Angel of Ruin (32 page)

“No, I am far too busy,” she had replied.

Deborah was becoming more and more a mystery to her. Once, not long ago, she had been her fresh-faced baby sister; precocious and delightful, kind-hearted and always trying to understand. But all that had changed. Lazodeus said she experimented with magic, and that seemed surprising as she had shunned the angel and his powers. No, more than that. Deborah had said that Lazodeus was her enemy. Anne pondered the statement. Was that the point at which her once innocent affection for Deborah had been soured, when Deborah had declared the creature Anne loved so much to be the enemy?

Anne sighed as she assessed the merry people enjoying the bright candlelight and the games and singing. Life had become so very complicated, but perhaps sisters could not play games and share secrets with each other forever. They must go their separate
ways and, for the sake of the love she felt for Lazodeus, she was willing to let them go.

She heard a bell far away, ringing out the hour, and wondered at how time could crawl so slowly.

At a quarter to midnight, the party was still revolving around her. Deborah had been brought downstairs to read scenes from Father’s great poem. Adam and Eve were being cast out of Paradise while an audience of enraptured faces oohed and aahed. Father sat proudly, back erect, listening to his dazzling phrases as if hearing them for the first time. Mary was nowhere in sight — perhaps gone to bed or to her secret room. For anyone else, perhaps, crossing the room and slipping out without being seen would not be so difficult. But she feared her ungainly walk would draw attention. She clung to the wall, shuffled slowly in the shadows. One or two glances darted in her direction but were soon diverted. She was the ugly sister; the lame, stupid one. Foolish to think anyone would care.

She made it to the stairs and began to hurry her step. To get out the front door before Betty or Liza called her back was her next goal. She did not have time to find a rain mantle or scarf. With a secretive glance behind her, she was out the door and on her way.

The drizzle had eased, thankfully. Lights from the window upstairs shone on the street, making the puddles glisten. She breathed the warm, wet air and savoured each second as it drew her closer to him. The bells rang out midnight as she crossed the street to the park.

He was there already, waiting. She approached from behind. He had not seen her yet, and she took a moment to admire the lines of his physique. His hand rested on a tree trunk.

“Lazodeus,” she said. It felt so bold to say his name.

He turned around and smiled his slow smile. “Anne. You are late.”

“Only by a matter of seconds.”

“It seemed longer.” He took her hand. “Come under the trees here towards the hedge. I have found a dry place.”

“How can it be dry? It has rained all day.”

“Angel magic,” he said, tilting his head slightly. “What else?”

They moved into the hedges and the leaves were indeed dry. He helped her to sit and then joined her. She gazed at him in warm silence, the darkness faintly eased by the soft glow he radiated. She felt wild, womanly, even beautiful, because she knew the dark was kind to her pinched face and dull eyes.

With a slow breath, he spoke. “I have something to tell you, Anne, but it may not be as promising as it first sounds.”

She shook her head, confused. “What do you mean?”

He pressed his lips together, thinking. Then he said, “You remember how I cured your stammer?”

“Yes. Of course. Not a day passes that I omit to give thanks.”

“I have spoken to some of the potentates of my realm. I believe I may also eradicate your limp permanently.”

For a few moments, she was desperately embarrassed. She squirmed.
Her limp.
Such direct reference to her physical shortcoming jolted her out of her romantic fantasy that she was somehow beautiful and womanly. He had never forgotten that she was grotesque.

“Anne?” he said. “You do not seem excited. I said I may be able to make you walk freely.”

She looked up. Forced a smile. “Yes, it is exciting. But you warned that the promise of such news may be a burden.”

He dipped his head in a nod. “That is true. I understand your caution.”

“What is it, then? Will it turn me into a toad? Expose you to great hardship? Mean that my sister Mary will have her heart’s wish and win your love?” She bit her tongue on this last, realising she had spoken too openly. Such a comment could only reveal her keen jealousy.

“Fear not, I am already aware of Mary’s feelings,” he said. “I return no such sentiment, though, and never shall, no matter what I make of my magic.”

“Then what?”

Again he fell silent.

“Please just tell me so that I may feel the disappointment and grieve for lost opportunity.”

