Nightingale Girl (3 page)

“What happened?” I ask.

Sparrow wraps his arms tight around my middle and buries his face in my abdomen.

I push my fingers into his silky hair.

“Gabriel says I can’t do it.”

My clothing muffles his words.

“Why?” I ask.

“Seems he scrambled my brains a bit beyond repair.”

“But he fixed you.”

Gabriel gifted Sparrow back his memories when Sparrow found me in Hell. He brought him back to life. Gave his soul back to his body. Gave him back his house and belongings in Heaven. Sparrow paid his dues; he was
forgiven
.

“He can’t fix me all the way. They said something isn’t right. It’s . . .” His voice trails.

I don’t like seeing him like this. I want to fix him, fix this,
poof
him away from here, and make it all better.

I swore to Gabriel on Sparrow’s life that I wouldn’t leave. But I’m developing the strong urge to pack my shit and run away, just like I did when I finally got the nerve to ditch my small town and head off to college.

My head is spinning. Deciding between what’s right and wrong in this moment is frustratingly hard. I made a promise to an Archangel, to my father, but I’d break it in a heartbeat to help Sparrow.

One thing worries me, though. My mother, Clea. She gifted us a feather. And her feathers revealed a dire future after we left Hell:
Wars. Blood and death. Good and Evil. A dead Sparrow. A motherless child and a fatherless child. Light and dark. The earthen plane and the ethereal realms. A burst of bright light. A dark, never-ending vat of emptiness that would suck every joyful moment right out of me.

I shudder at remembering the way I felt when the vision thundered through me. I’d never felt so empty.

This staying within the Seven Kingdoms of Heaven blows.

“Let’s skip town. Me and you,” I offer. “I’ll take you somewhere, and we can forget about all of this. We don’t need them, Sparrow.” I tug on his hair at the base of his skull, tilting his face up. “We can go bird-watching on the earthen plane. Whatever you want.”

“And if I die?” he asks. “Your mother’s feather revealed blood and death.”

“We could make it work. Somehow. The king of Hell owes me one favor.”

“You would risk my life on the word of a liar?”

“I’m a liar. I’ve lied.” I release Sparrow’s hair and try to step away from him, but he holds me tight around my middle. He knows I’m not pureblood Angel. I am part darkness. I can lie like the greatest of sinners.

“That’s not what I meant.” He lets go of me and stands. His green eyes shimmer and soften.

It breaks me a tiny bit when he gets that sad, faraway look in his eyes. I want to pull him to me, hold him and kiss him, and . . . and . . .

“How many times do I have to die for you, Meg?” Sparrow asks.

“I don’t want you to die for me. I never asked you to die for me.”

In one swift movement he grips my chin between his fingers, snakes his free arm around my back, and pulls me tight against his body.

“That’s what makes it worth it. You not asking. I do it because I love you. I’ve loved you longer than you’ve known I existed.” Sparrow kisses me. He’s so intense. Always been this way.

Sparrow pulls away and rests his forehead against mine, inhaling deeply. “I should go.”

I grip his arms. “Where?” I can’t stand the thought of him leaving me behind.

“I have to go away. Fix this mess.”

“Don’t leave me here. Take me with you.” I search his eyes, begging. I’m not below begging. It’s worked for me in the past. I promised to stay within the Seven Kingdoms of Heaven, but I’m not staying in Gabriel’s Kingdom alone.

There is a long pause, an internal struggle for him.

“I have to return to my father’s Kingdom,” he finally says.

“Your father?” I never wondered about where Sparrow came from or who his father is.

“Yes.”

“Who is that?” I ask.

He’s so nonchalant when he says, “Remiel. Another one of the Archangels.”

Oh shit.

Sparrow isn’t just some Legion Commander thrust off his perch; he’s a frigging prince. No wonder the Council won’t allow Gabriel to tell me crap about Sparrow.

The realm of Heaven is immense, divided up into Seven Kingdoms. It’s neither flat nor round; according to Sparrow, it just
is
.

We drive for a day in a Cadillac Escalade provided by Gabriel. Sparrow’s wearing his Legion garb: black cargo pants, boots, and a fitted shirt. I try to imagine him in something different, something more princelike—maybe a suit or a tuxedo or a sparkling white robe—but I can’t. I’ve only seen him in jeans and a trench coat buttoned up to his neck, or the Legion attire. Watching him now, the way he drives with his back so straight and his left elbow resting on the door, I think he’d look nice in jeans and a fitted T-shirt, or khakis and a button-down. What do the princes of Heaven wear? If it’s anything like the crap Teari packed my suitcase with, I feel sorry for him. I feel even sorrier for me.

