Nightingale Girl (8 page)

“One of the nicest rooms in the castle.” Clea walks around the bed, inspecting. “Almost as nice as mine.”

There’s a velvet couch along the far wall and a table and chairs near the windows. The place is like a small apartment. I’d probably never need to leave.

Feeling dusty and grimy, I yawn, rub my hands over my face, then take in the condition of the jeans and T-shirt I’ve been wearing for the past few days.

“You need clothing here.” Clea looks me over, and it’s as though her gaze sees straight into my soul. I think nothing of it, since it’s a gift all mothers possess. “I think I know your style.”

As long as it’s none of the princess crap Teari filled my closet with, I’ll be happy with almost anything.

Clea crosses the room and opens the closet door. She snaps her fingers. “I think this will do.”

I walk into the closet to take inventory. There’s plenty of jeans, dark T-shirts and tanks, a few leather jackets, leather pants, vests like I’ve seen Lucifer wear, and boots. This is way better than my closet in Gabriel’s Kingdom.

I pull a low-cut tank off a hanger, take off my T-shirt, and try it on. Perfect fit.

“Is this new?” Clea points to the sparrow tattoo on my chest.

“Yes.” I reach for a thin leather jacket and pull it off the hanger.

Clea waves her hand over my new ink, which is still a bit sore and red around the edges. When her hands move away, the skin is completely healed—reminds me of the time Gabriel healed Sparrow after he was attacked by the Hellions.

“Thanks.” I put the jacket on and move away from the closet. “How can you do that?”

“Some of us have magic.”

My attention turns to the large window and glass door near the bed. I make my way toward them and pull the curtain back. The view stretches for miles and miles.

“Where are we?” I ask. “I thought we were in the caves, but it looks more like a castle now.”

“We are at the back of the caves. It’s built into a mountainside.”

I push the door open and walk out onto the balcony. There is nothing but darkness, the world below illuminated by the full moon. Bats fly in the valleys between the trees, frogs chirp, an owl hoots, a cool breeze blows. I shiver and zip up my jacket.

“Beautiful. Isn’t it?” Clea asks.

“Yes.” It doesn’t glitter like Heaven, but there is something about this place that satisfies a dark part of my soul.

For a few moments there is nothing but the sounds of night in Hell before I ask, “Gabriel was a Hellion?”

She nods. “A handsome one at that.”

“You left here?”

“I did. But, I’m sure you’ve found out already, things are not perfect within the Seven Kingdoms of Heaven.”

They’re definitely not.

“I am pure darkness. Full-blood. The Council did not want me there. It did not matter that I was carrying the half-blood child of an Archangel.”

“They didn’t want me there, either,” I say.

Clea smiles, nodding. “In time. All will be right.” She floats away from me. “Sparrow’s change is done now. Make yourself at home.” She pauses at the door. “But be careful, Meg. This is Hell, and wickedness is rampant.”

Doesn’t sound much different than Gouverneur or Heaven.

Clea leaves my room.

I stand on the balcony for a few minutes longer, my hands gripping the stone railing. The darkness that called me while I was in Heaven has finally quelled. It was nearly unbearable there, not so bad on the earthen plane, and now that I’m here, I can barely sense it.

I decide to find Sparrow.

I cross the room and tug on the door handle. Nothing happens. That smothering feeling of being trapped and having no control overwhelms me. I wiggle the door back and forth, slamming it against the frame, but it does no good. I kick at it, and when it still doesn’t budge, I cross the room again and walk out onto the balcony. Leaning over the railing, I search for other means of escape. I could climb over and try to rappel down the rock—but before I decide much, I hear a clicking sound behind me, and I turn to find my door slowly opening.

“Watch yourself, child,”
my mother’s voice echoes in my mind. A warning. It’s nice to know that she’s not going to lock me up in this place, but the threat still makes my blood boil.

I leave my room, close the door, and walk down the hallway that Clea brought me through. I climb the stone stairwell, turn at the landing, and look down. The stairs descend into a dark abyss. Strange sounds rise up: the chomping of a thousand jaws, the tearing of leather, writhing thuds, and . . . screams. That’s definitely screaming.

I turn away and run toward the Hellions’ lair. There are dull echoes and movement from the shadows and doorways as I pass. Both soothing and frightening. I pause in front of the lair for a moment before reaching for the handle and pushing the door open.

