Divah

by Susannah Appelbaum

  Itzy felt a loud whomp as though her face had been slapped.

  Fiery creatures were everywhere, like a switch had flipped on a gas main. They danced as the flames licked at them, a brutal vision of combustion, figures wrapped in shrouds of flame. Another whomp, and Itzy’s body was propelled into the air with such force that when she hit the window, she stuck there, her body pressed to the glass. A storm was brewing; the clouds were dark and injured. A single flash of lightning curdled the sky, and Itzy saw Luc unfold his magnificent wings. His majestic outline was all crisp edges, the arch of his tensed wings looming above him, his face in shadow. His hand shot out to touch the glass, and they faced each other now, so close, separated by the translucent window.

  A deep weariness overtook her now, as she pressed against the glass. Her small hand was there against Luc’s—so close, but she could not feel it. She felt only numbness and exhaustion—and something new: defeat. Luc was saying something; the words scattered and rolled away, lost through the glass.

  I was the last queen of France, Itzy. You are nothing but a little girl.

  Glasses were flying, shattering against walls, and one of Anaïs’s little red cherries slid down Itzy’s cheek. Anaïs’s extensive luggage, stacked in the corner, flew open, and its contents disgorged in a large belch. Things flew by—blouses, ribbons and jewels, lacy underthings. The room was awash in color and silk. A scarf snagged on Nicolas, fluttering like a dying bird.

  Nicolas, she thought wildly. I will end up just like him. A candle jutting from my skull.

  With my mouth, she will call forth the damned, and visit ruin upon all that is good on this green earth until there is nothing but a scorched wasteland. With my feet, she will walk her kingdom of ash and ember, and turn finally to the sky. The clouds will heave with thunder. And then, when there is nothing left, she—no, I—will conquer them, too.

  Itzy stared into Luc’s amber eyes through the thick glass and tried to stand, but her knees buckled. She felt herself slipping away, dark waves lapping at her shore. Luc, she thought. Or had she spoken it? It hardly mattered. Nothing mattered. I’m sorry I doubted you.

  She looked at him again with all her will, locking eyes with him.

  The amber of his eyes held her, and she felt as if she were falling down a deep well. Only his eyes were no longer amber. And she wasn’t falling—rather, she was floating, buoyant. And then, as his eyes glowed a fierce, heavenly blue, she felt as if her body were singing, as if every nerve was alive with sublime energy, rousing her soul. Waves of ecstasy rolled through her body, she felt shivery and flushed, and what she realized next thrilled her more. Luc was there, with her, inside of her body.

  The demonic possessions always want closure. The angelic ones never want it to end.

  Welcome air filled Itzy’s lungs.

  In her trembling hand, Itzy saw her blade flash—a second jagged line of lightning reflected in it. The Divah was staggering, fumbling blindly, as Itzy’s arm swung the guillotine blade.

  I am unssssstoppab—

  104

  Luc was squeezing her hand.

  “You did it.” He breathed. Luc’s arms were around her, pulling her away. Anaïs was picking her way over daintily, kicking away broken glass, stomping on earwigs. Maurice was beside the Divah’s severed head. Old and dead languages bubbled from its lips.

  “Adieu.” Maurice spat.

  Itzy turned to Luc. “Did I?” she asked.

  “Itzy …”

  “Didn’t you—you know? Help me.”

  “What do you think?”

  Itzy looked at Luc, his eyes, their tawny amber pools like molten gold. Her stomach lurched as she felt him looking back at her—deep within her, a place that Itzy didn’t know could be seen with eyes, a place that might not even be called Itzy, but rather the part of her that came into this world before names. Her soul. She did not blink.

  Finally, she tore her eyes away.

  “What do I think?” she asked. She looked at her party dress, splattered with black oily blood. “I think I need a bath.”

  She buried her head in his warm chest.

  “Such a tiny thing,” he whispered, his voice soft and sweet in her ear. “Against such great forces.”

  From the corner of her eye, she saw something shadowy skittering across the floor from the Divah’s decaying body. It moved with a horrible click-clack as it darted across the room, heading for the corner. It was black and shadowy, and slithering beneath Aunt Maude’s fox fur pelt.

  Itzy stiffened, watching it.

  It slinked toward Anaïs’s leather trunks and various sturdy and enduring suitcases, where, quite quickly, it disappeared into an open valise.

  “I do believe there is a demon in my mother’s bag,” Itzy smiled.

  “Shh. It’s our little secret,” he said.

  105

  Itzy stepped out of the shower into the steaming bathroom. Marble counters and a pair of matching sinks emerged from the white fog. Grabbing a plush terry robe, she groaned as she wrapped herself in its folds. A voice spoke to her from within the steam.

