Nightingale Girl (2 page)

He presses his lips together. “You can’t join me.” His fingers leave my hair and trail down the side of my neck. I tilt my head and give him access to the collar of my shirt, knowing that he’s going for that quill tattoo on my collarbone.

Sparrow frowns. “It’s pale.”

“Teari did it.” I pull away from him and walk across the room. “I’m going to punch her in the throat one of these days. And since I am forbidden from going to the earthen plane, I can’t even get this fixed.” I motion to the tattoo. “Pisses me off to no end.”

Sparrow puts his hands on his hips and watches me. “It’s going to be okay,” he says.

I begin to pace. “I’m going stir-crazy here.”

“It’s only been a few weeks.”

“I know. I just . . . I just feel . . .” I look at Sparrow and find him watching me intently. I can’t tell him what I feel. Darkness. My grandfather’s darkness is threatening to overtake me. I can’t tell Sparrow my soul is about to burst, the dark wanting out. When I was a kid, I could burn it off by doing bad shit like stealing, drinking, partying, et cetera. I’m not allowed to do any of that here.

I try to shake it off.

“Just go shower,” I tell Sparrow. “I need you to take care of this for me.” I motion to the mess Teari created on my head.

He collects his clothes and heads for the bathroom.

Damn, I wish he had finished his striptease.

I cross my arms and turn away from the hall he just walked down. Controlling the urge to follow him is hard. I guess I’ll have to entertain myself.

I’ve never been alone in Sparrow’s house before. I snoop around a bit. The place is small but tidy, with stone walls, large windows, and dark leather furniture. There’s a deck attached to the back of the house with an amazing view of the sloping forest.

I make my way to the bookshelf behind the couch. The shelves are lined with leather-bound hardbacks. I tilt my head to the side and read the titles on the spines:
Birds of Paradise
,
Birds of the Arctic
,
Birds of the Northern Plains
,
Birds of the Pacific Northwest
. They go on and on, rows and rows of books about birds.

This doesn’t surprise me much. I mean, when we were in Hell, Sparrow got a hard-on over every feather we came across—dragged me all over the place collecting hundreds of them. But he never mentioned being infatuated with them before becoming a fallen Angel.

I select
Birds of Paradise
and begin flipping through. There are a hundred different species in here highlighted with full-color pictures. I recognize a few of the parrots we saw at the zoo. Images of their limp bodies on the ground and Sparrow crouching down to pull out their feathers flood my mind. One memory leads to the next, and soon I am staring off into space, remembering the first time I saw him dressed in an old trench coat in Noah’s cellar. Sparrow was taller than any man I’d ever met, and his eyes were so green and intense.

Suddenly Sparrow is standing next to me. He’s dressed, hair damp, smelling fresh from the shower.

“What are you doing?” he asks as I flip the book closed.

“Just looking.” I run my fingers over the textured spine of
Birds of Paradise
.

Sparrow takes the book out of my hand and flips a few pages. “That bird.” He points to a smooth brown bird with a sharp pointed beak. “It’s my favorite. This week.”

“Why that one?”

“The beak reminds me of a macadamia nut shell. The smoothness and angles.”

He sounds like a hippie artist from New York City. I have no idea how to respond to that.

“Why do you have all these books?” I ask.

“I like birds.”

“You like feathers.”

Sparrow smiles as he returns
Birds of Paradise
to the shelf. He runs his finger down the spine, ensuring that it is in the exact place it was before I touched it.

I want him to touch me like that. Now. Courting phase be damned. I’m tired of following the rules up here. I want to do what I want just for once. I want—

Sparrow turns to face me, gripping his machete in his left hand. “Haircut?”

Well, there go those feelings.

We step out to his back deck. I turn around, and Sparrow collects my hair in his fist. I feel the cool, dull edge of his machete against the back of my neck right before he swipes and cuts.

I turn. He’s holding my black hair in his fist, looking indecisive.

“You going to give it to the birds?” I ask.

Sparrow smiles quick before arching his arm over the deck and throwing the handful of hair into the branches of a nearby tree. Then he just stands there, watching me.

I take a step closer to him. Then another. And another.

“I want you,” Sparrow whispers. “It’s killing me.”

