Nightingale Girl

by M. R. Pritchard

  I turn to find out what the noise is. A dark figure dashes by my room, slamming the door shut as it passes. I reach for the handle and twist. It’s locked.

  No, no, no, no, no! I hate being locked up. Spent more than enough time behind bars unable to get free. It reminds me of county jail and juvie and the Safe House. I bang on the door with my fist.

  “Hey! Hey! Let me out!”

  The manic laughter in the hallway continues, but no one opens my door.

  . . .

  I pace for hours, ready and waiting to pounce, when the knob finally turns. The door opens, and Sparrow steps into my room.

  “What the fuck!” I yell.

  He looks shocked. “What?”

  “I’ve been locked in this room for hours. Where were you? You left me here. Of all the crap—”

  “I—I didn’t know.” Sparrow raises his hands in defense.

  “Bullshit. Where have you been?”

  “Talking with my father.”

  I stomp out the door, eager to get out of the room where I had been confined.

  “Meg. Wait.” Sparrow runs after me. “Why are you so angry?”

  “You promised.” My hands are shaking. “You promised you’d come find me, and you never did. A promise is a promise, Sparrow. You taught me that. Remember?”

  “I’m sorry. I was busy.” He looks truly remorseful.

  We exit through the basement door, out into the light. I quickly step back into the shadows. Why is it so hot here? I ignore the heat and remind myself that I am pissed at Sparrow.

  “Busy with what?” I ask, ready to flip my shit again, angered that I can’t even have the freedom here to walk in daylight.

  “My father.” Sparrow tucks his hands into his pockets.

  “What did he have to say?” I ask. “Can he help you?”

  “It’s not that simple.” Sparrow is avoiding all eye contact; something’s off. He’s keeping something from me, and I don’t like it. Jim kept things from me, and then he tried to kill me. Sooner or later, Sparrow is going to spill it.

  He changes the subject. “Why don’t you tell me what happened,” he suggests. “Why were you locked in that room?”

  “Well, that lady showed me to my room, and when I was looking around, there was this crazy laughter in the hall, and then the door slammed shut. It was locked. I couldn’t get out.”

  Sparrow stiffens.

  “What?” I ask.

  “That laughter . . . that was Nightingale.”

  “Who’s that?”

  “My sister.”

  “I didn’t know you had a sister.” I look up at him.

  “We don’t talk about her.” Sparrow presses his lips together. “She’s . . . odd.”

  Well, that’s the funniest shit I’ve heard all day. The pot calling the kettle black and all that.

  “What’s so odd about her?”

  “You’ll see.” He takes my hand. “Let’s go find her.”

  Sparrow tugs me back into the lower level of the castle, and he starts pushing open doors.

  “Night!” he calls into an empty room.

  I grab onto his arm, enjoying the way his muscle tenses when I do. I’ve never touched anyone so freely, and I’ve never enjoyed anyone’s touch as much as I enjoy Sparrow’s.

  “I thought her name is Nightingale?”

  “Nickname,” he replies, as he shoves open another door. “Night!”

  All the rooms are dark.

  “Why is she being kept in the basement?” I ask. “Or . . . is this a dungeon?”

  I understand why his father would want to banish me to the basement—to piss me off and cause tension between me and Sparrow—but to keep his own daughter down here is strange.

  “My father doesn’t know what else to do with her.” Sparrow continues down the hall, opening another door. “Night!” It’s empty inside. There’s one door left. Sparrow opens it, and we are rewarded with light.

  “Nightingale.” Sparrow smiles wide at the sight of his sister.

  I just stare, trying not to let my mouth gape open.

  Nightingale is lying across a bright-pink bedspread on her stomach, wearing a black crop top and tiny red gym shorts with white piping—straight out of the eighties. She turns, pulls the headphones from her ears, and leaps off the bed. She’s wearing big clunky roller skates.

  “Sparrow!” The girl whistles a melodic trill before skating toward Sparrow, leaping into his arms and hugging him tight.

  I guess this family has something with impersonating bird calls. Sparrow did the same when we were in Hell.

  For as attractive as Sparrow is, Nightingale is even more beautiful. Her hair is brunette and long, cascading down her back, and her eyes are just as bright and green as Sparrow’s.

