12
Teachers had never picked me to be an angel in the school Christmas nativity plays. That honor had gone to the geek kids with shiny halos and even shinier parents to make them out of tinsel.
Yet because no one had wanted me, I’d watched and built up my own fantasy, where angels hadn’t been spoiled brats in dresses prancing through the heavens but powerful, terrifying, and dark.
And strong enough to save me.
Every night after my third Christmas in Jerusalem Children’s Home, I’d prayed that an angel would come for me. That they’d want me as their own. Every night no one had answered, apart from J, who’d always lived in my head. Except for when I’d tried to question him about who he truly was, and then he’d pull the silent act on me.
Once, J had ignored me for a whole week as punishment.
I’d stumbled around in such a frantic panic that he’d abandoned me, my teachers had even called the children’s home. After that, I’d learned my lesson.
At last, J had told me to stop calling to the angels, so I had. Yet deep down, I never let go of the hope that one would save me from my human life.
Then Rebel fell from the ceiling, and it was too late. I was all grown up, I wasn’t human, and I no longer believed angels would want me as their own. Half an angel wouldn’t be good enough, just as I’d never been picked for the nativity plays.
Now it was Christmas Eve again, and I didn’t want to hide any more.
It was time to face the real world.
As if enthralled, I tiptoed down the stairs towards the Great Hall, drawn by Rob Dougan’s gritty, bluesy vocals that itched into my soul.
Slam.
A surge of coppery sweetness hit me; Rebel was in the Great Hall. Then Rebel laughed, followed by Evie’s throaty giggle.
I gritted my teeth as I peered round at the crystal map of London. “Furious Angels” exploded in an anguished, epic burst of drums and orchestral violins.
Rebel (wings out, gray and violet dappled), hung mistletoe and holly from the beams and around the wolf throws and fox brushes. The air was rich with cinnamon.
Rebel was happy: his content clawed me through our bond.
Evie clasped her arms around Rebel’s shoulders, swaying to the beat, as Ma and Da lounged on a pile of rose cushions like sultans, sipping egg nog from goblets.
Rebel’s family.
I crossed my arms, hugging myself.
At Christmas in Jerusalem, the kids had a competition for the most screwed-up Christmas. We’d told real life stories because none of us had to use make believe.
To the winner?
The honor of telling the spookiest story to freak out the newbies. Jade had loved the tradition.
I missed Jade. I missed…
Humanity.
My chest tightened. I was breathing too fast but couldn’t fight it. Hell, was this what Rebel had experienced in the box or Jade in her panic attacks?
My heart thundered. Sweat dripped from my forehead. Terror shook me like a tiger had me cornered.
Evie grinned, snaking around Rebel. She snogged him, drawing him into the dance. As the song climaxed in a soulful howl, Evie swung Rebel across rose quartz London like they’d conquered the human world.
“See, love is pain, angel mine.” Evie paused under the mistletoe.
I fell to my knees, struggling to breathe, as Evie raked her nails through Rebel’s wings, only for his wail to be swallowed in her kiss.
I’d allowed myself to relax, safe in the routine of my training, but the bitch who’d tried to murder me was snogging — hurting — Rebel because she only knew one destructive version of love.
How had I forgotten, even for a moment, that this was a witches’ lair? I wasn’t a guest to be trained, I was a prisoner. Yet I’d craved to let out the forces, which had been trapped inside for twenty-one years. I’d been greedy for a taste of death.
Rebel had offered it, and I’d devoured it.
I cringed when I remembered Rebel’s horror at my display with the pink-haired vampire. My hands trembled at the memory of how I’d executed Tiny Fang. Yet that was the mirage to keep me from finding my sister.
My heart slowed. I could breathe again, now that the fog had lifted.
I clutched Jade’s necklace. Whether she was with the angels or not human…it didn’t matter. I’d save her, just like the angels had never saved me.
For the past week, I’d watched at night, whilst Rebel had crept out through the side-door, and then flitted away through the woods.
Da had asked whether I trusted Rebel. Yet every morning, I wondered what I’d unleashed on the night.