Yes. I’ll teach him to be bad to the bone in no time at all. I run a few quick steps and launch myself into his arms. Sparrow’s hands catch my ass, and my arms wrap around his neck, and then we’re kissing like two high schoolers under the bleachers on a Friday night.

He sets me down on the railing of the deck so his hands are free to roam. In the weeks we’ve been here, this is the most he’s touched me. I’ve missed it. I’ve missed all the time we had to ourselves in Hell, even if we were being chased by the dead.

The minutes that pass are not long enough before Sparrow pulls away. He’s out of breath.

“I promised your father.” Sparrow backs away from me, as though I’m poisonous. “Gabriel can see everything in his Kingdom,” he reminds me.

I frown and slide off the deck railing so I’m standing in front of him.

“We need to work off this angst.” Sparrow runs his hands through his hair. “Want me to teach you how to fight?”

“I can fight. I took on Jim and seven Hellions when they invaded my house on the earthen plane,” I remind him.

In the end they put me in a coma, but that didn’t stop me from filling their bodies full of bullets. Unbeknownst to me at the time, I was engaged to the son of a powerful Demon. Jim and his Hellions killed my unborn baby and tried to kill me for a boatload of cash.

Sparrow’s face blanches. “I don’t like it when you talk about that.”

Sparrow feels guilty. He thinks it’s his fault. If he hadn’t lost me, none of that would have happened. If Sparrow had kept his post all those years ago, my mother wouldn’t have been killed, and a very bad man wouldn’t have raised me. Sparrow couldn’t help it; he had his reasons, no matter how fucked up they seem.

I should apologize for bringing it up. But I rarely apologize, unless it’s for something really, really bad.

“Fight with your hands.” Sparrow’s holding his palms up.

I guess he’s stuck on this. I’ll humor him.

“Usually I pull their hair and scratch their face. That’s how chicks fight,” I reply.

Not that I was in many fights. John Lewis was too busy knocking me around for me to get into a fight with someone else. He killed my mother for her money, but the money was wrapped up in a trust fund. All he got was me in return, and he made me pay for it every day of my life.

Sparrow nods to the machete strapped to my thigh. “Let me show you how to use that.”

I know how to use the weapon. Heck, it pretty much does everything itself. All I have to do is touch it, and the piece of metal comes alive in my hand.

“Don’t you have to go back and train with the Legion?” I ask.

Sparrow shakes his head, and his body stiffens. “Done for today.”

I touch the weapon on my thigh. “I know how to use it,” I assure him.

“Let me see it, Meg.” Sparrow holds his hand out. This isn’t the first time he’s asked to touch it. I’m starting to think he’s a little obsessed.

I shake my head. I know what he wants. I know what I want. I decide to toy with him a bit. I like to watch him get frustrated.

“What do you want?” I ask, reaching for the hem of my shirt. It’s printed with swirls and petals, pink and soft and flouncy. Teari picked it out for me when she overhauled my wardrobe. She said there was too much black in there and too much skin showing. Now everything is loose and long, real princesslike. I hate it all. I’d much rather have jeans or shorts and a drawerful of T-shirts.

“Come on,” Sparrow urges. “I want to see it again.”

I pull my shirt up, flashing my midriff; then ever so slowly, I drag the shirt higher.

“No. Not that.” His eyes are glued to the weapon strapped to my thigh. “The blade.”

I make a noise of disgust in my throat and say, “Seriously? This is worse than you and those damn feathers.” I drop my shirt and let it cover me again.

“Come on, Meg. Please?” As he steps toward me, I straighten my back, trying to seem taller. Sparrow measures in at six and a half feet. Gabriel at seven. Angels are giants.

“Okay,” I say, trying to force my lips to stop grinning.

“Okay?” His eyes open wider with anticipation.

He used to make expressions like this all the time. Thinking about those moments makes me a bit sad. He’s different now, a lot less crazy but still a little quirky. At times the old Sparrow shines through, like when he asks to see my weapon, and it’s a total turn on. That’s the Sparrow I fell in love with. That’s the Sparrow who saved my life a bunch of times. The Sparrow I never want to forget.

“Now?” he asks.

