Nightingale Girl (7 page)

Housekeeping is going to be pissed.

Poof.

Back at the mall, I head to the spot where I’m supposed to meet Sparrow. On the way, I pass a few vendors selling food. It all smells too good. I stop to buy a bag of warm pretzels, a box of cookies, fresh popcorn, and caramel corn. I consider ice cream, but I know it will melt.

When I find Sparrow, he glances at the bags in my arms.

“Hungry?” he asks.

“It all smelled too good.”

“I would never let you starve.”

My heart cracks. He’s said that to me before.

“I’d never let you starve, either.” I force a smile.

We make our way to the minivan, and I drive us back to the hotel. Sparrow is quiet, and the van smells like the mall food court. I eat a pretzel as I drive and offer Sparrow a bite, but he seems distracted. Maybe he’s regretting running off with me in his last days. Maybe he’s regretting me altogether.

I park the van, get out, and walk around the side to collect the packages of food. Sparrow stops me as I’m opening the door. I look up; the sunset is ablaze behind his head in a fiery orange and yellow and blue. He’s never looked more like an Angel than he does at this moment. He opens his mouth but stops, glances at the bags, and seems to refocus.

“Were you going to say something?” I ask.

He kisses me, soft and sweet; his warm tongue on my lips nearly melts me. When he pulls away, his hand gripping my shoulder, he says, “I’m running out of time.”

Oh, good feeling gone.

I grab the bags of food and drag Sparrow to the hotel. Thankfully, the guy behind the counter barely acknowledges us when we enter. I’m grateful for one less distraction. The elevator doors open for us as though it had been waiting for us to arrive. Sparrow pushes the button to our floor. As the elevator rises, he stares at his wavy reflection in the metal doors.

We step off the elevator, and I turn to stop Sparrow, my hand on his chest. “I just want to warn you that your present is in there.”

“And yours is right here.” He holds a small box between his index finger and thumb.

I take the box and open it. Inside is a silver ring with a black stone. It’s just some cheap costume jewelry straight from China. Probably give me lead poisoning if I licked it. But the stone looks real enough, like a little chunk of shiny coal.

Sparrow takes the ring out of the box and pushes it onto my finger. “Don’t let me forget, Meg.” His eyes search. “Don’t let me forget you.” He kisses me quick.

I tug him to our room and open the door. After leading him to the bedroom, I step out of the way. “Merry Christmas.” I reveal the bed covered in downy white feathers.

Sparrow’s face lights up. His head jerks to the side, and he closes his eyes, ashamed. Then he starts stripping off his clothes.

“What are you doing?”

“I want to feel them on every inch of my body.”

Sparrow runs and dives onto the bed. White feathers burst into the air, surrounding us. It’s like a feather snowstorm. I pick up a handful to throw at Sparrow. He does the same. Feathers are floating everywhere. One sticks to my lip as I’m laughing. When I try to pull it away, Sparrow blasts me in the face with another handful.

We drop down onto the mattress, breathing heavy and laughing. As the feathers settle, Sparrow glances out the window. He stands and moves toward it. The snow is falling just as hard outside as the feathers were in here.

I get up and move to him.

“I can’t believe there’s already five inches of snow out there.” Sparrow opens the curtains wider, watching as though he were an enamored toddler.

“You’ve never seen snow before?” I ask.

“Not like this.”

I lean forward and whisper something in Sparrow’s ear that has to do with measuring.

Sparrow freezes. “You say the filthiest things.”

I smile and beckon him closer.

. . .

“I’m bored with white.” Sparrow holds up one of the down feathers. “We need colorful ones.”

“Let’s go get some.” I roll toward him. “You want to go now?”

Sparrow reaches out, his fingers slide over the ring he gave me, and no doubt he’s remembering our time collecting feathers from every bird imaginable.

Fun times.

“Let’s go,” I say.

Concern furrows his face.

“What’s wrong?” I move off the bed.

Sparrow stands and starts getting dressed. “Nothing.”

Suddenly feeling pressed for time, I get up and get dressed, run my hands through my hair, and check the new tattoo on my chest. It looks like it’s going to heal well. I grab my bag.

We collect the food and what’s left of our case of soda and leave the room. While I’m checking out, I take a look at all the local-interest pamphlets displayed on the side of the counter. There’s one for a bird sanctuary. I take it.

