Out in Blue (17 page)

Devin’s throat, technically. What would happen if Wren killed him?

“Wren, don’t!” she shouted in panic.

“Go ahead, Devil. Go right ahead,” Thornton wheeze from under Wren’s grip, grin still in place. “I can get a new host. I prevailed over your cursed talent once, and I’ll do it again.”

Wren didn’t loosen his grip, but his eyes flared. “Bailey?”

“At your service.”

Wren’s gaze lifted to Ginger, to her hands, and dropped back down to his captive as his eyes narrowed. “
You
. It’s been you all along.”

Thornton laughed. “Yes. So get it over with. Kill me with that power of yours. Prove yourself, yet again, to be the vicious devil we all know you are.”

“You call me a devil. Yet, you butchered my mother. A human.”

Thornton scoffed. “A devil’s whore.”

Cursing, Wren pulled a blade from Devin’s jacket.

“Wren!” Ginger’s heart threatened to break her sternum.

He glanced at her. “Trust me.”

Biting her lower lip, she nodded.

Thornton took advantage of Wren’s distraction and twisted, sending Wren off balance. But as Thornton leapt to his feet, Wren sliced the blade across Devin’s thigh.

Thornton grabbed Wren’s wing. “You filthy fucking—”

Wren touched the bleeding thigh with his hand. The wound healed before Ginger’s eyes, and Thornton collapsed to the forest floor, unconscious from the healing.

Ginger let the tears go. Through her fuzzy vision, she watched Wren get to his feet. In a few long strides, he closed the distance and touched her face, a slight shake to his fingers. He brushed the tears away.

His throat worked. “I’m going to pull these knives out now, okay?”

She jerked her chin and dropped her head to his shoulder. He pressed his body against hers and reached up.

He squeezed her as he pulled the blades out. She let the screams go and sagged against him, gasping.

Motion drew Ginger’s teary gaze to the forest around them. Demons appeared, dozens of them, silent as they moved through the undergrowth.

Vin stepped ahead of the group and stared down at Devin. “God damn it, Wren. I told you to wait—”

“And I told you to fuck off,” Wren snapped. He extended his wings and knelt, easing her back against the tree.

She stared at her hands and swallowed against her gag reflex. Wren took her wrists, stroking her skin with his thumbs.

“These aren’t mortal wounds, but you’ll still sleep for a few minutes after I heal them. You’ll be back at the house when you wake.”

Ginger nodded and breathed deeply as Wren shifted his grip to cover her bleeding palms. His hands heated, and that warmth seeped into her wounds. The pain dissipated. She slipped into sleep as if it were a warm bath.

Chapter Nineteen

Wren lifted Ginger into his arms and shifted so that her head lay securely against his shoulder. He turned to face the swarming demons. Disbelief dominated their expressions as they stared down at Devin.

“He needs to be taken to the town hall and restrained,” Wren said. “But treat him with respect. Devin was not acting of his own free will.”

Vin, kneeling at Devin’s side, lifted his face to Wren. “What are you talking about?”

“I don’t have the whole story yet.” Wren ground his teeth as he went over the encounter in his head. “But be aware that while you’re handling Devin’s body, it’s Thornton Bailey currently in command of it.”

Wren felt the stare of every demon present. He flicked his wings. “Thornton Bailey attacked Ginger today.
He
murdered my mother and held my father prisoner, not Lark. I don’t know how. I don’t know what Bailey did to Lark and Devin. But I know it’s true. I looked into his eyes just now as he admitted it.”

Vin frowned and leaned closer to Devin. He shut his eyes and inhaled. “Son of a bitch. There is a human scent here, and I recognize it from the house in Burlington…”

“Sir!” A tall, skinny demon vaguely familiar to Wren wound through the gathering. “I was there the night the family was attacked. We detected a human scent along with Lark’s scent on Wren. It was never explained.”

“I know of that fact. Would you recognize the scent again?”

“Yes, sir.” The demon tucked long, black hair behind his ears as he knelt on the ground opposite Vin. Wren visualized the demon with shorter hair, and recognition hit.

“Gentry.”

The demon glanced up. “Wren.”

Eighteen years earlier, Wren, hunched from the pain of his injury, had run when his father had told him to run. He’d screamed for help as he’d struggled along the forest path. Gentry had rushed out of the trees and caught Wren as he’d fallen, unable to take one more step.

Gentry lifted one of Devin’s hands and sniffed, then pressed his face to his shoulders. He growled. “It’s the same, sir. No question.”

Vin cursed and scrubbed his face with his hand. “Okay. Take
Bailey
to the prison ward and secure him. But until we know what’s become of Devin, keep him comfortable.”

The group of demons dispersed, Devin’s body carried between Gentry and two others. Wren turned away with Ginger and struggled through the forest. Underbrush clawed at his feathers and his ankles, hindering his progress. When he found a fallen spruce, the tree’s massive root system exposed to the sunlight that streamed through the hole in the forest canopy, Wren stopped and gripped Ginger tight to his chest. He took flight, cleared the trees, and headed home.

