad, because that meant she didn’t have to squeeze past him in the aisle and risk another malicious look.

He preceded her off the bus and was already several yards away by the time Lucky stepped down to the sidewalk. She stared after him, a frown furrowing her brow. As she watched, the breeze caught his duster and blew it upward. For a moment she could have sworn he had a short, dark, pointed tail and leathery, bat-like wings folded against his sides. Then the duster fell back in place, and he was just a man in a long coat walking away from her with impatient strides.