On Unfaithful Wings (28 page)

“Poe,” I coughed from under my assailant.

I shimmied and pulled, rotating to see who hit me: the bald man with the thin goatee, the one nearly cut in half between two cars when we last met. Apparently he’d recovered; I wondered if he held a grudge. I scrambled from under him, gaining my feet. The other man--the guy with the close-cropped hair--held the jar out in front of him. Inside, Poe fluttered her little moth wings, flitting around the glass prison.

Get yourself out of there.

The man leered, humorless grin streaked with menace, then shook the jar violently.

“No!”

He stopped, holding it out for me to see: moth-Poe lay dazed at the bottom, spindly legs pointed toward the sky. The man laughed and tossed the jar aside. My gaze followed its arc tumbling through the air. My stomach lurched as it landed on the grass with a dull thud, but it didn’t break. Beyond, I glimpsed Sister Mary-Therese. Her hand still held out to the ducks, she appeared to be looking across the pond at me. I waved frantically, but the man in black stepped toward her, sunlight gleaming on the knife in his right hand. I gritted my teeth and turned back toward the Carrions. They obviously wouldn’t let me go to her aid, so they’d have to be dealt with.

I gulped.

Somehow.

They rushed me, leaving me no choice. I planted my feet and bent my knees, bracing for the impact. The first one lurched at me and I leaned right allowing his inertia to carry him over my hip with a little help from my left arm--a perfect judo move I possessed neither the know-how nor the energy to execute.

How did I do that
?

The second man took a different approach, choosing to swing a looping left hand toward my head. Shifting my body, his blow glanced off my right shoulder blade. I countered with an upper-cut, connecting with his chin hard enough to lift his feet off the ground; his jaw broke with a sickening crunch.

I left them behind to sort themselves out and headed for the pond. Poe would have to wait.

Only two strides worth of lawn passed beneath my feet before the bald man’s hand caught my ankle. I rolled with the fall and ended up on my back. The man with the shattered jaw loomed over me, blood streaming down his chin, the broken mandible twisting his face into a grotesque, cock-eyed cant. Gathering power swirled in his fingers, the glow reflected in his already-flickering eyes. I’d seen this trick before.

In my last moment, I remembered all the things Sister Mary-Therese had done for me, how she’d saved me time and again, and regretted I wouldn’t be able to return the favor.

***

One of the men dressed in black caught the running man by the ankle, sending him to the ground. The third man’s hands glowed, like he held a mirror reflecting the light of the sun. Sister Mary-Therese tensed, the joy of sunlight and ducks draining away. A duck nipped at the bread in her hand, startling her.

“Oh,” she gasped, standing.

The movement sent disturbed mallards waddling back to the pond and the safety of the water. Sister Mary-Therese looked up from the ducks and the algae-covered pond; her first instinct was to rush to the man’s aid, but a heavy hand on her shoulder stayed her.

The touch burned while freezing her limbs at the same time, its pressure weighing on her bones, increasing the mass of her internal organs tenfold like it did her body. The presence looming behind forced her to her knees where the pungent smell of duck droppings and decaying leaves was strong, but another fume threatened to choke those odors: the stench of something one would rather not smell burning. She gagged and, as the man behind her pressed close, she knew it came from him. Burnt hair, smoldering tires, a roast left hours too long in the oven.

“I don’t have any money.”

“I don’t want your money. It’s your life I want.”

***

The glow brightened to blinding and I raised my arms across my face defensively as the energy released in a flaming ball. Heat slammed against my chest, rattling my teeth, but my flesh didn’t burst into flames or rip from my bones. Instead, the fireball ricocheted off me and struck the man, engulfing him like a match tossed into a puddle of gasoline. The flesh on his face peeled away, exposing muscle and bone, but he didn’t scream. He lurched toward me, arms pin-wheeling, his exposed teeth set in a mockery of a grin. A few feet from me, his body fell to ash--a gray pile in the grass like a gruesome scene out of an Indiana Jones flick. I drew a breath filled with the stench of burning tires and climbed to my feet.

