Secrets of the Hanged Man (Icarus Fell #3) (An Icarus Fell Novel) (28 page)

“
I’m flattered, but no.” I spread my arms for her to see my bandaged arm, my tattered clothes. “I don’t think I’d survive hanging out with you.”

She breathed a resigned sigh, giving in without much of a fight.

“I guess you’re right. I can be dangerous.”

I put my arm around her shoulders and squeezed her tight against me, then drew a pained breath as my cracked rib suggested another action might be a better idea. Dido crossed the living room to the mantle, blew out the candle, and we left, locking the door behind us as we went to find a man named Chan Wu.

The door closed and the lock clicked, putting an end to another day. Overhead, a streetlight flickered and went out, throwing the area outside the tailor shop into shadow. The old man looked up, one eyebrow raised, and listened to the sound of the night, the whispers hiding within the dark. They spoke of comings and goings, of success and failure, triumphs and hurts. Everything right with the world, his mouth angled into a smile.

“
Hello, Icarus,” he said turning away from the door.

“
How did you...?” Icarus looked confused as the question started on his lips, but he stopped it in the manner of a man grown accustomed to confusing things. “Are you Chan Wu?”

“
Some call me this name.”

He stroked his long beard and looked the harvester up and down. His clothing was in tatters, his flesh scraped, blood dried in his hair, like a man who’d been through a war, and Chan Wu supposed he had. And yet, he exuded a calmness, a happiness of the sort often surrounding a man fulfilling a task.

Chan Wu allowed his gaze to stray to the young girl standing by the harvester’s side. He hadn’t expected to see her. Ever again.

“
Michael said you’d be able to help,” Icarus said.

“
Michael?”

The harvester’s lips parted, then closed, as though he didn’t have the proper means available to describe the archangel. Though Chan Wu knew which Michael he meant, he was curious which of many possible words Icarus would pick.

He chose pure description.

“
Tall guy. Blond hair. Looks like a disco-dancing football player. Loves red.”

Chan Wu smiled at the harvester’s apt summary of the archangel. “Ah, yes. Michael. And what is it he suggested I might help with?”

“Dee.” Icarus gestured to the girl standing beside him. She reached out and grasped his hand. “Dido...I mean Dallas. Dallas Trounce.”

The old man let his gaze remain on Icarus for a moment, appraising him, and he understood two things: the harvester didn’t know the truth and he thought himself doing the right thing. When Chan Wu sensed him getting nervous under his regard; he shifted his eyes to the girl.

“Dallas Trounce?”

“
Yes,” Icarus said. “Her family was killed. I’ve already sent her parents...on their way. But she’s been trapped here. Michael said you might be able to help her join them.”

“
I would love to help Dallas Trounce, Icarus Fell.”

“
Ric.”

“
But young miss Trounce has already joined her parents. This,” Chan Wu swept his arm toward the girl with a flare that waved his long, dangling sleeve through the air, “is not Dallas Trounce.”

He awaited their reactions, arm extended—he did so love a good dramatic pause. They didn’t disappoint: Icarus’ eyebrows rose, his mouth opened and closed; the girl looked nervous and embarrassed. After the appropriate amount of time, Chan Wu let his arm fall to his side and turned his gaze to the girl.

“Hello, Paula.”

The harvester’s face tightened back up into an expression of puzzlement. “Paula? Who’s Paula?” He looked over at the girl, but her gaze remained linked to Chan Wu’s.

“A young woman who died many year. Before your birth, Icarus Fell.” The old man let a knowing smile creep onto his face. “You know her as Poe.”

The harvester jerked as though touched by a bare electrical wire. He looked back and forth between the girl and Chan Wu once, twice, three times before he found his voice.

“Poe? Is it true?”

The girl’s shoulders sagged and her appearance changed. She grew taller and her hair lengthened, turned blond. Her face shifted to the face of the damned guardian angel as she became more solid, the charade abandoned.

“I didn’t think I could fool you,” she said.

“
Of course not.”