I had one final glance at Rebel. He was sprawled in front of Ma and Da now, with his head cradled in Da’s lap. Da’s fingers carded his hair, whilst Ma stroked circles through his feathers. Rebel purred.
My fists clenched: it didn’t look like Rebel would miss me…
Then I pushed myself to my feet, slinking up the stairs. I snatched my jacket from my bedroom, before slipping into Evie’s.
Evie had hidden her iPhone after I’d stolen it, but you’re not the Bitch of Utopia without having skills.
Where would Evie hide her stash?
I sneered around at the scarlet, silk, and glitter. Under the bed, bedside table, and wardrobe were all too obvious. Then my lip curled. The trophy cabinet. I bet Evie reckoned that it was ironic.
This was one trophy that I was winning.
I slid open the glass, tipping the trophies onto the bed, until a sleek iPhone was revealed.
I grinned. “Trophy Thief of Kingston Upon Thames.”
When I shoved the mobile into my pocket, my fingers brushed the prickly corners of the wicker angel effigy, which bound me to Rebel. I plucked out the effigy, crushing it under my boot.
Freedom flared brighter than it had in weeks.
Evie’s casement window opened outwards on a hinge; the frozen ground was a long way down. Ivy flourished around the leaded window pane. I swung my foot out into the thick tendrils: I wasn’t a princess waiting to be saved.
For the first time since I’d been dragged into this supernatural world, I set out on a quest.
Alone.
Two wide frightened green eyes stared up at me through a frizz of fringe.
Bang — the apartment’s door caught on its chain.
“Go get your mum, Aylin.” I smiled.
“Mummy says not to talk to strangers.”
“Then what are you doing opening the door? Learn some basics, before your auntie Feathers goes Hulk that you disrespected her with the label stranger.”
A gasp. Crash, as the door slammed. Whispers.
I sighed, leaning against the graffiti tagged wall of floor eleven, Tower Block B. The corners were junked with used needles and dirty nappies. The concrete stairwell reeked of urine.
I was coming home for Christmas or the closest thing that I had left: Gizem’s home.
When the battered door swung open, I fought not to force myself into their human world.
Then I caught sight of Gizem.
She slouched in a stained bathrobe with a towel around her neck; her scar stood out livid down her ashen cheek. Her hair wound like black snake corpses down her shoulders, and her eyes were just as lifeless.
It was like the sun had died.
Aylin peeked around her mum, wearing pink pajamas with fluffy winged angels. She clutched The Night Before Christmas. I snorted; when Gizem had tried to read that story to me as a kid, I’d chucked it at her head.
“Get into bed.” Gizem ran her hand down Aylin’s hair, never taking her gaze from mine. “I’ll be in to read your book soon.”
“And Father Christmas? Will he… If I go to sleep, will he visit tonight?” Aylin asked.
I raised an eyebrow, but Gizem didn’t smile, she just pushed Aylin towards her room. “Bed. Now.”
Then Gizem shoved me deeper into the urine stinking corridor, before closing the door behind her. “What are you doing? Showin
g up here?”
I blinked. “Merry Christmas to you too. And we didn’t believe in any of that Santa crap.”
Her scowl lightened. “I know, that’s why I’m making sure Aylin does.”
“I don’t understand.”
Gizem sighed, brushing my shoulder in a gesture so familiar that it made me ache. “I know. You never did.” She slid out a packet of cigarettes from her pocket and lit one with a disposable.
“So, your little one didn’t recognize me.”
“They grow fast. And you…seem different.” When Gizem took a deep drag, she exhaled with a sigh, and then relaxed back against the wall.
I slouched next to her. “Remember last Christmas she was obsessed with some pricey princess doll, until—”
“You took her to see a knight’s dressing up outfit and told her the story of Buffy the Vampire Slayer who was just like King Arthur and ever since—”
“She’s said that she wants to be Sir Buffy when she grows up?”
We sniggered.
Just for a moment, I could pretend that Rebel had never fallen into my life.
“You always had my back,” Gizem said softly.
“Because you always had mine.”
