Old Wounds

by Ren Hamilton

  The warmth of the room pleased him, and he abandoned his plan for a bath and rolled up in the blankets on the soft bed, closing his eyes. The sleep would not stay away, he’d have to simply surrender to it for a time. He willed images of pleasant things into his mind so the void would not find him. Images of sunshine and light.

  Sleep. If only he’d been able to do so in the void, instead of experiencing the unending torture of the nothing and the nowhere. When he’d first been transported, he held out hope that Shep would certainly figure out where he was. Shep would draw him out and bring him through again. Shep would save him. But it went on and on, and once he realized he would not be saved, he thought it would go on forever, and his mind began to shatter. Terrible, gruesome thoughts plagued his mind, images of human flesh ripped apart and blood raining from the sky.

  And then there was light. The Light. He was wrenched from the void and taken back, but he was a broken thing, the void having muddied his very soul and damaged his mind. His thoughts were dark and swirled with emotions, fear and regret and hatred interfering with his once pure focus. He could not perform his duties as before, so they ushered him away from The Light, into the outermost section of the byways where he could barely feel it. And unlike before, when he’d been with his loving brothers, he was alone. Or may as well have been.

  Those high-ranking gluttons of The Light were hypocrites, claiming neutrality in matters of penance and assuring him he’d been saved. But he was damned. Most every Power knew who he was on sight, and even lowly messengers began to gossip about his history and reputation. He was an example to the others; here’s what happens when you break the rules and leave your post for others to guard. He’d tried to keep to himself, but even those that didn’t know his cautionary tale could not help but notice his black wings.

  The gluttons hadn’t even given him back his own wings, left him with these demonic appendages to be mocked and questioned, feared and reviled. The vague waves of The Light he managed to absorb were not enough to soothe his misery. Sometimes even the souls he helped usher through his passage recoiled from him, as though sensing his lack of purity.

  And then Preet came to gloat. Preet, whose team of Powers had been their working neighbors in the time before the flesh. Preet and his elite guard had driven out a demon horde when Zirub and his tribe left their post wide open in favor of an arrogant mission to the nether planet they served.

  Look at you, and look at me, had been Preet’s boast. An elevated assassin infused with juice from the source itself, a hero. And Allisto, a disgraced brother of Zirub, shoveling souls in the back quarter of the byways, wearing the wings of the enemy he’d allowed to attack The Light.

  If Preet had left his juvenile taunts to such matters, Allisto would never have acted. The things Preet said weren’t false. He had no retort.

  But then Preet, in his quest to torment Allisto further, told him about the messenger angels. A small buzzing cluster of them that had become infatuated with Zirub and his fleshy companions. The messengers bested each other with stories of spying they’d done on the group, and how Zirub and his remaining brothers now lived in a beautiful city on a vast lake surrounded by great green mountains. They brewed ale and ate at waterfront restaurants and laughed, how they laughed. They didn’t seem to be missing Allisto at all. Not a tear was shed, they said. The messengers, Preet told Allisto, watched one night as Zirub, Margol, Juris, and Klee, clinked their glasses together and joyfully cried, “Now we are four!” in celebration of ridding themselves of their dour, forever complaining dark brother.

  Preet was surprised when Allisto asked him to keep him apprised of these tales brought back by the messenger spies. But Preet complied with great pleasure, becoming more intrigued as he began to suspect Allisto’s motivations went beyond nostalgia.

  For a time, the tales of Shep and the brothers’ gleeful and extravagant behavior—of their actively not missing or giving a shit about their lost brother—were reported back to Allisto. But then the messengers were forced to rein in their game when Shep spotted a pair of them in his home and threatened to do vulgar things to their celestial bodies. With their spying discovered and their soap opera of Zirub and his brothers unavailable to them, they took to more safe pursuits, like watching the handsome lawman with the white hair. Agent Litner, after all, could not sense their presence, as he was a mere human.

  And this was how Allisto learned of a plan to open the Cripulet at Pearl Chasm.

