Strays

by Remy Wilkins

  Pinwheel continued, “Demons don’t always see guardian angels, but typically there’s some sign of heavenly protection. A bright dot of light on the forehead, a golden halo, a protective aura, something to indicate divine oversight. Demons can’t touch anyone unless a person dismantles the seal of heaven themselves or the Name grants it.”

  Rodney wasn’t listening. He curled himself into a tighter ball and focused on breathing. The leaves creaked and crackled with life, wind, and bugs. Birds pitched into the air, branches swinging with their landing or leaping, their songs scattered and clipped.

  “I’m alone, Pinwheel. I’ve been abandoned by everyone.”

  Pinwheel looked at his quivering form. “Not true, Rodney.”

  “My dad, my mom, my uncle, I don’t even have a guardian angel.”

  Pinwheel nudged him with his furry foot. “Not by everyone.”

  “Who can I trust? Who can help?”

  Pinwheel kicked Rodney’s soggy backside. “Not by everyone! I am here. I am your friend.”

  Rodney sat up, dirt and leaves stuck to him. His face slumped into a grim look. “But you didn’t even tell me I had no angel. You let me jump into the river. You would’ve let me jump off the house too.”

  Pinwheel’s eyes searched the ground. Rodney couldn’t tell if it was embarrassment or evasiveness. “I thought I just could not see signs of your angel. I am not an experienced tempter. I was mocked. I was always afraid that I would be eaten and sent back to the outer darkness.”

  “I don’t care what happened to you back then. It sounds like demons are horrible things, but you aren’t supposed to be a demon anymore. You’re supposed to be my friend.” A hurt tone entered Rodney’s voice. His fists were clenched. “Friends don’t let their friends jump off houses and cliffs.”

  Pinwheel continued to plead. “We don’t have much time. We had to do something.”

  “We? We haven’t done anything. I just nearly killed myself! Why don’t you do something?” Rodney stood up, his legs still wobbly with adrenaline and fear.

  Pinwheel retreated a step. “I am sorry, Rodney. I did not know. I did not know.”

  “You’re just a demon, abandoned by other demons.” Rodney shoved him.

  Pinwheel’s eyes blinked. “Stop it, Rodney.”

  Rodney stood and picked up a nearby stick. “How do I know I can trust you? What if you’re just using me?” He swung the stick back and forth to drive Pinwheel back.

  “I pulled you from the water.” Pinwheel stretched his arms out as he backpedaled.

  “So?” Rodney’s face was red and speckled with grit. “You told me not to trust Ray and he’s gone now. He was the only one that could help us.”

  “I—I did not know.”

  “You lied to me.”

  “I would not lie, Rodney, you—you saved me. You pulled me from the darkness. I am subject to the Name now.” He dropped to his knees to stop Rodney’s advance.

  “So?” Rodney looked down at the fearful demon. “I don’t know the Name.”

  “Yes, you do,” Pinwheel said.

  “I don’t know that Name. I am not under that Name.” He raised the stick above his head. “And neither are you.” He brought the stick down and smashed the crown of Pinwheel’s head. The demon crumpled under the blow.

  Rodney stood over the prone figure. “I thought you were tougher than that. I thought demons couldn’t be hurt so easily.” Pinwheel didn’t respond. Rodney nudged him with his foot. Pinwheel was breathing. He threw the stick down beside the motionless demon and oriented himself to the house.

  The rabbits arrived, having finally caught up to them. Thundertrump went immediately to where Pinwheel was sprawled. Rodney stumbled off into the woods with Ebenezer and Jerome following him. They chirped and tried to block him, but he stepped over them and continued. Finally they stopped and let him leave.

  The ground sloped down, and Rodney leaned against the trees to keep from falling. His knees were weak, and water was still squishing out of his shoes. His eyes watered. He was alone.

  He came out into the clearing, sniffling. The house looked ominous even in the morning sun. Ray’s car still smoldered. His father was in Los Angeles, his mother in Nashville caring for others, Ray was lost to him, and Pinwheel was no longer to be trusted. He looked around him. Even the rabbits were gone.

