Wings of Sorrow (A horror fantasy novel) (11 page)

The Saint strode towards her at the same deliberate pace he always moved at.

“Leave me alone,” Scarlet shouted, fear distorting her voice. “Please!”

“Your begging will change nothing. You must die.”

Scarlet bolted, but The Saint was too close to slip past. Despite barely seeming to move, he was on her immediately and grabbed her by the arm. Over the fabric of her shirt, she could feel rising heat.

She did the only thing she could think of, and screamed.

The giant clutched his head with his spare hand. “Noise. I hate it. A world full of noise and smells.”

She screamed louder, kicking and thrashing at the same time, but it was like being encased in iron. The Saint had her by both arms now, and it burned.

“Let us end this dirty business,” he snapped. “Your companion’s urine still taints my senses. His bowels and bladder failed him, like a whimpering child.”

Scarlet’s eyes went wide. “Indy? You hurt him?”

The Saint nodded. “Yes.”

Anger gripped her and she spat in the monster’s face. It seemed to hurt him more than her kicks and punches did because he released her immediately. The burning sensation stopped.

The Saint rubbed at his face, snarling. “You fling your vile fluids like the foul, mud-encrusted beast that you are. Humans are animals.”

She spat again, making The Saint retreat another step. “And you are nothing but a bully. Indy did nothing to you.”

“He helped The Spark, and in doing so, forfeited the Father’s protection. The token I left on your bed was the most efficient way to remove you from the safety of your home. I knew you would try to ward me away with your cursed magic. You have perverted a member of the White Order into helping you—barring me from entry into your places of residence—but only while you inhabit them.”

“You’ve been in my room twice already. You took my mother’s necklace, and you left Indy’s hand.”

“I took no necklace. It is true that I invaded your dwelling, but I was unable to remain when you entered with your vile charm. I had time to leave you a gift, though. Your companion’s headwear, and one of his appendages. Now you are outside without protection, just as I planned. Humans act only with their hearts, never with their intellect. It is over now, wretched child. I will tolerate no more delay.”

“Scarlet, what the hell are you doing out here? Is that your goddamn boyfriend again? I’ve had as much as I can stomach.”

The Saint turned to face Scarlet’s dad as he marched out of the back door and across the lawn. “Leave us, or you will suffer.”

“I will do no such bloody thing. Get off my property before I call the police. I’ve already warned you once.”

“You have warned me of nothing. Never have I set eyes on you.”

Her dad now came close enough that Scarlet could see him clearly. He looked slightly embarrassed at the mix up, but mostly angry. “You’re not the same man as before, but you still have no reason to be in my bloody garden. Scarlet, you should be in bed.”

“Your daughter should be dead, and shall be presently.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Leave us!”

Her dad became unsure of himself, never one for conflict beyond words, but he remained calm. “Scarlet, I think you should come here now.”

Scarlet tried to make it over, but The Saint blocked her way.

“Dad, help.”

“Get away from her!” He thrust out a hand and it clamped down around the Saint’s shoulder. “Move!”

The Saint shoved him with both hands and launched him backwards into the wall of the house. A gale escaped his lungs and he doubled over on the ground.

The Saint turned his attention back to Scarlet. “Enough. I will murder everyone you care about if you make me pursue you a single moment longer.”

Scarlet took a step away, not towards. “And they call you the good guy?”

She went to spit again—it was the only thing she had found that worked—but The Saint had her by the throat before she could even open her mouth.

“Leave her… alone,” her dad moaned from the ground.

“In a moment, you can have her body.”

“Let go of her or I’ll rip you apart.” This time, the voice was not her dad’s.

Sorrow emerged from the shadows of the garden and tackled The Saint to the ground. The Saint was, as always, stronger, but Sorrow pummelled him with speed and ferocity, throwing punches in a dozen places to every one The Saint threw.

Scarlet ran to her dad and helped him up.

“We have to call the police,” he managed to say, clutching at his sides.

“Yeah,” she said, not knowing whether she meant it or not, only that she wanted to get away. “We have to go. That man wants to kill me.”

“Why?”

“No time to explain. Let’s just get out of here.”

“Where?” Her dad was acting like a bewildered child. “The car! We should head to the car.”

She was about to agree, but then realised something. “No, the charm only works if I’m in the house. We have to go back inside.”

“Charm? What are y-“

“Just trust me, okay? We have to go back inside the house.”

He looked at her for a second, then at the two strange men fighting on his lawn. Scarlet could only imagine what all this seemed like to him. “Okay, Scarlet, let’s hurry.”