  “Night, this is Meg.” Sparrow introduces me.

  Nightingale looks at me, then smiles wide. “My father doesn’t like you,” she announces like a vapid talking Barbie doll head.

  “Night!” Sparrow scolds her.

  “I’m not surprised.” I shrug. “I could tell. I’ve been treated like that before. This is nothing.”

  “That’s the problem.” Sparrow touches my arm. “Apologize to her,” he tells Nightingale.

  Nightingale tips her head, her mannerisms similar to the inquisitive focus of a seagull. A moment passes. “Only if you take me with you when you leave,” Nightingale says to me.

  “I’m not going anywhere.”

  She smiles. “You’re going somewhere. Take me with you. I don’t like it here.”

  “I’m not going anywhere,” I repeat. I’d like to leave, though. I’ve only been in Remiel’s Kingdom for five minutes, and I don’t like it here, either.

  “You will,” Nightingale replies in a singsong voice as she skates around us in circles. “You will go with him. It’s written in the stars.” Her arms arc in the air, and she whistles the same light, melodic trill that she greeted Sparrow with; then she’s whipping around the room, displaying twists and turns so fast on her skates that it makes me dizzy.

  “What is she talking about?” I ask Sparrow.

  “Nothing.” Sparrow looks agitated. “I’m hungry.”

  Sparrow is always hungry. So am I.

  “Let’s go get dinner,” he suggests.

  Nightingale suddenly stops her cryptic dance. “Oh, I love dinner!” she says, following us out of her room.

  Sparrow leads me around the castle. There are paved walkways throughout. Nightingale weaves back and forth on her roller skates, whistling short melodies.

  We enter the castle through a patio door and walk through a library and a long hallway, before we reach the massive dining room. There’s a large stone table spread with food: meats, cheeses, steaming breads, plates of vegetables, goblets of wine, and sparkling water.

  Remiel is already seated at the head of the table, waiting for us. Sparrow sits; I sit next to him. Nightingale skates to the opposite side of the table from us, before stumbling into a chair.

  “Hi, Daddy.” Nightingale whistles a different trill to greet him.

  Remiel closes his eyes and shakes his head, without responding to his daughter.

  What a jerk.

  Sparrow grips my thigh under the table. I think he means to soothe me, but any time he touches me, dirty thoughts fill my mind. And in that moment, Remiel’s high brow rears its ugly head. He scowls at me, then looks at his son. I wonder if he can see everything in his Kingdom like Gabriel can?

  He must, because he says, “Her type will leave you in a heartbeat, son. I’m sure you’ve already been warned of this. She’ll forget you faster than you’ll forget her, when your time comes.”

  When his time comes? I have no clue what he’s talking about, but I’m so sick of this shit. I stand up, pointing a finger at the man who is supposed to be an Archangel but is actually nothing more than a giant ass.

  “How dare you! He is my hallelujah, heroin, and reason to breathe.” I’ve never said hallelujah in all my life, b
ut forcing the words out of my lips feels strangely satisfying.

  I glance at Sparrow, whose face is white as snow. Nightingale is smiling like a kid in a candy shop. Seems she’s waited a long time for someone to put her father in his place.

  Remiel stands. “Out!” he shouts and points to the door. “Get your sinful mouth out of here.”

  I only said one sentence to the guy—clearly it was the wrong thing to say. The Council is going to lose their shit over this. I guess my highway to heaven is paved in tar and disappointment.

  I stomp out of the room, my stomach grumbling the entire way. I wish I had taken my plate of food.

  Sparrow doesn’t follow. It seems he is either afraid of his father or completely confused. I vote for both but hold neither against him. Sparrow’s having a rough time; if he can’t stand up for me in this instance, I’ll let it slide. This time. Only this time.

  I run out of the castle toward the gardens I saw when we first arrived. Following the dimly lit sidewalk, I find myself standing among roses and daffodils and strange flowers I’ve never seen before. I slow myself and walk toward the small fountain that’s lit up, now that it’s dark.

  I’m fuming. Seems it doesn’t matter if King Gabriel is my father. I’m still mixed-blood. I’m sinful. I’ll taint their bloodline. I’m not welcome in this place.

