Angels & Patriots

by Salina B Baker

  “I am in agreement with Captain Duncan!” one of Major Pitcairn’s other captains shouted.

  “By God, we shall fulfill our orders from General Gage!” Colonel Smith decreed. “We will not return to Boston with a report of a failed mission! Now, let us rally and demonstrate our fortitude!”

  When the British regulars were at last under control and assembled on the green, Colonel Smith ordered his command to fire their weapons in a victory salute and raise three huzzas. The roar of eight hundred muskets shook the town.

  Colonel Smith gave the order to march toward Concord. As the column of regulars marched the westward road, Henry and his demon officers crossed the green. They encountered rebels just arriving from outlying farms.

  The new arrivals joined the battle’s survivors in stunned disbelief at the sight of dead and wounded friends and relatives. Residences streamed from all directions toward the green to aide those in need and gather their casualties. John and Ebenezer Munroe had fought with the militia that morning. They found their father dead near the place the militia line had formed. John Harrington’s family found him dead almost on his own doorstep on the edge of the green. Jonas Parker’s wife, Sarah, sobbed as her sons removed their father’s body.

  Henry and his posse of demons stopped at the edge of the green near David Harrington’s house. The possessed deceased Captain Sir Rupert Weller and the living Lieutenant Jasper Durnford, both of the 10th Regiment of Foot, crossed the green from the Clarke house and approached Henry. Robert had dispatched Weller and Durnford to Lexington earlier the previous evening. They were to locate the angels, if they were indeed in Lexington, and keep them in their sight.

  Henry and his officers dismounted and walked to meet Weller and Durnford. The five demons converged in front of the blacksmith shop where the angels had taken cover.

  Inside the shop, the uneasy angels struggled to keep their wings still. The demons would hear even the slightest flutter. Jeremiah crawled to the wall that faced the green and squinted to see through a crack.

  “The angels are here,” Lieutenant Durnford told Henry. “Before dawn, the one with the purple aura killed the demon possessing the dead saddlemaker. He and two other angels remained with the human guardsmen at the Clarke House until they moved the patriots elsewhere.”

  “Where were the other five angels?” Robert asked.

  “We only saw three.”

  Robert had a difficult time believing that the archangel would send only three angels to guard the ignorant human patriots. He stepped close to Jasper. “Where are the three now?”

  Jeremiah crawled closer to Seamus and whispered, “They think there was only three angels guardin’ Hancock and Adams last night.” He crawled back to the crack in the wall.

  Jasper shot Rupert a nervous glance. “We lost track of them in the fighting.”

  Henry strode over to Jasper. He wrapped one gloved hand around the lieutenant’s throat and squeezed. The lieutenant choked and his face turned red. He struggled with Henry, but it was as effective as a child pushing away a two-hundred-pound grown man.

  Henry’s yellow-green eyes flared. He addressed Captain Rupert Weller, “Is Jasper telling me that, not only did you lose sight of those angels, you did not locate the archangel? HE HAS TO BE HERE! HE WOULD NOT LEAVE HIS ANGELS UNPROTECTED!”

  Henry snapped Lieutenant Jasper Durnford’s neck. The demon that possessed Jasper exploded into a shower of orange sparks. Henry let go of the dead human body, and it crumpled to the ground. Lieutenant Jasper Durnford would become the overlooked British causality of the Battle of Lexington.

  “Robert,” Henry said with his eyes still on Rupert. “Kill him. Then you and I and William will destroy every door in Lexington if that’s what it takes to find the angels. Bohannon could not possibly have left his pets unprotected!”

  Jeremiah crawled back to Seamus and whispered, “We gotta get outta here. They’re gonna start searchin’ for us.”

  Seamus nodded and moved to confer with the angels.

  Henry muttered, “Oh!”

  “Sir?” Robert asked.

  Henry’s eyes lit up. “The preceptor did not leave his pet unprotected! I have changed my mind Robert. There is no need wasting our time scouring this town for three angels. Let’s move on to Concord.”

  Jeremiah watched Henry, Robert, and William saddle up. They spurred their horses, galloped off the green, and up the road to Concord.