“I’m rubber and you’re glue.”

I turned my attention to the bald man. He’d regained his feet but look less confident. I didn’t know what happened or why, but it was better he didn’t know I didn’t know, so I covered my surprise with a snarl. He stalked toward me, hands balled into fists, lips moving in a soundless whisper. I stole a glance toward the duck pond and saw the sister caught in a deadly dance with the man in black.

No time.

I lunged, surprising him as my shoulder slammed into his chest. It felt like I’d thrown myself against a brick wall. The impact bounced me back a step, giving him an opportunity to catch me in the side of the head with a roundhouse punch. I stumbled away, the world doubling before my eyes, my stomach flopping with sudden motion sickness. My ear hummed as he and his identical twin moved in for the kill. Shaking my head to right my vision did nothing, but I managed to dodge his next blow. I doubted I’d be able to elude another. Could he kill me? It didn’t matter, I’d died once already, but Sister Mary-Therese...I needed to find a way past him, a way to end this fast to salvage any hope of saving Sister Mary-Therese. And Trevor.

The Carrion launched himself at me and my body defaulted to my newfound pseudo-judo. A quick twist and I caught his arm, tossed him over my hip onto his back. Before he could move, I landed my knee on his chest, bearing down with all my weight. Ribs popped and cracked, breath wheezed out of his chest. The sounds brought me a little satisfaction: that one was for all the guys who rode me to the ground in the last six months. He writhed like a turtle flipped wrong-side-up while I jumped up and ran for the pond.

***

The man breathed deep through his nose. “It’s not your fault.”

Sister Mary-Therese knew what came next when her time on earth ended, but so much of God’s work was yet undone. If it was His plan for her to go now, she’d accept that, but she wasn’t going to make it easy in case this plan belonged to someone else.

The man lifted his hand, momentarily releasing the burden holding her down, and Sister Mary-Therese lashed out, striking him across the cheek. His skin peeled away, clogging the space beneath her nails. He didn’t seem to notice the wounds, responding by pushing her down onto her back. Kneeling beside her, hand on her throat, he pushed back the hood obscuring his features. Three gouges where her nails raked his right cheek glistened with fresh blood. Redness rimmed his yellowed irises and someone had carved an inverted cross into his forehead. Sister Mary-Therese shivered and her eyes widened as she stared into the face of the monster. The man’s eyes softened.

“Do you know me, Mary?”

She shook her head--the only response possible with his hand clamped on her throat, restricting her breath.

“It’s me.”

With his words, his features changed: his complexion cleared, his pointed teeth became the teeth of a man instead of a beast. After a second, Father Dominic’s face loomed above her. She gaped. Distress and despair seeped through her muscles draining the fight from her.

“F-- Father?”

“Yes.” Too much sibilance in the word.

“Why?”

He looked up, his attention drawn away. A wicked smile curled his lips. When his gaze returned to her, the beastly countenance distorted his face again.

“Because of him. I’m sorry.”

She didn’t see the knife but heard its tip clink against a button of her coat. As the steel plunged through her flesh, everything became clearer: ducks splashing in the pond; the odors of duck feces and fetid water, autumn grass and the dead priest; the sound of feet pounding against the ground. In spite of the clarity, the knife penetrating her chest felt like a caress. The sky grew so blue she could barely stand it, but neither could she look away.

She felt tired. So tired.

When a figure leapt over her, breaking her bond with the unending sky, she took the opportunity to close her eyes and rest.

***

Sister Mary-Therese lay on the muddy bank of the pond, blood soaking her pleated gray skirt, streaked on her face. The man in black knelt beside her, hood pulled back confirming the identity I’d already guessed: Father Dominic. Three deep scratches on his cheek trickled blood down the line of his jaw where the sister tried to protect herself.

At the sound of my steps, the murderer looked up. He showed his bloody teeth and plunged the knife into the Sister’s chest. Her body convulsed as the blade sank to the hilt.

