Secrets of the Hanged Man (Icarus Fell #3) (An Icarus Fell Novel) (25 page)

No anger consumed me and no ire coursed through my body making me rageful and murderous. Exactly the opposite. I was a concerned bystander, watching but unable to help. No matter how hard I fought to regain control and stop my fingers digging into the flesh of his neck, I couldn’t prevent it from happening.

Ashton grabbed for my hands, his eyes bulging in their sockets, the pink spot on his cheek overtaken by a darker red blotchiness spreading across his face. His lips moved, spilling spittle out the side of his mouth and over my hand. Somewhere behind me, I heard a noise, but was unable to turn and see what it was.

Scarecrow’s return, I presumed.

Ashton’s face darkened toward purple, his lips went an odd shade of blue for which I had no name. Without wanting to, I leaned forward and increased the pressure on his throat. His Adam’s apple moved against my palm in his struggled to breathe, to swallow, to beg me to stop. I regained control of my lips.

“
Ashton. I--”

Hands gripped my shoulders, fingers digging into flesh, irritating the wound given to me by a denizen of Hell. I cried out with pain and the hands pulled me backward off Ashton. My fingers relinquished their grip on his throat as I tumbled away, I’m sure giving us both a sense of relief, but I didn’t know who pulled me off. A high-pitched and indistinct noise assaulted my ears, so I rolled onto my back, a crust of snow crunching under my aching shoulder.

I looked up at my ex-wife, Rae, standing over me, screaming.

Snow swirled around Dido, not a flake of it touching her as she walked toward the three men dressed in black. She understood that Icarus thought one of them might be his former guardian angel, Poe, but she knew the truth: these were low level carrions here to collect her. She knew Poe
couldn’t
be involved.

With a few yards between them, Dido halted and the three men did the same. They stood looking at each other like participants in an old-time gunfight, though none of them needed guns. Instead of waiting to see who’d draw first, they awaited the first word, not the first bullet. Dido didn’t have time to play around.

“Yes?” she said, already knowing the answer.

“
We’re here to take you back,” the bald one said. The flakes of snow landing on his head melted as they touched his flesh and ran down his forehead, along the side of his nose, but he didn’t wipe it away.

“
I’m not going.”

“
You don’t have a choice. The boss sent us.”

“
You tell Azrael I--”

“
Not Azrael,” one of the other men said—a short fellow with a baby face. “The big boss.”

Dido seethed, annoyance and anger boiling inside her. She didn’t want to spend too much time here with these men; Icarus needed her help.

“He can’t want me back too bad if he only sent you three.”

Her comment caused the bald man’s face and head to blush to a light shade of red, but he made no move toward her. Good for him, bad for her.

“Come with us and don’t make any trouble,” the third man said—the red-headed fellow she and Icarus bumped into before.

Dido pursed her lips and shook her head. “Sorry. No can do.”

They looked at her for a few seconds, none of them saying anything. Out of the corner of her eye, Dido perceived a glow gathering around the bald one’s hand. She gestured toward it with her fingers without taking her gaze from their eyes.

“
You don’t want to do that,” she said, steel in her tone.

“
You’re right, I don’t,” the bald man replied. “But I have clearance and the boss always gets what the boss wants.”

Dido realized this could get ugly fast. It might be worth a shot to salvage a bargain before carnage ensued.

“I’ll make you a deal.” She crossed her arms and shifted her weight onto her right foot, canted her shoulder, the pose making her more closely resemble the eight-year-old girl she appeared to be, though these men weren’t so easily fooled. “Give me half an hour to finish up a project, then I’m yours. I’ll go without a fight.”

The three men looked at each other, then the baby-faced one laughed; the others followed his lead.

“I think the project you want to finish is exactly the reason he sent us.”

“
No deals,” the bald man said, his feigned laughter already replaced by a threatening tone. The glow hovering around his hand increased in intensity. “Time to go.”

Dido let her arms fall to her sides, bunched her fingers into fists, set her feet.

“No.”

“
Don’t make this any harder than it needs to be,” the bald one said and took a half-step toward her.

The hands of the other carrions began to glow, too, dim but brightening, their illumination carrying a threat of pain. None of them alone possessed enough power to hurt her, but the three of them together could at least trap her. If the other two were as experienced and powerful as the bald one, they might be able to finish her, but she didn’t think they’d been sent to end her.