Still flooded with energy from the confrontation, Wren made the trip in less than a minute. He flew higher than necessary, relishing the sense of security the open sky offered. Up here, no enemy could touch them.

Raphael stood on the flight deck as Wren descended toward the house. Wren beat his wings to slow his momentum for landing, scattering yellow leaves and pine needles that had fallen onto the granite deck. His father stepped back, out of the way, then hurried forward as Wren folded his wings.

“We’re okay,” Wren said.

Raphael squeezed Wren’s shoulder and briefly touched the side of Ginger’s head. “What on earth happened?”

“Thornton Bailey,” Wren said, his mouth dry.

Raphael recoiled. “But Thornton Bailey is dead, son.”

“Yes.” Wren flicked his wings. Raphael held the door open, and Wren carried Ginger inside. The heat from the wood stove enveloped them. Lingering near the fire for Ginger’s benefit, Wren told his father the details of his encounter with “Devin” in the woods. Raphael listened in silence, his gaze focused on the flames that danced behind the stove’s glass window.

“Thornton Bailey…all this time,” Raphael said, his voice barely audible. He shuddered. “But if that’s true…what happened to Lark?”

“I don’t know.” Wren swallowed. “But Ginger spoke with his spirit, and Vin said they followed Lark’s scent here. Since Thornton has moved on to Devin, I assume the Guardians will find Lark’s body in the forest.”

Raphael lifted his wings and sat on the floor in front of the stove. “Eighteen years, believing he’d betrayed us… I can’t get my head around it. I need some time to think. Son, are you certain of his innocence?”

“I am. You also would be, if you’d seen Devin a few minutes ago. Looking into his eyes…I recognized Thornton. I saw the same stare when I was ten, and he had his hands around my neck. I never forgot that gleeful expression.”

Raphael nodded, his mouth a grim line. “Then Lark deserves a Guardian’s funeral.”

Wren left his father to his thoughts and carried Ginger upstairs. He settled her on the bed and propped her up on the pillows. Noticing Devin’s blood on his clothing, he stripped and dumped the stained material in the trash. No need for Ginger to see him like that when she woke. Ginger’s blood-soaked sweater followed; the blood from her hands had run down her arms while she’d been pinned to the tree. He cleaned the remaining blood from her skin with a moist towel.

Satisfied, he covered her with blankets and reached for a new pair of pants. He settled at the foot of the bed, watching her sleep, knowing she’d wake soon.

A text message came through on his phone from Vin. No change in Devin’s status. Wren texted back, asking Vin to resume the search of the woods for Lark.

Ginger’s eyelids fluttered, and Wren tucked the phone back in his pocket. Wishing he had good news to give her about Devin, he sighed and stroked her hair.

“Wren?” She shifted, raised her hands and rubbed her face. Her arms jerked and her eyes widened as she stared at her palms. “Please tell me that was a dream.”

“I can’t,” he said, meeting her gaze.

“How long have I been out? Where’s Devin?” She sat up.

“You’ve only been asleep for a half hour. Devin’s at the town hall. I’m sorry, but he has to be secured.”

She shut her eyes and nodded. “He’s going to be okay, right?”

Wren swallowed. He wanted to assure her Devin would be fine, but couldn’t bring himself to be anything but honest with her. “I don’t know.”

“I saw his spirit,” she said, her voice catching.

“
What?
When?”

“When Thornton grabbed me outside the house. Devin appeared as a spirit, just like Lark had. He told me to run, that Thornton…”

Wren couldn’t hold back a curse, furious that Thornton had hurt Ginger and may have taken her father from her. He shook as the rage flooded his limbs. Unable to sit still, he got up and paced.

“He’s dead, isn’t he?” Ginger whispered.

Wren stayed silent, unable to deny it. Wren had seen for himself the bruises around Devin’s neck. But Wren reminded himself he’d spent eighteen years believing his own father dead. He turned back and took Ginger by the shoulders.

“Technically, Devin still has a heartbeat. If there is anything that can be done for him, it will be done. We’re not giving up yet.”

She lifted her chin and nodded, her eyes bright with renewed hope. “Thank you.”

“Oh, Gin.” Wren pulled her to her feet. “You don’t need to thank me. I love you. I love you, and there is nothing I won’t do for you or anyone you care about.”

She met his gaze as she stood in his arms, dressed only in her jeans and black lace bra, a hint of challenge in her eyes. “I love you, too. And I want to stay here, with you. No matter what happens, it would kill me to leave.”

The image of her secured to the tree in the woods flashed through Wren’s mind. He took a deep breath. “Thornton Bailey…I didn’t see such an enemy coming. I thought I lost you today. Flying over the woods, following your voice, I feared for a moment I wouldn’t get you back alive.”