“Anne, I do not mean to hurt you. My fears are for your dignity.”

“My dignity?”

“You remember, do you not, how I cured your stammer?”

Anne felt suddenly light. “You kissed me.”

“On your mouth. Because that was where the problem lay.”

“Yes.” A promise rolled in her stomach.

“Your limp is located in …”

“My leg. My left leg.”

“No, Anne. In your hip. In the very joint of your hip.” His hand reached out and touched her through her clothes. “Here.”

“So …”

“I would need to press my lips to the joint. Through the skin, not through these layers of cloth.”

Anne felt her breath jerked from her lungs on a fleet hook. “I …”

“I mean to offer you no indignity,” he said, his
hands held out in front of him. “I cannot believe I am even suggesting it.”

“No, no. I am not … there is no offence taken. I …” She fell silent and he let her be quiet for long minutes. “Will you be punished again?”

“No.”

“But last time …”

“Because I acted without permission. I have received permission from the highest source.”

Lucifer, then. Lucifer could heal her hobbling gait. How far she had come from the frightened mouse who would not tell her sisters the angel’s name. And yet, it mattered so little. For Lazodeus had locked his eyes upon her, and she was drowning in desire. Flutters of strange sensation drew up inside her, made her feel vulnerable and hollow.

“I shall, then. I shall take your kind offer, and I shall walk and run and dance.”

He let out a sigh. “Oh, I am so happy, Anne.” He took her hand and pressed his lips to it. “I am so happy that you will let me do this for you. I have wanted to repay you for your kindness when I was ill …”

“I couldn’t let you die,” she said, her breathing shallow in her chest. Her fingers itched to touch his hair, but she held them back.

“Rise, then, Anne. I shall perform the magic.”

Rise? She knew she could not stand. Her knees would buckle underneath her the instant he touched the hem of her skirts.

“I do not wish to stand,” she said, trying to keep her voice even. “What if the cure upsets my balance and I fall?”

“I do not think you will —”

“I shall lie back,” she said quickly. “I shall lie back and you shall perform the magic while I watch the stars.”

He bowed his head. “As you wish it, Anne.”

She lay back stiffly. The grass was cool beneath her, the cloudy sky dull white above, stars glimmered through clear patches. She could see drops of rain clinging to leaves.

“Forgive me,” he said quietly as he lay next to her and his hands moved to her skirt. “Forgive me, Anne, for this indignity.”

She tried to speak, to reassure him, but could not. Language had failed her. Instead she let her eyes drift heavenwards. She felt her skirt inching further and further up her leg, felt his warm fingers brush her skin accidentally. Her body was consumed by a twitching, pulling feeling, and she shivered deeply.

“Are you cold, my Anne?” Then before she could answer. “It won’t take long.”

But how long would it take? He seemed to be relishing the slow advance of her dress up towards her thighs. Did he move so slowly so as not to startle her? It was unbearable. His hand pressed under her waist, lifting her gently so he could clear her skirts from beneath her. Although she kept her eyes fixed steadfastly on the clouds, she knew that she was now exposed below the waist, that her most private place was open to the summer breeze, to the drizzling clouds and the pale stars, to the angel’s eyes.

“Please, do not feel embarrassed,” he said. Embarrassment? No, this was the most liberating, thrilling sensation she had known. Again, he lingered. His fingers spread unhurriedly across her hip, pressing into the side of her buttock. She realised she had not breathed a few moments, and took a breath which shuddered down into her lungs like the foundations of a building quake when the earth trembles.

“I must administer the magic now,” he said softly.

“Yes,” she managed to say, but it came out sounding like a breath of desperation.

“Here, Anne.” His hot mouth was on her skin, his fingers pressed firmly as if to hold her down should she startle and try to escape. For twelve feverish seconds his lips rested upon her hip, then he pulled away. Her centre had moved. Everything — pulse, thoughts, breath — emanated from between her legs. She waited for him to sit up and move away, waited for the awful cold tug of his relinquished touch. But he did not move. He lay next to her still, not touching her. Her lower body was still exposed to the elements. To her surprise, he groaned softly.

