Nightingale Girl
Authors: M. R. Pritchard
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
No part of this work may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission of the publisher.
Published by Kindle Press, Seattle, 2016
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THE DEVIL WATCHES OVER HIS OWN
REALMS AND REALMS AND . . . GODDAMNED REALMS
Sometimes following your heart
means losing your mind.
—Anonymous
Restlessness prickles under my skin. It feels like one of those never-ending winter days when breathing kerosene heater fumes for hours on end starts getting on your last nerve. It’s sad, really; all it took was one week for me to go trailer park crazy. I’m edgy and antsy. And to make it worse, Sparrow vowed to respect King Gabriel’s wishes regarding sins of the flesh. That’s what I get for swearing never to leave the Seven Kingdoms of Heaven.
“You know, if you focused on other things instead of what Sparrow’s got hiding in his pants, you’d be doing this better.” Teari’s chipper voice breaks my concentration.
The gentle brush of her fingers flutters across the skin of my shoulders. I turn quick to face her. “Don’t touch me,” I warn.
She holds her hands out as though she were thinking about doing it again. “Wouldn’t dream of it.” She smiles sweetly.
“You’re not supposed to be able to lie.” I glare.
“I didn’t lie, Meg. I just said I wouldn’t dream of it. Because I wouldn’t. You rarely enter my dreams.”
I run to the mirror on the far end of the dining room to see what she did.
“Teari!” I yell when I see that my hair is three inches longer.
“What?” She shrugs and sits on a velvet-upholstered club chair, crosses her long legs, and admires her fingernails.
“I told you to stop doing that!” I pull my shirt up and check my skin. The tattoos are still there. The spattering of stars is still across my left shoulder, the anchor still on my rib cage. I pull out the waistband of my pants and check the heart—it’s still there. Thank God. I pull the shoulder of my shirt down and check the tattoo of the black quill across my right collarbone. Disappointment hits me hard. It’s faded.
“That is his favorite one!” I turn to Teari and clench my hands into fists. “You know how Sparrow likes feathers.”
Teari stands quickly, her skin blanching when she gets a good look at how angry I am. “You’re supposed to look like a princess.”
“I don’t give a crap what your fluttery Angel princesses are supposed to look like. Stop trying to change me.” I grit my teeth and hold in a long stream of curse words. I don’t care if the Archangel Gabriel is my father. I’m not going to pretend to be one of their princesses. He said he liked my spunk. It reminded him of my mother.
“I can’t get this fixed up here in
Angel-land
. And I promised on Sparrow’s life not to leave.”
I would love to strangle Teari right now. I don’t care if she towers a foot above my head. I think my hands would wrap nicely around her neck.
Teari fidgets with the waistband of her slacks. She looks like a damn supermodel standing in front of me. I want to claw her eyes out.
“It’s fine,” she says.
“It’s not fine. It’s faded!” I walk toward her, ready to attack. I point to my shoulder where the quill tattoo is. “And it’s his favorite.”
Teari steps back, her eyes widening. “I helped you,” she reminds me. “When you were in Hell, I healed you. I made you whole again.” Her perfect face begins to look worried.
True, she did heal me. Teari came to help me and Sparrow when we were trapped together in Hell. She healed my wounds after my a-hole of an ex strung me up like a turkey and stabbed me in the chest with a knife.
While strangling Teari might help me feel better, it would leave my father without his personal healer. I cross the room to get away from her.
“Stop screwing with my tattoos and hair,” I warn her.
A few moments pass before I come to the conclusion that causing Teari physical harm is unladylike—something Sparrow’s always nagging me about. I weave around her and leave the room, slamming the door closed behind me.
They want me to be on my best behavior here, but Teari is making it awfully difficult.
I walk down lengthy hallways with towering windows that let in the bright, heavenly light of this place. Shielding my eyes, I wish I had brought my sunglasses with me. I avoid the sunlit expanses and walk in the shadows along the wall. It’s not long before I’m standing at the door to my room.
There’s a plush mattress on a frame, a bathroom with a tub and shower, fluffy towels, clean sheets, fresh pillows, a balcony, and a closet full of clothing. None of this ever existed in the single-wide trailer I grew up in. I came close when I spent my inheritance on that little house with a white picket fence. Tried to pull my roots out of the North Country gutter, but while it seemed money could buy me a home, it couldn’t hide me from my demons.
I open my door and step into my room. A warm breeze billows the curtains of the floor-to-ceiling windows. The golden linens on the giant four-poster are not the crumpled mess that I had left them in earlier. I look around and notice that my towel is no longer on the floor by the bathroom, either. Teari must’ve sent someone in here to clean up.
I walk past the bed and grab my sunglasses off the table in the sitting area. It’s so bright here that it hurts my eyes, gives me a headache. Trying to control the darkness within me is hard enough; I can’t stand constantly being illuminated by the sunshine of Heaven, as well. Even if it does sparkle prettily. Daylight hurts Hell-dark adjusted eyes.
