Wings of Sorrow (A horror fantasy novel) (6 page)

“I’m not trying to upset you, Scarlet. It’s the truth—and you can’t leave. Do you really think the problem is me? This creature—allergic to crosses and bleeding on my floor—is the problem. Everything I am telling you is true, Scarlet. Manah is a fallen angel. Once he had wings upon his back and answered men’s prayers. Then he turned towards a darker path. You are a pawn in Evil’s grand plan, and he is the agent tasked with manipulating you.”

Scarlet thought about the scars on Sorrow’s back. Could they have once held wings? “Fine,” she said. “Say that I believe you. How do you know all of this?”

Mr Chester straightened up proudly. He spoke with a lofty authority. “Because I’m a Guardian—and my father before me, and his before him. I came to Redlake because the organisation of which I am a part narrowed down the location of The Spark to this town. All of the ancient texts—”

“You’re crazy,” she spat, and stood up. “I want to get out of here. I want my dad.”

“Calm down, Scarlet. We need to figure this all out. The prophecy was not supposed to come true for another two years, and The Spark is supposed to come of age first—eighteen years old. You are only sixteen.”

She covered her ears. “Then you’ve got the wrong girl. I don’t want to hear any more of this.”

“Scarlet?” It was Sorrow speaking. He had managed to lift his head. “I’m here to protect you, I know it. Please, do not fear.”

“I don’t believe any of this. You’re all playing a mean prank on me.”

“Yeah,” said Indy. “I don’t believe any of it either. Enough is enough. Who are you, man? What game are you playing?” He was looking at Sorrow.

Sorrow lifted his head again, and this time managed to keep it there. “I do not know. My memory is… muddled, but I feel… I
know
that I am here to protect Scarlet.”

Indy nodded. “Good. I want to keep her safe too, but if she’s this big Sparky-Doodle, then doesn’t that make us the bad guys? Mr Chester said you’re a demon.”

“He is,” Mr Chester reiterated. “An evil monster.”

“I do not believe I am evil,” Sorrow objected. “I wish only to see Scarlet safe from harm. Is that wrong?”

Mr Chester looked like he had an answer, but he didn’t give it. He lifted his mug with shaking hands and sipped his tea. “The creature trying to harm her is, for all intents and purposes, an angel, so trust me, Sorrow is evil. I have devoted my life to this moment. I just had no idea it would be such a complicated mess. I need to speak with my colleagues.”

“Who are your colleagues?” Indy asked. “You said you were part of an organisation.”

“Yes, I am a member of the White Order—a secret society. A force of good in a world threatened by darkness. One of the noblest and most ancient of groups. I cannot tell you anymore. Our secrets have been kept for thousands-”

“The White Order is a members only community of mystics, scientists, and historians,” said Indy in a smug tone. “Believed to have been formed in 1266 by the Catholic Church in Damascus; it is dedicated to the understanding and advancement of mankind through charitable and mutually beneficial means.”

Mr Chester’s jaw fell open.

Indy held up his smartphone. “You guys have a webpage.”

“Yes, well, it was decided that it was better to hide in plain sight. We have a front as a benevolent fellowship, much like the Masons, but our true purpose is to stop the Great Turmoil and other threats to human existence.”

Scarlet wandered towards the shop floor, feeling like she had been drugged. Her mind was so dizzy that she felt like she was about to take off and float.

Sorrow sprang up after her. “Where do you wish to go?”

“Home. I can’t deal with any of this.”

“The Saint will still be looking for you,” said Mr Chester. “He will find you. We need to keep you safe.”

She turned on her boss and growled. “Keep me safe? Didn’t you say I’m the walking apocalypse? Don’t you want to see me dead? Isn’t that your job?”

He went to speak, but his lips moved without sound.

Scarlet accepted it as his answer and marched out onto the shop floor. Her hands were still shaking, so it took several attempts to unlatch the door, but eventually she managed an exit.

