Woe for a Faerie Page 3

“It didn’t tell you of my royal blood, though.” I deliberately antagonized him. Perhaps the ease of irritating him inspired me.

  He glared, but finished his tucking. Finally, he asked, “Did the spell help at least?”

  I probed the edges of her emotions. She was conflicted, her emotions churning like an ocean but the waves inside were not as large as they had been. “It seems to have calmed the tumult within.”

  Jason crouched and pressed two fingers to Woe’s neck. “Will you tell her about the prophecy?”

  I crossed to the door as the alchemist, Victory, strolled in, carrying a tray with beakers filled with fizzing liquids. Her dark skin contrasted the bright pink hair sticking out in all directions. She wore a metal studded choker around her neck with a matching wrist cuff.

  She flashed a smile and then winked at me. “Good to see you, Arún. We’re going to take good care of your girl.” She stopped at the bedside and drew a dropperful of a green liquid from one of the beakers. She tucked it in the corner of Woe’s mouth and forced it into her, drop by drop.

  She waved to a brown paper bag on the tray. “Lev sent something for Wings, too.”

  Vic had already given Woe a nickname, and, for some reason, that alleviated my discomfort with leaving Woe there.

  Jason approached, his arms crossed behind his back. “I’ll let you know if anything changes.”

  I backed toward the door. Faced with leaving, I didn’t want to go. I knew better than to believe that Jason would let me know when she woke. He didn’t like the smell of me.

  “Thanks, Vic,” I said, but she didn’t look up from nursing Woe. “She’s important to me.”

  “Get outta here.” Vic gave me a thumbs up. “Jason, can you help me roll her over? I need to get some of this stuff on her back wounds.”

  Jason jogged to Vic’s side. “I knew her long before Arún did,” he muttered to Vic.

  “Perhaps that is true,” I added, “but she is my prophesied queen.”

  Jason glanced over his shoulder, surprised he had said it out loud or surprised that I had heard him. I couldn’t tell which.

  5

  An Old Friend, A New Name

  Woe

  I woke with a start. In an unfamiliar place. Unbalanced. Spinning.

  No decorations graced the walls, except a lone crucifix on the wall next to what must be a bathroom door. At least I wasn’t dead.

  I pursed my lips and sighed. So far, my life as a mortal consisted of waking up in places I didn’t recognize. Confused and in pain. Being mortal wasn’t fun.

  “Ailin,” a broad-shouldered, but blurry figure whispered. He knew me from… before, but I didn’t recognize him yet. Too much space existed between my thoughts, and things weren’t connecting easily.

  My eyes watered, and my mouth twisted at the bile that threatened to erupt. “Don’t call me that. I am not Ailin. I am not an angel anymore.”

  He froze at that. “What should I call you then?”

  In the silence of the man’s shock, a word drifted through my mind in the rumble of the voice from the park. My eyes burned. I wouldn’t forget Hannah. I couldn’t.

  “All I am is Woe,” I muttered. The name fit, and I wondered how the creature in the park had known my name. Even before I did.

  The man beside me shifted in a green upholstered chair next to my bed, but a shadow still hid his face.

  I turned to him. “Who are you?”

  “Woe,” he said again, like he didn’t hear me. He spoke as though he knew the old me, but I didn’t recognize him or the room.

  Not yet anyway. My brain probably wasn’t working like it was supposed to yet.

  Tucked in a bed situated against a beige wall, I had been propped on several white-cased pillows. A simple kitchenette was situated in one corner, a seating area in the far corner. And a dining room table marked the center of the open-floor plan.

  He jumped up and crossed the floor. Short-pile carpet covered the hardwood floor and muffled his footsteps. He swiped a water glass from the side table. But when he pressed it to my lips, a string of beads fell from his palm. Small brass beads accented a string of highly polished wooden beads. His hand hid the attached crucifix and I recoiled with a jerk.

  He’d been repeating the rosary. I glanced up into suddenly-familiar blue eyes. I’d been delivering divine messages to him for years. Not long ago, he’d helped another fallen friend of mine. We had been co-workers in the paranormal.

