Fall From Grace (11 page)

Evie's sword flamed
into life, filling her with righteous anger. The Death Mark above
Trick's head flared as well and it was all Evie could do to
restrain the sword from striking him down then and there. Her
sword, like her wings, was always trying to think for itself.

The demons surrounded
her and for a time all was teeth, blood, talons and the
overpowering smell of death. Trick had kicked a sword out of one
demon's hands and was using it to carve a path towards Marcus. To
what end Evie wasn't sure. As she battled, she saw the Death Mark
waver then move resolutely away, coming to a stop directly above
his master. There it flared brighter still. Marcus saw the Mark and
laughed. He waved at her mockingly.

Her sword urging her
forward, Evie moved to follow Trick only to be cut off by a series
of sharp, black spells thrown by an enormous high demon that
swooped in, carried by several of the flying demons and dropped
practically on top of her.

More and more demons
– both high and low – joined until she and the Fallen were trapped
within a virtual maelstrom of supernatural mayhem. The demons'
leathery wings whipped up the sand into a gritty curtain and she
lost sight of both Trick and Marcus.

None of the demons
raised a blade against the Reaper though he killed any he could
reach. Most fell back before him, opening a path across the sand.
Trick and Marcus stood isolated in the carnage raging around them.
Their eyes locked.

“You
have the relic, Trick. Do it. Kill her or better yet kill the
Fallen. Alliances have changed, obviously, and I no longer need
him. But kill
someone
damn it and all will be forgotten.”

Trick removed the
leather case from his pocket and took out the needle-like dagger.
“I could kill you.”

“Could you? Would you
like to try? Here, I'll make it easier for you.” Pulling at his
waistcoat and ripping the buttons from his shirt, the demon exposed
his chest. “Go on, strike.”

With a cry of rage
Trick flew at him, the dagger held with deadly intent. Using all
his strength he brought it down directly over the demon's heart and
there it stopped. No matter how much pressure he brought to bear,
the sliver of metal would not move any closer. Drawing back he
tried different attacks: the demon's throat, his belly, his eyes.
Each time the dagger stopped of its own volition and no amount of
trying could inch it forward.

Throwing his head
back, Marcus gave a harsh bark of laughter. “I am your Master,
Trick. You cannot harm me directly. That is how the contract works.
You should always read the fine print. Now go, I command you to
kill her, then bring me her wings. I want to see what all the fuss
is about flying.”

Trick was breathing
hard, the blood pounding in his temples, “No.”

“That wasn't a
request you insignificant desert rat.”

Marcus' hands flew up
into a complicated series of movements. A spill of runes ran in
dark shadows from his fingertips to fall onto Tricks arms and legs.
The shadows hit him hard, forcing him to his knees in agonizing
pain as they dug their way in, boring through flesh and bone.

Marcus spread his
fingers and with another laugh, began to wiggle them. Trick's body
jerked spasmodically. His legs pushed him back into a standing
position. Desperately he tried to throw the relic from him, to no
avail. He could not control his fingers. Trick watched as though
from a great distance as his hands positioned the deadly weapon to
strike. Marcus had become the puppet master, pulling his strings.
Trick walked jerkily towards Evie and the Fallen, unable to stop
himself.

The storm of demons
parted before him, sliding away to either side like butter off a
hot knife. They were screaming and calling to each other, as pod
demons do, and the noise was deafening. Praying that Marcus had not
thought to take his voice, Trick called out to Evie.

“I'm here,” she said,
her voice faint above the unholy din.

He saw the flash of
her sword. She slashed at a higher demon cutting him completely in
half, opening a space between them.

Holding the
needle-slim dagger, he could not stop himself from closing the
distance. “Evie, kill me. Use your sword. Marcus is controlling me,
I can't...” He broke off as his Master, realizing the error, took
his voice.

Evie looked from the
relic raised to strike, the evil reaching out like taloned fingers,
then to Trick's face.

His lips mouthed the
words, 'Kill me'. In his eyes she clearly saw the agony and
desperation as he fought vainly against his Master's control.