Morning was long underway, and the little shops on the high street were all beginning to fill with customers. Outside the town’s blue-fronted chain-store bakery, a fat woman in a scooter munched on a sausage roll. A couple of drunks stumbled around outside the bookies, after having littered the town’s bandstand with empty, crumpled beer cans. The world was exactly as it should be—not great, and definitely not magical. People were going about their lives, worried only about getting to work on time or paying their rent, not about supernatural apocalypses.
What a load of nonsense
, Scarlet told herself angrily.
Magic, monsters, saints
. She didn’t believe in any of it. All rubbish.

“Scarlet, I must accompany you.”

She turned to find Sorrow catching up to her.

“Just leave me alone!”

“I cannot allow The Saint to hurt you. I will die first.”

“You don’t even know me.”

He looked hurt. “Perhaps, but I feel the person you are. I sense your misery and your loneliness. I sense them because I feel them too. We are both alone and afraid, but we have each other.”

“Ha! You’re an idiot.”

He went on undeterred. “I also sense your courage and your compassion. When I am around you, my skin tingles with energy. We are connected.”

“Yeah, you’re my demon bodyguard—my evil pet.”

“I am no pet.”

“But you
are
evil?”

His brow wrinkled, and he looked sadder than Scarlet had ever seen anybody look before. “I… do not know,” he admitted. “Is it evil to protect something innocent? Something beautiful?”

Scarlet blushed, but kept a hold of her anger; it was the only thing keeping her together. “I’m going home.”

“Then we shall go together.”

“No! Please, Sorrow, just leave me alone. I don’t want your protection. You’re not even wearing any shoes.”

Sorrow looked down at his dirty feet while she stormed off. When she looked back, she was pleased to see that he had disappeared.

This time, Scarlet took the bus home. Whenever she walked beside the lake, her life seemed to get more complicated, so she was determined to give it a miss from now on. It was confusing that she hadn’t decided to call the police after everything that had happened, but the truth was that she just wanted to forget it for now. She was through with Little Treasures Emporium and Mr Chester. She would find another job. And if she saw Sorrow or the Saint again, she would most definitely call the police. She needed to be careful in the meantime; the blond man had really been planning to hurt her. He might believe the same nonsense her boss had spun her.

Should she tell her dad?

Tell him what?

Hi, dad. I got attacked this morning by a giant who calls himself, ‘The Saint’, but I was saved by a demon, who I nicknamed ‘Sorrow’. My, now ex-boss says it’s all because I’m something called ‘The Spark’ and I’m going to bring magic back to the world. Apparently, that’s bad.

If this is a nightmare, then I’m ready to wake up.

She was about to walk up the front path, when she spotted a police car parked up on the curb. No officers sat inside the vehicle, so where were they?

She went up the front path and found her front door unlocked. She suddenly panicked, and hoped her dad was okay, while she quickly stepped inside; but he was standing in the living room, safe and sound. A pair of police officers stood with him, and the house looked like it had been turned upside down.

“Dad? What’s going on?”

“We’ve been burgled, honey.”

Scarlet looked around and saw the broken television and the strewn sofa cushions. “What did they take?”

Her father frowned. “That’s what we’re trying to figure out.”

One of the two male police officers turned to Scarlet and smiled. “To be honest, it looks more like someone broke in just to cause damage. One of the neighbours called your father and described a large man with blond hair. Does that ring any bells?”

Scarlet didn’t know the tears were coming until they were halfway down her cheeks.
Third time today
. Her lower lip quivered as she spoke. “I don’t understand what’s happening.”

Her dad rushed over and hugged her. “It’s okay, sweetheart. It’s probably just some druggies trying to get their kicks. It’s over and done with now.”

She pushed him back and shook her head. “No, it’s not. I was attacked this morning by the same man who probably did this. I don’t know what he wants.”

Her dad’s expression sagged in horror, and he teetered from side to side. The police officers closed in around Scarlet, questions firing. “You know the man who did this? Explain to us what’s happening, Scarlet, and take your time.”

So she told them the story, starting with the naked man by the lake and ending with the attack on her in almost the same spot, but there was where she stopped. She didn’t want to get into the whole insane fairytale that Mr Chester had told her. The police would probably lock her up for being loopy if she repeated that crazy yarn, so she told them enough to investigate: that two strange men had inserted themselves into her life, and that one had attacked her. Once she took the bandage off her arm and showed them the burn mark, they were all shocked. Her dad went teary-eyed—which surprised her. One of the police officers took photographs with his phone, while his partner took down a few more notes. Then they left the house together.

