On Unfaithful Wings (38 page)

The circle of fire around Trevor flared, trapping us. I scooped him in my arms, held his head against my chest and fought the urge to stroke his hair. I sighed deeply with the relief of holding him, hot air burning my lungs.

“I’m sorry, Trev.”

I struggled to my feet with him in my arms.

God, when did he get so big?

After everything I’d been through to get here, four-foot-high flames wouldn’t hold me back. I closed my eyes and rushed through, protecting Trevor’s face between my cheek and shoulder. On the other side, I checked to be sure flames hadn’t spread to him, then headed for the door. A hand on my elbow startled me and I whirled around, expecting to defend myself and my son, almost dropping him in the process.

“Poe.”

A line of blood ran from one nostril, a bruise had already begun to form on her cheek below her left eye, but she still managed a pained smile sagging on one end.

“Let me help.”

She held her arms out to take him. I looked at her, dubious. She was smaller than me and didn’t look in any shape to walk on her own, never mind with a teenage boy in her arms. Who was she kidding?

“I got him.”

“Icarus.” The tone of command in her voice surprised me. “Give him to me.”

I did. Trevor’s head fell back as I passed him into Poe’s arms. My stomach knotted in alarm. I touched his throat, felt his pulse. Unconscious. We started for the front door, but stopped at the sound of hard thumping against it.

“Cops.”

I cast a glance around the burning room and saw the windows were still intact. They weren’t so desperate to get in as to be willing to break the centuries-old stained glass. Not yet.

“The back way.”

We turned toward the altar. Mikey and Azrael were on their feet, stalking each other in a tight circle. Mike held his golden sword in front of him, poised to strike. Azrael held a sword, too, its blade formed of swirling black smoke. I led Poe along a treacherous path through the fire, past Father Dominic’s body dangling limp and aflame.

As we passed, the priest’s eyes opened, his gaze met mine. My feet stopped moving as his glare held me enthralled, taking me beyond the awful events that molded him into the man he became to give me a glimpse of the horrible things he’d done to Phil, Marty, Todd and the others. I felt the hate and loathing buried deep in his soul. He growled and snapped his teeth.

Poe gave me a push, prompted me on. The priest thrashed but the stake and the pipe held him. He wasn’t going anywhere.

“Keep going.”

We crept along the wall as the fight between the Archangels raged. Azrael caught Mikey in the side with a vicious kick, doubling him over. The angel of death followed up with a haymaker; Michael dodged, the punch catching the corner of the altar and sending a shower of marble across the room. A piece struck my cheek, drawing blood. Azrael’s smoky broadsword lashed out toward Mike’s face and my heart jumped, but the golden sword came up in time, parrying the blow. Mikey followed up with a punch to Azrael’s solar plexus sending the angel of death flying across the room with God’s right hand leaping after him. I cringed as they came together in an incredible impact then disappeared behind the blazing organ, flames snaking up the crucifix as Jesus wept either for the sins of man or because being set on fire hurts like Hell.

We passed beyond the pulpit and I glanced over my shoulder at Father Dominic once more. A cloud of smoke swirled before him, eddying and twisting in an unnatural manner, impossible to have been caused by the fire. It came together, solidified into something indescribable and lurched toward the dead priest. He screamed. We went through a door into the back of the church, the scene passing thankfully from view.

The fire hadn’t spread beyond the nave yet; smoky but breathable air filled the presbytery. Relying on decades-old memories of searching for places to hide from Father Dominic, I guided Poe and Trevor through the short maze to the door leading out back to the detached church hall and rectory.

“Through here.”

I pushed the door open and exited into cold night air that slammed against me like an open handed slap. A plume of fog spilled out of my mouth bringing a moment of panic. It took a second to realize it was the breath of my own lungs, not the misty soul Azrael siphoned from me. I grabbed Poe’s arm and steered her toward the graveyard beside the church when a man stepped from the shadows into our path. At first, I thought the Carrions had found us. He wore a similar long coat, though lighter in color. Ultimately, the .38 caliber police issue service revolver in his hand gave away his true identity.

“Hold it right there,” the tired-looking detective said in stereotypical cop-like fashion. I did what he said. He had a gun, after all.

“This isn’t what it looks like.”

“No? I see a murderer and his friend carrying an injured teen-age boy. What do you think it looks like, exactly?”

“Not good.”

“You got that right. Destruction of property, kidnapping, multiple homicides and God knows what else. All committed by a man everything says died six months ago.” The detective scratched his head; the barrel of his gun didn’t waver. “You’ve got some explaining to do. What’s going on in the church?”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“Try me.”

I sighed and felt Poe push close to my elbow. A jolt of static electricity shot up my arm.

“The archangel Michael and the angel of death are duking it out over my soul.”

For a second, I thought the cop might laugh, or at least smile. He didn’t.

“Okay, you’re right. I don’t believe you.”

“Told you.”

Poe leaned toward me, her lips so close her breath stirred the fine hair on my ears.

“Take the boy,” she whispered.

Without hesitating to consider the consequences, I pivoted at the waist, arms extended to take Trevor. The cop stepped forward, his arm raised and rigid, threatening us with the gun.

“Don’t move,” he said too late.

Poe slipped Trevor into my arms as her golden glow began, dim at first, but increasing rapidly. I averted my eyes, unsure if her glamor would effect me and not wanting to find out right now. The cop didn’t have as much luck. The hard-but-tired look on his face softened to wonder. His arm fell to his side.

I didn’t hang around to see what happened next.

Awkwardly, I hopped the wrought iron fence separating the graveyard and the church grounds and made my way through the leaning headstones and gnarled trees. People shouted, but I didn’t pause to see if they were yelling at me. Sirens filled the night, pushing me to run as fast as my load allowed. The muscles in my already pained thighs burned with the effort.