  Jason.

  But this time…

  The expression on his face sent a million new sensations sparking through my middle. The sheets against my legs. The scents in the air. Frankincense and ancient things. The sound of the rosary in his pocket. His breathing. My breathing. It was hard to sort everything.

  We’d been compatriots before, trying to save another celestial being. By the end, we became friends.

  Now…

  His maleness appealed to me. Could my femaleness entice him? Gendered existence created new possibilities and feelings. I shifted in his bed.

  But… I think… It was two-parts awe and one-part… desire. I studied his lips and wondered, for the first time, what they might feel like pressed against my own.

  Could I lose myself in him? Would that help the pain my heart felt? Or would it make everything worse? Mortals did that sort of thing all the time.

  My cover fell away from my middle.

  His eyes narrowed and swept over me, and I leaned toward him.

  I didn’t know much about the mortal world, but they seemed to do that sort of thing all the time. Didn’t they? Jason was mortal. Maybe he could teach me.

  The cold of the night still chilled my insides, and my hands twitched, inching toward him. He observed me the way I used to study him from the space between his world and ours.

  The intensity of him burned, and I looked away. His gaze followed mine to the cross on the wall, and he pressed his lips together. He lifted the cover back in place.

  “It seems your sight has returned,” he said. “That’s an improvement.”

  He was right. I could see him, even if it took some time to recognize him. Relief warred with my discomfort while I studied my friend. His full-length beard was as black as it had ever been, but several inches longer. Gray strands speckled his close-cut hair. His age showed in the thicker middle hugged by the sash-belted cassock and the wrinkles that bracketed his mouth. Twenty-four shiny buttons, all in a row, stretched from beneath his beard to below his knees. I’d counted them many times before.

  Memories of his rough fingers tips on my cheeks… my lips… moved through my mind. My throat and mouth were still dry enough to steal my voice, and the silence had turned awkward. I tried to swallow. Somebody needed to speak. The tension had to break.

  Jason lifted my hand and pressed a water glass against my palm. I tried to close my hand around the cup, but my fingers were too weak. Instead, my hand slipped through the condensation and fell to the mattress.

  He asked, “May I help?”

  I bit my lip and finally nodded, not wanting to accept his assistance.

  He unwound the string of beads from his wrist and dropped the strand into his pocket. He pressed the rim of the cup to my lips. It was too intimate―he and I, alone.

  I, at the mercy of his care.

  He, as strong and sure as he had been the last time I’d been there in his bedroom.

  My consciousness was still fuzzy. Nothing sparked. “How long was I out?”

  The words burned my dry throat, and I coughed.

  Jason’s scrutiny was intense, but his expression didn’t give anything away as he watched me drink from the cup he offered. The liquid washed the grit from my vocal cords. Frankincense and myrrh scented him, and the smell enveloped me.

  After he returned the drink to the side table, he said, “The next few days are going to be bad. And when you finally wake up, you’re going to be ravenously hungry.”

  I studied my hands and asked, “How do you know?” An ache
was already creeping through my brain, and it was hard to put words in order. When I glanced up, the room started a slow spin. My brain wasn’t used to sorting all the sensations.

  He raised an eyebrow. “This isn’t the first time for us.”

  “What do you mean? Us? Who’s us?” I had never been here like this. I shifted in the bed. Jason spoke in riddles, and heavy eyelids interrupted my focus. My shoulders drooped.

  He tucked his hands in his pockets and studied his toes. When he finally shrugged, the rosary jingled in his fingers, but he didn’t answer my question.

  Pain rolled over me in waves until I begged the unconsciousness to take me.

  Days later, I dragged the towel across the moisture-fogged glass and studied myself in the light from three bulbs that illuminated the oval mirror in the tiny bathroom. The terrycloth towel slipped to the floor as I pressed my palms against the bright white porcelain of the antique sink next to the claw-foot tub. Wet hair hung limply against my cheeks and streaked in jagged lines down my neck, across my bare shoulders and naked chest.

