Ash & Flame: Season One (8 page)

Emma paused, her eyes scanning the room. Someone was missing. "Where's my Dad?"

"He went to go talk to Kevin and some of the others. Don't worry, he should be back soon."

"Okay." Emma nodded. She thought it was a little weird, him being gone like this. Maybe that was just her, though. Maybe she was so used to waking up with him close by that, when he suddenly wasn’t, it was like a piece of her had gone missing. Like something must have gone terribly wrong just because he wasn't there.

"Here, take a drink for me," Anne said, bringing over a small cup of water from the crate that leaned against the wall. She sat down next to Emma and lifted the cup to her lips. "It'll make you feel better."

Emma didn't need to be fed anymore. Hadn't needed anyone to hold a cup for her since before she could even remember. And she didn't need it now.

"I've got it." She took the cup from Anne's hand, and took a long gulp. Her eyes closed contentedly as the cool water slid down her throat. She finished it off, and handed Anne the empty cup, along with the damp cloth lying on her sheet. "Thank you."

Anne took the cup and tossed the cloth inside. Her smile took Emma by surprise, something different, hard-edged in her penetrating gaze. A
knowing
look. Emma's skin crawled, like insects swarmed over her, tiny legs frantically seeking purchase.

"Emma, do you know what you are?"

Emma frowned.
What I am?
Did Anne know something? "What do you mean?"

"You are so, so special. Do you know that?" Anne ran her hand down Emma's arm, the unnerving touch of her fingers like tiny claws raking across Emma's skin. "I don't know if you truly understand it yet, but you will, very soon."

Emma's father had warned her, back when everything had first fallen apart, that they could never trust anybody. Some people had good hearts and meant the right thing, but when there was no law, and survival was rule number one, the right thing no longer mattered quite as much. No matter where they were, or who they found, Dad had repeated, all they would ever have was each other.

She hadn't always wanted to believe it, but she remembered that warning now.

"Thanks." Emma's lips curled into a smile, but she didn't mean it, her breathing hurried, the blood pounding in her ears. She didn't want to look into Anne's eyes anymore, didn't want to hear her say just how special Emma was. "I'm still pretty tired, so I'm going to lay down, okay?"

"Sure, baby doll. I'll be right here if you need anything."

Emma didn't like anyone else calling her that.
Baby doll
. That was Dad's name for her and nobody else's. She wanted to say something to her, how she shouldn't be saying that, that it wasn't right. That nickname wasn't
hers
to use. But she kept her mouth shut, fearing what else Anne might say.

She laid back on the bed, flipping over onto her side away from Anne. She scrunched her eyes closed and pulled the sheet tight over her shoulders, wishing that Anne wasn't in here with her, that her dad would walk in and save her. She fought back the tears welling under her lids.

The woman had talked to her, been so very nice to her, like Emma was supposed to trust her. But the way she'd said
baby doll
, the gleam in her eyes, Emma knew she couldn't.

She laid there, pretending to sleep, waiting anxiously for her father to return. Waiting just as anxiously for Anne to get off her bed.

Emma tried to keep the relieved sigh from her lips when Anne finally got up and walked over to the other bed. Although the woman didn't belong there either.

She wondered if maybe she hadn't been so far off after all, about something going terribly wrong just because Dad wasn't there. She hoped he hurried back.

▪▪▪

Ren stood very still, letting his eyes adjust to the shadows inside the great dome.

He'd never come face-to-face with an angel before today, and he had no idea what to expect now. He'd heard stories, back when pockets of humanity still clung to each other. Cold and harsh stories, where angels used humanity as shields, or as bait. Or they ignored them altogether, their sole purpose on this earth to hunt down and destroy the demons that now roamed the world.

Just breathe. You're fine
.

He didn't know what the angel, Ithuriel, might do, or what he wanted Ren to say. But if the angel had wanted to kill him, or his daughter, he could have easily done so this morning, and he hadn't. So there was that.

Not that the thought helped very much right now.

He puffed up his cheeks, and blew out a quick, short breath as he took a shaky step forward, then another. He looked overhead, the massive interior impossibly high, the sun's rays casting slivers of light that passed through sections of the dome's shell. Specks of dust floated in the air, highlighted by narrow beams of illumination that ran across the floor.

Ren took another step and paused, his gaze frozen on the giant form on one knee, his back to him, in the center of the open chamber. Wings, gleaming white even in the shadow of the dome, hung folded from the angel's hunched shoulders. He thought he heard whispering, and he strained forward, hoping to hear the words more clearly.

The whispers stopped, and Ren's heart lurched as the angel stood suddenly.
No, not an angel
, he thought, thinking of the name they called themselves.
Malakhi
.

The Malakhi's wings twitched, and he was airborne, wings spread wide, beating at the air. He twisted up towards the dome's arched roof and swooped overhead, falling towards where Ren stood, frozen. His wings thrust powerfully, the air beating against Ren, and he landed as gracefully as a bird, his feet planted on the ground. He stood before Ren, wings folding behind his back, his armored chestplate gleaming.

He crossed his arms over his chest, an imposing stance that Ren didn't miss. The angel stared at him, and Ren noticed the angel's eyes. They looked red, and the skin under his eyes appeared to be wet. Like he had been crying.

Do angels cry?
Ren thought.

The angel's eyes hardened, and he opened his mouth, dashing Ren's unspoken question. "You are called Ren, correct?"

Breathe, Ren. Breathe
. "I am."

"And the child named Emma, you are her father?"

Ren nodded, a sudden glimmer of understanding where this line of questioning might be headed. Questions that he was not prepared to answer.

