Death Takes Wing (20 page)

She couldn’t imagine being that creature, lost in the darkness, just waiting for prey.  She straightened and stared at him.  “Was that what we were meant to find?”

He slowly nodded.  “Did you see the wings?”

She shook her head and cocked her head at him.  “Well, other than the tatters hanging behind it?”

“Yeah,” he said.  “That thing had the same color wings as Patricia’s boyfriend.”

“You said he was solan,” she protested.

“I know,” he said grimly.  “I know.  Remember me saying dark wings can be bleached?”  When she nodded, he continued, “chances are, that’s what he did.  Probably trying to hide.  And it didn’t work.”

“So whatever he was part of, he’s not anymore,” she said quietly.

“No, he’s not,” Gabriel agreed.  “They used him.  Probably to get to Patricia and her sister.”

He paused, looking at her.  “You have your gun?”

She touched the butt in answer, but questions were in her eyes.

“I need it,” he said bluntly, reaching for it.

“What are you going to do?” she asked as she unholstered it, sliding it to him.

“My job,” he said tersely.  “An angelus can’t come back from where he’s at.  The only thing left is mercy.”

They slowly made their way out the small alcove that had led them to the attic.  Amalia paused, thinking she could hear music.  Gabriel slowly followed her, brushing off dust with every step.  Amalia limped into a small bedroom that she and Gabriel had both previously missed.  She glanced at a tinkling sound that emanated from a dusty music box that sat alone, in the middle of a small white dresser.  There were fingerprints in the dust where small hands had picked it up, recently, she realized. 

A cobweb coated couple slowly waltzed in a circle, the painted china figurines dulled with years of dust.  As the music and dancing couple slowed, Gabriel saw a key wind the box up, for one more waltz.  He reached out to Amalia and gently grabbed her hand.

A child’s bed lay in the corner, covered in dust.  With a crack, the music box flung across the room, narrowly missing Amalia’s head.  Without a thought, she drew her weapon, flipping off the safety without a second thought.  She aimed into the empty room, finding nothing to shoot at.  Breathing hard, she slowly stepped back.  Instead of backing out of the room, she hit his solid chest.  As the box lay in pieces on the floor, the thick, dusty curtains swayed every so slightly.  She swallowed hard as she watched the
curtain pull back, and couldn’t help but think that they should have left the house after they’d found Jeremy’s artifacts.  It almost felt that perhaps they were interrupting something, as the heavy air pressed them to leave.

She pointed the Glock at the curtains.  In a commanding voice, she said, “show yourself.  Now.”  When nothing came forward, she couldn’t pursue the creature, instead, holstering her weapon and stepping back towards Gabriel.

The hair on the back of Gabriel’s neck rose to attention, and his feathers prickled.  This can’t be good, he thought as he watched the broken ballerina rise from the floor.  He didn’t think Amalia saw the ballerina floating as she stared at the now empty spot on the bed.  As he glanced back into the room, he saw the thick curtains sway as if a breeze hit them, and the shape of a person hiding behind them became apparent as the curtains swayed against the small form.  As his pulse started to race again, he pulled her out of the room, down the hallway, and pushed her ahead of him on the stairs, silent urgency pressing at both of them.

As he started down the stairs, he felt a hand in the middle of his back, between his wings.  Trying to brace himself against the growing pressure, he grabbed a hold of the solid banister.  He felt himself fail as the small hand shoved with an inhumane strength.  Amalia leapt the last few stairs to arrive
safely on the landing, but Gabriel tripped and fell with the ‘helping’ hand.

As he fell down the stairs, a small form raced past the couple, shoving past Amalia with a snarl that echoed in her ears.  Amalia tried to follow where the form went, but lost it as Gabriel pushed into her.

After rolling down the stairs in a mass of feathers, he stopped on the landing, trying to catch his breath.  Small feathers surrounded him, gently floating to lie next to him. He laid a hand over his chest, trying to remember just how to breathe.

