Death Takes Wing, page 15
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.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
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?”
“No,” the girl sobbed, pushing herself further into the wall. “Go away!” The girl tried to push her away, but Amalia easily dodged the slow movement.
“Who are you?” Amalia repeated softly.
“Lindsay,” Gabriel said.
Amalia looked up at him and saw horror stark on his face.
“Lindsay? Are you Lindsay?” he repeated, emotions flooding his voice as he recalled the picture of the carefree girl he’d seen not a day ago.
She saw the bowed head nod, and the girl started to uncurl.
Lindsay looked up at Amalia. Her youthful face was thin and dirty. Matted blonde hair surrounded it.
“Lindsay?” Amalia questioned, glancing back at Gabriel.
“Patricia’s sister,” he said softly, voice almost wavering with pent-up emotion. “She went missing just after Patricia.”
“What happened?” Amalia asked, brow furrowing in confusion. She stared at Lindsay, at the dirty wings that were drawn tight to her body.
Gabriel shook his head, not certain what had happened. Last he knew she was immune to the virus, and yet, here she was. Angelus. He reached down and grabbed Lindsay by the arm, carefully drawing her to her feet. “What happened?” he said, repeated Amalia’s question.
She let out a frightened yelp as she pulled away, her back hitting the side of the side of the garage with a loud thud.
“Gabriel,” Amalia warned, “she may look like one of you, but mentally, she’s still human.”
He let out a controlled breath and stepped away from her. She’d been the one that had shoved him down the stairs. Right now, despite his worry for her, she was damn lucky he wasn’t hurt more than a few bruises and pulled muscles.
“What happened, Lindsay?” Amalia asked softly. “We need to know. Your sister is in danger. We need to know what happened to find out.”
“Make him leave,” Lindsay snarled. “They did this to me.”
“Leave, Gabriel,” Amalia persuaded, shooing him away as she stared at Lindsay’s gaunt face. “I’ll be fine.”
“I’ll be right outside,” he stated with a perfunctory nod. “Scream if you need anything.”
The women watched him leave before looking at each other.
“What happened?” Amalia said again. “I thought you were immune to the renati?”
Lindsay gave her a disgusted look. “So did I.”
“So tell me what happened,” she cajoled, carefully sitting down next to the thin girl.
Lindsay swallowed and wrapped her arms around her body. “He didn’t really take the time to explain when they injected me with the shit that did this,” she said bitterly.
“You don’t remember anything?” Amalia asked.
“Pain. There was so much pain,” she whispered, her thin frame starting to shake as the memories overwhelmed the body.
“Who did it?” Amalia asked, the question burning in her mind.
“And angelus.”
“You said that, but who?”
Lindsay shook her head, matted, greasy hair barely moving with the gesture. “I don’t know. He didn’t tell me.”
“Do you remember anything about him? Had you met him before?” Amalia said, slowly asking the questions as Lindsay stared blankly at her.
“He was tall. Dark wings. They looked like swirled chocolate – like those really expensive chocolate bars you can buy that have dark and light chocolate all swirled together. Every time he walked past, it always made me hungry.”
“Shit,” Amalia muttered, green eyes widening at the realization.
“What?” Lindsay asked, her own blue eyes wide at the memory of the pain that had wracked her body just a few days before.
“I know who it is,” Amalia said slowly, starting to stand.
“Who? Who the hell did this to me?” Lindsay said, voice hoarse with unrelenting memories.
Amalia shook her head, recalling the recent conversation between her and Gabriel. “One of the good guys.”
Lindsay shook her head, “he’s not a good guy. Good guys don’t do that.”
“No, they don’t,” Amalia agreed. Taking a deep breath, she looked Lindsay over. She saw restraint marks around her wrists. “How did you get out?”
“My sister helped me,” Lindsay said, tears filling her wide eyes, brimming over to stream down filthy cheeks.
“She didn’t get out?” In her gut, she knew the answer, but she needed to hear it from Lindsay. Lindsay wouldn’t be here alone if Patricia had made it out alive.
Lindsay shook her head again, “No, she didn’t. They got her before she could get through the window. I didn’t want to leave her, but she made me.”
Amalia’s breath caught in her throat, and she reached out to lay a comforting hand on Lindsay’s hunched shoulders. “I’m so sorry.”
“Why did you find me?” she whispered, eyes closed and cheeks sparkling with tears. “I’m safe here. I’m not bothering anyone…Jeremy will be back soon. He said he wouldn’t leave me until I felt safe.”
Amalia stood up the rest of the way. She didn’t know, Amalia thought, anger flashing through her. She didn’t know about Jeremy. “Lindsay,” she said quietly, “Jeremy’s not coming back.”
“He is!” the girl insisted, standing quicker than Amalia’s eyes could see. “He promised!”
Amalia shook her head. “I’m sorry, but he’s gone.”
“Gone?” the girl dully echoed Amalia’s word before sinking back down on the floor. “But he was supposed to take care of me.”
“Gabriel?” Amalia called softly, looking at the door before fastening her eyes back on Lindsay.
Gabriel walked in, seemingly casual. “What do you need?”
“Someone to take care of Lindsay. She was waiting for Jeremy to come back.”
“Ah.” The syllable spoke multitudes, and he walked outside to make the call.
“Why were you looking for me?”
Amalia pulled back and closed her eyes briefly. “We’re investigating missing humans. Your sister is one of them.”
“No you’re not,” Lindsay replied. “There’s something more. That you’re not telling me.”
“My best friend was kidnapped. I need to find her. If I find Patricia, I’ll find Sam,” Amalia said blandly, in her best cop voice.
Lindsay nodded slowly, but her fingers dug into her arms, turning the skin white under the pressure. “You’re going to find Patty, right?”
Amalia nodded, “yeah, I’m going to find her.”
There was an awkward silence as the two women stared at each other, unsure of what platitudes were required in such a situation.
“I need to know where you escaped from,” Amalia said as she started towards the door.
Lindsay turned around from the wall she’d huddled up against. “It was a low, gray building. In the middle of a farm. I think it was some kind of military bunker.”
Amalia cocked her head in confusion. “Then how’d you get out?”
Lindsay offered her a feral smile. “We impersonated two of the orderlies. Grabbed some badges. Got out. They got Patty when she was walking out the door.”