  “You’ll be sore for a while.”

  It was Pippa, standing in the large bathroom with an armload of clothing. She was still in her white dress, somehow impossibly pristine. Gaston had helped her escape the Cathedral of the Damned, flying her to safety when the scholars stormed in.

  “No kidding.”

  “I can call down to Zitomer’s for something. Take the edge off.”

  Itzy flashed her a grim look.

  “How about some breakfast then?”

  Itzy leaned forward and rubbed a small circle free of moisture on the mirror, but it clouded over again just as quickly.

  “Just as well,” Pippa said. “You’re quite a sight.”

  “Is she gone?”

  “If you mean your mother, yes.”

  “Sabine, Colette?”

  “Gone. Gone. You know her plan B was to burn down the Carlyle if you didn’t succeed?”

  Itzy sighed and began the painful process of dressing.

  “She said to tell you something.”

  “Of course she did.”

  “She said, and I quote, ‘Don’t take it all so personally. You’re not a person.’”

  Itzy sighed. “Anything else?”

  “And if you want her, she’s at the Plaza.”

  Itzy tried the mirror again, swiping it with a thick towel this time. She was rewarded with her gauzy reflection. Her white hair remained, but there was a fistful of raw scalp where the Divah had torn some free. Her eyebrows were burned clean away. A large, raised welt was purpling on one cheekbone and a deep scrape from Laurent was on the other. And her eyes—Itzy leaned in for a better look. They were startlingly bloodshot and painfully sensitive to the light.

  “Oh, I forgot.” Pippa handed Itzy a pair of Hermès sunglasses. “There you go.”

  Itzy finished dressing and ran a quick hand through her wet hair.

  “Ready?” Pippa asked.

  The suite was quiet as the pair emerged. Itzy saw Maurice and smiled. Gaston and a few of the younger angels were gathered in a small knot and they eyed her curiously. Order was slowly returning to the Tower Suite: Luc’s possessions were being rolled in on polished luggage carts, and his presence restored to his rooms. Wold was beginning the laborious process of inspecting the luggage for demons. A long table had been erected, and on it were vases of spectacular flowers, boxes of bonbons, pyramids of marzipan fruit, and other offerings for Itzy. In the center, a brand new camera, a spectacular one of Swedish design. A Hasselblad.

  “Isn’t it divine?” Pippa whispered.

  Dawn was breathing its own colors into the room through the open windows. The room quieted as everyone turned to her, and a reverent silence descended.

  Wold cleared his throat finally. “Miss Nash,” he said.

  “Wold,” Itzy smiled. She hadn’t thanked him properly and was about to do so when an angel stepped forward by the concierge’s s
ide.

  “Allow me to introduce you to Ms. Bellerose,” Wold gestured. “She will be taking over duties for the late Dr. Jenkins. She is the new hotel doctor.”

  Itzy examined the angel, who wore a simple black dress, her wings flecked with gold. In her hand was a silver penlight. “I see things are looking up around here.” Itzy smiled.

  “May I?” the doctor asked, gesturing at the light.

  Itzy nodded, removing her sunglasses.

  The penlight swept across Itzy’s tired face, finding her eyes. The doctor leaned in, eagerly examining her. The angel clicked the light off and carefully put her hands on Itzy’s shoulders. “If you don’t mind,” she said, indicating Itzy should turn around.

  Itzy pivoted on her heel.

  There, upon her shoulders, were an unmistakable set of wings. They sprouted from Itzy’s shoulder blades, the feathers in gold and rich, deep reds. Here and there, interlaced with the plumes, were scales the color of dark, burned paprika.

  “Where are your manners?” Pippa scolded the stunned room. “Haven’t you ever seen a fledgling before?”

  Wold—bless his heart—clicked his heels together and performed a slight bow. “Miss Nash. Since all seems to be in order here, allow me to tell you that your aunt’s rooms are being readied for you as we speak. They are to be yours now.” He turned to the doctor. “If you don’t mind, Itzy has a very impatient visitor.”

  Itzy turned to the balcony where a dark figure stood waiting. Her heart quickened.

  “Oh, and Miss Nash?” Wold called. “Welcome to the Carlyle.”

  Luc stepped forward, opening the door, as the early morning breeze stirred his wings. She joined him on the balcony.

  Luc held her close. “It’s over.”

  Itzy suddenly felt incredibly weary. “I don’t think I care for scholars. Or demons. For the Carlyle. For anything.”

  He stared deep into her eyes. The morning sunlight was burning them, but she held his gaze. He was looking at her intently, searching her face.

  “Has anyone ever told you how beautiful your eyes are?”

  Itzy felt herself flush.