  A drumbeat reverberated in the late morning air. When the last British officers rode toward Concord, Captain John Parker reassembled his militia. Blood had been spilled on the grass of Lexington Green, and the rebels would march to exact revenge.

  Ian knew he was risking British capture or a demon attack, but Asa Potter’s and Jacob Harrington’s deaths convinced him that he needed to go to Concord to protect Sidonie.

  As he walked alone in the woods, on the edge of the road to Concord, he thought, All I have to do is stay alert. However, his vigilance slipped when his thoughts turned to the prospect of satisfying his lust with Sidonie.

  “Aren’t you the pretty one?”

  The question startled Ian. A young woman stepped in front of him and blocked his way. She held a butcher knife in her right hand. Her eyes were blue, but he knew she was possessed by a demon because no human woman would be alone in the woods, especially with the British moving through the countryside.

  “Why are you away from your flock, angel?” she sneered.

  Ian slipped his dagger from his coat pocket.

  She raised the butcher knife over her head and lunged at him.

  Ian jumped backward. His shoulder hit a tree trunk and he jolted to a stop. She jabbed the butcher knife at him. The tip embedded in Ian’s coat just above his collarbone. She raked the knife down the front of his coat to his waist.

  He felt a sharp sting as the knife ripped through his clothing and grazed the skin on his chest and abdomen. He stabbed his dagger into one of her blue eyes. The eye immediately burst into orange flames. The human woman, who the demon possessed, screamed in agony. The demon plunged the butcher knife into Ian’s coat and slashed his chest and abdomen again.

  The physical pain he felt was strange and surprising. His dagger slipped from his hand. The demon whipped the butcher knife up and tried to stab him in the face. He dodged it by stepping behind the tree. The demon fell forward and onto her knees.

  Ian ripped his musket off his shoulder. He gripped the barrel and attempted to slam the butt into the top of the demon’s head. She laughed, jerked the musket out of his hand, and slung it over his head. The musket hit the ground with a dull thud.

  As the demon got to her feet, Ian dived for his dagger. He fell hard on his stomach. The fall knocked the wind out of him, but he was able to get a grip on his dagger. He immediately rolled over onto his back.

  The demon tried to stab him in the chest. The knife caught in the fabric of Ian’s coat. The demon slashed at Ian’s coat repeatedly until she lost her balance and fell on top of him.

  “Don’t touch me with your demon filth!” Ian screamed. He buried his dagger up to the hilt into the demon’s other eye.

  Flames ignited in the eye and licked the living woman’s face and hair. Her screams were excruciating.

  Ian’s consciousness flickered and threatened to go out. It took more effort to shove her off than he’d expected. She sprawled on the ground face up. He rolled over, got to his knees, and then fell forward, unconscious.

  Brandon found Ian on the edge of the woods along the road to Concord, less than two miles from Lexington Green. Ian’s red aura blinked as if it was depleted of energy. Brandon reined his horse, dismounted, and then led the horse into the woods.

  Ian was lying face down on the cold damp ground. His hat was missing. The ribbon holding his ponytail was gone, and his hair draped both sides of his face. Brandon kneeled and rolled Ian onto his back. The front of his buttoned coat was slashed to ribbons, but there was little blood on the woolen material.

/>   From Ian’s hips down, Brandon saw nothing more damaging than filthy breeches, torn stockings and dirty boots. He searched for Ian’s musket, and found it on the ground nearby. When he reached to pick it up, he saw, out of the corner of his left eye, a mound covered in brown homespun cloth.

  He slung the musket over his shoulder and went to investigate. The dead woman, who made up the mound, lay on her back. Ian’s dagger protruded from her open right eye. Her left eye was a hollow pitted shell. Her eyelashes and eyebrows were burned off, and the upper layer of skin on her cheeks and forehead was burned away to reveal a layer of pink skin that sweated blood beads. Singed blond hair framed her forehead. She clutched a butcher knife in her right hand.

  Brandon guessed she was no older than thirty. It was apparent that she had been a living woman, possessed by a demon, and that she had used the butcher knife in an attempt to kill Ian.

