Angelfall

CHAPTER 23

I catch motion out of the corner of my eye. I don’t even have time to brace for another hit before Raffe stands before me, muscles tense around his sword, facing the demons. I hadn’t even heard the rustle of leaves. One moment he’s not there, the next moment, he is.

“Run, Penryn.”

I don’t need another invitation. I run.

But I don’t run far, which is probably not my smartest move. I can’t help it. I hesitate behind a tree to watch Raffe fight the demons.

Now that I know what to look for, I can tell there are about half a dozen of them. Definitely running on two feet. Definitely low to the ground. Not all of uniform size, either. One is at least a foot taller than the shortest one. One seems outright chubby.

Their small forms could be human or angel, although they don’t move like either. When they go into hyperdrive, their motions are fluid, as though that is their natural pace. These things are definitely not human. Maybe these are some form of nasty angel breed. Aren’t cherubs always pictured as children?

Raffe catches one as it tries to whiz by him. Two others had started going for him but stop when they see Raffe slice through the little demon.

It screeches something awful as it flails on the forest ground.

The others aren’t daunted, though, as they run at Raffe to do their bump and run routine and shove him off balance. I figure it won’t take long before they start biting or stinging or whatever it is they do.

“Raffe, behind you!”

I grab the nearest rock and take a heartbeat to aim. I’ve been known to hit the bull’s-eye playing darts, but I’ve also been known to miss the dartboard altogether. Missing the dartboard here means hitting Raffe.

I hold my breath, take aim at the nearest shadow, and throw with as much force as I can muster.

Bull’s-eye!

The rock smashes into a shadow, stopping it cold. It’s almost funny how the low demon practically flips backward as it falls. Raffe never needs to know that I was aiming for the other one.

Raffe swings wildly with his sword, slicing a demon’s chest. “I told you to run!”

So much for gratitude. I bend and grab another rock. This one is jagged and big enough so that I can barely lift it. I might be getting greedy, but I lob it at one of the demons anyway. Sure enough, it lands a foot away from the fight.

This time, I go for a smaller, more aerodynamic stone. I’m careful to stay out of reach of the fighting circle, and the low demons let me. I guess my stone throwing doesn’t even show up on their radar. I take aim at another shadow, then throw it with all my might.

It hits Raffe on the back.

It must have hit him on his wound because he stumbles forward, staggers two steps, then stops just in front of two demons. His sword is down, almost low enough to trip him, and he’s out of balance as he faces them. I swallow my heart, shoving it from my throat back down into my chest.

Raffe manages to lift the sword. But he doesn’t have time to stop them from biting him.

He cries out. My stomach clenches in sympathetic pain.

Then, a strange thing happens. Stranger than what’s been happening, that is. The low demons spit and make a distinct noise of disgust. They spit as if trying to get the bad taste out of their mouths. I wish I could see what they look like. I’m sure they’re making repelled expressions.

Raffe cries out again as a third one bites him on his back. He manages to bat it away after a few tries. That one makes a choking noise and spits noisily as well.

The shadows back off after that. After a moment, they melt into the general darkness of the forest.

Before I can wrap my mind around what just happened, Raffe does something just as strange. Instead of declaring victory and walking away safe, like any sane survivor, he chases after them into the dark woods.

“Raffe!”

All I hear is the dying screams of the low demons. The sounds are so eerily human, goosebumps prickle my spine. I suppose all dying animals sound that way.

Then, as quickly as it started, the final scream fades into the night.

I shiver alone in the dark. I take a couple of steps toward the black woods where Raffe disappeared, then stop. What am I supposed to do now?

The wind blows, chilling the sweat on my skin. After a moment, even the wind falls quiet and still. I’m not sure if I should run to try to find Raffe, or run away from the whole thing. I remember that I’m supposed to be on my way to Paige, and that keeping myself alive until I rescue her is a good goal. I start to shiver more than the cold calls for. It must be the after effects of the battle.

My ears strain to hear something. I’d take anything, even a grunt of pain from Raffe. At least I’d know he’s alive.

The wind rustles the top of the trees and whips my hair.

I’m just about to give up and head into the dark trees to look for him when the sound of crunching leaves gets louder. It could be a deer. I take a step back away from the sound. It could be the low demons, back to finish the job.

The branches rustle as they part. A Raffe-shaped shadow steps into the clearing.

Utter relief washes over me, relaxing muscles I hadn’t realized were tense.

I run to him. I put my arms out for a big hug, but he takes a step back from me. I’m sure even a man like him—that is to say, a non-man—can take comfort in a hug after a fight for his life. But apparently, not from me.

I stop just in front of him and drop my arms awkwardly. My delight at seeing him, though, doesn’t entirely dry up.

“So…did you get them?”

He nods. Black blood drips off his hair like he’d been sprayed with the stuff. Blood soaks both his arms and stomach. His shirt is torn at the chest and it looks like he took some damage. I have the impulse to fuss over him, but I hold it in check.

“Are you all right?” It’s a stupid question because there’s not much I can do for him if he isn’t all right, but it just tumbles out.

He snorts. “Aside from being beaned with a rock, I’ll live.”

“Sorry.” I feel pretty god-awful about that, but there’s no point in groveling over it.

“The next time you have a quarrel with me, I’d appreciate it if you could just talk to me first before resorting to pelting me with rocks.”

“Oh, all right,” I grumble. “You’re so damned civilized.”

He exhales rudely. “You okay?”