I reach for the small machete-style weapon on my nightstand. Forged in the fires of Hell, it only cuts if I’m the one holding it. Lucifer gifted it to me after I delivered him the bag of bones that was my mother. He also promised me one favor that I have yet to use.
My thoughts turn to Sparrow and our time together down there.
Sparrow’s an Angel, tall and handsome and a little peculiar. He’s better than he used to be. When we were trapped in Hell, he was batshit crazy. The poor guy was nothing but a cracked nut when we found each other. We can blame my father for that, though. He banished Sparrow, stripping his wings and taking his memories, leaving him to wander the zombie-strewn wasteland of Hell. As fate would have it, that’s where we found each other.
Sometimes I think that Sparrow is the best thing that’s ever happened to me. Better than finding out what I truly was: more than North Country trash, the daughter of an Archangel, the child of forbidden love.
I secure the weapon in the thigh holster Sparrow made for me and put my sunglasses on. Leaving my room, I make my way to the door leading to the courtyard at the end of the hall. As soon as I step outside, my skin sizzles. It’s bearable, almost.
I wonder if the sun is like this in the other Kingdoms of Heaven? Teari is supposed to teach me about them, but she’s too busy working with the Legion, being my father’s personal healer, and trying her damnedest to turn me into a princess. I’ve learned a few things, though: The earthen plane is God’s land. The Seven Kingdoms of Heaven are ruled over by the Council of Seven Archangels. Hell has Lucifer.
I make my way past the sparkling stone fountain and down the marble steps set into the hillside. I stroll past the barracks where the Legion trains; the grounds are empty. They must be on break, which means Sparrow will be home. Good, I haven’t gotten him alone in a few days. I pick up speed and head for the trail behind the barracks.
Thick forest shades the winding path to Sparrow’s house. Having finally escaped the sun, I take off my sunglasses and hang them on the front of my shirt. Windows and doors close at the houses as I pass. There are some inhabitants of this place who are not happy about my presence here. They don’t like the idea of me tainting their
goodness
. I am the blackened stain of my father’s Kingdom.
My mother birthed me on the earthen plane. I am half darkness and half light; my soul doesn’t know where it belongs, and because of this I can
poof
between realms at will. All I have to do is whisper the words
“Angele Dei, illumina, custodi, rege et guberna,”
and I’m gone, traveling faster than you can blink. Everyone else has to use the governed portals.
People here don’t like that. They don’t like my darkness, my foul mouth, or the fact that I’m with Sparrow. There are whispers and disapproving stares. It’s like I’m back in my tiny hometown of Gouverneur, New York. Everyone watching. Nobody saying a word.
Screw them,
I tell myself. They don’t know the literal hell we went through.
I step up onto Sparrow’s stoop, my hand hovering over the doorknob. I lean closer and listen. “Livin’ on a Prayer” is blaring. I smile. Sparrow loves Bon Jovi. I turn the knob and inch the door open until I can squeeze inside without making a sound. The music is so loud that when I close the door I can’t even hear the lock click into place. I move toward the living room and find Sparrow rocking out.
Sparrow is standing in front of the stereo. He turns the music louder, his head bobbing to the beat, his shoulders ticking along, as well. His entire body is in motion. And just as the chorus starts, he spins and rips his shirt off.
I freeze, taking in the scene of Sparrow in full Bon Jovi impersonation mode. It’s a beautiful sight. His white wings are tucked tight against his back, and the muscles of his broad shoulders tense as he dances and sings. His narrow hips thrust from side to side with the beat. He kicks his boots off, sends them flying across the room, and then runs to collect them like it was choreographed, bellowing out lyrics the entire time. Sparrow sets the boots side by side near the back door of his house. Next, his socks come off, followed by his Legion-issued black cargo pants, leaving him in nothing but a pair of boxer briefs.
My jaw drops, and my trailer park roots quiver. This is better than the strip club I went to in college. The Thunder from Down Under has got nothing on Sparrow.
Sparrow spins, stomps his feet, then looks up. His eyes lock with mine, and a wide grin spreads across his handsome face. He spins again and turns the music down.
“You didn’t have to do that,” I say. “I was enjoying myself.”
“Bet you were.” Sparrow’s brown hair is tousled, and dimples appear in each of his cheeks as he smiles. Bright green eyes take me in. “What’s different about you?” he asks, taking a step toward me.
“Nothing,” I lie.
“Something.” He reaches out and touches my hair. “It’s longer.”
“Teari was getting a little handsy.” I shake my head, and my hair tickles my shoulders. It used to be long; trouble changed that. Remembering what happened last time I had long hair makes my stomach churn.
Sparrow frowns, like he’s read my mind. He knows I don’t like being touched—suffered far too much pain at the hands of others. Now I trust no one and allow even fewer to touch my skin. I trust Sparrow enough, though. Trust him with my life. He’s saved it enough times.
“Can you fix it?” I ask.
Sparrow’s fingers linger in my dark hair for just a moment too long. No doubt he’s remembering the haircut he gave me with his machete.
“Just let me jump in the shower quick, and then I’ll do it.”
I look up at him. “No.”