  Allisto pretended to Preet that he already knew of this upcoming event, but would not tell him how. He had to be crafty, and not let the rage boiling up inside him be seen, never let Preet sense a glimmer of the building spite in his energy. It was difficult, as the void still plagued his mind and his soul wanted to scream most of the time. But he recognized that he had this one chance to get his revenge on his brothers for gleefully abandoning him. He had to play it just right.

  When Preet asked a second time, skeptically, how he’d known about the lawmen’s plans to open the Cripulet, Allisto behaved as though he’d told him too much already, and urged him not to speak of it. Slowly, carefully, he molded Preet’s curious mind to come to the conclusion he wanted: that something very big and very secret was going on, and Preet had not been invited into the fold.

  When Preet resorted to bullying, Allisto pretended to be intimidated by his assassin status, and agreed to spill the beans if he promised to keep it in confidence. Preet was practically drooling for info at that point, and Allisto gave it to him. The Light had chosen an assassin, he told Preet, someone from another sector. Their task was to eliminate Zirub, the brothers, and all whose flesh they’d altered from the nether realm. Allisto claimed he himself had been flipped to go against Zirub by his superiors, and had assisted with information—in exchange for renewed status, a better sector, and the return of his rightful wings. He knew Preet didn’t want to believe the lie. But his pride got the better of him.

  Why did The Light not choose him for the mission, Preet asked? He’d earned spiritual injury defending Zirub’s post, it should be his right. Allisto responded that it was out of his hands, but gently suggested that perhaps Preet was too new and inexperienced as an assassin, not tested enough. Preet begged for Allisto to speak on his behalf. Allisto pretended to be fearful to do so, that he could not risk jeopardizing the deal he’d made for himself.

  Preet’s obsession with the phony mission grew, until finally Allisto sheepishly agreed to look into the possibility of getting him the assignment. When he told Preet the good news, after a reasonable waiting period, he warned that he would only be assigned if he could keep the news to himself. And that he must take orders from The Light through Allisto alone. The Light, Allisto told him, was pleased with Preet’s proactive desire to take the reins on this assignment, as it showed great bravery and leadership skills. Preet’s joy was such that he’d have agreed to anything.

  And that’s when Allisto knew that his plan would succeed. And Melvin Eugene Shepherd’s waterfront dinners in his beautiful city by the lake would soon be no more.

  But he’d underestimated his brother’s resilience, and the meddling extremes that Agent Litner would go to in order to save lives. But now Allisto was flesh again. Back on the planet. And Preet had met a nasty end trying to complete his mission. So it was up to Allisto to do it himself. He vowed to grow strong quickly. And he was counting on the truth that this time, Shepherd would most definitely be the one to underestimate him.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Joey paced back and forth in the large kitchen of Shep’s Boston home, his head down as his mind calculated and recalculated everything. But the golden solution he sought still evaded him. He was unaccustomed to problems he couldn’t solve. He even solved fictitious problems in his bed most nights just to purge his brain so he could sleep. Tonight, there would be no slumber.

  Not so for the rest of the house. They were all tuckered out from their eventful day with that man in the house.

  Shep and M
argol and Klee had spent most of it upstairs, churning through useless scenarios of how to locate Allisto, growing more panicked as each moment passed that they still couldn’t feel him. They were amazing creatures, but he was thinking now that they’d relied much too much on their damned superhuman senses in the past, and now it was coming back to bite them in the ass. But that wasn’t the problem Joey’s mind was wrestling with.

  He moved into the entryway and glanced down the long hallway, where the enemy slept.

  When Shep came into his room the night before, all wide-eyed and serious, he’d expected to learn something new about Allisto. Perhaps that Allisto had sent him the invisible punch in the face; this was what he’d braced himself to hear. But when Shep started with, “I owe you an apology,” Joey was temporarily dumbfounded. Until Shep explained that it was about Wesley.

  And then his mind careened ahead of Shep, as it often did. It wasn’t that he was smarter than Shep, he wasn’t by a longshot. But he could usually figure out where Shep was headed on some topic long before he’d finished explaining it. Such was the case with this.

