Bladed Wings (17 page)

              “That’s dark.”

              “He had trust issues. I think he still does.”

              “And he’ll make up for it by sleeping on piles of money.”

              “So I said he was dumb, that he couldn’t just reject love if he didn’t have any experience with it. Then he kisses me. Like we’re talking at the bus stop, and he just pecks me on the lips. It was quick and I went home and thought about it for a long time. It’s kind of that perfect surprise because I had that little fear no one would want to, but he did.”

              “So was he your first boyfriend too?”

              “Kind of. We went out the way thirteen-year-olds do where nothing happens and we might as well have been related. Then summer came, and we lost touch. But I still remember the shock of his lips on mine. Weird and good and a surprise. Stuff like that. Do you have a good first kiss story?”

              “Nope.”

              “I think you might be lying,” Jenny said, half squinting, titling back a little like she needed a better perspective. “Yeah, I definitely think you might be lying.”

              “Really,” Timothy promised. “I’m not. It wasn’t ‘til I was like fifteen, and she wasn’t that special. We kissed for New Year’s, and there weren’t any fireworks.”

              “So do you have plans for Friday?” Jenny asked. It took a second for Timothy to catch up. Something reverberated in her voice, but he didn’t catch it.

              “Nope,” he said.

              “Me either.”

              “We could do something,” he said. Those words hung out there and he wanted to scrunch into a ball so tight that he’d just stop existing. Lame, he thought, wishing for a way to beat himself in the head with an iron pole without Jenny noticing.

              Jenny blinked. “On Friday? Really?” He’d need a couple hours to recognize the surprise in those words.

              “It’s a day. We could go have some fun. I like spending time with you. Let’s see what happens.” Random sentences tumbled into the air before he could think about them. It was like talking to a teacher where he had to keep talking until he stumbled onto the right word, that right answer.

              “Friday then,” Jenny agreed, an echo of surprise still in her voice. From there they kept talking. They went through memories, plans, more favorites, and Timothy tried to sear that breakfast into his memory. By the time they were driving back to The Verge, he had a new favorite memory.

              Then hours later Timothy was at work and he glanced at a calendar on one manager’s desk. He was just checking to find out when he’d get his paycheck. Friday. That was a good way to end the week. Friday, he thought, the most awesome day when he’d go spend some more time with Jenny. Then he saw the date, the fourteenth, and he remembered it was February.

              Valentine’s Day.

Six

Humming, Timothy didn’t expect his cell phone to bleep for attention as he pushed his mail cart. Just half awake, Timothy mastered the art of dozing while dropping off mail. He was going to spend Valentine’s Day with Jenny. Those words didn’t sound right. It felt too good, like this had to be a daydream. Every few seconds he expected to jerk awake with a bunch of classmates staring at him, maybe giggling a little, because he forgot to wear pants. But the phone kept ringing. It was the factory default since Timothy never set up one of his favorite songs. The number wasn’t identified on the LCD, but Timothy wasn’t thinking about bad news.

              “Good evening Timothy,” came the voice of Erzu Cordinox.

              “Hello.” His breath came out a little faster. This was the demon who led their band, someone with power, someone Timothy couldn’t understand. “How’d you get my number?”

              “I’m a demon. And I know how to use the internet.”

              “Right.”

              “We need your help. Tonight, right at dusk.”

              Hoping this would work, he said, “I have plans.” He passed a cubicle with a frazzled looking manager. She glanced up at him, irritated that he made sounds. Ignoring her, Timothy whispered into his phone, “I can’t really cancel.”

              “Cancel them. Make it happen. Find a way.”

              “I can’t,” Timothy said, determined not to budge. He wouldn’t give up his chance with Jenny. He didn’t care if he was a demon, grew horns, or suddenly felt a new love for pitchforks. He wouldn’t let this ruin his life, and right then Jenny was the most important part of that life.

              “Why not?”

              “I have plans.”

              “Sounds important. But let me tell you about something else important. See, I know that Despada is planning to attack my band. We’re going to have to defend ourselves. If we’re spread out, we’re going to die. Each of us. And you might be on a date or watching a movie or something, but that won’t matter because she’ll smell you and she’ll come for you and she’ll eat you. You’re a bigger blip on the radar now that you killed that hatchling, Darkor. So she’ll eat you too, and then Despada will have everything. Oh, and she’ll be close enough to the angel to smell her, and she’ll eat young Jennifer Morgado as well.”

              “You know you’re going to be attacked?”

              “One of my skills.”

              “Fine. Where?”

              “The warehouse. It’ll be a surprise. Goodbye Timothy,” Cordinox said with a click.

              Exhaling, Timothy held the phone and realized he didn’t have Jenny’s number. He never got it. They were neighbors. Calling seemed like a new level of lazy.