The harvester’s mouth fell agape as he gazed on the woman who’d been responsible for keeping him safe. Chan Wu perceived the joy at reuniting with her gathering in his eyes, readying itself to spill from his lips in an excited greeting. A shame it would be short-lived.

The streetlights to either side of them dimmed and went out, throwing them into further darkness. The old man frowned up at the lamps, looked one way along the boulevard, then the other, but found the street empty.

Icarus threw his arms around the guardian’s shoulders.

“Why didn’t you tell me? It’s good to have you back.”

“
I’m not supposed to be here, Icarus,” she said. “I thought a disguise might buy me some time.”

“
And you saved me. Again.”

Poe looked at her feet, but the harvester faced Chan Wu, who knew the question working its way to his lips, as he knew the answer.

“Can she stay? Can she be my guardian again?”

The old man shook his head, his long whiskers scraping the front of his silks. “I am afraid not.”

The rest of the lights on the street went out at once—streetlights, neon signs, lamp light shining through windows. A cloud moved across the sky, swallowing the stars and moon, throwing them into complete darkness.

“
What...? What’s happening?” the harvester exclaimed.

Poe did nothing, and Chan Wu knew she understood. He held still in the manner of a statue, waiting for the sound of the boy’s voice. He didn’t have to wait long.

“Well, old one. It looks as though you have made my job easier. How ever will I thank you?”

A shape in the dark, a black silhouette against a blacker background, his features hidden in shadow as they should always be.

“Gloating is unbecoming. Have we not spoken of this before?”

“
Ha! I have not yet begun to gloat. Soon, there will be so much more to gloat about.”

The boy’s presence touched Chan Wu in the dark, an unseen, clammy hand stroking his cheek, but he neither flinched nor backed away. He heard the harvester gasp and knew he’d experienced the same thing, and perhaps the caress brought him visions of things he’d experienced, or things yet to come.

“You are boastful today, young one. Do you not realize you have lost a battle and have simply come to claim that which belongs to you?”

“
Is that what you think? Look around you, old one. What do you see? You and me and darkness, nothing more. I will take what is mine and that which is rightfully mine.”

Chan Wu heard the harvester shuffle in the dark, preparing himself to fight, protecting Poe from whatever might come. He didn’t need to see it happen to know. Between the harvester’s willingness to sacrifice and the boy’s assumptions, he decided to reconsider his decision.

“What is rightfully yours?” Chan Wu said, carefully inserting notes of anger and threat into his tone. “The darkness is all that is rightfully yours, and it is yours to keep.”

The old man raised his hand and pointed toward the sky. The tip of his fingers glowed, dim at first, but brightening rapidly, forcing the boy’s darkness back before it. He saw the boy clearly—his dark, disheveled hair, his black eyes. Behind him, indistinct, shadowy creatures scurried away from the light like animals fleeing before a forest fire. The glow grew until bright enough to have replaced the sun in the heavens.

“Begone, young one. Your soldiers have deserted you, leaving you and me and the light and nothing more. Take the darkness and the creatures it hides and be gone from my sight.”

The muscles in the boy's jaw flexed behind his tawny cheeks, his eyebrows dipped in anger. He looked not unlike a child denied a cookie for being bad.

“Fine,” the boy conceded. He took a step toward Icarus and Poe, his hand extended to take the guardian by the arm. Chan Wu pointed his finger at him and he stopped.

“
As punishment for your foolish gloating, the girl stays.”

“
What? You cannot--”

“
I can and I have,” Chan Wu roared. “Begone before your insolence costs you more than the guardian’s soul.”

The boy flinched and backed away a step, raising his arm to protect himself from the light he suddenly found too bright to bear, and almost losing his footing as he stepped off the curb into the street.

“You owe me a soul,” he said with little conviction in his tone.

“
I owe you nothing,” Chan Wu replied, his voice returning to normal. “You have the souls you need. This one should never have gone to you.”

He felt the harvester and the guardian standing close beside him, sensed their heartfelt but contained joy. He hoped it would remain that way until the boy left.