Her dad locked the door behind them and put on the security chain. “What have you got yourself into, Scarlet?”

“What? Nothing, dad, I swear.”

“Then why would somebody attack you?”

“I don’t know! You were the one who said not to walk alone by the lake. I should have listened to you.”

“You’re really telling the truth?”

“Yes, I swear. I don’t understand what’s going on. I’m scared.”

He pulled her close and stroked her hair like he had when she was a child. “It’s okay now. Nobody is going to hurt you. I’ll drive you to work tomorrow and pick you up.”

“Yeah, about that… I’m not going back to my job.”

He moved her away so that he could look at her. “What? Why?”

She considered telling him that Mr Chester was a few strawberries short of a punnet, but instead, she simply said: “I just don’t want to work there anymore. I’ll find somewhere else.”

“Scarlet, don’t you think you should have found somewhere else first, before quitting? What are you going to do in the meantime?”

“I’m sixteen, dad. Most girls my age are hanging around doing nothing.”

“And you want to be like them? You want to waste your life doing nothing?”

“I’m not wasting my life. It was just a stupid job.”

“That you walked out on. You won’t get a reference now.”

Scarlet clutched her forehead and groaned. “Look, I can’t deal with this right now, okay, so just lay off.”

“Fine, then just go to your room while I sort out this mess. If I find out that you know more about what happened…”

“I don’t,” she snapped, “so just leave me alone!” She stormed up the stairs and into her bedroom, slamming the door closed behind her. Like the living room, it had also been ransacked. She tidied up as much as she was able, and then sat down on her bed. It was then that she realised something was missing.

She spent the next ten minutes searching high and low for her mother’s necklace, but it had vanished. It’d been hanging on a small display-stand on her dressing table, as it always did, but the stand was on its side. All of her other jewellery was present—rings, ear studs, and bracelets—everything except for her mother’s necklace—the only thing she had left of a woman she barely remembered. Had The Saint stolen it? Or had her dad removed it? She wasn’t in the mood to ask him about it right now, but she was almost certain he wouldn’t have touched it—it meant too much to her. So, if it was The Saint who had taken it, why?

Too exhausted for thinking, she lay down on her bed. It was only a little after noon, but she closed her eyes. Life had become a droning headache, and she just wanted to shut it off and stop existing for a while. So that’s what she did.

***

When she awoke, she was sweaty and laying in darkness. She checked the clock beside her bed and saw that it was 3AM. She’d slept for almost twelve hours.

She bolted upright and clutched her forehead as a stab of lightning struck her skull behind the eyes. The ache had been there before she’d gone to sleep, but now it was worse. The throbbing had progressed from a woodpecker’s tap to a workman’s drill. Maybe she was dying? Lying in a coma somewhere and just imagining everything she had been told about monsters and mayhem.

She slid out from beneath her covers and stood up. Her mind turned immediately to food, and her belly cried out in hunger. The last time she’d eaten was breakfast—yesterday.

Quietly, not wanting to wake her dad, she crept out of her room and went across the landing to the stairs. The staircase was carpeted, but still creaked with every step she took. Each sound made her wince and pause, listening out for movement from her dad’s room. There was something instinctively naughty about creeping around at night while others slept.

Finally reaching the living room below, she let out a sigh. Her dad hadn’t woken—or at least he’d made no sound to suggest he had. She was still upset with him, although part of her understood why
he
was upset with
her
. The problem was that he didn’t understand everything that had happened. He was looking at things as a parent, daddy-blinkers firmly attached to his head.

It felt like something was attached to her head too—something heavy.

She went into the kitchen and opened the fridge, enjoying the cool blanket of air that leapt out at her. The first thing that called out to her was a sealed box of spicy chicken wings—
eat hot or cold
. She snatched the box and pierced the plastic film with her jagged, half-painted thumbnail. The first bite was Heaven, the second Nirvana. She chewed and swallowed endlessly until all that was left was a box of sticky chicken bones.