A gash of fear that vibrated through his body. She’d wait for him at six thirty, maybe a few minutes later. She’d go to his apartment, and he wouldn’t be there, and he’d be standing her up. Loathing the idea, wishing this idea had a physical form he could strangle, Timothy called his apartment hoping Jeremiah would pick up. Timothy tried to think of a good thing to say; Jeremiah could tell Jenny that Timothy had to work late. He could say he got sick. He could say he fell off a cliff. But none of it mattered because he’d stand her up. One shot wasted.

But his roommate wasn’t home or, more likely, was immersed in wandering the internet for a new distraction. Those were the moments when he just wanted something new, some perspective or angle he didn’t already understand. And Jeremiah already knew how to use a phone.

Jaw clenched because he didn’t have any other options, Timothy went through the rest of his day. He called, and called, and called a couple more times until his cell phone beeped, its battery too low for another call. By four his shift pushing mail around the building ended. Wherever Jeremiah was, Timothy hoped he was having a really good time because it would cost him any relationship he might’ve had with Jenny.

Outside, the shadows were long when Timothy drove the sixty blocks from one end of Downtown Sacramento to the other. A few miles from campus, Timothy parked his car on the street and walked into the canyons of broken concrete between the warehouses. Three buildings down, Timothy saw Cordinox’s, the white washed rectangle of wood and concrete. With scraped and torn walls, derelict cars and equipment around the entrance, it wasn’t any more impressive now than it had been the first time he awoke there.

An attack, he remembered, there was supposed to be an attack. The fights against Terrance burned bright in his memory, though part of Timothy couldn’t accept this. He couldn’t feel fear of demons. He’d been in college too long for that.

“You should be more careful,” Isis said from the top of a ladder. Startled, Timothy jumped, hating the beat of his heart with the rhythm of her giggles.

“You’re not paying very good attention.”

“I didn’t look up there.”

“You looked to your left, to your right, front and back. You forgot we live in three dimensions.” She smiled at him before she pushed off that top rung to land, her blond hair flared in the air before falling back into place.

“Erzu wanted me here.”

“Yup.”

“We’re under attack?”

“Not yet,” Isis said. “It’s not supposed to happen until five.”

“They told you when they’re coming?”

“Erzu bribed one of Despada’s agents. So it’s an ambush for an ambush.” Rubbing her palms together like someone eager for a payday, she promised, “It’ll be fun. Lots of fun. Just go talk to Cordinox and find out where he wants you.”

“You’re up there?”

“Look out for the south side. Our spy, Devi, said they’re coming from the north.”

              “So you’re here in case she’s lying?”

              “It’s Devi,” Isis said, turning back, her hands already around the bars to climb back to the top. A moment later she shifted, melting down into a black bird. A flap of her wings and she cawed at him to stop staring.

              Timothy swallowed and headed through the doors to the warehouse and down one of the corridors that took him to Cordinox’s desk. Everything was still dusty and dark, so Timothy wondered if the demon had a house or another base somewhere.

At one corner of the warehouse sat their leader at his big desk. Morgon stood behind Cordinox, thin and pale, his hair still in its ponytail. “It’s good you’re here,” Cordinox said, “I wasn’t sure you’d show.”

              “You said I’d get hurt if I didn’t.”

              “I said you’d get killed if you didn’t, but I’ve never seen a human with a demon’s soul, so how could I predict your behavior?” Cordinox grinned, twin rows of white teeth perfect for movies or magazines. “Go with Morgon and protect the gates. Hecate’s already there.” By gates he meant the garage doors to the north where trucks dropped their crates. It seemed Morgon didn’t have any questions because he jogged away, sliding from still to sprint without pause. With one glance back at Cordinox who returned to writing notes, Timothy ran after Morgon.

              At the entrance, there were three garage doors, though only one was open. Sitting against one of the pillars of wall between the doors was Hecate. Her long and straight black hair stretched past her neck, all the way to her stomach. Her gray robes pooled along the ground. They looked sturdy but old, woven from the kinds of tough fibers Timothy would’ve expected on some Middle Ages peasant or ascetic priestess.

With her legs crossed, Hecate could’ve been a guru when she said, “You’ve arrived.”

“And ready,” Morgon said. Despite jogging the two hundred yards to get there, Morgon didn’t sweat or breathe hard. He looked like someone who just walked from his car.

Timothy had one hand on his hip, his lungs tight when he asked, “They’re going to attack here?” Morgon nodded. Hecate acted like she didn’t hear him. “What do you want me to do?”

“Pick an opponent and kill it.”

“Shouldn’t we hide or something?” he guessed.

“That’s not the plan,” Morgon said. “The plan’s to fight.”