  “For angels, eternal beings, not much is new. That’s why Laurent loves war. Eternity is boring. You, Itzy, are something new. I think I shall begin painting again,” Luc announced. “Beginning with you.”

  “Luc—”

  “The Divah was too entrenched,” he said softly, examining her wings. “A part remains. The angel blood will keep it in check.”

  “So I am both angel and demon?” Itzy asked.

  “And human,” he said. “You are the new, new thing. Dark. Light. All in one.”

  She smiled.

  They were quiet, Itzy feeling his sturdiness beside her.

  “The scholars stormed the basement, with your father’s help. They opened up the pipeworks and are drowning the Gates as we speak.”

  “What will they do?” she asked eventually.

  He looked out over the city.

  “They will fight, I suppose. But it doesn’t matter. They will fight nonetheless. It is what you do that matters. Part demon, part angel. You straddle both worlds. I suppose you can do anything you want.”

  “Laurent? Did he—” Itzy asked.

  Luc’s face turned cold with fury. “Laurent got away. Nursing his wounds.”

  “Well, he can’t get far.” She reached into the pocket of her jeans, pulling out something small and glittering. Luc stared at her outstretched hands. They fluttered within her caged fingers like moths, a few angel feathers, white as ivory, dusted in gold. She cupped her hands, smiling.

  “Laurent’s feathers.” On his face, a flash of sorrow and loss. “A girl can get into a lot of trouble with feathers like that.”

  “Do you trust me, Luc?” she whispered.

  He nodded. “Come. I have a promise to keep.”

  “The others—they’re waiting inside.”

  “Let them wait.”

  He rose up, hovering over the smoldering hotel, reaching his hand down to her from above. The air from his great raven wings fanned her white hair. Perched atop the Carlyle’s jade roof were hundreds—maybe thousands—of angels, all watching her silently. The towering scarlet guillotine rose from Ava’s balcony, its blade winking in the morning sun, casting a beam of light down upon Madison Avenue.

  Itzy stepped upon the balcony wall, as she had seen so many angels do before. She took his hand and stepped into thin air.

  They soared above the city streets, Itzy and Luc, the morning clouds kissed with yellows and ochres, purples and dusky red. There were new colors, hidden colors. A constellation was on the horizon—she saw its faint outline as it sank into the western sky. It reminded her of Grand Central, the twinkling ceiling, of first meeting Luc.

  Luc rose still higher, and Itzy saw the sun readying itself implacably upon the eastern horizon. She kicked off her shoes to rid herself of the torturous earth. They fell, one after the other, down to the tiny city below.

  There, her father and a raucous gathering of scholars were storming the hotel, their banners waving above them as they piled into the lobby and over the ring of ash. Some daring ones climbed the golden awning, scaling the art deco walls. They were calling for the Queen of the Damned, of course; they were bloodthirsty and jubilant.

  Itzy knew just how they felt.

  Acknowledgments

  The author is indebted to the following people, for inspiration (spanning history, languages, and two continents), encouragement, and guidance:

  Virginie Elston; Ann Malavet; Jana Potashnik; Karmen Ross; Kate Klimo; Emma Parry; Grant Manheim; William Charnock, Daniel Flebut, and the Dejoux House; Gregory Ortiz; David Hershkovitz; my wonderful and creative students at SUNY New Paltz; Moshe Seigel; Mark Shaw; Heather Jones; Josh Molay; Maggie Brimijoin; Mike, Helen, and Sophie Nist; Nicola Tyson; Lisa Jack; Steve Warner; Steph Whitehouse; Nancy Bowles; Stephen Ellcock; Adrienne Szpyrka, Julie Matysik, Jay Cassell, and the entire Sky Pony team; Deidra Altman; Noelle Damon; Sol Melamed; Rhett Weires; Cynthia Lisort; Robin Jacobowitz; Marissa Rothkopf Bates; Judy Elliot; Dr. Brian Campolattaro; Dr. Michael Sinkin; Wendy Monk; Harvey Marshak; Michael Reynolds; Lisa Metz and Studio Stu; Veronika Jachimek; Nan Satter and her creative-writing group where Divah was first workshopped; Katy Bray; David Appelbaum; Joshua Appelbaum; and my two beautiful children, Harper and Henry.

  And with much love to Kevin Zraly.

  About the Author

  Like every child, Susannah Appelbaum realized at an early age that the world contains both good and evil—and she wanted nothing more than to write about it. By day, she does so. The night is reserved for keeping the world safe from shadows and demons. She has lived both in Paris and at the Carlyle hotel, where the service is exquisite and the food is never burnt.

  Susannah resides in New York’s Hudson Valley and is the critically acclaimed author of the Poisons of Caux series.