  Instead of the supple androgyny boasted by our fair heavenly armies, I was woman, curves and all. Rather than the unpigmented skin and hair from before The Fall, I was now a dark-eyed, dark-haired female. They say you choose your appearance in the moment before your wings burn off, but I don’t remember choosing…

  This.

  My feet squeaked on the smooth tile as I turned to the right. Thin arms, thin body, thin mouth, offset by chesty, hippy curves, on a frame weakened by existing in the Temporary rather than the Eternal.

  I used to be one of the good guys. Twin blackened gouges between my shoulder blades were the only thing left of the impressive black-feathered wings. Though not spectacular, I was beautiful once.

  Not anymore.

  I rolled my shoulders and caught my breath at a sharp, ripping pain. I leaned forward and inspected the source. Blood oozed from beneath one of the shower-softened scabs. The amount of pain caused by this frail mortality still surprised me.

  In the hazy mirror, the corners of my mouth lifted at the irony of the angst. I’d been freed by a choice and now I could choose whatever I wanted. I should be elated.

  Mostly, I felt overwhelmed. I didn’t know who I wanted to be. Maybe Jason could help me choose. I considered the man hiding in the cassock.

  I rubbed a hand across my face and scooped up the comb. Although that smile was forced, I could grin without thinking about it. Jason said it still needed work.

  At least smiling didn’t cause blinding discomfort anymore.

  After my hard-chested rescuer ditched me on the doorstep, sensations overwhelmed me. I slipped in and out of consciousness while I wallowed in Jason’s bed in his second-floor apartment. The Change kills most of us. The ones who survive often die from exposure to the elements or hunger. After that, suicide and insanity become the real threats. I had a lot to look forward to.

  Yet, if my savior hadn’t stepped in, I wouldn’t have had any chance at all.

  He’d promised to come back for me, but he hadn’t.

  And I couldn’t shake the feeling that Jason behaved as though he wanted something from me. That he had some secret to tell me.

  That second day wasn’t much better. Every change in my expression pulled on my neck and shoulders. I was exhausted by the time the moon came out, as though I’d spent twelve hours being run over by trucks.

  So much I wasn’t used to, so much I didn’t understand.

  So different from before.

  I pushed the memories away as I pulled the brush through my hair for the last time, still not used to the yank of tangles or the tight angles of a wince. I placed the comb between the wall and water faucet. Jason’s place wasn’t the most modern I’d seen in the city, but the rectory was private, even if it was sparsely furnished.

  Something landed outside the bathroom window on the metal fire escape platform, followed by a light scratching.

  A cat meowed. She wanted in. When I turned the handle and pressed the glass panel outward, the orange tabby rushed in from the fire escape as a cloud of steam poured out into the crisp fall air. It jumped from the window sill to the floor beside me and launched into a loud purr.

  The creature rubbed against my legs. I closed my eyes to focus on the sensation. Each hair brushed against my bare skin. Things were muted before―tastes, smells―as though I had been wrapped in a plastic bag that separated me from the mortal experience. The layers of gauze between the spiritual and the physical worlds had been ripped away.

  Maybe when your lifespan is forever, you can’t contain a cumulative memory of sensations: too much information for the storage device. Maybe when the choices are as simple as obey or not obey, the physical sensations don’t matter.

  Living was never like this before.

  “Can I come in?” Jason’s voice startled me. He called from outside the living quarters, but inside the ancient church. The cat darted away.

  “One minute.” My voice was still rough from lack of use. I jogged out of the bathroom and grabbed the black pants from the floor, an oversized t-shirt, and a cardigan from the bed I’d been sleeping in. His bed. Twenty-four buttons… I hurried into the outfit. It was from the donation box.

  Clothes for the needy. I was definitely in that category.

  He had brought two bags of things to choose from. I’d picked these. Black was me. Color belonged on the joyful. Joy wasn’t my size.