The lair is just like I remember: leather furniture, wet bar, giant TV, billiards. It’s nothing but a giant bachelor pad. Chains dangle from the ceiling where Jim strung me up before he stabbed me in the chest. I fucking hate Jim. As I scan the room, I notice seven menacing figures standing on the far side of the room—dark warriors awaiting commands. I recognize a few of them as the Hellions that invaded my house and tried to kill me that quiet afternoon nearly a year ago.

Sparrow’s there, as well, and—holy hell—he has gone to the dark side. His downy-white wings have been replaced with dark, leathery skin stretched over bone. He’s wearing tight leather pants, a black vest, and boots. He looks like a big biker dude. But with his skin so pale and his bright green eyes, he doesn’t look as dark as the other Hellions.

If all Sparrow has to do is his time down here, I think I might like it a little too much if this is what he’s going to look like. It’s way better than the Legion gear and that old trench coat he used to wear. Makes something deeper than my trailer park roots tremble at the sight of him.

I touch the ring he gave me, rotating it with my thumb.

Don’t let me forget, Meg. Don’t let me forget you.

I move toward the one Hellion I know, the one who didn’t try to murder me.

“Sparrow?” I grab his hand and turn to lead him away.

He doesn’t follow, only stands as still as a stone, jerking me to a stop. Shivers of unease travel up my spine. I look up to face him, not liking what I see. Sparrow’s face is hard, his eyes dark; he tips his head to the side, a quirky and familiar movement.

“Sparrow?” I ask.

He flicks my hand off his and grabs my wrist, hard enough to leave bruises. “Who are you?” he asks, his voice deep, unfamiliar.

In the second that it takes him to say those three words, I die inside. Every tiny shred of hope that I had for this new life with him, it shrivels and turns to dust.

“Aw, that sucks, Meg.” Jim chuckles from behind me. “Guess your momma forgot to tell you that part. Birdman don’t remember you.”

I swallow hard and consider reaching for my blade.

“Don’t worry your trashy little head. He’ll slowly come back to himself—a little darker, though. The change is rough on the cherubs. Twists their gizzards or some crap.”

I die a little more inside.

“Clea warned me,” I reply as I turn to face Asshole Jim.

Jim’s gray eyes and blond hair are the same. He would still be handsome if it weren’t for the fact that half of his face is burned off. Sparrow and Gabriel did that to him when they came to my rescue. Serves the jerk right.

Jim’s smile is lopsided as he says, “Welcome back.”

I want to punch him in his stupid, deformed face.

Instead I reply with, “Screw you.” I’m glad Sparrow nearly killed him. I wish he had succeeded.

Jim touches his cheek. “Like this look?” he asks.

“You’re almost as pretty as you were before you became a complete jackass.”

Jim smirks and steps closer. I back up, remembering how terrible he actually is. Only one kind of man beats his pregnant fiancée. Only one kind of man kills his own unborn child, his own flesh and blood. And that kind of man is standing in front of me.

Jim raises his hand before it comes down hard but stops just before touching me. “Your grandpappy may have forbidden me from touching you,” he whispers, slapping my cheek lightly. “But we still crave your trashy blood.”

I settle my hand on my weapon and straighten my shoulders in an effort not to look scared shitless. Lucifer has threatened to kill Jim if he touches me. And I may hate everything about Jim and the Hellions, but I have to put up with them until Sparrow is done here. This entire situation is more fucked up than the day I found out who I really was. What I really was.

Craving control, I change the direction of the conversation and ask, “Will he remember what he does as a Hellion?”

Jim shrugs. “Don’t know. There’s a chance he could start to remember. But, to tell you the truth, it’s been so long since we’ve had a winged prince down here I can’t remember all the details.”

My heart aches for Sparrow. Whatever he does in the name of my grandfather, there is a chance he’ll remember.

As a member of the Legion, he protected man in the name of God—even killed. Down here I’m sure the things he’s going to do are dark and wicked. The memory of the Hellions invading my home and assaulting me flicks through my memory. I can’t imagine Sparrow doing something like that, participating in something so evil.

Jim snickers. “Don’t worry. Your grandfather frowns upon the things the Hellions did to you. I doubt birdboy will be involved in anything like that.”