Pain shot through me as though he’d sunk it into mine.

“No,” I screamed.

Father Dominic stood, backed away a step. I hurdled Sister Mary-Therese, lunged at the priest, every inch of my being longing to tear him to pieces, but my arms grasped empty air. Inertia carried me forward, dumping me in the pond. I splashed into the algae-and-duck-shit-filled water face first, righted myself and clambered out spitting foul-tasting liquid.

He was gone.

Panting, I crawled to the sister’s side, hoping the psycho-priest wouldn’t reappear out of thin air like some kind of perverted Houdini.

“Sister.”

Her eyelids fluttered. At first, she didn’t appear to recognize me. She licked her lips, tongue smearing blood across them. A weak cough spattered more of the dark liquid on her chin. Her eyes focused and found me.

“Icarus.” Her voice trembled.

“Sshh. Don’t talk. It’ll be okay,” I lied. Tears rolled down my cheeks. “I’ll take care of you.”

“It was Father Dominic.” The coppery smell of her blood overpowered the odor of duck shit emanating from my soaked clothes.

“Yes.” I wanted to look away but forced myself to hold her gaze.
Why didn’t I get here sooner?
“I’m sorry.”

“No, Icarus. It’s not your fault.”

Then she breathed no more.

The sister’s spirit was old, far older than the body it left, her face wrinkled with time, fissured with experience. It reminded me of those shrunken-apple head dolls they used to advertise in the back pages of comic books, but the kind eyes of Sister Mary-Therese peered out of the crevasses, regarding me with love and understanding, not the pity or regret I deserved. This soul had seen many lives. She put a hand under my arm, helped me to my feet then wiped the tears from my cheeks with a wizened hand.

“It’s all right, Icarus. It was my time.”

“This shouldn’t have happened. I...I should have stopped him. It’s my fault.”

“Sshh. All you can do is help me go on. God has plans for me. And you”

My head felt like it ballooned to a weight too great for my neck to hold, filled with regrets and wishes I’d done things differently when given the chance; my chin sank to my chest. The sister would be taken care of, no doubt. If Heaven held a spot reserved for anyone, Sister Mary-Therese was the one, but I’d mourn her.

She guided me toward the lawn. I glanced back once at the the corpse belonging to the woman who’d saved me from myself, rescued me without question despite my lack of appreciation. A brave duck climbed out of the pond, forced its bill into the pocket of Sister Mary-Therese’s sweater, digging for the last crusts of bread.

“Who’s that, Icarus?”

I looked up the slope of grass in the direction she indicated. In my desperation to save Sister Mary-Therese, I’d forgotten the bald man. He stood hunched over in the middle of the field, hands on his shattered chest, his foot propped on something. I squinted hard to see what.

The jar.

“Poe!”

I broke away from Sister Mary-Therese’s spirit, sprinting toward the Carrion. He leaned forward, shifting his weight onto the jar.

“No!”

The glass shattered under the pressure of his foot and I felt as though my life shattered along with it.

Chapter Twenty-One

The bald man fled, his work finished; I didn’t give chase, not until I saw to Poe, at least. I dropped to the ground beside the shattered jar, ignoring the pain of a rock digging into my knee. The lid and thick glass bottom of the jar lay atop chunks and shards of shattered glass, some of them coaxing blood from my fingers as, heedless of their sharp edges, I shifted them aside. Under it all, the snowy-white moth lay hammered into the grass, wings crumpled and torn. My mind raced. I wouldn’t know how to perform first aid on an angel, nevermind a moth. I scooped the insect gently onto the palm of my hand, acutely aware that somewhere inside the ruined little body lay my guardian angel, trapped and broken.

If she still lived.

“What is it, Icarus?”

The spirit’s voice, though soft and gentle, made me jump. I chastised myself silently--forgetting Sister Mary-Therese’s soul might prove a costly mistake. The bald man looked to be gone, but this could be a set-up. If they got her, I wouldn’t be able to live with myself. I took a shuddering breath and held the moth out for her to see.