“I looked for you.” Gizem tumbled ash from her cigarette between her feet. “The feds interviewed us. You know what they’re saying about you?”
I stiffened, before forcing myself to smile. “That I’m a kickass bitch?”
“That you’re a killer,” she licked at her dry lips, “who took out Toben and then Bisi.”
“And what do they say about Jade?” I couldn’t meet Gizem’s eye.
Gizem shrugged, although the movement seemed to cost her. “That she must be a casualty of turf war.”
“And what do you say?”
Gizem threw down her cigarette, grinding it with her bare heel. I flinched. “You want to guess how much I wouldn’t be out here if I reckoned that you’d hurt Jade?” Then she hugged me fiercely, something that she hadn’t done since I was a kid, and I struggled not to lose any Hackney respect and bawl. “I saw those pictures and I knew—”
“Hell, you saw…?” I’d forgotten, in the joy of the familiar, that my old life’s annihilation had been caught on film.
“Someone’s going to turn you in. It’s all over social media.” Gizem edged back towards her apartment. I could see the light through the crack. A world of The Night Before Christmas and belief in a good magic that didn’t come tainted with death. “And the gang that took over the business,” she shuddered, her hand straying to rub at the towel around her neck, “they’re bastards who make Bisi look like a pussy. You can’t let them catch you.”
“I won’t let them mess with you either.” I couldn’t help the growl. This was Gizem, and we were the Two Orphan Musketeers. Ever since we’d been kids, we’d looked out for each other because we’d had no one else. “I’ll protect you.”
Her smile was sad. “Can you even protect yourself?”
I caught her arm before she could slam the door closed on me. “You’re saying that there’s no room at the inn?”
Gizem looked trapped in that agonizing choice between laughing and weeping. “Maybe you’re just trying to win the most screwed-up Christmas this year, Feathers?”
I couldn’t help the wetness pricking my eyes. Gizem had never shut me out before. It hadn’t mattered what I’d done, she’d always been there to put me back together again.
Suddenly desperate, I found myself babbling, “I’m claiming that medal. I’ve earned it. So, do I tell the spooky story?”
Gizem’s gaze hardened as she slammed the door, but I didn’t miss her mutter, “You’re spooky enough already, girl.”
I stared at the closed door, blankly. Then I allowed the tears to fall.
Blindly, I stumbled out of Tower Block B into a snow world, blurred to ice white by my tears. I grasped onto the frozen chain, dropping onto the swing.
I shivered as I swung.
Time for the spooky ass story, Violet-sweets. Make us fear and forget.
I still had J, and I clung to his words, winding them around myself like they could protect me. His voice trembled like he felt the same pain as me.
I bent my legs, lolling my head back, with my eyes screwed shut against a world that I didn’t want to remember. I swung higher and higher.
There was once a foundling. No one knew who’d left her in the human world, but she was powerful and swore that one day, when she was all grown up, she’d take her rightful place in the magical world and her vengeance…
Suddenly, there were lips on my neck, and arms around my waist, trapping me. Someone stopped the swing, stealing me back into the snow world with a kiss.
My eyes snapped open.
The bloke’s hair was auburn and smoothed into a boy band chic that I remembered. His skin was tanned, and his cheek bones were high and aristocratic. His long black wool coat and leather gloves marked him as Romantic Boyfriend material.
He was beautiful.
No wonder I’d risked everything that night to be with him. The bastard did everything but sparkle.
Phoenix…and he hadn’t aged since the night that he’d tried to kill me, knifed Gizem, and given me my first kiss.
Yet his pupils appeared charcoal-gray, rather than black. Was that why I hadn’t realized that he wasn’t human? And did vampires hide themselves that way?
Phoenix frowned, like he’d expected a bigger reaction. He leaned closer, as if to steal a kiss, but I wrenched his arm off my waist and scrambled away.
He sauntered after me. “You smell divine. A Christmas gift just for me. But why are you so sad?” He smiled with that dimple I’d found so cute before.
Now I wanted to curb stamp the pretty bitch’s face into the snow.