  All Shep had to say was that Wesley had accidentally initiated the attack that threw Joey over the table, and instantly, Joey had it sorted out. He knew how the conversation would culminate, though he’d hoped so dearly he was wrong. But he wasn’t wrong. And the worst part was, he’d been expecting something like this. He’d known since the first time he’d seen Wesley—when they saved his scrawny ass in the hotel room—that he’d be weaseling his way back into Shep’s life.

  They’d brought him through the door early that morning, all harmless looking and blond and sad-eyed, and Joey was forced to tolerate it. Wesley’s stumbling apology to him, his constant, dopey expression of innocence, his insufferable cooperation while Juris gave him his lessons. And not only had Joey been forced to watch this charade, he was also required to participate. He’d played along, offering suggestions, being supportive when the little twit broke half the sheetrock off the cellar wall with his inept, sloppy attempts at focusing his mind power. He’d played along because everyone expected he wouldn’t, and it was infuriating. All of the brothers watched Joey like a hawk, tensing whenever he moved toward Wesley, treating Joey like the dangerous one.

  They’d even moved the little turd into the farthest bedroom on the east wing, with every single occupant’s room between him and Joey. He knew why they did it. They expected him to go creeping into Wesley’s room at night to hurt him, and wanted to hear him if he did. It was insane. The fucker had reached his conniving little mind across three miles to strike at Joey, but they all behaved as though they had to protect poor delicate little Wesley, with his batting eyelashes and quivering lip. How could they not see what was happening? How could they not see that Wesley wanted Joey out of the picture so he could take his place at Shep’s side? It was fucking obvious.

  Margol knew though, Joey could tell. Margol kept giving him that knowing smirk, finding excuses to be alone with Joey, following him into the kitchen to sing Wesley’s praises, and speculate on what a wonderful Sword Wesley must have been to Shep way back when. Margol was a sadistic ghoul, and Joey was still certain the ginger fuck had left him to die at Forest Bluffs.

  Seeing Wesley around Shep was the worst. He couldn’t believe Shep was falling for it, Wesley acting like he was still so nervous and awkward around him. And the way he’d flinch any time Joey came near him in their training, especially during the few times Shep came down to the basement to observe. He wanted to make Joey look like a loose cannon in Shep’s eyes, make him compare them and see Wesley as favorable.

  He’d often wondered at how Wesley could have forsaken Shep all those years ago, baffled that this person he’d heard Shep speak of with such scorn, could have possibly thrown away the chance he’d been given. But now he realized he hadn’t. He’d simply been following Shep’s orders by staying away, orders that Shep had now rescinded.

  And what the hell kind of punishment had that been, anyway? Making Wesley stay in a cozy mountain getaway with as many books and bottles of wine and dogs or whatever his boring little ass wanted? It was a nagging thought he’d always pushed out of his mind when it reared its ugly head, because there was only one answer he kept coming up with. Shep still cared for his original chosen one. He’d never stopped. Wesley had simply been in a sort of stasis until Shep decided to take him off the shelf and play with him again. Once he grew tired of his new toy.

  Joey’s mind shifted and threw counterpoints to comfort himself. Shep swore, promised it was only temporary. It was the current threat from Allisto that prompted this decision. Wesley was simply an added gun in case they needed it. Wesley’s freakishly powerful display had made Shep nervous, so he wanted it under his control. It was nothing more than that, and Wesley would be gone eventually, gone, gone, gone.

  Then his mind shifted to the other side again, as he replayed for the thousandth time that moment in the hotel room when Shep spoke to Wesley.

  ‘You all right?’

  He’d analyzed it and reanalyzed it: the expression on Shep’s face, the tone of his voice, his body language. And Wesley’s big blue eyes, all humbled and shocked and appreciative of the attention. The turd tried to give the impression that he feared Shep, that he saw him as a monster for past deeds. But Joey saw right through it. He saw the way Wesley looked at Shep, with awe and reverence. And when Shep invited him back into the nest, he hadn’t hesitated, had he?