  Chapter Thirteen

  CRAFT AND POWER

  Pinwheel opened his eyes. He was flat on his back, his arms and legs forming the letter X on the ground. The sunshine entered the canopy of leaves like long paddles into a dark cool lake. He listened to the morning sounds around him, the whirl and clicks of bugs whose names he did not know and the beckoning chirps from birds hidden in trees.

  His head throbbed where Rodney’s blow had landed. The throbbing rumbled down his body (neck, chest, legs, and feet) to bounce from his toes back up. He heard its rhythm interplay with the sounds of the smaller things, both winged in air and rooted in earth. His attention expanded beyond his aches and embraced the welter of activity around him.

  His body hummed with the surrounding sensations, still new to his form. Smells, once dull to his demon nose, now burst with bright spikes of floral sweetness and loamy density. His nose was overwhelmed with summer aromas.

  The world, once flat to his eyes, now bristled with edges and textures. He saw the tiny grooves of petals and leaves, like fingerprints, their identities written like poems across their surfaces. He saw the slow firecrackers of pine cones, popping and stretching all summer, their stiff armor like soldiers on parade, and also the rolling softness of their sap like happy tears.

  He understood the flurry of motes, which no longer looked like chaos fogging his vision as it had when he was Birthless. Now he could hear the tune of the world, the song of the wind, and the play of all things in it and he knew now that it was a dance, choreographed down to the smallest antennae thrust into the reeling.

  He let his fingers pierce the dirt to feel its vigor and strength. To a demon, dust is dead and used as an anchor to maintain corporeality. But now he knew its toil and spurt, he could feel the life that trees and plants dredged out of it. He could sense the tremors of worms in their playground, their lifelong inching about in it.

  His eyes were opened, the sting of light was gone, the scald of living things no longer pained him; its heat fed him, flowed through and renewed him. The light presented him with endless gifts, and he wanted his eyes always to be open to receive.

  He felt Jerome at his elbow and sat up. “I must have slept again.”

  Jerome chittered softly.

  Pinwheel’s shoulders slumped in response. “Yes, it is understandable that Rodney does not have faith in me.”

  The other rabbits joined them. They circled around Pinwheel and began to bark and titter at each other. It was a rabbit council. Thundertrump was very animated in her position, yipping loudly, with Ebenezer and Jerome quietly responding to her outbursts. Pinwheel paid attention, but remained silent.

  When Thundertrump ceased, Jerome turned to address Pinwheel.

  Pinwheel nodded. “I think that is the wisest counsel, Jerome. I would rather stay with Rodney anyway.” Thundertrump snorted. Pinwheel noted her displeasure and continued, “I don’t want to run into servants of Hell. They are mightier than I am now.”

  Thundertrump couldn’t restrain herself any longer and burst into a smattering of rabbit talk.

  “I just know, okay,” said Pinwheel defensively. “I am not as strong as I once was now that I am under the Name. I can feel it. I am weak, I have to sleep now, I hunger, I thirst.” The mere mention of thirsting made Pinwheel feel dizzy. He stumbled up and went over to the bank of the river. He slid down its side and put his mouth to the cool flow, pulling it in with loud slurps.

  He was about to climb back when he heard the sounds of curses and the crack and clatter of de
mons stomping sticks and kicking leaves. He hugged the ground and climbed high enough so that he could peek over the edge of the bank.

  The rabbits had scattered and hid themselves, and soon Pinwheel caught sight of the gang of demons tromping through the woods. He recognized Yuckjoy, aide of Murkpockets, along with various underlings carrying something on their shoulders between two poles. Thrown over it was a mottled fur blanket made from several animals—dogs, cats, mice, and squirrels. Gore dripped from it as they walked.

  Pinwheel watched them pass, the demons complaining about the brightness and the weight of their burden. He lost them in the trees, but could hear their grumbling still. Thundertrump hopped out from under a wispy plant whose yellowy filaments had hidden her. She made a coughing sound to get Pinwheel to follow.

  Pinwheel reluctantly stood and followed the rotund rabbit. Ebenezer and Jerome stayed behind.

  They shadowed the demons to a place where the ground sunk. In the little cleft was a charred spot with a pile of ashes and sticks in the center. One of the demons began kicking it clear, filling the air with a cloud of dust. Another demon pulled off the covering of the thing they carried.