Sparrow drives down an oak tree–lined road before stopping in front of a stone building. I think it’s a castle, but this building is much smaller than my father’s. I haven’t thought much about how castle size relates to each Kingdom, but judging on the size of this one, I’d say Gabriel is winning at something.

After we get out of the SUV, Sparrow takes my hand and leads me around the vehicle.

A tall man greets us at the bottom of the steps that lead to the front door. He has Sparrow’s green eyes and sandy-brown hair. The Archangel in front of us is just as handsome as his son and needs no introduction. This is Remiel, Sparrow’s father.

“Sparrow.” Remiel nods. “Welcome home, son.”

“Father.” Sparrow shifts on his feet, and there’s an assload of uncomfortable silence that goes on and on and on.

Remiel doesn’t acknowledge that I’m standing next to Sparrow. I shrug his rudeness off, put my sunglasses on, and take a look around. It seems brighter here—and hotter. The sun bakes me and it’s unexpectedly unbearable. It’s so friggin’ hot that I want to peel these stupid princess clothes off and run around in a pair of short shorts, flip-flops, and a skintight tank top. But, sadly, there are no Walmarts for me to shop at within the Seven Kingdoms of Heaven. Damn.

“I’ve come for answers,” Sparrow finally says.

“Later.” Remiel pats him on the shoulder. “Your room is waiting. Get settled. We’ll talk after dinner.”

Sparrow grabs our suitcases from the Cadillac. I start to follow him as he heads for his father’s castle.

“You.” Remiel points at me.

I freeze.

“Do not share a room with my son.” He looks to Sparrow. “Still in the courting phase.”

Sparrow nods.

When I think of
courting
, I think of long nights, necking at the drive-in, and picnic dinners in a field—one without cow patties to worry about. Nothing close to that has been happening in my life lately.

“You will reside in a different room.” I open my mouth to say something, but Remiel scowls so hard that I snap it shut. “Someone will show you to it.” His eyes narrow on me, and for an instant I feel like nothing but a feather on the wind. “I know your kind. Keep your sins to yourself and don’t involve my son in them.”

I think I’m supposed to say thank you or curtsy, but all I want to do is give this man the middle finger.

A woman in a blue dress walks toward us. She greets me with “You must be Meg. I’ll show you to your room.”

I turn to leave, but Sparrow grabs my hand. “I’ll come find you. Let me just talk to him first.” He reaches behind his back and plucks a feather out of his wings, then holds it out.

I take it.

“Promise?” I ask.

“Promise.” He smiles.

I remind him, “A promise is a promise.”

“I know.” Sparrow squeezes my hand and passes me my bag before launching himself into the air, flying toward the upper balconies of the castle with Remiel by his side.

Well, that was disappointing. Like most of my time in Heaven.

The woman in blue looks me over. “You’ve no wings.”

“No.” I tuck the feather into my pocket.

“I guess we’ll walk.” She sounds completely repulsed by me already.

I follow her around the back of the castle to a door on the lowest level. It’s like one of those houses built into a hillside with a garage underneath. That’s what this place reminds me of. And it’s smaller than my father’s castle. I’m not sure what that says about Remiel, but I’m definitely judging him.

The woman in blue leads me down a stone hallway. The walls are damp and mossy—the floor, as well. The woman stops at a door and pushes it open with one finger as though it is covered in filth.

“Your quarters,” she says before leaving through the way that we came. She doesn’t wait for my thanks or my no thanks. Guess I’m stuck with this.

I push the open door a little more and walk inside. The room is small and cold. Definitely nothing like my room in Gabriel’s Kingdom, but it beats out my old bedroom in the single-wide trailer. At least this room has a bed frame and not just a mattress on the floor. I remove my sunglasses and toss my bag on the bed.

Just as I’m inspecting the bathroom and the closet, a loud shrieking laughter echoes throughout my room and the hallway outside my door.

I turn to find out what the noise is. A dark figure dashes by my room, slamming the door shut as it passes. I reach for the handle and twist. It’s locked.