Icarus needs me.

“
I’m. Not. Going.”

She tilted her head forward and looked at them from beneath lowered brows. Her entire body tensed into a steel rod of determination and defiance and snow swirled around her, throwing a curtain of soft white between her and the three men. They moved closer and Dido let out a grunt of effort.

A wave of black flowed out of her, flakes of snow hissing as they touched it and turned to steam. Baby face flicked his hand, shooting an orange ball from the tips of his fingers, but the rolling dark devoured it, then touched his outstretched fingers, prompting a scream from his lips.

Two more balls of light disappeared into the blackness, their impact jolting Dee but leaving her unharmed. The three men bolted, the inky sheet following them like a pool of syrup spilled on a counter, leaving behind smoking earth bare of snow and pavement colored black with soot.

Tension released its grip on Dido and she sucked an abrupt breath through her teeth, tasted burnt toast and sulfur. A flake of snow landed on her forearm and she watched it perch for a second before a breath of wind blew it off to be lost with a million others.

***

Cory stomped along the hall, for dramatic purpose and to shake the snow off his boots. He entered the kitchen and Trevor looked up from where he was lashed to a dining room chair, right where Cory left him.

“
What...what’s happening?”

He easily read the desperation and concern in Trevor’s expression. Fear, too, as Cory expected. While part of him relished it, a voice in his head told him to untie his friend and apologize, to rescue him from all this. For the life of him, Cory didn’t know which attitude truly belonged to him.

“I heard my dad, and a crash. Is he all right?”

A flicker of memory. “Why didn’t you tell me he’s your dad, not some family friend?”

Cory crossed the floor and gripped Trevor’s shoulder. With a touch of his finger, the ropes binding the teen’s wrists fell away and he yanked him to his feet.

“
No one would believe me,” Trevor said as Cory took him by the arm and pulled him toward the hall. “He’s supposed to be dead.”

“
He will be soon enough.”

Trevor planted his feet, but Cory didn’t let it stop him, though he didn’t recall why he shouldn’t. He dragged Trevor along, shoes squeaking on the laminate flooring, determined he needed to show his friend something, but unsure what. Like a forgetful man retracing his steps to find where he’d left his keys, he’d remember when he got there.

Cory’s chest itched, his legs and face, too. He raised his free hand to scratch his cheek and his fingers touched a square, hard spot, surprising him for a second, then he recalled the scales and the tail confined beneath his jeans. He didn’t remember where they came from or why they were there, only that they were. Had they always been?

Trevor grunted a noise of protest, but Cory ignored it and dragged him on. They reached the door to the living room and odors struck the teen: blood and sweat and air expelled from lungs; his nose collected the scent of carpet fibers and the glue holding it in place, ashes in the fireplace, his friend’s fear-induced sweat. Were these smells always there?

He went through the doorway and Trevor’s unmoving feet struck the edge of the carpet. He stumbled and would have fallen if not for Cory’s grip on his arm, but he lifted his friend back to his feet with one hand, unaccustomed muscle bulging and working beneath his skin as he set him upright with little effort. Had he always been this strong?

A cold wind blew through the broken window, ushering a thin veil of snow into the house. It touched Cory’s cheeks, his arms, and he felt each flake’s minute shape and weight on him, the tender kiss of ice. Had he always been so sensitive?

“What are you doing?”

Trevor’s words interrupted his thoughts, brought him back to the world. Cory had stopped in the doorway, enthralled by the aromas, the sounds, the cool of the air and snow, consuming them like a newborn experiencing life for the first time. He turned to Trevor, saw the way his eyes darted between him and the window, the twitch in his lip, heard his shallow, worried breaths and a click in his throat as he swallowed hard.

“Why are you here, Trev?”

The teen’s eyes went wide and his mouth dropped open, but before he responded, Cory remembered. He remembered the three boys picking on his friend; he remembered Trevor saying he hated his stepfather; he remembered the dark-haired boy, and he remembered the harvester.

Cory jerked Trevor toward the window so they could peek out past the empty sill into the yard beyond where ‘Uncle Ric’ sat atop Trevor’s stepfather, his fingers wrapped around his throat.

“
No,” Trevor whispered and looked at Cory. “Why is he doing that?”

