Evenstar (25 page)

The man raised a gun.
 

Paimon tossed a potted plant.
 
The plant erupted out of its container and twined itself around the man, ripping through his clothing in seconds.
 
The vine latched on to hair follicles and pores.
 
As he bled the plant sucked, grew larger, stabbed, and clung more.
 
Paimon left the man twitching on the ground.
 

He poked his head around the corner of the room towards the front door.
 
One soldier played lookout, watching the front yard.
 
Paimon grinned.
 
He rolled neon green flower petals between his fingertips and snuck up behind the man.
 
He touched the base of the man’s neck.
 
The spot smoked and sizzled, turned green and spread.
 
The man gagged and fell to the ground dead.

Paimon went back for his cart.
 
He rolled it to the door and set it out on his porch.
 
He walked back into his house and punched through the wall.
 
Between sheetrock and plumbing, he had stashes of bombs, guns, knives, and acids.
 
He grabbed three bandoliers of bombs and a fresh shotgun.
 
He looked at the corpses in his hall.
 
“It
always
pays to be paranoid.”

Paimon stepped over the body.
 
He looked around outside, but no more soldiers waited for him.
 
He decided on the van.
 
He loaded up his plants and hotwired the car.
 
He backed out of the driveway and chucked one bandolier of bombs towards his home.
 
He drove away as his house exploded.

Paimon hit the gas and drove full speed to the bookstore.
 
A car pulled up behind him and honked.
 
He tossed bombs out the window and kept driving.
 
He did not have time to play.
 
Another car took the place of the former.
 
He dropped plants out of the window until the road behind him became an impassable tangle of flora.
 

Paimon ignored the one-way street signs and ran the van up on the sidewalk in front of Powell’s Books.
 
He grabbed his plants and abandoned the van.  He stepped up to the bookstore and fiddled with a side door to get inside.
 
He walked into darkened aisles of books.
 
The store was empty, closed for the night.
 
Flashes of white and gold from upstairs caught his attention.
 
He leapt between levels and found Furcas on the floor unconscious, scooter nowhere in sight.

The Chulyin hovered over him and looked up when he heard Paimon.
 
“He was like this when I found him.
 
I cannot rouse him.”

Paimon moved the raven out of the way.
 
Furcas glowed intermittently, sending bursts of light in all directions.
 
Paimon held his face in his hands.
 
He lifted his eyelid.
 
Furcas’ eye rolled back into his head.
 
Paimon slapped him across the face.
 
“Wake up!”

Furcas shuddered.
 
His eye rolled down.
 
“Paimon?
 
Dahlia’s been taken.
 
The Solomon Soldiers have her.”

Paimon sank to the floor.
 
“
Where
?”

Furcas closed his eye.
 
“I can’t see!”

Paimon touched Furcas’ forehead.
 
His skin burned.
 
Paimon grabbed his potted Panacea plant and tore leaves off.
 
He stuffed them in Furcas’ mouth.
 
“Swallow.”

“I can’t.”

Paimon glared at him.
 
“Furcas,
swallow
!”

Furcas did.
 
His fever went down and a little healthy color returned to his cheeks.
 
He grabbed on to Paimon’s hand.
 
“I cannot see where she is.
 
I can’t think straight.
 
I get close and it slides away.”

Paimon rubbed his palm.
 
“Just breathe for right now all right?
 
She’s still alive, you’d know otherwise.
 
You need to get better so you can focus and find her.”

“I know.”
 
Furcas leaned on Paimon.
 

Paimon spotted a streak of white hair that ran from behind Furcas’ ear to the top of his head.
 
“Fuck!
 
What happened to you?”

Furcas shuddered.
 
“I was there.”

“Where?”

He clung to Paimon’s shirt.
 
“In her nightmare.
 
The memory.”

Paimon gaped.
 
“How?”

Furcas looked up, his gaze haunted.
 
“I tried to link with her when she went unconscious, so that I could stay and find out where she was.
 
She started to dream.”
 
He looked into something that was not there, his voice barely a whisper, “I couldn’t let her experience that place alone, so I stayed with her.
 
I joined the dream.
 
I experienced it, every moment.
 
She was so alone and despairing.
 
I tried to call to her.
 
The pain, you can’t imagine it!
 
Worse than when our wings were taken, but it was unending torture!
 
The wounds never healed.
 
Paimon, it didn’t stop!”
 

Paimon rocked him.
 
“But it’s over now.”

“No.”
 
Furcas shook his head.
 
“It isn’t.
 
It won’t be.”
 
He blinked and kept his eye open.
 
“It’s there in the darkness, in the shadows.
 
Every time I close my eye it comes back.”

Paimon held him.
 
“It’s just because she’s still asleep, but it
will
stop.”

Furcas grabbed on to Paimon.
 
“It will come again and again, it will
never
stop.
 
Paimon, you cannot let her remember it, she can’t.
 
Our Dahlia will be destroyed.
 
You cannot let her remember the prison!”
 

Paimon frowned.
 
“I don’t know how to do that, Furcas.”

Furcas wound his fingers into Paimon’s tattered shirt.
 
“She’s our little girl, figure it out!”