Her sword sensed the
danger as well, flaming higher and brighter, pulling her forward.
She had to force her arm down to keep it from striking. “I won't, I
can't! No Trick, there must be another way.”

She threw all her
power into warding spells trying to break the Demon's hold, pull
him from that deadly grip. Trick fought with her, fought a battle
magic to magic with his Master as fierce as any on the battlefield.
Control, he needed just one moment of control. 'Heavenly Father',
he pleaded silently, 'please, please'.

The Fallen was near.
Trick felt him. For a moment, as happens in battle, their eyes met.
The Baron's were scarlet with fury. At his feet, one of his
sentinels clutched its side, a terrible wound from a spell
shredding the creature from the inside out. The sentinel whined, a
sad dog-like sound, the first Trick had heard the sentinels make,
and then, went very quiet. Still staring at Trick, the Fallen gave
a slight inclination of his head.

Miraculously, Trick
felt Marcus' control lift completely, though only for seconds he
was sure. With one last look at the Angel, he whispered, “I love
you Miss Evie Grace, forever and always, in this life and the
next.”

Trick plunged the
evil dagger into his own chest.

Trick fell at her feet, both hands still
clasping the blade piercing his heart. His sea green eyes stared
into hers. The pain only lasted for a moment. During those short
seconds before eternity took him he saw not his childhood nor his
mother and father, not the torments of more than a century of
enslavement. He saw these last two days and every moment he had
spent with Evie. Her face in the bar, sneaking looks at him while
he sneaked looks back. Her body naked and shining next to him in
the hotel room with those damn wings all over the bed. Then later,
with sweet abandon on the beach as she let him enter her, forcing
fate to take this course. They were just seconds but they seemed to
go on and on and Trick was happy. Happy to the very end.

Evie watched the
light go out in his eyes. She lay one hand on his chest. He was
still warm, burning with the last vestige of his power until, in
seconds, that, too, was gone. His body now only an empty shell. The
love and laughter, his kiss, his touch, everything that was Nathan
McKitrick taken from her by the demon.

Vengeance surged
through Evie like liquid fire. Her wings flared out. Molten with
rage, the air around her burst into flame, surging, burning. At her
feet the sand melted and turned to glass. She became terrifying in
her avatar, her Avenging Spirit made fully manifest. Running, she
fell upon Marcus with her flaming sword sworn to vengeance. He was
an old demon and very strong. He fought confidently at first, sure
of his powers, his spells – and the wicked blade he pulled from the
scabbard at his back. That confidence did not last long. She
pressed her attack, heedless of the pain of his spells and blows,
relentless.

Vengeance her
mandate.

Vengeance her
will.

He
ran finally, trying to trance jump up the cliff. Her wings were
swifter. He signed a transference spell hoping to
vaporate
into smoke.
Evie's counter spell was faster. He summoned the rest of the demon
host yet Evie's sword was unstoppable. They battled up and down the
beach until at last they stood by Trick's body. His beautiful eyes
closed forever now.

Remembering how those
eyes looked so lovingly into her own, the passion she had seen
there, Evangeline Grace, Avenging Angel, gave a cry of anguish.
Channeling her fury into energy, she created a fireball that swept
from her outstretched arms to engulf the beach and all upon it in a
terrible revenge.

The fire burned for a
very long time. When the flames at last died down and the dark ash
of the charred corpses began to blow out to sea, nothing remained
on the beach except the Fallen, his two surviving sentinels, Evie
and Trick. Breathing heavily, her sword still glowing white hot
with the passion of her righteousness, she knelt down next to his
still body. Laying aside her sword and cradling his head in her
lap, she kissed his lips, now cold. So cold.

She said very quietly
and very clearly, “Bring him back, Baron. Bring him back to me. You
are the Fallen. I know you can.”

Though he was nowhere
near her, she could feel the immense aura of his power, dark and
hard as tempered steel. He was far older and far stronger than her.
The two sentinels turned to dogs and cringed, whimpering and
fawning at his feet.

After a time he
spoke. “Nothing comes without a price, even for an Angel.”