“
It’s what you wanted.” The sound of Cory’s voice surprised himself: deep, rumbling.

“
You’re doing this.” Trevor whipped his head around to face the yard. “Dad! Stop!”

His father leaned forward, bearing down on Ashton. Cory sensed the man’s life dimming and, after it left him, he’d do the same to the harvester and fulfill his destiny. The dark-haired boy would be pleased and reward him.

“Make him stop,” Trevor said, grabbing the sleeve of Cory’s shirt, pulling to free his grip from his arm. “Please, Cory. Please make him stop.”

Cory shook his head without taking his gaze from the scene playing out before him. The expression on the harvester’s face pleased him: surprise, concern, self-revulsion. He’d kill him because the boy told him to, but he’d enjoy the man’s sense of desperation and loss-of-control for himself.

A high-pitched voice assaulted Cory’s ears and he winced, looked away from the men on the lawn. A woman hurried along the path toward them, yelling and frantic. Trevor spoke, but Cory didn’t hear his words. He might have called her ‘mom’, but it didn’t matter, nor did it matter when she pulled the harvester off Trevor’s stepfather, or that Cory released his grip on the teen’s arm and allowed him to crawl out through the empty window. None of these weak, annoying humans meant anything.

It was the young girl staring at him from the middle of the street who caused him concern.

Ashton dragged himself across the ground with his elbows, legs trailing after him and gulping breaths like a goldfish dumped from its bowl. The red outline of my fingers stood out on his throat as the purple tint faded from his face and his lips went from blue to pink. I might have felt both relieved at not killing him and happy I’d left a mark except I was distracted by my ex-wife slapping me in the side of the head and screaming at me. Her well-wishes came through loud and clear despite the ringing in my ear caused by her open-handed attack. I threw my arms up and attempted to shrink into my shoulders.

“Asshole,” she yelled, punctuating the word with another slap to my ear. “Leave. Him. Alone.”

Through the buzz her assault caused in my brain, I wondered if she’d ever have defended me the same way. A long time ago, perhaps. With my wits back under my control, more important things than my failed marriage demanded my attention.

Through the ringing and her yelling, there was another word spoken by another voice I recognized, and hearing it swelled my heart with relief.

“
Mom,” Trevor yelled.

I peeked out from under the arm held defensively over my face and saw him climb out the window and rush across the lawn without wasting time to check on Ashton. Beyond him, Scarecrow stood in the living room, staring past us. I wanted nothing more than to rush him and catch him off guard, but between the beating administered by my ex and the fresh flare-up of pain in my old wounds, I didn’t expect to reach him and maintain the element of surprise.

“Rae! Stop it.” Didn’t hurt to give it a shot.

To my astonishment, she did, though my request likely had less to do with it than our son skidding across the snowy lawn on his knees to insert himself between us. Rae threw her arms around him and I scrambled out of her reach.

“Go back inside and call the police,” she said to Trevor, her words squeezing between her teeth while her glare tried its best to burn holes in me.

“
No, Mom. It’s--”

“
Do it now, Trevor.”

I attempted to crawl farther away, but the pain in my shoulder and chest intensified, my arm threatening to give out under me.

“Mom!” Trevor yelled. He grabbed her face and jerked it toward him. “It’s Dad.”

That particular revelation probably wasn’t the most helpful just then. Then he added:

“He’s our only hope.”

No pressure.

Rae stared at me and I had no doubt she’d have scoffed if anyone else spoke those words. Instead, her gaze showed confusion...until it trailed past me and her expression turned fearful.

I should have guessed.

I wrestled myself to half-standing, the pain in my gut tearing through me like I’d been on the losing end of a joust. Filling my chest with a breath more uncomfortable than fortifying, I eased myself upright and turned to what I already knew caught her attention.

Ashton scrambled away across the snowy lawn, his hands and heels slipping and his face contorted into a mask of fear and pain as the teen in the black shirt, black jeans and black boots stalked toward him. For a second, I felt bad for my ex-wife’s soon-to-be husband. Correction: my ex-wife’s soon-to-be-dead fiancé, if I didn’t rectify the situation.

I panted and gasped, considering my options.

