All Who Wander Are Lost (An Icarus Fell Novel) (21 page)

“
Really?
Wow. Two archangels in one day.”

“
You
may not remember it, but you’ve met Raphael, too.” She
glanced back over her shoulder—there were no swallows to be
seen.

“
Cool.
And does this scroll tell us who’s going to die?”

Poe nodded.
“Gabriel said we didn’t have much time. You better open
it.”

They paused in the
middle of the sidewalk as Trevor unrolled the parchment. It wouldn’t
contain the name of anyone she knew—anyone she knew was long
since dead—but she held her breath anyway.

†‡†

She’d seen
worse deaths, but Poe worried the sight of blood might disturb
Trevor. It turned out teenage boys hadn’t changed much since
her time on earth.

The man—a
forty-eight year old father of two named Clayton Dillinger who’d
been married to his high school sweetheart for twenty-two
years—extended himself too far while installing Christmas
lights on the eaves of his bungalow. The fall itself would have hurt
but probably not killed him except for the collection of garden
gnomes his wife had arrayed in the flower garden the spring before.
One smiling gnome with a particularly pointy hat broke a couple of
Clayton’s ribs, driving one clear through his heart and out
his chest.

“
Oh,
gross,” Trevor exclaimed with a note of enthusiastic joy in
his words—the sound of a young man who’d watched too
many horror movies.

Seconds after Mr.
Dillinger’s life expired, a semi-opaque second Mr. Dillinger
sat up, separating himself from the first. The specter stood and
gazed down at the lifeless body, then looked up expectantly, waiting
for what came next.

“
There
he is. Let’s go get him.” Trevor took a step to cross
the street but Poe put her hand on his arm, stopping him. He looked
back at her over his shoulder.

“
Wait.”

She pulled him back
into the shadows and watched a figure approach from down the street.
Poe had first sensed they were being followed when they got on the
bus to make their way to Mr. Dillinger’s house but had done
nothing to dissuade their tail. If it was who she suspected, their
pursuer would have the same purpose as they did. Unfortunately, this
man wouldn’t lead Mr. Dillinger to Heaven; he would lead Poe
to Hell, though.

The man closed in,
raised a hand to Mr. Dillinger, and called out a greeting. Poe
recognized him –his shaven head, black trench coat and neatly
trimmed beard. As she realized he was the same Carrion who had
nearly killed her a few months back, he looked her way and grinned a
devilish grin, eyes flashing red fire.

And then he spoke
with Mr. Dillinger.

“
Who’s
that?” Trevor asked.

“
Carrion.”

Poe felt Trevor’s
eyes move to the two men across the street and back again without
removing her gaze from their conversation. It took all her
self-control not to run across the road and push herself between the
two men. She’d dedicated herself to protecting mortal souls
for decades and found it difficult to give one up without a fight.

It’s for
the greater good.

“
Carrion?
But don’t they take souls to Hell?”

Poe nodded.

“
We
can’t let him. Hey!”

Trevor took another
step but this time when Poe touched his arm, she concentrated on her
touch, sent her energy into him. He stiffened with it; she let him
go, guilt tickling the lining of her stomach.

“
We
have to help him,” he wheezed, his breath gone.

“
Trust
me.”

He settled beside
her, watching the proceedings outside the Dillinger house. Clayton
and the Carrion stood beside the ladder looking at the
gnome-skewered body, the blood soaking his shirt and jacket, a
string of icicle lights dangling from the eaves. They spoke quietly,
then Mr. Dillinger shook the Carrion’s hand and they started
down the block together. The Carrion shot another look over his
shoulder at them, grinning like a schoolyard bully who’d won
the game by cheating and knew they wouldn’t do anything about
it. When he looked away, Poe grabbed Trevor’s arm and pulled
him down the street.

“
Wha...what
are we doing?” he asked sounding dazed from her last touch.
“He’s gone. The Carrion got him.”

She stopped and
turned the teen to face her, holding him by both shoulders. Though
only fifteen, he stood nearly a foot taller than her and she had to
tilt her head back to meet his eyes.

“
I’m
following him to Hell to find your father.”

Bruce
Blake-All Who Wander Are Lost

I rubbed my
calf—the latest body part missing a piece due to a
foul-looking hell-beast’s bite—and was surprised at how
good my arm felt. Hard to believe Piper healed it so quickly.