Realising that she had hot sauce and bird skin all over her lips and fingers, she threw the box in the bin and hurried over to the sink. She twisted on the cold tap and began swilling her filthy fingertips and face beneath the stream.

What the hell is wrong with me? I’m acting like a pig.

She poured a glass of water and forced herself to sip it slowly, instead of downing it in one chug like she wanted. Her body felt empty, like there was a gaping black hole in her tummy that needed to be filled. Her head began to throb less, but the ache remained with her.

She felt hot, her skin clammy.

Fresh air. She needed fresh air, so she hurried over to the back door and turned the latch. To her dismay, she discovered that the night outside was just as stifling as it was indoors. She growled, surprising herself by how feral she sounded. Something was wrong, like her mind had drifted a few inches outside of her head and was now misaligned with her body. Her thoughts were muddled and unfocused. And she was hot.

So hot.

She stepped out onto the lawn in her bare feet, enjoying the soft yield of the cool grass, and then sat down on the swinging bench that her dad had bought last May but still had not used to this hot, August night. It was a cheap, self-assembly item from the supermarket, but it was surprisingly comfortable now that she eased back into it. Sailing back and forth caused a light breeze on her hot cheeks that felt sublime. Slowly, her mind shifted back into its correct position.

“Scarlet?”

Scarlet flinched, which sent the bench swinging backwards faster. Once she swung forwards again, she saw the shadow of a man in the garden with her.

“Sorrow? What the hell are you doing out here?”

“I am guarding you.”

“You’re stalking me,” she managed to snap, while keeping her voice to a whisper. “I should call the police. Did you take my mother’s necklace?”

“I took no necklace.”

She dug her heels into the mud to stop the bench from swinging, and then sat upright. “Then it was your pal, The Saint. He broke into our house and partied like a freakin’ rockstar.”

Sorrow came over to her, so that he was standing right in front of the bench. “What is a ‘freakin’ rockstar’?”

“Someone who likes to smash other people’s furniture,” she explained. “Don’t worry about it.”

The expression on Sorrow’s face showed little understanding. Once again, she got the feeling that he meant her no harm and was confused about things as much as she was.

“Are you hurt, Scarlet?”

“No, I’m fine. I’m just angry that your blond-pal took my mother’s necklace. It’s all I had from her.”

Sorrow frowned. “You keep calling The Saint my
pal
, yet I do not know him—other than him being a threat to you.”

“Whatever. He’s resorted to petty thievery now, so maybe he’s done trying to kill me.”

“This necklace, I will get it back for you.”

She laughed. “Great, then I won’t have to go back inside and call the police on you; although, God knows I should. Is there anything you wouldn’t do for me, Sorrow?”

“No. I am here because of you.”

“You don’t know that.”

He looked at her earnestly, his face an unflinching, marble slab. “Yes, I do. I am here to ensure that you grow into the great woman you are supposed to be.”

“Who are you, Sorrow? Do you not remember anything at all?”

He shook his head and seemed troubled. “I see flashes. Troubling images come to me, but I cannot make them out properly. They are upsetting.”

“If you were sent here to protect me, why did you lose your memory?”

“I do not know. Perhaps it is part of a plan.”

“You don’t even know that there is a plan.”

“Your angry pal, Mr Chester, seemed to believe that there was. Perhaps he can continue to explain things for us.”

“You believe all that stuff he said?”

“It sounded… plausible.”

“Then that would make us both evil,” she said.

Sorrow reached out to her. She went to move aside, but his hand settled on her shoulder before she had a chance. “That is the part with which I disagree. Nothing as beautiful as you could ever be evil.”

Scarlet hated herself for blushing, but she did so in full force. Her mind conjured embarrassing images of her ruddy cheeks lighting up the dark.

Unexpectedly, she yawned. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” she said. “I just woke up, and I feel sleepy again.”

Sorrow sat down beside her on the swinging bench, close enough that they were touching. He seemed confused by the movement at first, but eventually managed to perch himself securely. “Things will find their proper balance.”

“You need to learn to talk like a normal person, d’you know that? And get some shoes!”

“Shoes matter to you?”

“No,” she said, stifling a yawn. “Not really.”

“Then what does matter to you? I have no possessions, but I will seek to gain whatever you think I need.”