“Thank you for choosing Hilton,” the clerk says with a smile as I sign the credit card receipt.

“Thank you.” They’re going to be cursing my name when they see the mess we left in there.

I meet Sparrow at the car and hand him the pamphlet on the bird sanctuary.

He smiles.

After taking a quick look around, I start the van and begin driving out of the parking lot, heading for the highway.

“Meg . . .”

I pull over at the sound of fear in Sparrow’s voice.

“Spar—” I begin to ask.

Oh no! He’s fading—his entire being is fading before my eyes, his transparency increasing until I can see the pleather of the seat he’s sitting in.

“I think I love you.” His voice is strange—faraway sounding. “I love you, right?”

“Yeah. You told me you do.” I get an uneasy feeling in my gut. The tattoo on my chest burns.

Sparrow tips his head to the side, and his fingers slide through the soft feathers of the duster on his lap. “This world is moving too fast for me.” He looks at me and blinks. “What’s your name again?”

I die inside.

He drops the feather duster on the floor.

Poof.

He’s gone. Disappeared before my eyes in a puff of dust. The only thing left in his place is a single feather.

“Sparrow!” I scream.

The Hellions have called.

The honeymoon is over. I can feel it in my bones. I had a few weeks of comfort and puppy love with Sparrow. Nauseatingly sweet. Almost changed who I was. In the moments since Sparrow’s disappearance, I think back and wonder,
Who was that person?
Having him taken from me like this, I feel the old Meg slam full force to the forefront of my being. Someone is going to pay. I grab my blade and my wallet, and look longingly at the snacks piled up in the back seat.

I get out and strap the blade to my thigh and then focus. Sparrow can only be in one place.

I
poof
myself to Hell.

Hell is the dark and dingy reflection of Earth. Everything here is the same: countries, cities, towns, and stores. And the walking dead are everywhere, moaning and shuffling, knocking into each other like cows in a crowded pasture.

I’m standing just outside the burning caves, ready to run inside the dwelling and rip everyone on two legs to shreds. Before I get a chance to follow my instincts, my mother’s figure appears at the entrance to the caves. She floats toward me, her lips a bright cherry red, her hair and eyes dark as night, her skin a ghostly porcelain white. She touches my face with cold fingers. “Child?”

“Where is Sparrow?” I ask in near hysterics.

“Oh, child.” Clea reaches for me.

“No!” I move away from her, but the walking dead surrounding us keep me from getting too far.

I touch the weapon strapped to my thigh. It hums to life, ready to protect me.

“Meg.” My mother’s voice is soft and demanding. “Easy. Things are
happening
in there.”

“They took him. They took Sparrow!”

The dead prevent me from running away like I want to. Instantly I am reminded of the months I spent in the county lockup of Hell, alone, with the dead grabbing at me through the bars of my cell. I ate fresh rats to stay alive. I shiver.

“Calm yourself.” Clea reaches both of her arms out. “Child, what’s done is done. It is required. He’s still yours. Together you will be invincible, I promise you this. But he is undergoing the change and needs time.”

“No.” I want to scream so loud that every soul in Hell will hear me. “I want him back! Now!”

“You need distance. Come with me.”

I start to shove her and move away, but my mother, although truly dead, is the daughter of Lucifer; she has more power down here than I ever will. I give up and allow her to walk me away from the entrance of the burning caves.

“Where are we going?” I ask.

“He needs space. The change will take over. He needs distance from you. This time is dangerous.”

Of course it’s dangerous. The Hellions are the warriors of Hell—worse than Demons. Stronger, viler, and more vicious.

In a wisp of smoke and hot air Clea transforms into a giant bird. My mother can shift into an Argentavis, a strange mix between a vulture and a crow and as massive as a dinosaur—Sparrow thinks it’s awesome.

Clea motions for me to climb on her back.

“Hold on,” she warns, once I’m settled.

In a forceful thrust we are airborne, flying over sepia forests and writhing shadows. I grip the feathers on her back, holding on tight while her giant wings flap, sending us higher and faster.

She’s done this before, taken me for a ride as distraction. It’s soothing, like a mother rocking her child. Something I never got to experience since Clea died the day I was born. Strangely, I am calmed by the heated wind blowing past my face and the hearty thrum of her beating wings.

