All Who Wander Are Lost (An Icarus Fell Novel) (52 page)

Piper took a step
away from the bars toward Poe, lips curled in a smirk.

“
Really?
Is that what you tell Icarus?”

Poe’s lips
pressed into a colorless line as she struggled not respond to
Piper’s baiting but found herself unable to stop.

“
He
doesn’t know,” she said, her cheeks flushing at the
memory of him standing by the doorway.

It wasn’t
real, it was an illusion, part of my Hell.

“
Or
so you think.”

“
No.”
Poe stepped away from the bars, closing the gap between her and
Piper to less than ten feet. “I’ve never told him. I
never told anyone.”

“
And
yet he was there, wasn’t he?”

“
How
do you know?”

Piper shrugged. “I
know what he knows. If you’d refused, none of this would have
happened.”

“
I
had no choice,” Poe said and glanced back at Michael for help.
His smile was gone but his eyes shone as if he enjoyed their
exchange. He offered no assistance.

“
There’s
always a choice,” Piper chided.

“
No.
They’d have punished me.”

“
Instead
you allowed Sister Agnes to be punished. And Icarus. And Trevor and
the others.”

“
No,
I--”

“
It’s
your fault. All of it.”

“
No.”
Poe forced the word through her gritted teeth.

“
You
could have stopped it. You could have saved them all.”

Each woman took a
step forward, further closing the gap. Piper glanced over Poe’s
shoulder at Michael, then looked back into her eyes, the smirk on
her face expanding.

“
Why
don’t you admit you fucked up. Your selfishness cost people
their lives.”

Piper’s words
poked Poe’s heart, the truth in them catching her off guard.
She may not have caused all this on purpose, but her actions—her
own or those she was made to perform—were the first in a long
string of cause and effect leading them all here to this place, this
moment.

Poe’s resolve
quaked, her lip quivered.

She’s
right. I could have stopped it.

“
It’s
my fault,” she said, her voice merely a whisper.

“
What?”
Piper prompted.

“
It’s
my fault,” Poe repeated, louder this time. “I took the
nun’s soul. I could have kept all of this from happening.”

“
So
it’s true.”

The familiar voice
at her back made it feel as though her heart sank into her gut where
the acid in her stomach immediately began the job of digesting it.

Icarus.

She didn’t
face him. The mish-mash of feelings in her—embarrassment,
anger, sadness, love—made her head spin. She couldn’t
bear to see the look on Icarus’ face, the disappointment she
imagined in his eyes. Her head lolled forward in despair as she
tried to sort through the emotions and use them to decide what to do
next.

Then Piper laughed,
not with humor, but a heartless, hurtful laugh. One emotion burst to
the fore, making her decision for her: hatred.

Poe’s fist
connected with Piper’s mouth driving the stud piercing the
spot below her bottom lip hard into her teeth. Piper stumbled from
the blow and Poe jumped her, driving her to the ground.

†‡†

“
It’s
my fault. I took the nun’s soul. I could have kept all of this
from happening.”

Poe’s words
entered my ear and echoed around my head, each ricochet adding to my
anger. Michael looked toward me, then his eyes found Trevor and his
expression changed.

“
So
it’s true.”

Poe didn’t
turn but I saw her body tense, her head droop. Next, I expected her
to face me with apologetic puppy dog eyes seeking forgiveness but
Piper laughed and Poe snapped. Her fist looped out and caught Piper
in the jaw.

“
No,”
I shouted as Piper staggered back a step.

Poe launched
herself at my one-time lover and rode her to the ground. I took a
step forward, thinking I might reach the cage and stop Poe before
too much damage was done to either of them, but I walked directly
into the brick wall of the archangel Michael. I didn’t bother
asking how he got from there to here so quickly—understanding
the dynamics of angels was worse than figuring out quantum physics.

I bounced off his
chest and looked up at him but his eyes were on Trevor standing
behind me. A second later, I felt Trev’s hand on my arm,
pulling at my sleeve. I looked at him and the expression of fear on
his face surprised me. Until now, he’d seemed unattached from
the goings-on around him, but now he stared up into the archangel’s
face with a look like he thought the right hand of God was about to
cuff him.