“This is not over, old one.” He turned away, took a step, and disappeared.

“
It is never over, young one.”

Chan Wu relaxed and let the light fade, leaving a glow in the street lights, the neon signs, the lamps in windows. He faced the harvester and the guardian and watched the smiles creep across their faces. Before either of them spoke, he raised his hand, stopping them.

“It is also time for you to go. I am an old man who needs his sleep.”

Poe nodded and turned to leave without further words, but Icarus stayed a second longer.

“What about Michael?” the harvester asked.

“
Do not worry about Michael. I will take care of him.”

Icarus held the old man’s gaze, then followed the guardian down the street. Chan Wu watched them go for a moment, then closed his eyes and lost himself to the world.

***

When we rounded the next corner, people and sound returned to the city. A horn honked, startling me; a group of young men strolled past, jostling and laughing louder than might be considered appropriate. The buzz of streetlights, the rumble of tires on pavement, the click of shoes on sidewalk. You don’t realize how much sound permeates a city until it is gone for a while and returns.

We walked in silence for a few blocks before I realized Poe’s hand was in mine, her energy spilling up my arm, exciting my nerves. The reality of it dawned on me: she was really back. I thought about letting go because it didn’t seem appropriate to hold hands with an angel, but I liked the way her fingers entwined with mine and she showed no sign of discomfort at my touch.

Half an hour later, we sat in a booth at the back of Denny’s, a Grand Slam breakfast on the table in front of me, Poe sucking on the straw sticking out of an extra thick chocolate shake as though nothing had happened, like we’d been here doing this every night.

I popped a fork load of hash browns into my mouth and chewed them thoughtfully, watching Poe as she slurped chocolaty sweetness through a red and white straw. I cleared my throat, she raised her head and smiled.

“
Was that who I think it was?”

“
Maybe,” she said, coy. “Maybe not.”

She continued watching me, so I averted my gaze to my plate, stirred my breakfast around with my fork, realizing we needed to deal with the elephant in the room, as the cliché goes.

“I’m sorry, Poe. I’m sorry I left you behind.”

She shook her head. “It’s over. Let’s not talk about it.”

Not exactly forgiveness and, to be honest, I didn’t deserve it, but it felt like something close to it. An opportunity to move on. I extended my hand across the table, palm up. Poe regarded it for a second, then put her hand in mine. The tingling sensation of her touch immediately shot up my arm.

“
I won’t ever let it happen again.”

She smiled and squeezed my hand, then returned to her shake. I grinned at her and dug into my breakfast, feeling like myself for the first time since my first visit to Hell.

I hoped never to go there again.

####

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Bruce Blake lives on Vancouver Island in British Columbia, Canada. When pressing issues like shovelling snow and building igloos don't take up his spare time, Bruce can be found taking the dog sled to the nearest coffee shop to work on his short stories and novels.

Actually, Victoria, B.C. is only a couple hours north of Seattle, Wash., where more rain is seen than snow. Since snow isn't really a pressing issue, Bruce spends more time trying to remember to leave the "u" out of words like "colour" and "neighbour" then he does shovelling. The father of two, Bruce is also the trophy husband of a burlesque diva.

Bruce has been writing since grade school but it wasn't until six years ago he set his sights on becoming a full-time writer. Since then, his first short story, "Another Man's Shoes" was published in the Winter 2008 edition of
Cemetery Moon
, another short, "Yardwork", was made into a podcast in Oct., 2011 by
Pseudopod
and his first Icarus Fell novel,
On Unfaithful Wings
, was published to Kindle in Dec., 2011. The second Icarus Fell novel,
All Who Wander Are Lost
, was released in July, 2012, and
Blood of the King
, the first book in the
Khirro's Journey
epic fantasy trilogy, was released Sept. 30, 2012. The second book of the trilogy,
Spirit of the King
, came out Dec., 2012, and the third,
Heart of the
King in Jan., 2013.
He has plans for at least three more Icarus novels, several stand alones, and a possible YA fantasy co-written with his eleven-year-old daughter.