I nod. There’s no graceful way to step back after my aborted hug attempt so we stand closer than is comfortable. I guess he thinks so too because he slips by me into the clearing. He must have been blocking the wind for me because I suddenly feel cold when he steps away. He takes a deep breath as though to clear his head and lets it out slowly.

“What the hell were those things?” I ask.

“I’m not sure.” He wipes his sword on his shirt.

“They weren’t your kind, were they?”

“No.” He slides his sword back into its sheath.

“Well, they certainly weren’t mine. Is there a third option?”

“There’s always a third option.”

“Like freaky, evil demons? I mean, even more evil than angels?”

“Angels aren’t evil.”

“Right. Gee, how could I have forgotten? Oh, wait. Maybe I got my wacky idea from that whole attack-and-destroy maneuver you guys pulled.”

He heads back out into the forest through the far side of the clearing. I hustle after him.

“Why did you chase those things?” I ask. “We could have been miles away before they changed their minds and came back for us.”

He responds without turning around to look at me. “They’re too close to something that shouldn’t exist. Let something like that get away, and they’ll only come back to haunt you. Believe me, I know.”

He speeds up. I trot after him, practically clinging to him. I don’t want to be left alone in the dark again. He gives me a sidelong glance.

“Don’t even think about it,” I say. “I’m sticking to you like a wet shirt, at least until daylight.” I resist reaching out and grabbing his shirt for guidance in the dark.

“How’d you get to me so fast?” I ask. It must have been seconds from the time I screamed to the time he showed up.

He continues to trek through the woods.

I open my mouth to repeat the question, but he speaks over me. “I was tracking you.”

I stop in surprise. He keeps going so I run after him to make sure he’s only two steps ahead of me. All kinds of questions float in my head but it’s no use asking them all. I keep it simple. “Why?”

“I said I would make sure you got back to camp safely.”

“I wasn’t going back to camp.”

“I noticed.”

“You also said that you’d take me to the aerie. Leaving me alone in the dark was your idea of taking me there?”

“It was my idea of encouraging you to be sensible and go back to camp. Apparently, sensible is not part of your vocabulary. What are you complaining about anyway? I’m here, aren’t I?”

It’s hard to argue against that. He did save my life. We walk in silence for awhile as I chew that over.

“So your blood must taste god-awful to ward off those things,” I say.

“Yes, that was a little weird, wasn’t it?”

“A little weird? That was freakin’ Bizarroville.”

He pauses and looks back at me. “Are you speaking English?”

I open my mouth to make a smart comeback but he interrupts.

“Let’s keep it quiet, shall we? There may be more out there.” That shuts me up.

Exhaustion hits me, probably some kind of post-trauma something or another. I figure having company in the dark, even if it is an angel, is as good as I can hope for tonight. Besides, for the first time since I started this nightmare trek through the woods, I don’t have to worry about whether I’m going in the right direction. Raffe walks confidently in a straight line. He never hesitates, subtly adjusting our route here and there to get around some gorge or meadow.

I don’t question whether he actually knows where he’s going. The illusion that he does is enough to comfort me. Maybe angels have a special sense of direction the way birds do. Don’t they always know which way to migrate and how to get back to their nest, even if they can’t see it? Or maybe that’s just my desperation making up stories to make myself feel better, like a mental version of whistling in the dark.

I quickly become hopelessly lost and exhausted to the point of delirium. After hours of trudging through the woods in the dark, I start to wonder if maybe Raffe is a fallen angel leading me into hell. Maybe when we finally reach the aerie, I’ll realize it’s actually underground in a cave filled with fire and sulfur, with people skewered and roasting. It would explain a few things, anyway.

I hardly notice when he leads us into a house nestled in the woods. By that point, I feel like a walking zombie. We crunch over broken glass and some animal scurries away, disappearing into the shadows. He finds a bedroom. He pulls off my pack and gently shoves me onto the bed.

The world fades out the instant my head touches the pillow.

~

I dream that I’m fighting again by the laundry barrels. We’re soaked in laundry suds. My hair is dripping and my clothes cling, as wet T-shirts will do. Anita is pulling my hair and screeching.

The crowd is too close, hardly giving us room to fight. Their faces are contorted, showing too much teeth and too much white around their eyes. They yell things like “Rip off her shirt!” or “Tear off her bra!” One guy keeps yelling frantically, “Kiss her! Kiss her!”

We roll into a laundry barrel and it comes crashing down. Instead of dirty laundry water, foaming blood splashes everywhere. It is warm and crimson as it soaks me. We all stop and stare at the blood pouring out of the barrel. An impossible amount of it flows out like an endless river.

Laundry floats by. Shirts and pants soaked in blood, empty and crumpled, lost and soulless without their wearers.

Scorpions the size of sewer rats ride the islands of crimson clothing. They have enormous stingers with a drop of blood at the tip. When they see us, they curl their tails and spread their wings with menace. I’m pretty sure scorpions are not supposed to have wings, but I don’t have time to think about that because someone screams and points to the sky.

Along the horizon, the sky darkens. A dark, boiling cloud blots out the setting sun. A low buzz like the beating of a million insect wings fills the air.

The wind picks up and quickly grows to hurricane force as the churning cloud and its shadow race toward us. People run in panic, their faces suddenly lost and innocent like frightened children.

The scorpions take to the air. They congregate and pluck someone out of the crowd. Someone small with withered legs. She screams, “Penryn!”

“Paige!” I jump up and run after them. I sprint blindly through the blood which is now ankle high and rising.

But no matter how hard I run, I can’t get any closer to her as the monsters haul my little sister into the oncoming darkness.