She raced for the back door, making sure that her dad was right behind her—he was—and they made it back inside the kitchen and went right for the telephone. A second later he kicked the cabinets and cursed.

Scarlet spun around. “What is it?”

“There’s no dial tone. Did that psychopath cut the phone line? What the hell is happening? I was watching bloody Top Gear ten minutes ago.”

“This isn’t the movies, dad. People don’t cut telephone wires, they’re all underground.”

“Well, they’re not working, Scarlet, and that maniac is still outside on our lawn. Was that your boyfriend who came to help?”

“He isn’t my boyfriend! He’s just a friend… sort of.”

“Oh, Scarlet. What have you got yourself into?”

She took a deep breath and then let it all out. “Mum was a witch who made a pact with a demon—or something like that—and infected me with magic while I was in her womb—or something like that—when I’m eighteen, I’m going to—I don’t know—explode or something, and bring magic back to the world, and all the nasty creatures that exist in it—or something like that—the men outside are a demon sent to protect me and an angel sent to kill me—it’s kind of like The Terminator—and Mr Chester, my boss, is a member of some secret order who was also planning to kill me—I think—but now they want to help me, okay? Does that make sense?”

Her dad looked at her like she had gone completely and utterly mad. His jaw hung wide open and his eyes darted left and right. He seemed to totter and sway as if he were standing on a boat.

“Dad, did you hear me?”

“Scarlet, are you on drugs?”

“No, I’m not on-”

There was a massive
whoosh
of air that made them both stagger and turn towards the door. Sorrow stood in the open doorway to the kitchen. His hands were pressed palms-out against the air like a mime bumping into an invisible brick wall.

“Sorrow, get inside, quickly.”

“I cannot.” He threw his shoulder towards the open doorway but collided with the invisible barrier. “The charm that Mr Chester gave you; it prevents me…”

Scarlet saw that Sorrow was bleeding badly from a gut wound. The blood was smearing against the invisible barrier and dripping down it like slow motion droplets of crimson rain. It was like there was a fine pane of glass between them.

She reached into her pocket and pulled out the bloody coil of rope that Chester had given her. “I’ll get rid of it.”

Sorrow moved away from the doorway and shook his head adamantly. “No! It is keeping you safe, Scarlet. Stay indoors; do not come out. Mr Chester will return with the White Order soon. They will help you.”

“
You
can help me,” she cried. “I need you inside.”

“If you allow me inside, it means you allow The Saint in too. He cannot be beaten. Keep the charm, Scarlet. Do not lose it.”

Suddenly Sorrow flew towards the kitchen doorway again. His body and face collided flat with the invisible barrier and something crushed him from behind. Blood exploded from his flattened lips and sprayed across the thin air. Scarlet ran towards him, but her dad snatched her around the waist and pulled her back. “No, Scarlet,” he said. “You’re not going out there. You heard what he said.”

Sorrow’s face shot back from the barrier and then smashed against it again. More blood exploded from his lips. The light faded from his eyes. The pendant that she had given him broke free of its clasp and skittered across the kitchen floor—one half of a dove. His final expression was one of utter despair when he saw his only possession fly away from him. He reached out a hand, but collided with the barrier.

“Dad, I need to help him. The Saint is killing him.”

“You’re not going out there. I’m calling the police.”

“Dad!”

But it was too late. Sorrow flew backwards and disappeared into the shadows of the garden.

Finally, she managed to escape her dad’s grip and raced towards the doorway, but she stopped at the threshold and saw nothing but the grey square of the lawn beneath the moonlight. Sorrow was gone.

Her dad came and pulled her away, then slammed the door shut. “Scarlet, I want to know exactly what is going on. Who were those men?”

She shoved him hard, not wanting to be touched. The broken pendant lay in the centre of the tiled floor. She knelt down and picked it up, holding it in her hand and wishing that there wasn’t a spot of blood on the tip of the heart-piece. “This is all mum’s doing,” she growled. “The woman you used to love was a witch.”

He sighed, and then surprised her by nodding wearily. “I know. I know she was.”

“What do you mean, you know mum was a witch?”

Her dad looked at her with an expression she had never seen before: guilt. “I knew your mother was a witch, but I never really knew what that meant at the time—thought it was just something she believed in, like a religion—but when she fell pregnant, I knew that the weird things she used to speak about were real. She only carried you for six weeks and then you were born. Your mother’s pregnancy lasted less than two months.”

This time it was Scarlet who was disbelieving. “What? How is that-”

“Come out to me, child. Let this be over.”