  It was a dark lump, somewhat oval, covered in dirt and hair. Pinwheel recognized it immediately. “It’s a small Alvarium,” he whispered to Thundertrump. The rabbit responded with a click of her tongue and then flattened her ears.

  “But there are six of them,” responded Pinwheel.

  The blonde butterball of a rabbit emitted another harsh clicking sound.

  “Do you think that will work?” asked Pinwheel. He was wringing his hands.

  Thundertrump huffed and nodded her head emphatically. Without another chirp she hopped ahead, leaving Pinwheel crouching in the bushes.

  Pinwheel watched the blonde rabbit bolt toward the nearest demon and cannonball into his back. The demon squealed as he hit the ground, dust and leaves exploding into billows.

  Without pausing Thundertrump launched herself into the next demon, setting her paws on his chest and flipping off him into the face of the third demon. She chomped down on his ears, dragging him to the ground with her weight. And then, as quickly as it started, it was over, Thundertrump darting off into the woods. The demons gathered themselves in pursuit, all howling.

  Pinwheel sat stunned at the success of Thundertrump’s plan. A distant cry of anguish reminded him that time was limited, and he sprang into the clearing where the portable Alvarium sat. The sticky mass stank, and there was a dull hum from inside. He drew out a pole from the rings at the base of the Alvarium and held it in his hands like he’d seen Rodney hold his bat.

  He set his feet and swung. His blow knocked a wet lump off the top of the hive and it spewed bees into the air. He jumped back, but the bees were disoriented by the light and wobbled erratically in the air. They seemed drunk and most of them smacked into trees and fell. There they remained, dazed and crawling on the dirt.

  Pinwheel approached the Alvarium again and raised the pole. He struck it like he was chopping firewood. The wood and bone frame split, wax and gore scattering. Pinwheel examined the innards of the hive. A few more sluggish bees climbed out and sputtered into the air.

  He wiggled the pole to remove it. A great sucking sound as he pulled startled the birds into silence. In that momentary birdlessness Pinwheel heard heavy breathing. He spun to see two demons glaring at him.

  “Ah, the little stray,” the nearest demon belched out. His breath had the smell of compost on a hot August day. “The envy of taking you belongs to Damperknob.”

  The larger demon behind Damperknob pushed him to the side. “The envy belongs to Fibditch.” Fibditch was among the higher ranking demons. He was five and a half feet tall and had tattered wings.

  Pinwheel retreated so that the Alvarium was between him and the others. “I do not fear demons any longer.”

  The Damperknob tried to circle around Pinwheel. His hot breath cut through the smell of the crushed Alvarium, stench within stench. “What is this one’s name, Fibditch?”

  Fibditch answered stroking his pointed chin. “Birthless was what he was called before he was stripped of his name.”

  “I am Pinwheel now.”

  “Blown about by doctrine, no doubt,” spat Fibditch.

  “Damperknob heard your prattle about sunshine.” The demon circled Pinwheel.

  Pinwheel wondered if Thundertrump would make it back. “I am a servant of the Name.” Pinwheel widened his stance and raised his arms.

  The demons chortled. Damperknob’s belly jostled; Fibditch’s tattered wings swayed in the light breeze.

  “The Outer Darkness has declared no strays from its fold.” Fibditch laughed between his teeth and his chuckles turned into a prolonged hiss.

  “Heaven will come to my aid.” Pinwheel lowered his wings, daring them to strike.

  Fibditch stepped closer and raised his claws, “Perhaps Fibditch and Damperknob can begin your dismantling.” He lunged at Pinwheel, latching onto an arm.

  Pinwheel slashed with his free arm, but Damperknob caught it. They lifted him into the air and Fibditch slammed his head against Pinwheel’s.

  Pinwheel flailed as Fibditch pinned him. He tried to lunge and chomp Fibditch’s neck, but Damperknob grabbed at his wings. Once he got a firm grip on a wing, Damperknob snapped it in half. Pinwheel howled.

  Fibditch dropped Pinwheel, and Damperknob gave him a brutal kick to his chin. He crumpled and curled in the dirt before the demons, his broken wing flopping from side to side as he writhed.