My first thought: ‘let the bastard die.’ He’d usurped my place in the family, so I didn’t hold any love for the guy. But with Trevor releasing the proverbial cat from the bag, if I did, Rae had only Icarus Fell to blame for her fiancé’s death. And if Cory killed Ashton, would Trevor and Rae be next?

“Not on my watch,” I said, cringing. Sometimes I wished they could prescribe a pill to keep clichés from passing my lips whenever danger threatened.

I straightened, my legs wobbling under me. The wound in my calf protested the inhumane use, and the aches in my shoulder, chest, and gut felt as though someone arc-welded pieces of scrap metal to me. Not a bad idea; armor might be handy against this guy.

“Hey,” I called. Ashton’s eyes flickered toward me but Cory ignored my shout.

I took a step, the pain in my calf exploding, making me stumble. If I had any shot at stopping the kid, I’d have to make him come to me. That’s when I remembered what Trevor and Gonzo told me.

“Hey, Scarecrow!”

He halted mid-stride; Ashton continued dragging his ass across the slippery snow, but I lost track of him when the kid faced me.

It was a stretch to still call him that.

Vertical black pupils split his once-brown-but-now-yellow eyes into halves. Rows of square, shimmering scales covered his cheeks and forehead. The arms of his shirt and the legs of his pants stretched and ripped to reveal more black flesh beneath. The long-haired, skinny teen friend of my son was transforming into the monster Dee and I had encountered at the side of the road when Manny died.

“Shit.”

He grew as he approached; taller, wider, thicker. I might have thought it a trick of perspective and the shots I’d taken to the head if not for the chunk of hair that tumbled out of his scalp. It cascaded down his shoulder and over his chest, fluttered to the ground where it landed on the snow churned into the grass by Ashton’s desperate attempt to escape. Black flesh gleamed from his exposed scalp.

I couldn’t do anything but stare at him until he came within range of my fist. I swung a looping punch at his face, the pain in my chest screaming. My aching leg threatened not to support me in this particular venture, but somehow my blow contacted the side of his head.

I’d have enjoyed hitting the side of a building more and, judging by his reaction, it had about as much effect.

He pivoted slightly, absorbing the blow, and I reacted by jumping around on my good leg and shaking the pain out of my hand. Another shock of hair tumbled off his head.

“
What the hell are you?”

In response, he snatched the front of my shirt in his lengthening fingers and pulled me closer. The yellow of his eyes moved, flowing with the look of liquid trapped behind glass. The black squares on his face sucked in the light, stealing it from the world forever.

“I am the one sent to kill you, Icarus Fell.”

I liked it better when he didn’t answer.

His voice echoed with the belch of an ancient furnace, his breath singed my cheeks. I closed my eyes and turned away, wishing for one of those travel-size bottles of cool mint Scope to offer him. Even when you spend your time running around killing people, there’s no excuse for poor dental hygiene like that.

“
Put him down, Cory.”

The words came from my right and hearing Trevor’s voice, realizing he was involving himself, didn’t ease my sense of concern. How many times did I have to put my son’s life in danger? I shifted my gaze toward him and saw his firm expression, his hair falling across his face. His expression reminded me of his mother.

Cory turned his head, exposing hard, black scales covering the entire side of his neck that started somewhere above his hairline and disappeared beneath his black shirt.

“
Stay out of this, Trevor,” Cory growled—an actual growl.

“
He’s my father,” he said, a note of desperation creeping into his resolve. “He didn’t do anything.”

I struggled and strained against the teen’s grip, but he’d grown enough to pull my feet off the ground, and he’d become too strong for me—stronger than any carrion I’d encountered.

“He’s hurt you more than anyone else,” Cory said. “He hurt you with neglect, he hurt you by dying, he hurts you now by not being a part of your life.”

His words were pins shoved into my voodoo doll heart, but Trevor shook his head, refuting the boy’s claims. I appreciated it, but what he said held a great deal of truth. Rae moved up beside Trevor, put her hand on his shoulder. He shrugged it off.

“No. You can’t do this.”

It turned to me, its pupils gone green and shining with hatred. When he parted his lips to speak, pointed teeth glimmered and I thought a forked tongue flickered behind them.

“You,” he said, bathing my face with foul breath again, “were there when my father died. It was your fault.”