Poe never healed
me.

“
What
do we do this time?” she asked.

A hot wind blew
down the empty street, swirling gray dust into miniature tornadoes.
The gargoyles on the corners of the buildings stared straight ahead,
ignoring us, as Piper’s words echoed from building to
building.

“
Not
sure,” I replied, straightening. “Where did everyone
go?”

She shrugged—of
course—then took my hand and led me down the street. Her touch
electrified me, as always, but this time it called more peaceful and
soothing visions to mind. I wondered who determined how her touch
affected me: her, me, or someone higher up? As we walked, it felt
like we were lovers enjoying a stroll rather than a mother leading a
child, as it might have before.

My mind strayed to
the feel of her lips on mine.

“
Pipe,
about what happened.”

“
Piper,”
she said and stopped. “I think something’s going on over
there.”

I looked down the
boulevard in the direction she’d indicated. In the distance, a
haze hung above the street; it might have been mist but seemed more
likely ash kicked into the air by many feet.

“
A
crowd,” I said.

“
Or
a mob.”

“
We’re
not going to find anyone we’re looking for if no one’s
around.”

She shrugged. “You
want to go?”

“
I
don’t know. Do you want to go?”

With words like
this being spoken, it couldn’t have been anything but a date.
Put us somewhere else and we’d have sounded like a couple
deciding between Italian and Chinese.

“
Let’s
go.”

Our fingers
remained entwined as we made our way down the empty street. The
buildings and the gargoyles perched at their corners ignored us, but
I still felt like our echoing footsteps called unwanted attention
our way. I peered in windows and doorways and saw no one.

Where did
everyone go?

We heard the crowd
before we saw them. Their voices combined to a tumultuous roar
hanging over their heads like the cloud of ash kicked up by their
shuffling feet, like a rock concert without the rock. Though, given
the way most rock stars lived and died, Hell would probably put on
quite a show.

As we drew closer,
we saw people shoe-horned together, bodies writhing and twisting to
get a view over those in front of them. The crowd at the end of the
boulevard was huge, big enough we couldn’t see past them to
find out what held their attention. I stood on my toes, stretched to
my fullest, to no avail.

“
Come
on,” Piper said pulling me forward.

Thirty feet from
the mob, a small group of people broke off and headed toward the
closest building. Six men, bare-chested and heavily muscled,
encircled two figures like a cadre of body guards protecting a
politician. I strained to see who they protected and caught a
glimpse of a boy—the boy I’d seen staring at the camera
when we found Tony. On his right, a woman held his hand, dark hair
flowing down her back. When we reached the edge of the crowd, she
glanced back at me: high cheek bones, angular jaw, dark eyes.

My mother.

I dragged my feet
trying to stop Piper’s forward motion, tugged hard to free my
hand of her grasp. My lips parted, to call out to the woman who gave
birth to me, to beg Piper to stop, but the crowd swallowed us; their
clamor drowned any words I might have spoken.

The crowd closed
around us, cutting off my view, and Piper forced a path between the
gathering of damned souls. As we moved, it became apparent that
personal hygiene is not a high priority in Hell. The stench of tens
of thousands of bodies unwashed for—weeks? Years?
Centuries?—stuck to the inside of my nostrils and throat
threatening to choke me, urging my last meal up into my chest. I
swallowed hard to put it back where it belonged.

“
My
God, these people reek.”

The ones closest to
us ceased moaning and chanting and faced me, their expressions
moving from vacant to annoyed. Who knew they’d be so easily
offended?

Piper pulled me
close. “This may be the wrong place to use the lord’s
name in vain. Or any other way.”

“
Right.”
I smiled weakly and nodded at the faces around us. “Sorry
about that. Force of habit.”

They returned to
their mindless noise-making and we went back to finding our way
through the crowd—no harm done. I shuffle-stepped closer to
Piper.

“
I
saw my mother,” I shouted to be heard above the commotion.
“Did you see her?”

“
No.”

“
She
was with the kid I saw before.”

She didn’t
respond.

“
Who
is he?”

A patented Piper
shrug. “I don’t know. Do you want to stop and ask
someone?”

I glanced at the
zombie faces around us.

“
No.
Think I’ll pass.”