An alarm bell went
off in my head and fatherly instinct I hadn’t paid much
attention to in far too long made me step between the angel and my
son. I opened my mouth to ask Michael what he was doing here but was
caught off guard when it sounded like someone else’s voice
came from my mouth.

“
Michael.”

It took a second to
register someone else must be here—my voice didn’t
usually carry the deep resonance present in the word. I hadn’t
noticed Azrael standing a few yards to my left. I looked from one to
the other, astounded by how much they looked alike. Other than hair
color and attire, they could have been the same person.

Maybe they are.

“
I
was just leaving, brother.” Disdain smothered his last word.

“
Then
leave.”

I looked back
toward Michael, but he’d already disappeared. Trevor’s
grip on my sleeve tightened, yanked at me once, then let go. I spun
around and found out where Mikey went. He hugged Trevor around the
chest, not a bear hug, but the way an uncle might embrace his
favorite nephew. Only, in this case, the nephew looked terrified.

“
What
are you doing?” Some of Trevor’s panic showed up in my
voice.

“
Keeping
him safe from the likes of him,” Michael answered gesturing
toward Azrael with his chin.

“
It
is not me Icarus need worry about, is it, Michael?” Azrael
said.

I glanced at the
angel of death who’d moved closer without looking like a man
who’d moved. His eyes gleamed like he knew something I didn’t.

No shit, he’s
a deposed archangel. He knows a lot you don’t, idiot.

“
Worry
about yourself, Icarus, not your son,” Michael said. “I
will take care of Trevor.”

Behind me, I heard
the sounds of fighting—scuffling, grunting, flesh contacting
flesh—but ignored it. Trevor shook his head at Mikey’s
words, his look of panic holding steady as he reached out a hand
toward me. His lips moved and he finally found his voice.

“
Dad,
he--”

Three things
happened at once: I stretched out my hand and my fingers brushed
Trevor’s. In that instant of contact, a flash of shadowy
figures in a churchyard came to my mind. It was my death, but this
time there were four men. I recognized myself and the two hoodlums
who killed me, but the fourth face eluded my view. It might have
come clear if the second and third things didn’t happen:
Azrael jumped at Michael, diverting my attention from my son, and
the blond archangel disappeared.

Trevor disappeared
along with him.

Azrael’s arms
swung through empty air instead of grabbing Mike. I jumped forward
irrationally thinking I might somehow grab hold of Trevor and bring
him back. It didn’t happen. Instead, my shoulder bumped
Azrael’s and the now-familiar shock which accompanied an
angel’s touch shot through me like someone soaked me with a
hose and hooked me up to a car battery. My back teeth chattered
together and I fell to the ground in a heap. I closed my eyes for
what seemed like a second but might have been closer to eternity.
When I opened them, I looked up into the face of the angel-of-death
looming over me.

“
The
time has come,” he said. “It is time to choose.”

He offered his
hand, but I wasn’t falling for that again. When someone tricks
you into touching a nine-volt battery to your tongue once, you don’t
intentionally do it again. Not without someone daring you or
offering money, at least.

I climbed to my
feet, all my muscles aching, and brushed orange-red dust off my
clothes.

“
Where
did Mikey take my son?”

“
I
am sure he will be safe. I told you he did not belong here.”

“
But
it’s not his time to go to Heaven yet, either. Is it?”

Azrael acted like
he didn’t hear me. Typical archangel. Instead, he gestured
toward the cages encircling us. They were all populated again,
though every one of the occupants looked a little worse-for-wear.

“
You
can choose only one.”

I breathed deep and
ground my teeth together as I glanced from cage to cage.

Bruce
Blake-All Who Wander Are Lost

Father Dominic
slouched in the farthest corner of the first cage, though it hardly
appeared he needed anything to keep him from leaving. He looked more
like a heap of old clothes than a man. I peered in at him, curious
to see what damage he’d taken and only slightly disgusted with
myself to find I hoped it was real bad. It was. His left arm was
twisted at a grotesque angle, the dent in his skull was big enough
to keep a small melon from rolling away.