Amalia bent over him, concern washing her face.  “Who the hell was that?”  She glanced upstairs, face going ashen.

“No idea,” he gasped, still trying to catch his breath.  Breathing was painful, his lungs filling with fire with every breath.

“She was in the bedroom, behind the curtain,” Amalia said, angry at herself for not going after the shape.

“Angelus,” Gabriel whispered, closing his eyes.  All of a sudden, he hurt all over.  Especially his wings.  Those were going to really hurt in the morning.  “What did she look like?”

“Wearing rags, angry expression on her face.  Really, really angry,” Amalia whispered back.  “Can you get up?”

With a pained sound, he tried to roll to one side.  The pain in his wings lanced through his entire
back, and he had to admit defeat.  “Uh, no.  Can you help me up?”

Lending him a hand, she helped him right himself.  He turned around and started at the shadow that stood on the second floor.  He couldn’t make out any features, but it did seem like she was fading.  He could feel waves of anger emanate from her.  With a pain-filled wince, he held his arm to his waist and left for the front door, limping for a few steps until his leg muscles relaxed.

“Are you all right?”  Amalia asked, noticing how he held his hand.

“No worse than you are,” he said, gesturing towards her leg.

She gave him questioning look.  “What are you talking about?”  With a grimace, she bent over and pulled up her pant leg, making her gasp at the memory of the thing on her leg.  An angry welt decorated the skin.  Gabriel gently touched it.

“I knew because I can smell the blood,” he said finally, pointing to the drops of blood that welled to the surface.  “It’s going to sting like a son of a bitch, but you should be all right.”

“And your wrist?” she asked, worry filling her eyes.

“My wrist is all right,” he avoided, “just twisted it when I fell.  See?”  He demonstrated that it was barely sore by twisting it until she was satisfied. 
“Besides,” he muttered to himself, “it’s the wings that are going to kill, not the wrist.”

“Wings?” she questioned, hearing only a word.

He gestured towards the front door, still feeling the baleful gaze of the apparition.  “They bent ways they weren’t supposed to.  Like overextending a knee.  The feathers are fine, it’s just the joints that are going to be bloody sore tomorrow.”

After leaving the house without finding anything other than the demonic angelus in the hidden room and the small angelus on the second floor, and unwilling to explore the untouched basement, she turned towards him, an idea reeling in her head.  “I think I know where we should go next.”

He looked at her, hoping that she had a good idea, and not an idea that would lead them into danger, like the place they’d just escaped.  “It’s not the basement, is it?  Because let me tell you, my answer to that would be a resounding ‘hell no’, probably punctuated with a ‘fuck that shit’.  I may even run away screaming.  Maybe.  Actually, it’s probably likely.”

With a small laugh, she responded, “no.  Well, I mean, I do kinda want to check out the basement, but I think I can wait for a really sunny day.  And a flamethrower.  With holy water…”

She closed her eyes and found herself in a sitting position on the flagstone in the small courtyard, Gabriel looming over her with a worried expression on his face.  She tried to push him away, but he resisted.  “I’m all right.  That room just…actually, that whole house.  I’m just not used to shit happening since I quit the force, that’s all.”

He nodded, understanding.  He helped her to her feet, pulling her towards him.  Wrapping his arms around her snugly, he felt her heartbeat against him.  He knew that he wouldn’t have been able to forgive himself if something had happened to her.  And he knew that something very nearly had.

She pulled away to look at him.  Dust covered him, from his black hair, to his sun-touched skin, to his boots.  Wrinkling her nose, she knew she looked just as bad.  With a grin, he leaned forward and kissed her dirty forehead.

She pulled back further, her face contorting with disgust.  “You aren’t going to start giving me a bath like a cat, are you?”

He twisted his lips in a smirk.  “Are you going to be happy or disappointed when I tell you ‘no’?”

With a chuckle, she replied, “that would be a happy.  Although,” she considered, “I’m not sure how you’d manage to lick yourself clean.”