Ithuriel's hand rubbed against his chin, and his hard stare pierced Ren's worst fears.

"Tell me about the child's mother."

Ren could still remember it. He'd remember it every day for the rest of his life. The brisk air that swept across his face, chilling him, as he opened the door to the dank rooftop. The stale odor of concrete and rust, mingled with oil as a fan kicked on noisily somewhere on the roof. The clear skies overhead, the stars blinking against the glow of the moon. Someone's car alarm bleating away down the street, and then the whining creak as the door cracked shut behind him. The tap of his shoes as he hurried up the half-dozen steps and onto the black slate of the rooftop.

Katie's hysterical sobbing as she stood perched on the raised ledge.

He didn't want to tell the angel about her. This was his story, for him alone. No one else had ever heard it, not even Emma. And if she wasn't going to hear it, neither should anyone else.

"What about her?" he finally asked.

The angel's wings flared. "Do you know the risk this community has taken for you and your daughter? Do you know that we lost one of our own when we rescued you?"

"I-I didn't know. Not until Kevin just told me." His gaze trailed to the floor. He hadn't known, and he was embarrassed to admit that he'd never thought to ask.

He hadn't even thanked them.

"I have questions, Ren, questions that need answered if I am to keep these people safe." Ithuriel leaned forward, his hand reaching out for Ren's shoulder. "Questions that need answered so that we can help you, and your daughter."

Ren took a hesitant step back, his boot squeaking across the floor. "My wife was no demon."

"Do you know that?" the angel asked. "
Can
you know for sure? Can your human eyes tell the difference between your kind and…
other
?"

Ren couldn't tell exactly when Katie had cracked inside, when she'd decided she had to escape to that rooftop several stories up. Was it that precise moment, when she took that step over the ledge? Or had it happened years before? Had she been broken before Emma’s birth, and only revealed it when it had been too late?

He'd tried to remember, in the days since, but he could never pinpoint that exact moment when she'd willed herself to die. It had torn him to pieces thinking about it, struggling to find the blame, trying to figure out what he could have done to fix the brokenness inside her.

There were never any answers he could find that had ever made any sense of it.

The Malakhi held up a hand. "Wait, you said
was
. Is she—"

Ren cut off the angel, a spark of anger burning within. "She's been dead for four years now."
Not that it's any business of yours
.

"I know this is difficult," Ithuriel said. "But do you remember anything about her, anything that might have made you question her? Did she ever get really sick, or disappear at odd times? Did she ever frighten you, or act like someone else?"

You mean like jumping off a roof?
Ren wondered if the angel really knew what the word
difficult
meant.

Ithuriel stepped forward.

"Imagine that the person who birthed you, the person who gave you life, has been by your side for millennia." Ithuriel closed his eyes as he spoke, his voice like an enchantment that Ren could not escape. "You have grown old together, and this person, through thick and thin, has always been there. He has supported you in your weakest moments, has reminded you of the strength you hold within."

The angel raised his chin towards the ceiling and spread his arms wide. "And then one day He is no longer there. You look and look, but you cannot find Him. He has simply disappeared, leaving behind a hollow place in the pit of you."

"I know all too well, Ren," Ithuriel said. He lowered his arms and looked at Ren, his head canted to one side. "Believe me."

Ren opened his mouth, then closed it again. It was unfair, someone asking him about his wife, when it was abundantly clear that he wanted to keep the memories buried. It would be just as unfair for him to pry into the angel's thoughts, digging for answers that he didn't deserve.

But his little girl was sick, and Ren didn't have any answers of his own.

"Fine," he said, the word hissing through his lips.

He didn't want to remember it, the last memory of his wife that would stick forever, trampling every other memory he had of her. Always there, lurking just beneath the surface, Katie stood on that ledge, tears streaming down her face. She'd looked up as Ren approached, and he'd stopped in mid-step, afraid of what she'd do if he moved any closer.

"Show me." The angel's voice, barely above a whisper, echoed in his ear.

Ren felt a hand on his arm, fingers gripped tightly across his bicep, and then someone else stood there in his memory, watching silently. Someone he hadn't remembered ever being there.

It replayed in his mind, like a tape he couldn't stop.

She looked so lost, her legs trembling as she peered down over the ledge of the roof. Ren wanted to run to her, wrap his arms around her, and tell her everything would be alright. He wanted to tell her how sorry he was, even if he didn't know what for.

But it didn't matter if he ran to her. Didn't matter if he had wings, he knew he'd never reach her in time. And he caught the way her jaw had set when she'd seen him. No, he would never reach her.

He felt a brief pang of relief that Emma was downstairs. She wouldn't see any of this or know what her mother was doing. Regret hit immediately after the thought. His daughter would never see her again.

"Katie, honey, please..." He took a step towards her. He had to try.

His wife looked over her shoulder at him, the breeze catching her dark hair. Dark locks that reminded him so much of Emma's.

A flash of recognition sparked in her gaze, and fresh tears fell over her puffy lids. Her cheeks twitched and she opened her mouth to say something, and that's when Ren saw it. He couldn't remember it before, or he'd forgotten it. Maybe he'd buried it, buried the sight so deep that it had only now broken the surface.

Something leered at him from within Katie's eyes.

The memory changed, shifted from mere recollection to something Ren couldn't define. A shadow moved past him, stepping forward with deliberate purpose. A hand reached out and grasped Katie's arm, and her scream rent the air, a wailing, terrible shriek that Ren knew could not have come from his wife.

And the spoken word, like the stark, clear intonation of a ringing bell. Like judgment.