No, no, no, no, no! I hate being locked up. Spent more than enough time behind bars unable to get free. It reminds me of county jail and juvie and the Safe House. I bang on the door with my fist.

“Hey! Hey! Let me out!”

The manic laughter in the hallway continues, but no one opens my door.

. . .

I pace for hours, ready and waiting to pounce, when the knob finally turns. The door opens, and Sparrow steps into my room.

“What the fuck!” I yell.

He looks shocked. “What?”

“I’ve been locked in this room for hours. Where were you? You left me here. Of all the crap—”

“I—I didn’t know.” Sparrow raises his hands in defense.

“Bullshit. Where have you been?”

“Talking with my father.”

I stomp out the door, eager to get out of the room where I had been confined.

“Meg. Wait.” Sparrow runs after me. “Why are you so angry?”

“You promised.” My hands are shaking. “You promised you’d come find me, and you never did. A promise is a promise, Sparrow. You taught me that. Remember?”

“I’m sorry. I was busy.” He looks truly remorseful.

We exit through the basement door, out into the light. I quickly step back into the shadows. Why is it so hot here? I ignore the heat and remind myself that I am pissed at Sparrow.

“Busy with what?” I ask, ready to flip my shit again, angered that I can’t even have the freedom here to walk in daylight.

“My father.” Sparrow tucks his hands into his pockets.

“What did he have to say?” I ask. “Can he help you?”

“It’s not that simple.” Sparrow is avoiding all eye contact; something’s off. He’s keeping something from me, and I don’t like it. Jim kept things from me, and then he tried to kill me. Sooner or later, Sparrow is going to spill it.

He changes the subject. “Why don’t you tell me what happened,” he suggests. “Why were you locked in that room?”

“Well, that lady showed me to my room, and when I was looking around, there was this crazy laughter in the hall, and then the door slammed shut. It was locked. I couldn’t get out.”

Sparrow stiffens.

“What?” I ask.

“That laughter . . . that was Nightingale.”

“Who’s that?”

“My sister.”

“I didn’t know you had a sister.” I look up at him.

“We don’t talk about her.” Sparrow presses his lips together. “She’s . . . odd.”

Well, that’s the funniest shit I’ve heard all day. The pot calling the kettle black and all that.

“What’s so odd about her?”

“You’ll see.” He takes my hand. “Let’s go find her.”

Sparrow tugs me back into the lower level of the castle, and he starts pushing open doors.

“Night!” he calls into an empty room.

I grab onto his arm, enjoying the way his muscle tenses when I do. I’ve never touched anyone so freely, and I’ve never enjoyed anyone’s touch as much as I enjoy Sparrow’s.

“I thought her name is Nightingale?”

“Nickname,” he replies, as he shoves open another door. “Night!”

All the rooms are dark.

“Why is she being kept in the basement?” I ask. “Or . . . is this a dungeon?”

I understand why his father would want to banish me to the basement—to piss me off and cause tension between me and Sparrow—but to keep his own daughter down here is strange.

“My father doesn’t know what else to do with her.” Sparrow continues down the hall, opening another door. “Night!” It’s empty inside. There’s one door left. Sparrow opens it, and we are rewarded with light.

“Nightingale.” Sparrow smiles wide at the sight of his sister.

I just stare, trying not to let my mouth gape open.

Nightingale is lying across a bright-pink bedspread on her stomach, wearing a black crop top and tiny red gym shorts with white piping—straight out of the eighties. She turns, pulls the headphones from her ears, and leaps off the bed. She’s wearing big clunky roller skates.

“Sparrow!” The girl whistles a melodic trill before skating toward Sparrow, leaping into his arms and hugging him tight.

I guess this family has something with impersonating bird calls. Sparrow did the same when we were in Hell.

For as attractive as Sparrow is, Nightingale is even more beautiful. Her hair is brunette and long, cascading down her back, and her eyes are just as bright and green as Sparrow’s.

“Night, this is Meg.” Sparrow introduces me.

Nightingale looks at me, then smiles wide. “My father doesn’t like you,” she announces like a vapid talking Barbie doll head.

“Night!” Sparrow scolds her.

“I’m not surprised.” I shrug. “I could tell. I’ve been treated like that before. This is nothing.”

“That’s the problem.” Sparrow touches my arm. “Apologize to her,” he tells Nightingale.