I shrugged. “Because a psycho reckons that we’re into sharing our feelings.”
Run, isn’t that what you said to the Fang? Do it now, before this asshole twists your mind.
Why? I’m a huntress, remember?
Yet this was the first time I’d been alone without Rebel. Alone with a vampire.
And Phoenix wasn’t a gagged baby vamp.
Phoenix ran a hand through his thick wave of hair. “You’re sad, I believe, because nobody wants you.” When I flinched, his smile broadened. “Except, I want you. You want me too, if you’d only let go. You crave death, seeking it out with your foolishness. Yet I can give you something that will take you further than death. Just relax, and allow it to take you. Let me in.”
Phoenix’s eyes were burning coals against the white of the snow. His move to me was so fast that I felt his breath against my neck before I’d tensed for it. When he tongued my skin, I stiffened.
I didn’t want this, but I was frozen because I did crave death.
Only not how he imagined it.
With a sigh, I elbowed Phoenix, and he staggered back with a startled oomph.
“Just go, yeah?” I booted the merry-go-round; it slowly spun.
Run, Pretty Feathers, run…
An outraged roar, then hands dragged me back by my hair. I yelped, but my neck was twisted. Fingers dug in at the base.
Coming, ready or not…
Agony. Blinding and pure.
I screamed as my muscles and nerves melted in a wave of weakness. I submitted, falling to my knees in the snow.
I had the sudden memory of Rebel, risking this same pain at Da’s hands. I hadn’t prayed to the angels for many years, but I prayed now for Rebel to save me.
I shuddered with pain, as if I’d been tasered, so weak that I couldn’t lift my arms. Then I stared up at Phoenix’s face full of fangs.
That’s a proper screwed-up Christmas for you.
Phoenix stroked down my cheek; the leather was soft and cold against my skin. He dragged my throat closer to his gleaming teeth. “I’ve waited a long time to taste you.”
“Sweet Jesus, you’re not using those idiot lines?” Rebel wrenched Phoenix away from me, smashin
g his head against the merry-go-round.
Phoenix snarled, trying to escape, but Rebel held him down with a boot on his throat.
I panted, gaping at Rebel in his swirl of black leather, as — bang — he lifted up Phoenix’s head and crushed it against the merry-go-round again.
Maybe a Christmas prayer could come true? I’d never been so relieved to see anyone as that Irish angel.
I struggled to crawl closer to the bastard who’d scarred Gizem and stolen my trust in men. After Phoenix, blokes were disposable toys to screw and then throw away. That way, you couldn’t be hurt or shanked.
All because my first kiss had been with a vampire.
I dragged myself through the snow towards Phoenix. Phoenix flailed under Rebel’s boot, but Rebel grimly held him down.
“You’re right: I crave death. Let’s see what happens when I let it in.” I kissed Phoenix lightly.
When Phoenix snapped at me with his fangs, Rebel ground his heel into his neck and he stilled. For the first time, violet death flowed through my lips and into Phoenix’s mouth. Phoenix jerked. The silver knives, which had haunted so many of my nightmares, shot from his nails.
But now they were impotent.
Rebel swung Eclipse, slicing off the hands that’d dared to touch me, at the same time as a hissing, searing path of flames flared through Phoenix’s head, until he burned like a candle. When I settled back on my heels, the sparking fire ate through the vampire’s body, until in a flash that speared up to the army of stars, Phoenix crumbled to ash.
I am death. The End. Destroyer.
You should’ve run. Remember that I gave you the choice to run.
A huntress doesn’t run.
I’ll read you until the Christmas bells ring out: you’re an addict, the same as Rebel.
Shocked, I sprawled backwards.
Rebel leapt over the pile of ash and threw himself onto me. His body was hard, supporting, and anchoring. His face was as white as the snow, and his hands shook. He touched every inch of me, patting down for injuries and turning my head from side-to-side to check my neck. He sighed, when he saw that it was unmarked. Then he caressed his fingertips over my face, as if memorizing it. When he slowly removed my glasses, I stiffened but allowed it.
Rebel Angels: The Complete Series Page 12