  Someone is going to think Ian murdered her, Brandon thought. I have to get us out of here before someone sees.

  His wings rustled. He pulled the dagger out of her eye socket and slipped it in his coat pocket. That was when the air and sounds in and around the woods fluctuated. The shift was caused by the approach of the British. Colonel Smith’s infantry and grenadiers, and Major Pitcairn’s vanguard now marched as one. The parade of 1,600 boots was ominous.

  Brandon had to get himself and Ian on the road without being observed by the advancing British, and stay well ahead of them. He ran back to Ian and picked up his limp body. Ian’s head lolled and his mouth dropped open.

  The sharp notes of a fife and the roll of a beating drum announced the arrival of the British column. It was too late to escape on horseback. He shifted Ian in his arms, and walked further into the woods until he realized the horse was following him.

  The noise they were making as they walked—the snap of breaking branches and twigs, the crunch of dead foliage on the ground, and the crack of disturbed underbrush—was sure to attract attention if Colonel Smith had grenadiers flanking the road in the woods. He laid Ian on the ground and sat beside him. The horse nudged Brandon with her nose.

  Brandon struggled to keep his wings from rustling, and his yellow aura hidden. Ian’s red aura was a dim flicker in the woods.

  Brandon was uncertain of how much time passed before he realized something was wrong. His horse whinnied and trotted away. He heard the approach of horses as they trampled the dead foliage and underbrush. Robert Percy, and two lower demons that occupied the bodies of living enlisted men, were upon Brandon before he could get to his feet.

  The demons dismounted. Brandon slowly stood up. If his wings rustled, he would be found out. There was nothing he could do to protect Ian, because killing all three demons at once was impossible. The best he could do was to ensure that his angelic spirit went undetected so he could go for help if they took Ian.

  Robert approached Brandon with a sneering grin and flaming orange eyes. He considered Brandon’s calm face.

  What if he remembers me from the meetinghouse? Brandon thought.

  Ian’s aura flickered. The lower demons saw it and started toward him. Robert whipped out his right arm as a sign for them to stop. He went to Ian, straddled Ian’s prone body, and looked down at him. His grin transformed into a wide smile.

  “Tie him to a horse,” Robert said to the demons as he stepped aside.

  They carried out the order and reached to haul Ian’s body up from the ground.

  Brandon’s spirit screamed in his head: DON’T TOUCH HIM, YOU FUCKERS! His concentration slipped, and his wings rustled.

  Robert Percy whirled around at the sound. He went to Brandon and stared at him with his orange eyes. Brandon tried not to flinch.

  Finally, Robert asked, “Why are you with the angel?”

  Robert’s direct reference to the angel startled Brandon. He stupidly asked, “Angel?”

  Robert continued to study Brandon while the demons heaved Ian into the saddle of one of the horses. Ian’s upper body fell forward and draped the horse’s neck. The demons secured him in place with a rope.

  “Search the area for the demon that attacked the angel,” Robert ordered.

  The demons fanned out.

  Robert backed away from Brandon a few steps without taking his skeptical eyes from Brandon’s face.

  Brandon remembered that he had Ian’s dagger in his coat pocket. If he killed Robert, the other demons might run off, but he couldn’t be sure that would happen, nor could he be sure they wouldn’t kill Ian.

  The lower demons returned and reported that the demon that attacked the angel was found dead.

  Robert supposed it was time to deliver his prize to Henry. He concluded that he would let the young man live. It would be more sporting to watch him die horribly in a battle that was yet to be fought. He doused his eyes so they would appear blue again.

  When the demons were gone, and Brandon was sure they were well down the road, he comforted himself by spreading his wings and freeing his yellow aura. Delicate silver crystals dusted the surrounding woods and set it aglow as if the sun touched it.

  “Colm, where are you?” he murmured. “Henry has Ian. We need you.”

  Twenty-one

  General Thomas Gage was awakened at 5:00 in the morning of April 19 by the arrival of a messenger whom Colonel Smith had dispatched with a request for more troops.