  The sounds of a melodic whistle and roller skates sliding over smooth pavement break the night.

  Nightingale skates up next to me. “He’s a dick,” she says, her voice chipper.

  “Yup.”

  “Don’t take it personal. He’s just mad. And our kind don’t trust lightly.”

  “Heard that before.” I cross my arms and control the urge to do something bad, like rip all the blossom heads off the flowers and leave them on Remiel’s bedspread. “I hate this.”

  “We weren’t always crazy assholes.” Nightingale pushes off and skates around the fountain in a blur. The snow-white feathers of her wings flutter.

  “Sure.”

  I feel myself shutting her out. I can deal with a lot of shit, but I thought this was going to be different. My father is King Gabriel—he welcomed me here with open arms—but it seems, besides Sparrow, he is the only one happy about my presence.

  Nightingale skates backward around the fountain. “You should know we are a family of cursed Angels. The only way to fix us is for Sparrow to take his turn as a Hellion. The eldest from each generation is required to do so. Sparrow has been gone a really long time, and now he has to be sent away again. Our father is an angry bastard because he never did his time when he was called. Sparrow hasn’t, either. Yet. He strayed to your father’s kingdom, but the curse caught up with him. That’s why Sparrow’s brains are scrambled. That’s why mine are, too. It affects all the children—each generation until someone finally goes. Mine and Sparrow’s children would be crazier than each of us.” Coming to a stop in front of me, Nightingale frowns. “No one will touch me up here. I’m plagued. An aberration.”

  I swear to God I feel my heartbeat stop. Sparrow can never be a Hellion. Not after what they did to me.

  “You look sick,” Nightingale says. “You should go find him.”

  I close my eyes, focus on Sparrow, and—poof—I’m out of there.

  When I open my eyes again, I’m standing next to Sparrow in some weird war room decorated with maps and strange weapons. Remiel is there, as well, and he doesn’t look happy to see me.

  “This is no place for your kind,” Remiel says. “Blasphemy that you were allowed within the Seven Kingdoms of Heaven in the first place. Council knew better.”

  Jim’s father on the earthen plane didn’t like my blood, either. They’ll never get my stains out.

  King Gabriel was right: these guys are assholes.

  Ignoring Remiel, I turn to Sparrow. “A Hellion? A Hellion? How could you keep this from me?”

  “He is the heir to the throne,” Remiel replies before Sparrow opens his mouth to speak. “He will do his time. He will heal this family, and he will not taint it with your mixed blood.”

  “I didn’t ask you,” I say.

  Remiel looks like he could kill me. “And I didn’t invite you to come here. You don’t belong. You are darkness, sin, and wickedness.”

  “Stop,” Sparrow tells his father. “I’ll do it. I’ll set things right. This is my duty.”

  “Sparrow, you can’t,” I say.

  “I have to.” He won’t look at me.

  The darkness may be calling, beckoning me from the distance between realms, but that is not a place for Sparrow. We barely survived last time we were there.

  Remiel starts talking. Going on and on about the Council and pride and—bullshit really.

  I take Sparrow’s hand.

  Poof.

  We’re in my room in the basement of Remiel’s castle.

  “I have to go, Meg.” Sparrow touches me. I notice this time that his head cocks to the side, just a tiny bit. Almost a nervous tick, if I didn’t know better.

  “You hid this from me?”

  Sparrow nods. “I can’t help it now. It was easier to stop before. Control the muscles.” He sighs. “I have to fix this.” His fingers twitch. “I’ll be fine.”

  “Those are Hellions.”

  “It will be okay.”

  “Those are not the boys of summer, Sparrow. These are the Hellions! You know what they did to me.”

  “I know. I know. And you’re bad to the bone. I know what your blood is to them. Rubies and jewels to those who are damned. But you’re mine, Meg. And I’m yours. I can tell you’re grinding at the bit to get out of here. At least we can go together now.”

  “I swore on your life I wouldn’t leave.”