  Joey stopped at the breakfast nook, placing his palms on the tile, teeth gritted as he recalled their training session that afternoon. Wesley had even tried to butter Joey up. ‘You handle your power so skillfully, I’m so frightened of mine.’ The hell he was. He loved it. The little bastard loved it, because it had found him a way back into Shep’s world.

  Despite the moderate temperature, Joey was sweating, claustrophobic, because even in this big house, he felt crowded now. Wesley had invaded his sanctuary, the one place in his life that he’d always felt completely peaceful and content: at Shep’s side.

  Moving to the sliding glass door, he looked out back into the dark of night and wanted to flee, to run, jump in the car and go get drunk in a smoky room full of strangers that would cling to him and beg for his attention and validate his role as Shep’s enchanted messiah. But he couldn’t. Because that’s exactly the kind of thing Wesley wanted, to drive a wedge between him and Shep, to show Shep how unfit Joey was for the job. That Joey couldn’t even obey a simple command, like staying in the house.

  He was stuck. Trapped. And he couldn’t breathe.

  He opened the slider and stuck his head out, taking in a lungful of cool autumn air. He immediately felt better. He wasn’t used to being cooped up anymore. Shep had given him more freedom up in Vermont, where fewer people recognized him. But ever since Litner showed up that day, his freedoms were gone.

  And he needed to get laid, desperately. Despite his deadened emotions, he still had his desires, and longed to go out to the bars, find some woman and just thrust his problems away.

  But he couldn’t.

  Resigned to another night of sexual frustration, he sighed and started to close the back door, when a pair of strong hands slapped onto his head and brutally tugged him outside.

  Joey tumbled face first onto the deck, splinters stinging his hands as he slid. But before he could see who’d grabbed him, or cry out, his mouth was sealed with a firm grip and he was rising up, up, over the edge of the deck, past the back lawn, into the copse of trees behind Shep’s house. He heard the whistling sound of wings flapping as he struggled, growling against the hand that covered his mouth, arms flailing behind him to grab onto his attacker. And he knew it could only be one person, the thought making his heart gallop.

  Then they were dropping down through the canopy of trees, and he was let go four feet off the ground, landing hard and tumbling. Breaths hitching his chest, he scrambled to his hands and knees and looked for his assailant, finding him standing before him.

&n
bsp; Allisto wore jeans and sneakers but no shirt, dark wings fanned out at his sides, black curls glinting with moonlight. “Hello, beautiful,” he said, and dove at Joey.

  The blow sent Joey onto his back, his head slamming into the ground. With every ounce of his strength, he shoved his attacker off him, but not before Allisto sunk his teeth into Joey’s shoulder. The force of Joey pushing him off tore a hunk of flesh away, and he screamed as he managed to send the brother careening back into the trees.

  Joey let out a howl of pain and looked at his shoulder, dizziness threatening when he saw the angry, bleeding wound. Allisto had landed hard on the ground when Joey shoved him, but he immediately did a somersault and was on his feet again, running toward him with dark wings flapping. In that instant, Joey tried to gather his mind energy and throw it at Allisto’s head, but his targeting was off, and the blast caught Allisto’s left wing, spinning him in a circle like a marionette, black curls fanning out around his head.

  Joey got to his feet, but Allisto recovered fast and faced him again, grin twisted with madness, eyes flaring gold in the darkness. “Oh, you want to dance, chosen one? I can dance.”

  “Stay back, you fucking freak! I mean it Allisto, I will fuck you up.”

  “Don’t fret, Joey,” he said, taking a step closer. “I’m not going to end you yet. I need you to help me stay masked until I end Shepherd. So come on. Give us a little drink.”

  Throwing his palms up, Joey sent a blast of energy at Allisto, but with a flick of his chin, Allisto sent a wall of energy back that took him off his feet and sucked the air from his lungs. Pain crashed through Joey’s back as he landed, and Allisto was on him again, black curls dangling over his face. “You’ve grown strong,” Allisto whispered. “But not strong enough.”

  And then there was nothing but pain, and Joey forgot how to scream.