Nightingale Girl (13 page)

Songbirds peck at the seeds spread across the railing.

A large gray bird lands, and Noah moves away.

“What?” I ask.

“That’s a mourning dove.”

“So.”

“My grandmother said mourning doves bring bad luck.” Another mourning dove lands. “And they always come in twos.”

“Your grandmother had a contact buzz from the years you spent growing weed in her basement.”

Noah throws seed at the doves, and they fly away. “I’m not taking any chances.”

“What chances do you have?” I ask. “You’re already dead. And in Hell.”

“You never know. I get on Lucifer’s good side, maybe he’ll give me a promotion.”

I shake my head. “No. You’ll be my manservant the entire time I’m here.”

Noah turns. “How long will you be here for?”

“Not sure. Until Sparrow is done serving his time as a Hellion.”

“And then?”

I look over the Kingdom of Hell. “I’m not sure.”

Noah sits next to me in another chair. “So we found each other in the afterlife.”

“I’m not dead. I can just pass through realms.” I point at him. “You’re dead.”

Noah gets super quiet.

Crap. I think I hurt his feelings.

“Do you think I’ll ever see Jack again?” Noah asks.

Jack is Noah’s older brother. He’s a state trooper on the earthen plane, who saved my ass when John Lewis tried to smother me with a pillow after I woke up from my coma. He also smacked John a little too hard upside the head with his billy club, giving Jack a one-way ticket straight to Hell. I’m not sure Noah knows any of this. Why depress him further?

“Maybe you’ll see him again,” I reply.

Noah watches the birds.

Minutes later he asks. “How long has it been since Sparrow visited you?”

I think back. “Four days.”

Noah whistles low. “I thought three days was bad.”

“I know.” A feather falls off a yellow finch. I pick it up and twist it between my fingertips. “On that note, I should probably go find him.”

Noah salutes me. “Good luck, Captain.”

I kick his chair as I pass.

Before leaving my room, I stop at the closet and open one of the small drawers; inside there’s a handful of feathers I’ve collected over the past few days from birds that have fed on my balcony—gray and black from the chickadee, steel gray from the mourning dove, brown from a finch, red from a cardinal, blue from a jay. I set the yellow feather inside, close the drawer, and head for the Hellions’ lair.

I’m not sure what Jim is keeping Sparrow busy with, but I’m already tired of him coming to me starved, then nearly draining me dry. So far, three days has been his max. If he waits any longer, no amount of pancakes or pizza will bring me back when he’s finished sucking every last drop of blood from of my body.

I push open the door to the Hellions’ lair.

Sparrow is standing at the bar; he’s humming some dark languid tune. I stop to listen. It’s “House of the Rising Sun.”

He’s humming my number one hated song.

It’s Jim’s favorite.

Figures.

Being down here is changing my lovely Sparrow into some dark albatross. I want to take him away, then shake him until he remembers everything. He’d be pissed if I did it; this is the only way to relieve his family of the curse.

Let’s get this over with.

I slice my arm.

Sparrow turns; his dark wings flex. He’s haggard—too thin for his big frame. His green eyes, once glittery and bright, are now dull. He’s holding a bottle of bourbon in his hand.

Is that how he’s doing this, filling his gut with liquor?

“Dinnertime,” I murmur.

Sparrow’s nose flares. The bottle drops to the ground and shatters. Sparrow latches on. I feel his teeth on my skin, the sharp pinch, his hot tongue. He sucks. Oh shit. My knees weaken. My core burns and spasms. Sweet Jesus. I drop to the ground.

“Sparrow?” I whisper.

Jim laughs from somewhere in the room. I didn’t see him when I first came in here. There’s a heck of a lot of growling, and I have no clue where or who it’s coming from.

“Sparrow . . .” Words get caught in my throat.

Sparrow’s eyes open, and he looks down at me. His gaze settles on the tattoo on my chest. He swallows. Sucks again. Closes his eyes. I notice a bulge in the crotch of his leather pants. Good to know I’m not the only sick freak turned on by this.

The edges of my vision start to blur. My breathing turns shallow. I reach for him but I can barely move my free arm. If I could talk, I’d have some choice words for Sparrow right now.

“Stop.” Noah’s booming voice fills the room.

Oh goody, my manservant is here.

Sparrow drops my arm, and I fall to the floor.