“Okay, I will!”
 
Paimon rocked Furcas until he slipped back into a dazed sleep.
 
He breathed into Furcas’ hair and stared at the wall until he realized he was shaking.
 
He took a deep breath to regain calm.
 
He smelled blood.
 

Paimon unbuttoned Furcas’ shirt and carefully slipped it off; he bit the inside of his cheek when he saw the bloody bandages.
 
He unraveled them and took a closer look.
 
Furcas woke up and looked down.
 
Paimon met his gaze.
 
“You’ve torn your wound open.”

Furcas shrugged weakly.
 
“I don’t feel it anymore.”

Paimon frowned.
 
“What do you mean you don’t feel it anymore?
 
Nothing?”

Furcas shook his head.
 
“I can’t feel anything below my neck.”

Paimon snapped at the Chulyin.
 
“Find me gauze, surgical equipment to sew him up, and a lot more alcohol.”
 
The raven nodded and flew out of the store.
 

Paimon wrapped his arms around Furcas to move him.
 
Furcas’ back was sticky and hot.
 
Paimon pulled his blood-covered hands away.
 
He rolled Furcas to his side and stared at his back.
 
His wing scars wept blood.
 
Paimon went white.
 
“What the—what the fuck happened to you!”

Furcas leaned on the wall.
 
“What’s wrong?”

“Your scars are
torn open
.”

Furcas did not feel concerned, he felt weak.
 
“Oh.”

Paimon shook his head.
 
“I can’t fix this.”

“You can fix anything.”

“I can’t fix this, Furcas!
 
I don’t know what’s wrong with you.
 
If this were a regular wound the plant would have healed it.”
 
He touched the scars gently.
 
He squinted and pulled a burnished sliver out.
 
He held it out in front of Furcas’ face.
 
They stared at the shiny, bloody feather in silence.
 

Furcas couldn’t take his eye off it.
 
“What color is it under the blood?”

Paimon put it in Furcas’ hand.
 
He uncorked his bottle of vodka and dumped it over the feather.
 
Blood drained off.
 
The feather was red.
 
Paimon poked it.
 
The feather sparked and burst into flames.
 
Both Fallen leaned back.
 

Paimon drank out of the vodka bottle.
 
“Okay.”
 
He nodded to himself.
 
“Right, I have no idea what that means.”

Furcas shook his head.
 
“Ditto.”
 

Paimon moved Furcas and lay on the ground beside him.
 
He stared into Furcas’ eye and grabbed his hand.
 
“You’ll be okay.”

Furcas tried to smile.
 
“Which one of us are you trying to convince?”

“
Myself
.”
 
Paimon’s temper flared up.
 
“You shouldn’t have gone in against Michael alone!
 
If you die—”

“Not this again.”

Paimon squeezed his eyes shut.
 
“You will not leave me all alone here!”

Furcas coughed up blood.
 
“Who knows, maybe I die and come back an angel or a ghost.
 
Then I can haunt you.”
 
He laughed and cringed.

“That is
not
funny.”

Furcas smiled.
 
“I’ll get some chains and rattle them around old school style.”

“I said that’s not funny!”

“I’ll bemoan my lost life.”

 
Paimon grabbed his chin.
 
“Shut up!
 
You’re not allowed to bemoan
anything
!”

Furcas sighed dramatically.
 
“All the things I didn’t get to do.”

“What haven’t we done that you’ve wanted to do!”
 
Paimon looked feverish.
 
“Tell me!”

Furcas looked away.
 
“You take the fun out of this.”

“This isn’t fun, this is
serious
!”

Furcas shook his head.
 
“There’s nothing, I’m fine.”

“You are a piece of shit liar and a bastard!
 
You’re selfish, vain, proud, and you keep secrets from everyone!”
 
Paimon’s eyes blurred with tears.
 
“You’re also a stupid, self-sacrificing idiot sometimes!
 
Just tell me!”

“So it is to be me.”
 
Furcas bit Paimon’s hand.
 
“Let go, you’re pulling on my stitches.”

Paimon dropped his hand to Furcas’ neck and rested it there.
 
“Why won’t you tell me?”

Furcas grimaced.
 
“There’s a difference between wanting something that you can have and wanting something impossible.
 
What’s the point of discussing the latter?”

Paimon resisted the urge to punch him.
 
Instead, he shoved scotch in his face.
 
“Drink, it’s your favorite.”

Furcas eyed the label.
 
“I’m not going to talk just because I get drunk.”

“No, but you’ll be loopy when I have to pull your staples out one by one and re-sew you.”

Furcas went pale.
 
“Get me a Sippy-Straw.”

***

The City.

Such a simple name for a strange and twisting place.
 
A cavern that ran underneath the earth, its high cathedral ceilings rose with mountain ranges.
 
Its tiled or pebbled floors plummeted with the abyss of the ocean.
 
The City spiraled and looped, bunched together and changed with the seasons.
 
Lamps hung from the ceiling like stars in the sky.
 
Soft grass and moss covered the unpaved steps.
 
Rivers of water and light ran weaving courses through the worn stone.
 
It was a refuge buried under earth and time.