  Smith’s appeal for reinforcements was passed on to Lord Hugh Percy’s brigade major, Captain Thomas Moncrieff. From that point, several events took place that caused Smith’s relief to be delayed for hours.

  The troops of the First Brigade should have been at the ready to march at a moment’s notice. However, they were asleep and had to be roused.

  As the First Brigade prepared to march, Lord Hugh Percy waited for the battalion of Royal Marines to arrive. Two hours after General Gage had been roused with the message of Colonel Smith’s solicitation for assistance, the marines had not answered the call. The marines were also asleep because the orders for reinforcements had been sent to Major John Pitcairn’s quarters, and at that moment, Major Pitcairn was marching toward Lexington.

  Word of Lord Hugh Percy’s activities and what had occurred in Lexington reached the Warren residence at 8:00 a.m. Joseph and Colm had not been able to sleep and prepared to leave for Concord.

  The two youngest Warren children, Richard and Mary, woke while their father was speaking to William Eustis in his medical office.

  “William, please take care of my patients and medical practice,” Joseph implored. “I do not know when I shall return.”

  I hope this is not the last time I see you, William thought as Joseph said his farewells. The thought made William feel sick, and his hands shook. His first inclination was to pray to God to keep Joseph safe. He glanced at Colm and decided prayers were a waste of time.

  William’s distress and doubt was obvious to Colm. He left the medical office and waited for Joseph outside.

  Mercy brought Richard and Mary to Joseph. “Kiss your father children. He must run an errand,” she said.

  Joseph squatted so he could hug Richard and Mary. The children allowed their father to pull them in close and press their little bodies against his chest and shoulders. He kissed their foreheads and breathed in the aroma of their love. Joseph closed his eyes for a moment as he thought of their dead mother, Betsy. Then, he let his children go and stood up.

  “Shall I awaken Elizabeth and Joseph?” Mercy asked.

  Joseph longed to say farewell to his eldest children, but they would ask endless questions for which he would have no answers. “No. I do not want to worry them.”

  He turned to leave.

  Mercy’s mournful voice stopped him. “Joseph, please…” Her eyes watered with unshed tears.

  Joseph cupped her cheeks in his hands and kissed her on the mouth.

  She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him closer until she felt the curve of his ribs press against her breasts.

  He untangled himself from h
er embrace, looked into her eyes, and said, “I will see to it that you and the children are safe.”

  Then, he was gone.

  Colm and Joseph rode through Boston to the Charlestown ferry; prepared to be stopped at every corner. Joseph, the patriot and physician, was a recognizable figure. They made it to the dock with no trouble. Before they boarded the ferry, an elderly man, John Adan, recognized Joseph. Adan looked for encouragement from the idolized young man.

  Joseph smiled. “Keep a brave heart! They have begun it, and we will end it!”

  Colm and Joseph did not speak as they rode the ferry to Charlestown. Each man’s burden was too great. Colm bore the weight of guilt and blame for leaving his men unprotected and alone to participate in a battle no one had expected. Joseph struggled with the fate of his friends, and the undefined conflict that lay ahead. Yet, both Colm and Joseph could not imagine being in the company of anyone else on that decisive morning.

  The ferry landed in Charlestown at 8:30 a.m. The town was in turmoil and confusion over rumors of war to the west. Joseph managed to procure a pair of mares with help from Colonel William Conant; the same rebel leader who had provided Paul with a horse.

  Colm and Joseph caught up with Lord Hugh Percy’s troops and the marines as they passed through Cambridge. They tried to pass the column, but were stopped by bayonets.

  “I recognize you, Warren. Where are the troops?” a British soldier demanded.

  “I do not know.”

  The soldier wondered, Is he telling the truth? Despite the cold morning air, beads of sweat formed on the soldier’s forehead and armpits. He forced himself not to turn his head and look at the man with Dr. Warren.

  “You are free to move on,” the soldier muttered.

  “We need to make haste to Menotomy,” Joseph told Colm as they veered past the British column. “The Committee of Safety is scheduled to meet there at the Black Horse Tavern.”