Secrets of the Hanged Man (Icarus Fell #3) (An Icarus Fell Novel) (19 page)

I lowered my voice when I spoke this time, hoping to sound threatening.

“
Do I have to get Gabe involved? Mikey?”

Her head jerked up and she shook it vigorously. “No. Please don’t.”

“Tell me how you know these things. How you know stuff about me.”

She distracted herself by using a white paper napkin to wipe up the spilled hot chocolate as she shifted in her seat. I tapped the table top with one finger, waiting, the small impacts jiggling wayward hash browns. I’d almost given up and was readying myself to prompt her again when she finally spoke up, saying the last word I’d have ever expected her to say.

“Poe.”

Poe?

I intended the exclamation to form in my voice box, travel a short distance up my throat and pop out of my mouth in surprise and shock, but hearing her speak the name of my last guardian angel whom I’d left stranded in Hell—a name Dee shouldn’t have heard, let alone said—so confounded me, the parts of me used to create speech froze up. My eyelids refused to blink, too; my lungs ceased drawing air. After half a minute of staring and not moving, the saliva threatening to spill out of my lips and become drool loosened the whole thing up. I gulped.

“
Poe? What do you mean Poe?”

“
She told me.”

“
What? How?” My heart hammered against my ribs. “You’ve seen her?”

She nodded, obviously embarrassed by the admission.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“
I just did.”

“
I mean when it happened.”

“
I couldn’t.” She extended her arm and used her hot chocolate soaked napkin to wipe at the ketchup spots near my plate, but succeeded only in smearing it. “What chance is there of going to Heaven if they found out I’d been talking with a denizen of Hell?”

“
Poe’s not a deni...one of those,” I said, angered by her choice of words. “What did she tell you?”

She hesitated again and my head spun with questions.
How could she have seen her? Why would she help? Why her and not me?

The answer to the last question was easy: I left her in Hell, abandoned her when I could have saved her. Why would she talk to me? Really, why would she help me?

Because she cares for Trevor.

“
She told me what I told you. The three boys knowing each other, knowing Trevor.”

“
And she said he was in danger?”

“
Not in so many words,” she admitted. “But I thought it better you knew.”

I wanted to be angry at her for scaring me, like her pointing out the danger my son was in made her responsible. She wasn’t...I was. If I didn’t have this damn job, Trevor would be just another teenager deciding for himself if Heaven and Hell, God and the devil were real or not.

Through my anger, I realized it was better to know and be cautious than have something happen to my son. Though my lips remained pressed tight together and my eyebrows lowered, I nodded at her, the best show of appreciation I could muster.

“
Okay, I’ll make sure he’s all right.” I glanced at my watch: eight-fifty. “It’s too late to catch him before school. I’ll go this afternoon.”

I picked at the remainder of the hash browns on my plate with my fork, but my appetite had left me, though which revelation caused my lack of hunger—my son in danger or the idea that Poe might not be quite as trapped in Hell as I thought—was up for debate. Or maybe it was both.

“Icarus.”

I looked up from pushing chunks of potatoes around my plate and found Dido staring at me. I raised an eyebrow.

“Please don’t tell anyone.”

“
Tell anyone?”

“
That I spoke to Poe.”

“
Right. What would happen if they found out?”

She hesitated and I saw in her expression she regretted telling me.

“Nothing good. And I’m worried about Poe if the other side found out.”

I nodded. “Your secret is safe with me. I have more important things to worry about.” My nod turned to a shake. “My life would be so much easier if the guys upstairs assigned Trevor his own guardian angel.”

“Why do you assume
you’re
not his guardian angel, Ric?”

The thought didn’t offer any comfort; I’d been doing a poor job keeping people safe.

“
Trevor, can we see you, please?’

His mother stood in the doorway, her voice penetrating the Machine Head song playing in his headphones—he’d lowered the volume in deference to the headache plaguing him, as it had on and off since the three days he couldn’t remember. He remained as he was, lying on the bed, toe tapping the air.

“Trevor?”

He opened his eyelids when her hand touched his shoulder. She smiled and he brushed hair out of his eyes, regarding her with a questioning expression.

“We’d like to talk to you,” she said raising her voice.

“
I’m busy right now.”

Her smile became the half-annoyed smirk she saved for times when he acted the part of rebellious teenager without hurting anyone. He might not have admitted to it out loud, but he liked that expression and did his best to make it last as long as possible, usually until she got angry.