  “Fool, Heaven cares not for a failed demon,” muttered Fibditch into Pinwheel’s ear. “You should have flown.”

  Damperknob grabbed him by his good wing and dragged him toward the nearest tunnel. “Murkpockets will want to curse him before we send him howling back to the Lake of Fire.”

  Pinwheel held his mouth. His teeth had bitten through his tongue. He tried to staunch the flow of blood as he was rudely dragged. He moaned and succumbed to the helplessness growing inside him. “I am a child of darkness,” he said quietly. “Spurned by darkness. I am brother to demons but brotherless. I am homeless between heaven and earth.”

  His captors laughed, their derision slicing the air. “Sing more songs, dark angel,” scoffed Damperknob.

  Pinwheel kept his eyes closed. “I am a wretch and no angel, scorned by demons and despised by God and man. Fool that I am, fool that I am, fool that I am.”

  “Amen,” said Fibditch. “Amen.”

  The other demons joined them as Damperknob dragged Pinwheel by his good wing to a spot in the woods. Shielded from the harsh sun by the trees around them, the demons dug a pit to keep him in. They did not want him to see their new hell, spidering deeper under the Honeycomb House.

  Once they carved out a hollow the seven of them could crouch in, they pulled him under the earth. A hole was made in the wall, deep enough to hold Pinwheel, narrow enough so that he could not move, and they brusquely shoved him in. Through all of this Pinwheel sat motionless, sunk into himself, full of woe.

  Now laid flat in the earth, arms at his side, the roots of trees clawing his face and chest, he spoke to the dirt above him, whispered to it that it should fall and bury him. The demons in the hovel heard his mutterings and chuckled.

  In the blackness, Pinwheel could see the six gathered demons at his feet. They were probably holding him so that Murkpockets himself could dispatch him. His failure to successfully torment Rodney was enough to end his hold on this material body, but his falling into the Name of the enemy was sure to get him eaten.

  The pain of death was enough to make him tremble, but to be sent howling back to the Lake of Fire, to be thrown headlong into the turmoil of Hell and his demonic brethren made Pinwheel writhe with fear. How would a traitor be handled in Hell? How would a wannabe angel be received by the coarse and snarling fiends? He groaned and begged the earth to swall
ow him.

  A rumbling above him shook him from his misery. Even his captors quit their blustering to listen. The rumbling grew louder. It must be Murkpockets; his end was coming. “Hide me, earth,” he prayed. “Hide me.”

  The rumbling stopped, and the only sound was Pinwheel’s own haggard breathing. Damperknob snorted a relieved laugh and was about to mock their captive again when a searing white staff shot into the pit from above.

  Pinwheel heard their screams at his feet, but he couldn’t maneuver to a place where he could watch. The cave was collapsing and dirt rained down. Pinwheel screamed himself as the earth closed its mouth on him and became his grave.

  * * *

  Rodney ran upstairs and began stuffing clothes into his bag. Due to the amount of dirty laundry downstairs in the laundry room, Rodney was able to fit the rest of his clothes into his backpack. He pulled his hat from the doorknob and slapped it onto his head. He grabbed his bat, slipped his slingshot into his back pocket, and left.

  With Ray gone and no rabbits, Rodney felt less inclined to be in the big empty house just waiting for demons to come and drag him somewhere dark. He would bike into town, go to the police, and tell them Ray had disappeared. They’d call his mom, and she’d have to come pick him up. He would be taken far from this place, from the freaked-out craziness. No more demons, no more looking for angels.

  He stopped at the front door, putting his hand to the knob. No more Ray. He hung his head. And there would be questions he couldn’t answer. He dropped his bag and bat. The bat hit the floor and rolled in a circle at his feet.

  He heard the crunch of gravel as a car drove down it. He remembered that Otis had said he was coming over. “Crap,” he said. Ray was in big trouble, apparently, and now he’d be in trouble, too. No Ray, a burnt car, a whole bunch of unanswered questions, and a kid no one wanted to take care of.

  He waited until the car stopped and he heard car doors open and shut. He pulled the door back and stepped out onto the porch. Al Walden was trotting up the stairs with Otis shuffling behind him.