“Wren—”

He covered her lips with his fingers. “What happened today is what I wanted to protect you from, why I wanted you to go back to Haven. I never want to see you in danger again, but now that Bailey knows for sure about us, it won’t help for you to leave. And I don’t trust anyone else to keep you safe. I need you here, at my side.”

She shut her eyes and leaned into him. He wrapped her in his arms and dug his fingers into her hair.

The cell phone rang. Wren reached for the device quickly, hoping for good news. He kept one arm around Ginger as they both glanced at the screen.

“That’s Lark’s number.” Surprise filled her voice.

“Son of a bitch.” Wren pressed the button to connect the call. “Lark?”

No reply.

Wren closed his eyes and listened. What was that sound? He turned the phone’s volume up as high as it would go. A steady noise. Was it… running water?

The river. Vin had said Lark’s scent had been lost at the river.

“Lark? Is it you?” But how could it be? “Answer me.”

A splash interrupted the steady sound of running water, and the line went dead a second later. Wren stared at the phone.

“Call Vin,” Ginger said. “If anyone’s in the river at these temperatures…”

Wren kissed her cheek and dialed the demon. “Vin, Lark might be alive. I just got a call from his phone. He didn’t say anything, but I heard the river in the background before the line went dead.”

“We haven’t picked the scent back up yet,” Vin replied. “Between the multiple branches of the river and twists and turns, there is easily twenty miles of bank to search. We’ve got a quarter of that distance down so far—”

“I’m going out,” Wren said. “I’ll search from the air.”

Vin cursed. “If you find him, don’t let your guard down. Just in case.”

“Right.” Wren hung up and met Ginger’s wide-eyed stare. “Gin, if he’s innocent, I have to help him.”

“I understand,” she said. “Can I come and help, or would that slow you down?”

Wren hesitated, wanting to keep her near, but knowing time was everything if Lark or anyone else was in the water. “I can fly faster when I’m not carrying.”

“Then go,” she said, and pointed at the French doors. “Hurry. I have my phone.”

“Please stay here until I get back.” Wren kissed her, quick but hard, and rushed to the French doors. He burst outside and leapt off the flight deck.

§

Ginger dug through the pile of clothing, found a new sweater and pulled the dark blue alpaca wool over her head. Her thoughts swirled until they blurred. Was Lark alive? If so, whatever Thornton had done to her father could be undone. Devin had a chance. Worry for her father made her legs tremble as she walked, but she drew strength from the joy that flooded her system. She was staying in Sanctuary, staying with Wren. Holding on to that fact like a candle in a dark cave, she headed downstairs.

Rubbing her temples, she reached the second floor and saw Raphael sitting by the fire. He lifted his gaze, a dark expression dissolving into a smile.

“You’re awake so soon. That’s good. How do you feel?”

“I feel fine.” She hesitated. “Has Wren explained…?”

“About Thornton? Yes. And about your father.” Raphael stood up, a ceramic mug in his hands. “I made tea a minute ago. Would you like some while we wait for news of Devin?”

She nodded and followed him into the kitchen.

“Where’s Wren?” He arched an eyebrow as he pulled a mug from a cabinet.

She explained the strange phone call and Wren’s abrupt departure. Raphael filled both mugs from a large ceramic teapot as he listened, a frown on his face. He slid one mug toward her and flicked his wings.

“I have spent eighteen years certain of Lark’s betrayal. There was no room for doubt; he was there, in front of my eyes. But a part of me never fully accepted Lark as a traitor, an instinct that there was more to the situation than what met the eye. I buried the feeling, passed it off as desperate hope, maybe even an edge of insanity. As difficult as it is to accept spirit possession as an explanation—I’ve never heard of such a thing, and I’ve been on earth for three hundred years—everything that’s happened in the last eighteen years makes sense for the first time.”

Ginger held the warm mug in her hands, a comfort by itself. “When I first saw the spirit, and he realized I could see and hear him, he told me everything about your prison, made me write down all sorts of technical information about the security system, things I didn’t begin to understand. Getting you out was his singular focus.”

Raphael sighed and glanced toward the windows. “Thank you. I hope Wren finds him alive.” He cocked his head. “Is this the first time your psychic gift has manifested?”

She nodded.

“I’ve been out of the loop for eighteen years,” Raphael said slowly. “There’s been no one to tell you about your biological parents.”

Ginger’s hands tightened around mug and her mouth went dry. Wren had wondered if Raphael knew her parents. She hadn’t dared hope. “Did you know them?”

Raphael set the tea aside and clasped his fingers on the table. “I never met your father. Your parents met after your mother went into hiding. We kept in contact, but she couldn’t risk being seen in the colonies. She wanted to pass herself off as human.”

Ginger swallowed. “Hiding? Who was she? Is there really archangel in her background?”