He glared at me and the wounds I’d received in Hell all burst with heat at once, an orchestra of pain tuning up before the big concert. I grunted and reached for my shoulder, my chest or gut, an instinctive reaction to protect myself, but the Cory-creature shook me hard enough to rattle my teeth. My hands drooped to my sides. I dangled in his grip, limp as a pathetic but better dressed Raggedy Andy doll.

“I didn’t,” I wheezed. “Didn’t do anything.”

“
You deny it?”

My head moved a few microns back and forth. I hoped it was enough for him to realize I was saying no.

“Then why do you say it’s not your fault?”

“
He was alive when I left him.”

Over his shoulder, I saw Trevor closing the distance between himself and his friend. I wanted to call out, tell him to run away and leave me to figure this out, but my mouth wouldn’t work. Plus, I had no idea what to do.

Cory must have sensed Trevor’s approach because he turned toward him, the scales on his cheek and neck clicking against one another. I caught sight of the tip of a tail flicking behind him. Trevor did, too, because he stopped in his tracks, staring in disbelief. A second later, a small, ghostly figure stood at his side. I hurt too much to be relieved.

Dee.

“Put him down.”

Part of me was happy she’d shown up and part wondered how an eight-year-old could have any effect on a beast like this.

A smile crept across Cory’s misshapen face, or it might have been a leer, or gas. With his growing teeth stretching his lips, his cheeks covered by scales, and his nose beginning to push out like a pig’s snout, it became difficult to read his expressions. No matter which, I didn’t appreciate the sentiment it conveyed. I appreciated him even less when he lifted me higher, holding me at arm’s length above his head like a baby he was about to toss up in the air for shits and giggles.

The comparison wasn’t far from the mark.

He bent his arms and flung me through the air. For a second, the wind stirred my hair, blew against my cheek, then I hit the ground and skidded through the snow and dirt and broken glass. My back scraped across the walk and I came to a violent stop against the side of the house.

I groaned and rolled over, exquisitely aware of the new injuries competing with the old ones for my attention. Rae grabbed our son and rushed across the lawn toward Ashton where he was lying pressed against the fence. Trevor looked my way and I tipped him a shallow nod—the best I could manage—to let him know I still lived, then turned to see what was going on with big, black and baleful and my ghostly little friend.

They stood opposite each other, as different as imaginable. Cory no longer looked human, and towered over Dee. His clothes hung in shreds; the tail protruding through the seat of his pants lashed against the ground like a slave driver’s whip. Dido stared up at him, her fists clutched at her side, a determined look on her face, but I doubted a mean expression would be enough to stop him.

He’s going to kill her.

The irony of the thought eluded me. Trevor and the others might be safe for now, but I couldn’t let this be the end of Dee. She deserved better, and I’d promised to take care of her.

I struggled to my knees, my entire body one enormous, aching wound. Every flexing muscle and every bending joint sent a fresh jolt through me, slowing my progress until I felt as though I swam my way through dense oatmeal to reach them. It took all my energy to raise my head, and with every step nearer I came to Scarecrow, the more the wounds inflicted in Hell caused me grief.

Dee and Cory glared at each other as I fumbled and stumbled toward them.

“
Stay out of this, girl,” the beast-who-was-Cory rumbled. “Let me have the harvester and you and the others can live.”

She continued scowling at him as though she didn’t understand. Behind me, Trevor called out, telling me to find cover or some such thing. No way. I’d been around enough...things...related to Hell to know not to take them at their words. Just because he said he wouldn’t hurt Trevor, Rae, and Dee didn’t make it true. In fact, it probably meant the opposite.

I was a couple of arm’s lengths away when he caught her by the throat and lifted her off the ground. If I’d been paying attention, I’d have noticed the dark aura gathering around her, but getting my hands on the beast was my driving concern. I might not be able to suck its vaporous soul into my lungs the way I did with Father Dominic, because I didn’t know if the creature even had a soul, but I presumed Cory, locked away deep inside the black-scaled thing, must have. All living things do.

Right?

With the last of my energy, I lunged for the beast, hooking my fingers around its throat the same way it gripped Dee. Reaching up threatened to tear my injured shoulder out of its socket, but I held on, concentrating, my teeth gritted so tight my jaw hurt.

The thing looked toward me with the mien of one annoyed by a fly. But a fly doesn’t have the ability to steal its soul.