“Really? What are you doing?”

“
What?” he said, pointing at the headphones.

She raised her voice. “I said ‘what are you doing’?”

Trevor sat up and pushed the phones off the back of his head to fall around his neck, the churning guitars of Machine Head’s ‘Locust’ buzzing in them.

“
Homework.”

“
That doesn’t sound like homework.”

“
You’re right, school’s not cool enough for this,” he said. “I’m preparing.”

“
I see. How about you put it off for a few minutes? Ashton and I want to talk to you.”

Trevor raised an eyebrow. “You want me to put off doing homework?”

“Just for a bit. It’s important.”

That didn’t sound good to him. Typically, things parents considered important meant far less to the teenage son, like taking out the garbage or planning a boring vacation or some other bullshit. But any excuse to get out of homework was fine with him.

“Be there in a minute.”

His mother smiled and ruffled his hair; he immediately smoothed it back into place. She walked to the door and paused to smile at him once more before retreating down the hall toward the living room. Something in her expression brewed up a cup of dread in Trevor, so he pulled the headphones back on and listened to the churning guitars and thundering drums, allowing their organized chaos to calm him until the song finished.

The house still smelled of frying onions, a result of the chicken fajitas his mother made for dinner. The meal should have been his first clue something was up. Not only was it his favorite, but the occurrence of her cooking from scratch rather than heating pre-made crap happened so infrequently, alarm bells should have sounded.

He stopped in the doorway when he got to the living room. His mother and Ashton sat perched on the edge of the couch, holding hands and wearing smiles that smacked as much of worry as they did happiness. Trevor’s unease grew.

“What’s going on?”

They glanced at each other in a way that gave him the impression they were both suppressing giggles. The flesh at the back of his neck prickled and a chill worked its way along his spine.

This isn’t good.

“
We have some news,” his mother said.

“
Some great news,” Ashton added.

“
Are you pregnant?” Trevor asked, his voice flat.

His mother tittered nervously. “No, don’t be silly.” Her eyes flickered to Ashton and back before she added: “Not yet.”

The prickle spread from Trevor’s neck and across his back, crawled along his arms. His teeth clamped together, the muscles in his jaw flexing and knotting. He’d known for a long time this day would come eventually. He’d hoped against it, wished for Ashton to fuck it up, but now here it was. His hands curled into fists at his sides.

Ashton smiled wider and took a breath.

“Your mother and I are getting married.”

Trevor’s lips pressed into a thin, bloodless line across his face and he swallowed hard enough they all heard the audible gulp in the quiet room. The prickling sensation spread to the rest of his body, making his skin hot and too tight on his muscles. He stared at his mother and her boyfriend, stared through them, as they awaited his response. After a minute, a fault line of worry found its way into his mother’s delighted smile. It quivered, wavered.

“Trevor?”

He refocused his gaze on her, aware of the way his face would be tinting red as he breathed hard through his nose, attempting to contain himself for her sake.

“No.”

His mother’s smile melted into discouragement as Ashton’s snapped into a frown.

“We’re not asking your permission,” he said. “We’re telling you.”

Trevor didn’t look at the man sitting beside his mother on the couch she’d bought with his father, but continued staring at her, at the pleading expression seeping into her eyes.

“Trevor, honey. We--”

“
You can’t do this.”

“
Listen,” Ashton began, an edge to his voice, but Rae raised her hand, stopping him.

“
I know it’s hard for you to accept, Trevor, but your father is...gone. He was gone a long time before--”

“
See? You can’t even say it. How can you marry him when you can’t even say it?”

“
I have to start thinking about me, Trevor.”

Trevor glared at her through the hair hanging in his eyes. “He’s not gone. You can’t do this.”

“He’s dead, kid. You have to let him go,” Ashton said, the edge in his voice sharper still.

“
Shut up. You’re not my father. I don’t have to do anything you say.”

Ashton’s face blanched. He jumped to his feet, pulling his hand free of Rae’s. She reached for him to grasp it again, but she missed and he moved a step toward Trevor.

“I may not be your father,” he growled between clenched teeth, “but you’ll learn to do what I say. And you have no say in what we do.”

“
Ash,” Rae said. “We--”

“
Don’t interrupt, Rae. Your boy needs to learn some manners.”