She looked up,
meeting his flat gray eyes, unflinching. “Name it.”

The Baron swept her a
courtly bow worthy of the eighteenth century aristocrat he so
resembled. Raising his sword, he walked towards her.

Trick's eyes fluttered open, those sea green
eyes. Lifting his hand he rubbed them as though waking from a deep
sleep. He yawned and then smiled at her, a newborn smile of
dazzling honesty.

“Hello, Angel.”

Evie sobbed.

He was up on his
elbow in an instant, his face creased with concern. Looking down he
saw the blood on his chest and above it, a small white scar.
Everything came rushing back in a whirlwind. A kaleidoscope of
images: the swarm of demons, Marcus, the evil dagger, his desperate
effort to save Evie and the Fallen's unexpected help. Finally, the
thrust of the knife into his chest. The relic had been cold, a
terrible cold that choked him, pulling him into the darkness. A
darkness that had turned to light in those long, last moments as he
remembered the Angel.

In Evie's eyes he saw
those events mirrored, watched as they filled with tears, spilling
down her cheeks one silver drop after the other.

“I'm so glad Trick,
so very glad.”

He reached round to
grab her shoulders, pull her to him and kiss away the tears.
Automatically his hands sought to avoid the thick bones of her wing
blades. Inexplicably one hand slid right over.

Almost afraid to
look, he felt the flat shoulder blade where her magnificent wing
had been.

“Evie, your wing.” He
gave her a stricken look. “Where is your other wing?”

She flushed, folding
the remaining wing behind her back, hiding her shame. Trick felt
the emotions running through her. Courage, pride, remorse. Then she
stared into his eyes with that uncanny vision and he saw the
rest.

“You did it for
me.”

“This was the only
way to save you. He brought you back. The Baron.”

“For your wing.”

She nodded, “That's
what this was all about, Trick. Marcus had a bargain with the
Baron. Why you were supposed to kill me. For my wing. Even with all
his power he couldn't take it from my living body. I could...” Her
voice caught in her throat. “I could, however, give it to him of my
own free will.”

He grasped her hand
and said so softly it was just a whisper, “I'm not worth
saving.”

She thought of what
she had seen each time she looked into his heart and soul. Yes, his
soul was still there, right where it should be though he knew it
not. Part of the demon's magic, to hide such small comfort, make
him think all links to God's ear severed. He should have more
faith.

“Nathan McKitrick you
are worth saving a thousand times over. You, too, are meant for
great things. Far greater than your brother.” Extending her one
wing she brought it around, caressing his face gently with the
long, flexible flight feathers.

Running his fingers
lightly over the feathers, he said, “Let me see.”

Her tank top had been
burned to threads in the flaming. Folding the wing away, she turned
her back to him. Where her wing had been was a wide, raised
scar.

He reached out to
touch it, then pulled back as though afraid. “Oh, Evie, Evie. I am
so sorry to have been the cause of your fall from grace. Did
it...did it hurt?”

On this one thing, at
least, she could reassure him. “No. He could have made it terrible
for me, unbearable. Unaccountably he didn't. I don't know why.”

Saying so much
without saying anything at all, they came together. Evie held him
tightly, reveling in the strong beating of his heart next to hers.
She had been so close to losing him forever. Her wing, as beautiful
and perfect as it was, remained only an appendage. What was that in
comparison to a life? He had been ready to sacrifice everything to
keep her safe, he would do it again. How could she not do the
same?

They made love,
slowly, carefully, as though each was afraid the other would break
apart and blow away in the sea wind. The desperation of their first
encounter replaced by wonder at their survival. The fact that
somehow, miraculously they were together. For however long that
was. Evie could not touch him enough, her hands stroked him
restlessly, her fingertips memorizing every inch as though he might
vanish at any moment. He almost had.

Side by side, he held
her tightly. Her heart beating next to his. A light rain began to
fall, blown in from the sea, spattering over the sand, wetting
their hair and skin. The waves crashed, nearly reaching them. They
never felt the rain nor heard the sea's roar.