Scarlet and her dad turned towards the kitchen door and saw a face at the windowpane. It was The Saint, of course. His voice filled the room as if he stood right beside them.

“Leave my daughter alone,” her dad growled.

“She is not your daughter. She is a child of Aldorix.”

He went right up to the kitchen door and stared out at The Saint. “When my daughter was nine years old, she saw a dog get run over in the street where we used to live. I spent the entire evening with her crying in my arms while I told her about how the world was sometimes sad. When she was twelve, she wanted to go swimming with some of her friends, but she had never learnt how. I did night lessons with her every evening for three weeks straight until she was the strongest swimmer in school. She is my daughter, and I am her father, and you need to get the hell away from our house.”

The Saint sneered. “Do you know what she is? What she will do? She will bring destruction to your world.”

“I will watch the world burn before I let anyone harm her.”

Scarlet felt lightheaded—terrified for her life—but immeasurably buoyed by what her father was saying. Yet, she still did not know how to survive what was coming. “Where is Sorrow?” she demanded.

“You mean, Manah? The corrupter of men? He is dead—bleeding into the stinking mud of your world. If you come out, I will let you see his body before I kill you.”

Scarlet’s dad yanked the back door open and shoved a finger in The Saint’s face. “The only person who’s going to get killed is you.” As he shoved out with both arms, one of his hands crept out of the doorway and past where the invisible barrier existed. The Saint grabbed his wrist and yanked him forwards like a swing partner. He went tumbling over the step and sprawled onto the lawn. He was a sitting duck, and Scarlet cried out to him.

The Saint turned away from the house and stalked towards his prey.

Her dad clambered up to his feet and clenched both fists. The first punch he threw hit The Saint underneath the chin and actually succeeded in knocking his head back, but the follow-up jab was swatted aside easily. The Saint grabbed him around the throat and lifted him off his feet.

Over his shoulder, The Saint glared at Scarlet. “Come out, or I will snap your father’s neck like a twig.”

“Okay, okay,” she said. “Just, please, don’t hurt him.”

“Scarlet,” her dad managed to gargle in a strangled voice. “Stay in the house.”

She teetered on the spot, just in front of the threshold, unsure of what to do. She had brought so much misery to the people in her life, and she could end it all now. There was no choice. The way forward was clear, just like it had been clear in Chester’s shop.

She stepped through the kitchen door and onto the lawn.

The Saint grinned, showing more emotion than he had.

Her dad moaned in agony.

“You said you would let him go,” she said, stepping closer.

With his free hand, The Saint slapped Scarlet across the face and sent her sprawling to the ground. He did not let go of her dad, and began to laugh. “I warned you that I would make those around you suffer if you continued to elude me. Your father will join you in the abyss.”

“No, please.”

Her dad began to squeal as the pressure around his neck increased. His face grew a deep red, and then a purple, while his legs kicked about uselessly. His hands batted against the Saint’s powerful arms but did nothing.

His kicking eventually stopped. His body went limp.

Scarlet screamed.

The Saint was smiling like a well-fed hound, but his expression quickly disappeared when something burst through his chest. The object glinted in the moonlight. He let go of her dad and looked down at the metallic protrusion.

Sorrow appeared over The Saint’s shoulder. He yanked the gardening shears free, then spun the larger man around and shoved them back into his stomach.

The Saint slumped forwards onto his knees. Blood pooled in the grass around him.

Sorrow was badly hurt, his entire front soaked in gore and his face a mask of agony, but he was standing. When he spoke, his voice was frail. “Get back inside the house, Scarlet.”

“No, it’s not safe.”

“Get your father and go. If not your house, then somewhere away from here.”

“My dad is dead,” she cried.

“No, he is not. Look!”

Scarlet turned to see that he was up on his knees, gasping for breath and rubbing at his adam’s apple. She raced to help him.

“Is that… is that my shirt he’s bleeding all over?” He pointed weakly to Sorrow, who, she realised, had been wearing his shirt and trousers for half a week now.

“You only just noticed? We can talk about it later. We need to get in the car and get to the shop. Mr Chester will help us. He has to.”

He was too weak to argue, so he just nodded and let her put his arm around her shoulder. With a grunt, she half carried him towards the back gate, which led to the outside of the property and the curb.

“I will delay The Saint as long as I am able,” Sorrow shouted after them.

“But he’ll kill you.”

“I’m already dying. Go!”

She nodded. “Thank you, Sorrow.”

“It has been my pleasure.”

She exited the back garden and left her demon bodyguard to do what he had come to do: Die for her.