He shrugged, noticing a small garage towards the back.  Looking back at her, he replied, “just call me Contortionist G.”

She shook her head and glanced at the small garage.  A set of tracks were well-worn in the overgrown weeds.  Very recent, she thought.  In fact, probably where the woman had fled to.  “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

“I think so, Brain.  But if they called them ‘sad meals’, then no one would buy them.”

She stared at him blankly, brow furrowing in confusion.  She giggled as the veil of confusion lifted.  “So,” she said in a fit of giggles, “You’re a fan of Pinky and the Brain?”

He answered with a grin of his own.  “C’mon buttercup, let’s go see if we can track down our abuser.”

Amalia paused as she turned to stare at the garage that stood several yards away from the house, in worse disrepair than the manion.

He looked at her.  “You aren’t going to go inside without me, are you?”

She shook her head.  Not that she had a problem leaving him behind if the case required it, but his reflexes were more intuned with what the attacker’s were, and even her gun couldn’t rival that speed or strength.  “No, I’m going in…after you make sure that there’s nothing in there that’s going to eat me.”

“Well, there are probably fleas,” he said as he followed her toward the building that was in even more disrepair than the house.

She waited for him next to the door.  “Well?”

“Well what?” he said, knowing she wanted him to open the door.

She gestured towards the door.  “So, open sesame.”

“Do I look like a magic door?”

“Door?  No.  Genie?  Maybe,” she said lightly.

“Hmph,” he said as he easily shouldered the heavy door open.  He gave her a slight bow as he stepped out of the way.

“So, things to eat me?” she said as she peered inside, eyes adjusting to the scant light that filtered through the broken windows.

“Like what?”

She stepped over the threshold before glancing back at him.  “Like a zombie?”

He looked back at her, multiple accusations clear in his eyes.  “You realize that because you just said that, we’re going to find a zombie, right?”

“Zombies are real?” she asked, genuinely curious.

“Not that I know, but just because you asked that, we’re going to be attacked.  By a zombie.  And it will probably try to eat you.”  He paused for dramatic effect.  “And I might let it.  Because I can outrun you.”  He paused again, this time with a smirk sliding across his lips.  “And because you ask too many questions.”

She tipped her chin up at him and smiled pleasantly.  “You
like
my questions.  Admit it.”

He didn’t say anything as a smile broke his face.  Well, he considered, he
did
enjoy the challenging questions she posed to him.  Except for the question about the canines.  That, he remembered sourly, wasn’t as enjoyable.  Although, he thought, her lack of fright made him feel more comfortable around her.  A lot like Ivy’s reaction upon seeing
them, he remembered with a tinge of sadness, recalling how she’d been just as inquisitive as his redhead currently was.

She laughed, which broke him out of his reverie, and shook her head, sending red curls flying around her head.  She stopped just inside the garage after hearing glass under her feet.  With a grimace, she scuffled her feet as she tried to get the glass out from under them.

Hearing movement near the far wall, Amalia drew in a breath and drew out her weapon.  Pointing it at the ground, she ignored the sounds of Gabriel following her.  She walked into the darkness, towards the noise.

“Who’s there?” she said, hearing her voice echo in the empty garage.

The response was a broken sob, punctuated with a halting “go away.”

She carefully stepped towards the sob as she held the Glock at her side, unwilling to holster it quite yet.  Peering through the dank area, she saw someone huddled in the corner, body wracked with muffled sobs.

“Who are you?”  Amalia stared at the body, eyes adjusting enough to see the outline of the body.

“It’s her,” she said quietly to Gabriel, not wanting to startle the forlorn body.

“Who are you?” Gabriel’s baritone surrounded her, echoed in the stillness.

She felt him stand next to her, but she kept her gaze on the form.  She holstered the weapon, certain that Gabriel had her back.  She knelt by the sobbing girl, reaching past the wings to gently touch her shoulder.  “Are you all right?”