All Who Wander Are Lost (An Icarus Fell Novel) (33 page)

Trevor sat on the
sofa while the boy remained standing. His eyes held on Trevor’s
like they looked right into him, saw more than hair and flesh and
muscle beneath. It made the teen squirm, but he didn’t look
away.

I shouldn’t
be afraid. He’s younger than me, and smaller.

Trevor cleared his
throat.

“
What’s
your name?”

“
I
have many names,” the boy said still smiling, though now it
held the quality of a willing secret, happy to be kept. “You
can’t pronounce most of them.”

“
Why
am I here?”

“
Your
father’s looking for you, you know.”

Trevor nodded. “Is
he alright?”

“
For
now. Many trials await him.”

He wanted to be
concerned but the boy’s voice flowed through his brain like
syrup, slowing its machinations, making his head feel tired though
his body felt awake and alive, practically vibrated in the boy’s
presence.

“
Will
he be okay?”

“
We
shall see,” the boy said, the smile clinging tenaciously to
his lips. “We shall see.”

†‡†

Behind Poe, the
door clacked shut against the askance frame, but she ignored it as
she gazed into Piper’s face. The woman was beautiful, no doubt
about it; her beauty made Poe feel embarrassed by her own plainness,
a feeling which dogged her through her lives, both mortal and angel.
An ingredient in her corporeal demise.

“
Who
are you?”

“
You
know who I am,” Piper responded, smiling.

“
I
know your name. I don’t know who you are.”

“
I’m
like you, Poe. Only better.”

Poe’s eyes
narrowed. “I don’t think you are what you seem.”

Piper threw her
head back and barked a short, sharp laugh. The sound made Poe jump.

“
Who
are you to accuse me of not being what I seem? Does anyone know the
truth of your past?”

“
I--”

“
Have
you ever told Icarus?”

“
I
wanted--”

Piper laughed
again, interrupting her, and the feeling of inadequacy and
desperation she’d been fleeing for so many years took a big
bite and held on. Her head drooped until her chin brushed the top of
her chest. She stared down at her feet smudged with dirt and
whispered: “I wanted to.”

“
Oh,
poor thing. Of course you did.”

Poe didn’t
know if she’d heard sarcastic tones in Piper’s words or
if she added them in her head. When she looked up, the
supposed-angel stood immediately in front of her, her smile softened
from border-line maniacal to sort-of-reassuring.

“
Come,
someone wants to see you.”

She took Poe by the
elbow and an electric shock quivered the muscle of the guardian
angel’s upper arm, not painful but not pleasant, like a bare
wire brushed her bicep. The sensation remained with Piper’s
touch.

They moved toward
the door, Piper having to prompt Poe on.

“
Don’t
worry, muffin.”

“
Who
wants to see me?”

“
An
old friend.”

Piper pushed the
door open and, instead of opening onto the bleak landscape of bare
dirt and gnarled trees she’d left, Poe saw Arbutus trees and
oaks. The roofs of houses showed through their branches, close
enough to walk to but not so close the residents of those houses
could hear.

She’d been
here before, a long time ago. Seeing the shed out of context set
against the backdrop of Hell’s desolation had camouflaged the
truth, but now that she saw it back where it belonged, in the empty
lot behind the Baxters’ house, she remembered it. She
remembered everything she’d tried so hard to forget.

Piper’s hand
fell away from her arm and Poe looked at the shed. It appeared the
same as it did more than four decades ago, right down to the weeds
growing out of control around the base of its walls, the blackened
boards to the left of the door where some teenager once attempted to
burn it down.

Poe’s mouth
fell open, goose bumps prickled her flesh as she peered upon the
place where she’d been raped. If she’d harbored any
doubt before that she was in Hell, it disappeared.

Now she was in her
own Hell.

Bruce
Blake-All Who Wander Are Lost

My mother’s
smile didn’t falter as I stood and looked down into her eyes
for the first time in my life, but neither did the sadness concealed
behind them. My mind whirled. I’d never expected to be in this
situation, so I never planned what to say. When someone dies the
moment you’re born, it’s normally a waste of time
thinking about the conversation you’ll have when you meet
them.

Welcome to my life.

“
What
are you doing here?”

Lame.

“
You
needed help. Why are you here?”

“
Does
Dominic know you came to help me?” I swallowed hard. “Azrael?”

I glanced around
the crowd, looking for the priest’s leering face, the angel of
death’s looming presence, but saw only the lost,
confused-looking souls. I didn’t recognize any of them.

My mother shook her
head and put her hand on my cheek. Her touch didn’t hold the
tingle of Poe’s or Piper’s, the shock and threat of
Azrael’s or Mikey’s. She wasn’t an angel in the
true sense of the word, but after wandering the labyrinth for
God-only-knew how long, she was my angel.

“
Did
you do something wrong? Did you die again? Is that why you’re
here?”

“
No.”

The concern in her
voice touched me. There were so few times in my life I’d had
anyone who cared enough to be concerned about me: Rae, though I
drank away any concern she’d had for me, and Sister
Mary-Therese. But this was different; this was the woman who gave me
life.

She dropped her
hand from my cheek and took my arm to lead me through the crowd. We
walked in silence for a while, the unexpected reunion leaving both
of us speechless. Other people in a similar scenario—long lost
son reunited with his mother—might have many things about
which to talk: how’s life? What have you been up to? Tell me
what’s been going on for you.

‘
How’s
Hell been treating you, Ma,’ didn’t seem appropriate.

As for her, I got
the sense she’d been watching me and knew about my life. When
your son’s been abused, berated, a druggie, an alcoholic,
murdered and resurrected against his will, you probably also want to
tread lightly around conversation.

We weaved our way
through the crowd, her arm hooked through mine, neither of us
speaking. I looked at her from the corner of my eye, saw her sharp
jaw and high cheek bones and understood how even an archangel might
give in to temptation. Understanding didn’t make what he did
acceptable. Thinking about it made me angry, and that anger
transferred to thoughts about what happened to bring me to this
unusual point in my life—strolling through Hell with my dead
mother. I felt the time appropriate to attempt conversation.

“
People
died because of me.”

“
I
know.”

“
I
came here to get them back.”

She didn’t
reply, looking at her feet as she walked. As I watched her watching
her steps, a thought occurred to me. I stopped. She continued a
step, tugging at my arm before coming to a stop. One of the lost
walked into my back and moved on without excusing him or herself.

“
I’ll
take you back.”

Why didn’t
I think of that before?

She smiled and
touched my cheek.

“
But
I’m not here because of you.”

I shook my head.
“You’re the first person to die because of me.”

“
No,
Icarus. I didn’t die because of you.” She tried to smile
but the sadness in her eyes leaked into her lips, into her tone.

I thought about my
first visit to Hell. I’d seen my mother as she gave birth to
me, Sister Mary-Therese aiding her as Michael and Azrael loomed over
the scene and a Carrion waited in the wings. Okay, given those
circumstances, maybe her death wasn’t my fault, but that
didn’t mean I couldn’t take her back.

“
That
doesn’t mean you can’t come back with me.”

She pulled on my
arm to get me walking again; I complied, watching her features as we
went. Her smile faded but her eyes looked sadder than before and I
sensed a debate going on behind them. When she looked up, I knew one
debating team had convinced the other.

“
I
don’t deserve to be anywhere but here.”

“
What
are you talking about? You’re a good person. You shouldn’t
be here.”

“
You
don’t know what kind of person I am.”

“
You’re
my mother.”

“
Exactly.
I was a nun
and
I am your mother. One doesn’t go with the other”

Touché.