              “Do we have a strategy?”

              “Trust your powers. Trust Cordinox.”

              “He’s a demon,” Timothy muttered.

And he thought he kept it beneath his breath where Morgon wouldn’t hear, but the demon answered, “And so are you.” Timothy didn’t want to argue. He wanted this to be over. At first he just thought about Jenny and getting back to The Verge on time. But as cold started to seep through his clothes, he glanced around and started to get nervous for other reasons. Demons were going to attack. He beat Terrance, but he was young, just a couple months old. Despada’s fighters could be a lot bigger, a lot stronger. First Timothy imagined himself fighting Morgon. He could imagine himself getting pummeled by Morgon. These were monsters, fodder for horror movies, and—souls aside—Timothy was still a student, not a ninja, warrior, champion, or knight or anything else cool enough to get a movie. He didn’t even have a major yet.

Relaxation didn’t come with deep breaths, so he turned back to the others and asked, “How strong are they?”

“Depends on who she sends,” Morgon said, both obvious and useless.

“Who could she send?”

Morgon didn’t say anything. Timothy got the impression this demon thought he was an idiot, some kid who’d wandered into the adults’ room and kept trying to participate in a conversation he’d never understand.

Hecate continued to rest against the pillar as Morgon stared out, waiting for combat. Timothy thought he’d have to wait in silence. But someone else appeared. Timothy snapped his tendrils into existence, pulled back one fist ready for a lash, but the girl held up her palms and squealed, “Whoa! I’m on your side!”

“For now,” Hecate mumbled.

“I love you too,” the girl said to the black haired woman. Hecate didn’t react to her, and she was definitely a girl. Standing at least a foot shorter than Timothy, with her hair pulled back in pigtails tied with white bows, she couldn’t have been more than twelve. “Hiya,” she said, holding out one of her little hands to Timothy. “I’m Devi.”

“Don’t,” Morgon commanded. But with her small hand out there, her fingernails glittering and pained bright pink, she didn’t seem like a threat. But Timothy took Morgon’s warning and stuffed his hands in his pockets.

“Well, that was rude!” she said, sticking her tongue out at Morgon. The demon didn’t bother with a response. “So you’re the new boy, huh?”

“I’m Timothy.”

“Welcome to the world of monsters and demons. They’re supposed to be scary, but they’re not.” Then she leaned over, a hand covering her mouth when she whispered, “But don’t let them hear you say that. They get grumpy.”

“You’re not one of them?” Timothy asked. Later he would realize he should have said, “Us.”

              “Devi isn’t like us. Devi isn’t like you either,” Hecate said, speaking for the first time, “That’s why Morgon’s afraid. And that’s why she doesn’t have a band.”

              “I don’t want one,” Devi snapped.

              Turning on Hecate with stiff shoulders and a frosty note in his usually monotone voice, Morgon insisted, “I don’t fear her. She is a child.”

              “One you don’t understand, and you know it could’ve been you. You could’ve been born to her. And there’s nothing more terrifying, is there?” Hecate smiled a row of sharpened teeth.

              “If you’re not a demon,” Timothy asked, “what are you?”

              “A kid.”

              “You’re a kid, a regular kid?”

              “Look at her,” Hecate said. “Let go of your human vision and see the shape of her soul. She’s not alone. And that’s what makes her special, almost like you, and that’s what makes her unnerving, not quite like you.” Timothy hesitated until Hecate assured him. “You will have a few minutes before she arrives. Besides, you should know your allies.”

              “We don’t know her,” Morgon said. “That’s the problem.”

              When Timothy relaxed and let his human vision blur, he had to concentrate on her, on the patch of space she occupied. “Hey, no cheating,” Devi said, though he didn’t stop. The energies were almost there. All around her swirled tones of hot pink, angry and bright like a spotlight or the sun. He wouldn’t be able to look long, he realized immediately, but then he saw those hues circled around her, then they slid down. They fell onto something else. And that’s when Timothy saw the demon. It wasn’t her. Those energies of pink twirled down her, across her wrist, into her palm, and leashed around a demon’s neck.

              Beside her sat a black wolf, outlined in thin pink flames. It stood there on its four paws, glancing around, almost nervous. It claws looked sharp, as did its teeth, and then when it turned, Timothy saw its horn. Made of something black, a thin spike of black bone or stone erupted from the top of its head. “That’s rude, looking at my demon without permission.” Then Devi grinned, “But since you’re curious, his name’s Spike.”

              “Um, very creative,” Timothy managed as the wolf turned on him, probably anxious because someone noticed him. Timothy turned away when the creature growled, its fangs looking very capable of rending anyone’s flesh.

              “We have theories,” Hecate explained to Timothy.