It takes me a moment to realize that Sparrow still has a grasp on my arm. I wrest it away from him and turn to Jim. “Go fuck yourself.”

I stomp out of the Hellion’s lair and head outside. Since it’s night, the walking dead sleep. The smell of rotting corpses wafts around me, churning my stomach. They’ll rise with the sun and begin their foot-dragging and moaning all over again. Poor bastards should have just found a Safe House and repented. Now they’ve missed their chance to ascend.

Walking further from the entrance to the cave, I notice the tree Jim knocked me out of when I came back here with Clea’s bones. The tree is upright again, its craggy branches devoid of any leaves. Strange.

Out here there’s nothing but the moon, the sleeping dead, and the echoes of night. I glance down at the watercolor tattoo on my pale skin, the colorful sparrow battling the haze of Hell. It looks amazing in the moonlight.

I take a deep breath and swallow down a scream of frustration. I let myself get sucked into the sweet promises of Heaven. All the glitter and purity, it’s bullshit. I just wanted someone to call my own. I forgot who I was, what I came from. All in an effort to hold on tightly to someone I barely know and figure out where I belong. And now it’s all fucked up.

Somehow, I have to make Sparrow remember.

But first I need to get some sleep.

. . .

Sparrow

A fire burned deep in Sparrow, one bred of dark needs and insatiable power. This was nothing like the bright, pure light he was familiar with. Both were warring within his soul; it made his head hurt, his heart ache. Something was
missing
.

“Birdman’s awake.” He heard the soft chuckling of a man.

Sparrow sat up, moved to his feet, and stood in robotlike movement. Sparrow was towering over the man with the viciously scarred face.
Jim.
That was his name. And like a collar tugging around his neck, Sparrow knew that Jim had complete control of his soul. Sparrow didn’t like it. He turned his head and twisted his neck to try to lessen the feeling. Instead, it tightened further.

“Soon you won’t even feel it. Can’t give you free run of the place.” Jim had a lopsided grin.

Although he couldn’t remember details, Sparrow had a feeling he was the reason for the scars.

Jim poked Sparrow in the stomach and made a sound of disappointment. “The change went easy on you, cherub. Others came out darker skinned and vicious. Drooling at the chops.” Jim thumbed toward the grouping of six Hellions. They watched Sparrow, eyes half-lidded with menace. These were now his brethren. “But they weren’t princes,” Jim added as an afterthought.

Sparrow caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror over the bar countertop. Of what he remembered, he knew that he looked different now. There were darker shadows to the angles of his face; the wings on his back felt tight and heavy. He had a feeling that learning to fly with these was going to be drastically different from the last time.

There was tension in the room as Jim inspected Sparrow, walking around him as a panther would its prey. Finally, Jim turned his back and collected something from a cupboard along the wall. He turned and threw clothing at Sparrow.

“New uniform.” Jim motioned to a door. “Go get dressed.” His tone was clipped and annoyed.

Sparrow walked away, clothing clutched to his chest. Through the door was a large room where there were cots and nothing else. Sparrow had the feeling that the Hellions had no personal belongings. They were warriors, used and discarded; those wasted would be refilled by other souls waiting in the annexes of Hell.

Sparrow chose a bed at the end of the room, dropped the clothing on the cot, and began removing what he had on. His fingers felt strange when he tried to unhook the buttons of the thick vest he wore. Angry blood pulsed underneath his nail beds. Frustrated, he gripped the material at his neck and ripped it apart. Next went the pants. He threw the torn material in a nearby trash can.

Sparrow dressed in the leather pants and vest. Both had a thickness that rivaled the skin of his new wings. There were ties on the back to accommodate the bony appendages coming out of his spine; he cinched it tight and found security in the clothing, which conformed to his body so well. Last were the boots, large and steel toed. Sparrow tied them tight around his ankles before he left the room.

The other Hellions were standing near a pool table. Not playing but just standing, murmuring in dark-tongued conversation.

Sparrow sensed something, movement outside the lair that he was now to call home. The door burst open, and a young woman walked through. Dressed in jeans and a leather jacket, her hair was short and dark, her eyes a fiery blue as they searched the room and landed on him.
Mine,
her eyes conveyed as they roved over his body, pleased.