“Oh, Anne. Anne.”

“What is it? Are you ill?”

“It is like a sickness, but I am in no danger of dying. I
feel
something, Anne. Something I should not feel.”

“What do you feel?” Her heart hammered in her chest.

“I cannot.”

“Please. Tell me. I shall die.”

Once again his warm hand was cupping her hip. His other pressed the grass on the right side of her body. His arm rested right over her quim. A warm looseness began to open up inside her. “Please,” she said.

“I cannot love you for I am an angel.”

He loved her? She could not speak.

“I cannot love you,” he said again, more forcefully, raising his body up on his hands and covering her side with his, “because I am an angel.”

Speak. Speak. Say something. He will think you do not care.
The words, the words he had freed with his kiss so many months ago, came to the surface as though they had always been fated to be spoken. “I care not if you are angel or man. I would have you love me.”

“Do not trifle with me, Anne.” He sounded so stern, so harsh. She was almost afraid.

“I do not. It is true. For I have loved you as long as I have known you. And if you love me in return, then there is no impediment to our cause. We shall love each other.”

“Anne, Anne.” His lips descended and she was awash in kisses. She pressed her face to his fervently, felt his hands moving upon her body and did not care. For he loved her. He loved her! His fingers reached her core and passion exploded inside her. “May I, may I?” he said over and over, a little boy’s voice, importunate, soft.

“You may do with me whatever you wish,” she said, and she meant it so passionately that she repeated it. “Whatever you wish.”

She heard the sounds of his clothes being removed, and she did not care. She wished for the whole world to see as she opened herself to him, as he entered her with his hard, ample prick. She wished for her Father and Betty and her sisters and all the guests at the party to gather around and witness her love, his love, their love.

Together as they were meant to be.

Eyes aching and hands cramped from writing in the candlelight, Deborah finally put aside Father’s manuscript and decided to sleep. The party still continued downstairs, though it was deep into the night. She had heard the toll for two o’clock a short while ago, and still Father played the harpsichord downstairs. His elevated spirits, she knew, proceeded from his delight with the newly rewritten parts of his poem. If only she could feel happy for him, and not fearful that he was being used by Lazodeus.

She massaged her fingers against each other. Footsteps approached from the staircase. Mary finally coming to bed. She got up and peered out of the closet.
Anne was bent over her dresser, pulling a nightdress from the drawer.

“Anne?” she said, surprised. Where was her uneven gait? Coming up the stairs, her feet had sounded as regular as her sister’s.

Anne turned around. She was flushed, her hair was loose and flowing around her shoulders. “Sister,” she said, “you startled me. Good evening.”

“Good morning, more like. Have you been enjoying the party?” Deborah felt her eyes drawn to Anne’s feet, but she would not move them.

“I am tired and wish to sleep,” Anne said, not meeting her eye.

“Go to bed, then.”

“I shall. Why are you watching me?”

“Can I not watch my sister?”

“I feel you are suspicious of me.”

Moments ticked by and neither of them moved. Finally, Deborah said, “I heard you, Anne. I heard you come up the stairs.”

Anne threw her hands in the air. “Very well! Very well, look you.” She strode, unimpeded, from one side of the room to the other. “You were right, are you satisfied?”

“Oh, Annie,” Deborah said, leaving her closet and moving towards her sister. “What have you done?”

“What business is it of yours what I have done?” Anne said, surprising Deborah with her vehemence. “Yes, I can walk now, see. I can run, I can skip, I can twirl …” She demonstrated to Deborah with a neat pirouette. “And I know you know how it came about, and I don’t care that you know. I don’t care for your opinion or anyone else’s any more.” She cast her eyes down. “Though I shall fain my limp around Father and Betty a while longer. They will ask difficult questions otherwise.”

“You ask me why I care, why it is my business?” Deborah said. “I care because I fear that the angel may want to harm our family.”

“Harm us!” Anne strode over and grabbed Deborah by the shoulders, her voice dropping to a vicious whisper. “You know nothing of him, Deborah. You know nothing.”

Deborah felt her blood grow hot. “I know more of him than you do.”

“You do not.”