At least now I know four days will almost kill me. I put a pin in that shit and remember it for later. If Sparrow won’t come to me willingly, then I will come looking for him.

Noah lifts me off the ground and walks back to my room, muttering a string of curse words the entire way.

“Why in the hell would you walk into the lion’s den and offer yourself up like a goddamned piece of bloody steak?” Noah’s pissed.

“I didn’t want him showing up here and sucking me dry in the heat of passion . . . or hunger.”

“Every Hellion was in that room. You’re lucky they all didn’t take a drag.”

The sound of Noah kicking my door open echoes in the hall. He spins to kick it closed again—much harder than necessary—before crossing the room and dropping me on my bed.

Noah starts walking away.

“Where are you going?”

“To tattle to your mother.”

Shit, he’s going to tell Clea what I did. “Don’t—”

“Go the fuck to sleep, Meg. You’re in deep shit.”

I sink into the bed and listen to the door slam again before closing my eyes.

. . .

Sparrow

“How much have you remembered?” Jim stood before Sparrow, waiting.

Sparrow shook his head. Admitting this truth shamed him. Sparrow could remember nothing—just an urge of feelings that had not yet come to fruition.

“Better off.” Jim downed a shot of bourbon, hissing through his teeth after swallowing. He passed a shot glass to Sparrow, who swallowed the liquor down in silence.

“Not as good as that trashy whore’s blood. Is it, cherub?”

Sparrow grunted. He felt too weak to talk—hadn’t been back to her since the second time he had left her a heap of bones on the floor. The guilt tore at him; it ripped a hole in his soul and threatened to drown him. He’d seen Clea since then; her sinister stare was all the punishment Sparrow needed. Clea knew what he had done.

Sparrow was famished. For the past few days they had been all over Hell collecting stone blocks. Jim had sent Sparrow to gather them, saying Sparrow was the only one who could step foot on the hallowed ground.

Even in the dim sunlight of Hell the labor was intensive. The only positive Sparrow found from the hours spent pounding on thick rock was that the walking dead kept their distance. He didn’t have to send their tortured souls away with the sharp end of his blade.

Jim moved away, and Sparrow poured himself another drink. The burn of the bourbon was nearly useless when it came to sating his hunger; though, it did dull the haze threatening to overtake him.

Sparrow began to hum a song he’d heard repeated over and over again in the lair. As he stood there, drowning in his own darkness and shame, doing his best to forget and remember, the door to the lair burst open.

Sparrow knew who it was before he turned around.

She
was there. Electricity enlivened the air between them.

Sparrow turned.

She cut her arm and murmured something. Stood there, bleeding for him. Sparrow knew that the other Hellions in the room would be on her in a second. The dark hunger overtook him. Sparrow dropped the bottle in his hand and crossed the room in a flicker of haste. He couldn’t remember her name or who she was to him, but Sparrow wouldn’t let the other Hellions touch her. She was his; he could taste it on his tongue as he fed from her.

“Sparrow . . .” He heard her call his name, her voice weakening. When he finally opened his eyes, he saw the colorful ink on her chest, and a fire lit within him, something stronger than the power of turning into a Hellion. Sparrow sucked, filled his bloodstream with her blood, lapped at the soft skin of her arm, and badly wanted to drag her away from the lair and into a dark room to have his way with her.

“Stop!” A voice boomed, and a force shoved Sparrow away.

Noah. Sparrow knew the ghost standing before him. Their darknesses were linked, just like his and the other Hellions. But Noah had some strange power: he was tainted with astral magic that would protect Meg at any cost if her life were in danger.

The ghost bent and scooped her off the floor. Sparrow watched, blood dripping from the corner of his mouth, wanting nothing more than to tear Noah’s hands off her. But the collar around Sparrow’s throat tightened, and Noah’s magic kept him at a distance.

Jim laughed.

The door slammed closed behind Noah as he walked out of the lair.

Sparrow stood frozen in place. He licked his lips, tasting sweetness. He knew he was in trouble. This was a depraved bloodthirst that he could barely control.

Jim moved in front of Sparrow. “Bet you’re strong now, Birdman.” Jim poked his finger into Sparrow’s chest. “That was lovely.” He glanced down. “Perhaps you should go take care of
that
.” His eyebrow rose, the one that wasn’t burned and scarred. “Or I could bring in one of the Bloodwhores to relieve you of your angst. They’ll do anything you want. The empty promises we’ve made them ensure it.”