  Already dressed, I stared at the underwear stretched out on the bed. There were straps and bags to hold up my newfound curves. I tried it on yesterday, but it was the wrong size. It must have been worn by some woman with bigger curves than me. Jason was a poor judge of chests. And those little hooks in the back were ridiculous. I never did get them to catch. He could keep them.

  I called, “Yeah, come in.” I sat down on the edge of the bed, pushed my feet into some soldier’s combat boots, and tucked the laces inside.

  When Jason opened the door, his eyebrows were pushed into a “V” on his forehead. In the years I had known him, the creases between the bushy black slashes had grown deeper. His beard reached four buttons down his front.

  I stared at his feet and willed the merry-go-round in my brain to slow down. “Thanks for the shower. I’ve never had one.”

  “It was about time. It’s been a rough couple days for you. Did you have any trouble?” He didn’t say outright that I stank, but after rolling around in and out of consciousness and sweaty sheets for a couple days, even I smelled myself.

  “I only took a quick one. I forgot to close the door or the shower curtain.” I glanced back into the bathroom. “I tried to get the water off the floor.”

  He shifted from side to side. “Did you get everything on afterward?”

  “I think so.” I glanced up at him.

  His gaze dropped to the black lacy bits that were still spread out on his bed. His cheeks colored. “No underthings?” The blush was so out of place on him. This man had heard some of the deepest, darkest secrets the city had to offer, yet panties on his bed made him blush.

  “I don’t like them.” I shrugged. “Besides, the latches are terrible.”

  “But you need them.” He pulled at his collar and tucked a hand into the pocket where he always kept that rosary. “I’m not sure how to explain it. The nuns would ask questions if they caught me trying to help you with something like that.” His gaze dipped, and then an idea lit his face. “Have you seen the mannequins in the store windows down the street?”

  I shook my head. “Sorry. I don’t pay much attention to the shops.”

  His expression fell. “We’ll figure something out. You’re thin. Maybe you won’t miss them.”

  I didn’t miss them. I didn’t want them. “If you say so,” I said.

  The walls closed in on me and leaned over me like attendees at a graveside. “Thanks.” A tremor started, but I clenched my fists and teeth against it, determined to beat the episodes back today. They happened ever
y few waking hours.

  Gotta get outta here.

  Jason’s gaze dropped to my hands, and he rushed forward. His cassock flared with each of his long strides. “Hungry?”

  Spots danced in my vision. If I didn’t get out quickly, I’d have another full-blown episode. I sidestepped him and hurried to the door. Nearly there, I turned back. “Yeah, but I can’t stay. The room is getting too small.”

  Jason put up his hands. “I thought you might say that.” He crossed to the kitchenette and tugged open the small fridge. He retrieved a paper bag. “Here.” He held it out. “There’s bread, cheese, and a bottle of water.”

  I opened the bag and pressed my face into it. The edges of the paper crinkled and scraped against my cheeks. I caught a whiff of the spectacular yeasty fragrance. “Thank the sisters for me. I don’t deserve their kindness.”

  At that, Jason’s eyes twinkled. “Don’t worry about them. They like baking for you.”

  I folded the top of the paper bag down and then crushed it in my grip. “Gotta go.” I yanked on the door.

  Muscles in Jason’s cheeks flexed, said he wanted to argue. Instead, he said, “Watch out, okay? There’s a whole list of things to stay away from in the city. Most of them have worked for―”

  Something buzzed in his pocket, and he pulled out a small rectangle. His expression darkened as his eyes studied the screen.

  He poked the screen, then pressed the phone to his ear. “Yeah, Vic, what’s up? Well, tell him not to tear up the Cavern… Get Lev. Maybe he can help get him out.”

  Without another glance, I headed out into the God-forsaken Temporary that was my new permanent.

  6

  Questioning

  Jason

  Interrogation Room, New Haven City Precinct

  “I found her on the pavement.” That was my story, and I was sticking to it.

  My hands were clasped on the table in front of me. The gold band on my ring finger glinted under the one light that illuminated the metal surface of the interrogation table. It went with the ruse. Ill at ease, I glanced at the darkened corners of the room. The experience alone would make anyone uncomfortable.