Two blocks away, Trevor still hadn’t stirred.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

We’d gone four blocks when the explosion shook the street beneath my feet. What they kept in a church that would explode, I didn’t know: boiler, gas lines, the body of Christ--could have been anything as far as I knew. Right then, I didn’t care. I had to do something to help Trevor, but didn’t know what.

I zigged around a corner and lumbered across the street against the advice of the flashing orange hand. Eight blocks from the church and my arms felt like elastic bands stretched to their limits. My legs protested with every step, my lungs labored.

“If we get through this, Trev,” I said to the limp boy in my arms, “I’m going to start working out.”

He didn’t comment, no matter who badly I wished he would.

The scream of sirens faded with distance and no one looked in hot pursuit of us. I hoped the tired-looking detective didn’t get hurt. He didn’t deserve to; he was doing his job. I didn’t worry about Poe, who--squashed like a bug, captured by the angel of death--had proven resilient. I glanced up the block stretching ahead of me and nearly stumbled when I saw the sign: ‘99 Red Balloons’. I stopped and looked at the closest street sign.

“This isn’t right,” I said aloud. A guy wearing one of those winter hats with ear flaps looked at me like I was crazy--how’s that for irony? “We should be fifteen blocks from the toy store.”

Tentative steps brought me to the door: same window, same closed sign, same brass knob. I fumbled to reach the doorknob and, as my fingers grazed the handle, the door swung inward. Whether convenient or menacing, I didn’t really care. If walking through the door meant preventing my shoulders from popping out of their sockets, then I was up for whatever challenge awaited me inside.

Across the threshold, the sounds of night and civilization disappeared, smothered by the darkness in the store. My knees quivered. I took two more steps, looking for a place to put Trevor and the door swung closed behind us, the little brass bell jingling, startling a curse out of me. It took a second to collect my nerves. A display of bean bag chairs in one corner caught my eye.

Perfect.

My stumbling gait brought us to them in the nick of time as my back and arms gave way, spilling Trevor onto the cushiony seats. Good thing he was unconscious. My body felt like I’d stepped into an anti-gravity chamber after ditching the excess weight of his limp form. I brushed hair out of his eyes, checked his pulse at his throat. Still pumping.

I hung my head, hand on his cheek. A fuzzy stubble that hadn’t been there before brushed my palm and I realized how much of my son’s growing-up I’d missed. My lips pressed tight together as a sob gathered in my chest--relief and regret rolled up in a ball that wanted to escape and bounce off the walls.

A feeling we weren’t alone insinuated itself in my head, forcing the sob down into my gut where it sat like a lump. I straightened, stretched my pained back, and looked around the room. The dim illumination filtering through the store’s tinted front windows silhouetted toys and stuffed animals, transforming them into hideous, unrecognizable shapes. Any one of them might have been a demon in hiding, waiting to take us to Hell.

“Anybody here?” May as well take the direct approach; I didn’t have time for games.

For a minute, no sound answered me. Then a movement behind me, a noise like the flutter of a bird’s wing. I whirled toward it.

Nothing.

“Gabe? Is that you?”

My voice came out flat and muted in the room of packed shelves, the tone eaten up by soft furry bears and multi-colored blankets. No movement anywhere. I crept away from Trevor, hesitant to leave him but not wanting us left open to ambush, either. The aisles between the shelves were empty except for an odor which, at first, I couldn’t place.

Cinnamon and cloves, like fresh baked pumpkin pie.

“Mikey?”

“Icarus.”

I spun toward the sound of my name and the man standing over my son. At first I thought it Mike but quickly realized the hair was wrong. Other than the ’do, they were twins.

Raphael. Thank God.

“Not God, not this time. Thank Poe.”

My heart skipped at the mention of my guardian angel’s name, reminding me of the explosion: she’d been too close to it.

“Poe...Is she all right?”

Raphael nodded then turned his back on me like our conversation had come to an end. I’d have pursued the topic further, but he knelt beside Trevor, placed his hands on the boy, and I forgot everything but my son.

“Leave me to do my work, Icarus.”

I tried to stay. A silvery-white light emanated from them, the too-bright glow making me shield my eyes. I watched until the archangel’s luminescence, the outward pressure it exerted, became unbearable, then took refuge amongst the toy store’s aisles, touching stuffed animals, examining packages, looking for anything to distract myself. A tightness squeezed my chest in realization the care of Trevor’s life was out of my hands and in the archangel’s now. I knew if anyone could be trusted, Raphael was the one, but...
my son’s life.

The effulgence of Raphael’s ministrations lit the shop, making labels easy to read. On one shelf I found a set of Tinker Toys: one of few toys I’d been allowed as a child. Hours of my youth disappeared playing with those sticks and discs, keeping me out of Father Dominic’s way, avoiding his temper. No matter what happened or how I acted, he always managed to find some imagined transgression against God to provoke punishment. Tinker Toys were the first toy I bought Trevor when he was old enough we didn’t have to worry he’d swallow the pieces. That was before the drinking started again, before things got bad with Rae. We’d lose hours, sometimes entire days, creating cars and dinosaurs, anything our imaginations dreamed up. Trevor giggled and laughed as I chased him with our latest creation and Rae accused me of buying the set more for myself than for him. Looking back, she was probably right, but he enjoyed them, too. My fall started soon after the Tinker Toys got kicked under a bed, forgotten. Trevor must have felt the same thing happened to him when I started acting like spending time with a bottle was more important than being with him and stopped showing my face at home during bar hours.

I wiped tears from my cheeks and looked up from the canister in my hand. Raphael’s glow engulfed both of them, hiding them--a star burning in the middle of the store. If he pulled through this, I’d be a good harvester and collect all the souls. I’d get my life back and show him how important he was to me.