“Sure.” I close the space between us, reach up on my toes, snake my hand up his chest and across the back of his neck so I can pull him closer and whisper in his ear. “After you do one thing.” I flick my tongue across his earlobe and feel every muscle in his body stiffen. “Take me to your bedroom and let’s do some dirty, dirty things together for a few hours. And then I’ll let you touch my blade all you want.” I step away.

Sparrow’s eyes reveal a mischievous glint. He lunges for me, but I’m quick to move and duck out of his way. I spin and run, then leap off his deck and round the side of his house, laughing.

Sparrow follows. I hear his footsteps behind me, and I’m surprised he hasn’t caught me yet; his legs are longer than mine. He’s holding back—must be enjoying the chase.

I round the front corner of his house, looking back for just a split second to make sure he’s there. He is. When I look forward again, there is a large object in my path. I slam right into it, full force.

Large hands grip my arms and lift my feet off the ground.

“Sparrow!” King Gabriel shouts. “What in the grace of God are you doing?”

I am set on my feet.

“We were just running,” I say, out of breath and nervous. I wonder what my father is doing here.

Looking up, I notice Sparrow standing stiffly behind me.

“You were supposed to come see me,” Gabriel bellows. “Mother of God, boy! This is what I’m talking about.” He steps forward and grips Sparrow’s shoulder with his giant hand. “Come with me now. Let’s go.”

With the powerful thrust of their downy white wings, King Gabriel and Sparrow take off into the sky, leaving me alone.

I hate it when they fly. Especially since I can’t. I don’t have wings. Gabriel says they will come when I’m ready—that I lack faith in God and in myself.

He’s right, though; I don’t believe in a God who would allow the horrible things that happened to me. If there’s anything I have faith in, it’s how bad shit can get. I hold the most faith in Hell.

. . .

“The Legion won’t take him back.” Gabriel shakes his head and looks away.

Sparrow left hours ago and never came to find me afterward. I came to the king to find out what happened between the two of them. Sparrow never mentioned any problems, but something is definitely going on.

“What the hell do you mean they won’t take him back?” I ask Gabriel. “You’re the king. Tell them to take him back.”

“Can’t just toss him back to being Legion Commander.” Gabriel throws his hands in the air in frustration. “Fucking figures. Was probably those asshole Council members.”

Gabriel and I resemble each other. We have blue eyes, black hair, and filthy mouths. The only difference is he can get away with all the cussing.

The Council holds every curse word against me. They hate my guts. Gabriel warned me when I first came here. He said,
“Been watching you for a while now. You’ll do good here. Don’t think the Council will like your attitude, though.”

Boy, was he right.

“Bet they planned this,” Gabriel continues. “Always had a problem with me taking in their strays.”

“Their strays?” I ask. “What’s that mean?”

Gabriel’s mouth snaps shut, and his eyes level on me. “He’s not like we remember.”

“He’s more put together than when I ran into him in the bowels of Hell. He was flat out nuts when I met him.”

“You didn’t know him before.” Teari appears in the room. I didn’t even hear her come in. “He’s very different from what he used to be. I’ve seen him in training. It’s not safe. He could hurt himself or the others. There’s something wrong that we can’t fix here. Believe me, I’ve tried.”

She’s tried? The thought of Teari alone with Sparrow makes my blood boil. I caught her with her lips on him when I first arrived in Gabriel’s Kingdom. And while she apologized, I still don’t trust her. My father forbade her from going near Sparrow with romantic intentions ever again.

“What’s wrong with him?” I ask.

Gabriel and Teari look at each other, avoiding the answer.

They’re hiding something.

“Tell me!”

“Go ask him.” Gabriel waves toward the door. “He needs to tell you. The Council forbids
me
from revealing some things. I can’t say it, but he can. Go.”

I look at both of them with disgust before turning and running out of the room. The Council forbids it? Bullshit.

I search everywhere for Sparrow: his house, my room, the pool, the closets, the kitchen—because he’s always shoving his face full of food. I walk my father’s land until my feet hurt. If I had wings, I could just fly everywhere real quick, but I have to walk, and traipsing across Gabriel’s Kingdom is a royal pain in my ass.

It’s night by the time I finally find Sparrow. He’s sitting in the middle of the barracks alone. I move toward him, wanting to take him in my arms and figure out what the heck is going on. I’ve never wanted to do that before. I was never touchy-feely, but something about Sparrow draws it out of me.