Sparrow said nothing, wanting to simply remove Jim’s head from his neck and force the man to shut up. He could do it. Sparrow had the strength now, but that invisible collar tightened around his neck as though Jim could read his thoughts; it was holding him back.

“Now that you’re strong, get back to work.” Jim reached out and swatted at the bat wings on Sparrow’s back. “Let’s see how heavy a load you can carry now that those stupid fairy wings are gone.”

. . .

Meg

You know you’re in trouble when Lucifer and your mother are standing in the room waiting for you to wake up.

“No feeding in the Hellion’s lair!” Lucifer roars.

I think my heart stops beating. No one moves or breathes for long seconds.

Clea looks down at me with a frown.

“House rules,” Lucifer continues. “They are already tempted enough by the smell of you lingering throughout the caves.”

The king of Hell disappears in a puff of black smoke.

“I will bring him every day, twice at the most. This cannot happen again.” Clea touches my hand before standing and floating out of the room.

I feel my face flame red. There’s nothing like being reprimanded as an adult. That was worse than any punishment John Lewis handed down to me as a kid, and they didn’t even hit me.

Noah disappears in a flash and returns with two steaming microwaveable pizzas and a six-pack of soda. He sets them down on the bed.

“Eat,” he demands, before crossing the room and pulling a chair closer to my bedside.

I hesitate. I’ve never been this hungry before.

“You want more?” Noah’s brows rise in question “Want me to get you a nice refreshing tallboy of blood?”

“Shut up,” I sneer, before biting into a slice of pizza.

. . .

There’s a knock on my door. Noah sets his cards down on the bed. We’ve been playing rummy to kill time. He wouldn’t let me get up except to shower and use the bathroom—said I needed to conserve my energy.

“Come in,” I shout, setting down my cards and giving Noah a wary look. The memories from yesterday are still fresh.

Clea enters; Sparrow follows. He looks like a puppy that’s been kicked.

Poor bastard.

I move off the bed and stand. Sparrow refuses to look at me.

“It’s time,” Clea says. She beckons Noah. “Come. Leave them.”

They leave us standing in the room together. He looks agitated.

Don’t let me forget, Meg. Don’t let me forget you.
My thumb rolls over the ring band on my finger.

“Sparrow?” I ask.

He looks away and licks his lips.

“Remember me yet?” I ask.

The strange wings on his back twitch. I miss his feathers. These look wrong on him.

“Stop staring at my wings,” Sparrow finally says, his voice deep and rhythmic. “It’s rude. I feel like you’re undressing me with your eyes.”

“Maybe I am.”

His eyes lock with mine. He’s still across the room.

I sigh and reach for my blade. After cutting my skin, I stand there with my arm stretched out, waiting.

The blood pools and starts to slide.

Sparrow’s eyes never leave mine.

A bead of blood forms into a large drop and stretches toward the floor, the gravity of Hell beckoning it to fall away from my body. Just as it separates from my arm and hits air, Sparrow moves. He slides on his knees, catching the drop of blood in his mouth, then grabs my arm and pulls it to his mouth, latching on and sucking.

Heat floods me. Christ, seeing him on his knees like that does something to me. Sparrow’s hot tongue slides over my skin; his teeth pinch. I draw in a breath. He sucks like a baby to breast, his eyes closed and jaw moving.

This time he doesn’t drain me dry. He moves his mouth away, his tongue sweeping over the wound, sealing it instantly.

Sparrow stands, towering over me. He turns to leave.

Don’t let me forget you, Meg
.

“Wait!” I run to the closet and open the drawer where I’ve been stashing the feathers I’ve collected. I select a small black one and run back to Sparrow.

“Here.” I hold the feather out to him.

Sparrow’s fingers grip the end of the feather. He looks confused, then pissed. He drops the feather on the floor and walks away.

Son of a bitch.

Noah’s standing outside my room as Sparrow walks through the door. He glares at Sparrow before entering, carrying a box of donuts and a carton of milk.

“Manservant at your beck and call.” Noah kicks the door closed behind him. His eyes roam over me. “See you’re still standing. Birdman didn’t suck you dry. Good thing your mother intervened.”