“I birthed you on a forbidden plane, so you are unaware of these things,” she says as she soars. “Sparrow is special. His soul is pure. He needs this. He needs to be tainted by darkness so that he can be a great leader one day.”

Everyone keeps saying the same thing. It’s annoying.

“I like his soul the way it is,” I say.

“We know.” She flaps her wings, thrusting us higher and faster.

We know? Who else knows this? Who is
we
?

“Calm your mind,” she soothes.

I grit my teeth.

“Have you ever watched a sparrow and a hawk in flight?”

“No.” I couldn’t give a crap about a sparrow and a hawk right now. I want
my
Sparrow.

“The sparrow will fight a creature ten times its size to defend its nest.” She pauses for a moment, gliding through the thick, heated atmosphere. “Have you ever watched a sparrow and a crow? You know what the difference is?”

“I have no clue.” I never paid much attention to birds in the past. Never really cared about bird fight club.

“The hawk is out for blood. The crow is simply antagonizing.”

“And?”

“Don’t turn this into a bloodbath. Sparrow will protect you at all costs. It’s in his nature. Give him time to recover from the change.”

I say nothing.

“You will be invincible together,” she adds.

Flapping her powerful wings, she takes me farther and farther away from where I want to be.

. . .

By the time Clea returns me to the burning caves, it is dark, and the dead lie in sleeping piles on the ground. Clea lands. I slide down her side, feeling centered when my feet connect with solid ground. In a gust of wind she returns to the form of my mother—nearly my dark twin, the princess of the underworld.

I am tired from traveling between realms and from gripping so tightly to Clea’s feathers. My fingers ache.

“I’ll take you to your room.” Clea holds out her hand.

She is strangely solid yet ghostlike. Her skin feels cool as I put my hand in hers, which reminds me that she’s actually dead down here—nothing but a soul in its final resting place.

When we step inside the burning caves, I am reminded of the pleasant smell of this place: woodsmoke and pine. I inhale deeply. It’s warm here—not as warm as Heaven, but the heat from the forever-burning fires deep under the caves keep the temperature ambient.

This place shadows Centralia, Pennsylvania, in the earthen realm. When humans in the earthen realm set a landfill on fire in Centralia, little did they know they were igniting fires that mimicked the burning caves of Hell, and these fires would never extinguish.

My footsteps make muted sounds on the carpet-covered rock. Clea leads me down the main hallway. I shiver as I pass the wooden door that leads to the Hellions’ lair. I was there a few weeks ago. Jim had me strung up like a turkey, ready to drain my blood for him and his Hellions so they could escape Hell at will. That’s what my blood does. Sparrow says it’s worth rubies and jewels to the souls down here. A little bit can get them out; a lot can keep them out for good.

“They won’t bother you,” Clea promises as we descend a wide stone staircase.

The deeper we go into the cave, the more castlelike it becomes.

“Lucifer has forbidden any of them from touching you.” She gives me a look. “Including Jim.”

In a cloud of smoke, a giant figure appears on the steps before us.

“You called?” Lucifer towers before me. His giant wings stretch wide. They’re darker than the shadows at night, just like his eyes. He smiles at me, and I notice he’s wearing the same leather pants and vest as the last time I saw him. It’s a badass getup, but he scares the shit out of me.

“Daddy.” Clea touches Lucifer’s arm.

Something comes over the giant man when his daughter touches him. He is no longer so imposing and intimidating. He softens, reaches out, and touches her cheek.

“Can she have the suite?” Clea asks.

“Yes.” He nods before turning and walking away from us. The man is massive and dark, his body taking up most of the hallway. God forbid anyone try to walk by him—there isn’t any room.

“Let’s go.” Clea pulls me along.

We step off the stairs and turn down another stone hallway. Near the end, Clea stops in front of a large wooden door and pushes it open.

“This is your room.”

I step inside. The space is just as massive as my room in Gabriel’s castle; the only difference is that everything is stone and decorated with dark draperies in reds and blacks and purples. There is a large mattress on a frame set low to the floor. There are doors leading to the bathroom and a walk-in closet. A fire burns in the hearth without wood to fuel it.