He stepped around the coffee table, bumping his shin on its edge but hiding the pain beneath his anger as he crossed the room to stand in front of Trevor. He only stood a couple of inches taller than the teen, but was broader and heavier. For a second, Trevor thought he’d take a swing at him, so he braced his feet, but the man stopped short, glaring at him.

“Your mother and I are getting married,” he said, the sour aroma of the night’s fajitas still pungent on his breath. “There’s nothing you can do, so you may as well be happy for us.”

Trevor glowered, the dislike he’d felt at him for usurping his father’s spot in their family blossoming into the hatred with which it had flirted for years. His body went tense and rigid, his fists trembled at his sides.

“Like fuck I will.”

Ashton’s face turned a shade of crimson and his shoulders raised up an inch, like a shrug, but then the palms of both his hands struck Trevor flat against the chest, sending him stumbling back. He didn’t hit him to knock the wind out of him or send him to the floor, but enough to exert his authority.

“Ash,” Rae shrieked and sprang to her feet.

Trevor backed into the wall and Ashton glared at him, his gaze daring him to be defiant.

“Stay out of this, Rae,” he said over his shoulder and took a step toward Trevor.

The teen slid toward the doorway. “You’ll never be my father.”

“I don’t want to be your father. Your father’s dead.”

“
No. No he’s not.”

“
It’s time to face facts, junior. That dad of yours ain’t coming back.” Ashton smiled a mock smile and spread his arms. “I’m all you've got.”

Trevor’s stomach flopped with nausea at the thought. The truth threatened behind his lips, desperate to be spoken. He wanted to tell them about his visits with his father, how it had been him who beat up Ashton on their front walk, how he’d saved him from the clutches of the angel of death. But he couldn’t, and they wouldn’t believe any of it, anyway. Instead, he raised his middle finger toward Ashton’s face.

“Fuck you,” he spat.

Ashton swung his hand at Trevor’s, but the teen dodged and slipped down the hall toward the front door. His mother’s footsteps crossed the fake wood living room floor as he paused to grab his jacket out of the hall closet, yanking it so hard the wire hanger sprang out with a clatter.

“Trevor,” his mother called after him, tears threatening in her voice.

“
Where do you think you’re going?” Ashton shouted. “Get your ass back here.”

Trevor threw the door open, then slammed it, stomping down the stairs, his leather jacket slung over his shoulder. Behind him, Ashton yelled after him to get back in the house and he knew his mother would be crying. He didn’t care what his mother’s boyfriend said, but her tears had the ability to drive a spike of guilt into his chest that could keep him there to talk things through, and he didn’t want to do that. He wanted her to be happy, but he didn’t want her to be happy with
him.

Once upon a time, before Icarus died and when he wasn’t being much of a father, Trevor might have been okay with the idea of his mother and Ashton tying the knot, or at least he’d have cared about it less. But since his father’s death and subsequent resurrection as a harvester, his attitude had changed. He found himself constantly struggling to keep the secret they shared. He wanted to tell his mother and to throw it in Ashton’s face every time he told him what to do.

But he couldn’t. He’d promised. He didn’t know what might happen to his father if people found out the truth, but a promise was a promise and he didn’t want to jeopardize things for Icarus.

Not sure where to go when he reached the end of the path, Trevor took a right onto the sidewalk and bumped into someone else he hadn’t seen in his distraction.

“Sorry,” he muttered and raised his head; a surprised eyebrow followed it. “Cory? What are you doing here?”

The other teen shrugged. “Coming to see what you were up to.”

“Hmm. Fighting with my mom and her douchetard boyfriend.”

“
Glad I didn’t miss that.”

“
Right.”

They started walking together and Trevor saw Cory glance back at his house. No yelling or sobs reverberated through the walls, no one opened the door, intent on following him and convincing him not to go.

“Last time I left, I was gone three days,” he said. “You’d think they’d be a little more concerned.”

“
They are,” Cory said.

“
My mom, maybe. Not that prick. He’s the one who convinced her to let me go, I’m sure.” Trevor breathed in winter air cold enough it made the inside of his nostrils hurt. “I hate the bastard.”

“
Really?”

Trevor considered for a second. “Yeah. Really.”

“Strong word, hate,” Cory said.

Trevor’s lip curled up in a sneer. “Sometimes I wish he’d die.”