  “My life won’t be worth much if I don’t fix this.” His head “tics” to the side, and Sparrow presses his lips together, like he’s trying to control it but losing fast. “Our life won’t be worth anything. I’ll only get worse. Worse than when you found me in Hell, and I had no memories. Teari assured me this is a one-way ticket to madness. If my father had gone, I’d be fine. But he didn’t. This rests on my shoulders now. I want a future with you.” He steps closer. “It will mean nothing if I’m crazy. I will not let this curse taint our children.” His hand falls to my lower abdomen.

  I was pregnant once—thought I could never be again—but Teari fixed me.

  “I want my sister to have a family, as well.”

  The door bursts open, and Nightingale glides in.

  “They’re going to turn him bad, Meg.” Her voice sounds haunted. “They’re going to turn him into a bad, bad man. He needs it to rule, to know darkness and light. They’re going to turn him into a monster!”

  Nightingale never stops circling on her skates. Faster and faster she goes. It makes me dizzy.

  “No,” I say. “No. No. No!” I want to scream and cry at the same time.

  “Night, stop it!” Sparrow shouts.

  “You already have it, Meg. You teeter on the fringes. But Sparrow has only known good and honor. Our kind must learn or suffer the consequences.” Nightingale stops in front of me. “Let him go, Meg. Let him fulfill his destiny.”

  “I can’t have Sparrow turn into one of them. It’s my worst nightmare.”

  Nightingale cocks her head to the side and studies me for a moment. “Take me with you.”

  “No.”

  “Well then, he’s your monster now,” Nightingale replies. She whistles a light melodic trill before skating out of the room.

  “How much time do you have?” I ask Sparrow.

  “I’m not sure.”

  “Hours, days, weeks?”

  He shrugs. “A few days at least. I already agreed to it. They’ll call on me when one of their Hellions dies, and I’ll take its place.”

  I strip off my stupid princess clothing and throw on my last pair of tight jeans and a wide-necked T-shirt. I’ve kept this outfit folded up under my mattress in my father’s Kingdom, waiting for the perfect time. This
is as good a time as any to shed my fake Angel skin.

  Sparrow’s eyes widen in surprise at seeing me in my old clothes. I grab my bag and turn to Sparrow. He’s still wearing his Legion issue garb. It will have to do for now.

  “Okay.” I take his hand. “We’re going to get away. Angele Dei, illumina, custodi, rege et guberna.”

  “Meg—”

  Poof.

  A DOLLAR AND A DAYDREAM

  We’re back on the earthen plane, standing on a sidewalk outside a thrift shop.

  Gabriel is going to be pissed.

  “What do we do now?” Sparrow asks after looking around.

  I turn to face him, surprised that I can no longer see his wings. I almost forgot they aren’t visible here. Angels and Demons, their wings and horns and scales aren’t noticeable on the earthen plane.

  “We need a car.”

  “But you can poof us anywhere,” Sparrow points out.

  If these are the last days of us together, of him knowing me and me knowing him, then I want to savor them.

  “I have to conserve my energy in case I need to poof us in an emergency.”

  “Okay.” He smiles, believing me.

  God, I’m so selfish.

  “We need wheels.” I look him over. “And you need something else to wear. You look like Black Ops in that getup.”

  Sparrow tips his head to the side and turns just slightly, like he’s listening to something.

  “Wait here.” He spins, runs down the street, and turns the corner.

  Where the heck did he just go? I wait on the sidewalk alone. A few people pass, eyeing me skeptically. I shiver as a cool breeze blows. I wish I had a coat. I adjust my bag on my shoulder.

  Finally, an eggplant-purple van rounds the corner. It’s a Dodge Caravan, straight from 1999. Sparrow’s driving and going about seven miles per hour. He has no idea how many guys at the trailer park drove one of these suckers. All it needs is a light bar and a volunteer firefighter sticker across the back, and I’d swear we were standing on a dirt road in upstate New York.

  I smile as Sparrow gets out and walks toward me. He changed his clothes—must’ve gotten them from the thrift shop or the garbage bin or, heck, maybe they were in the back of the van. He’s wearing jeans with a matching jean vest. And he looks really good. Like, Bon Jovi good. But people are going to stare. I wanted to keep a low profile in case we run into any Angels or Demons who have escaped their realm.