Few Are Angels

by Inger Iversen

  “You haven’t served your purpose, and you have allowed that peasant boy to defile you, taking from you the gift. I hope he knows he is the reason for your death tonight.” He paces back and forth in front of my cell.

  I lie in the dirt and pretend his words about my love don’t hurt, but they slice me like the ice cold winds of winter. It takes all of the power I have left to lie there quietly and not remind him of the promises he has not kept. Laurent speaks of betrayal as though he is innocent of it. He speaks of one serving their purpose to him as though all he has asked for were simple favors. Laurent knows what Kale meant to me and it means nothing to him to use that against me tonight, but his words startle me. He speaks of Kale as if he is still alive, but that cannot be possible, can it? I’m not facing him. I fear he will see my relief at the chance that Kale still lives.

  “I never wanted this to happen, mon amour. You simply leave me no choice.”

  His faux repentance makes my stomach turn, and I want more than anything for him to leave. To my relief and dismay, I hear the distant sounds of boots pounding the mortared hallway. From the cries and pleading of the other prisoners, I know the Death Bringer is coming to my cell. I often wondered what the Dark Prince had offered the Death Bringer to compel him to do his bidding. Death Bringers were powerful and could rarely ever be controlled. They couldn’t be bribed or bartered with. They wanted nothing other than one’s life force. Laurent lets go of the bars and moves away from my cell. He wipes his hands on the shirt of the vampire guard beside him and motions for the Death Bringer to enter.

  “Take her.” His voice lacks the forced remorse it once held and is now full of hatred and revulsion.

  The rusted bars of my cell moan as the Death Bringer opens them and their sad song plays as I am pulled to my feet and yanked from my cage. We walk down the stone hallway and I keep my head down, knowing I wouldn’t get any pity from the lost souls in these cages. I was the reason they were all here. My sight, this “gift,” placed them here to wait for their death.

  “Quickly, I want to get this done so we can start the search for the next Arc,” Laurent said.

  My gift afforded me the ability to know when and where the next Arc would be born. I didn't want to subject her to a fate such as mine, but I had to tell Laurent something. He called up the memory, and I was helpless to do anything. I was dragged into the vision where a girl was born to a family who had lost all hope of ever bearing a child. My fear for her safety was ever growing since then, but all I could do was pray she’d be stronger than me and could resist Laurent’s lies and charm.

  We walk for what seems to be hours. My legs burn from the constant incline and the Death Bringer’s ability to walk without rest. The grass is frozen beneath my bare feet, and it burns and blisters me. As we enter the castle’s side entrance, Laurent instructs his guards that I am to be blindfolded and bound. I don’t dare struggle or protest. Of all the things that happened to me today, this would be the least painful. My hands are bound so tight that my fingers grow numb and my eyes are covered by an old rag that smells of death and vomit. I suppress the urge to gag.

  I have no idea where we are in the castle. I lived here for only a few months before I was able to escape with Kale, and being blindfolded doesn't help. We finally stop and I can smell the expensive scent of body oils only the rich can afford, and I know there is an audience here. Laurent is nothing if not theatrical. He wants his followers to witness this so they will fear him. Who wouldn’t fear man that would slaughter his own daughter in cold blood?

  But one person in the audience will never follow Laurent; he would fight against Laurent’s men with a thirst that rivaled my own need to save others, even though it meant my death. His voice sends me to my knees. A short while ago, I was numb to everything around me. I was ready to die because I knew my death would save others from a fate far worse than mine, but as soon as I hear his voice, my heart melts and my stomach plummets.

  “Don’t do this! I have not laid a hand on her. I swear it to you!” Kale roars.

  I begin to sob. I knew this would happen. Why did I try to run? I could deal with my own death, but not his. I could stop this by simply telling the truth. Kale and I had no carnal knowledge of one another, and I still have the gift Laurent wants to exploit. So many people died and would continue to because of me, but I could make it stop, at least for a while. It would cost me my life, but I pray it won’t cost Kale anything.

  “Well now, it seems that I have your attention,” Laurent said, his voice smoother than silk, but with a familiar, deadly timbre. The shuffling of clothing and the scuffing of boots was the only evidence I had that he was so close to me.

  His voice was low and his words were meant for me alone. “You have been so accepting of your fate, but what of his?”

  Shivers attack my spine, but I stay silent. I made my choice.

  “Pick her up and remove her mask so that she faces him.”

  The blindfold is ripped from my face. I cry out more from the shock of the sudden and powerful touch than from the pain of his roughness. Little sparks of light flood my vision, shimmering bright until they fade. One of the spectators giggles. The room is lit by candles, and I can’t adjust to the light. I was in the dark cellar for so long, waiting for this day. As my eyes clear and my vision produces shapes not swallowed by shadows, I see him. The one man who thought he could rescue me, who never asked me to remember— my love.

  “Can you see?” Laurent asks, his lips mere inches from my cheek. “Can you see what I have done to him?” Satisfaction drips from his mouth and fills my ears, attacking my mind.

  What had he done to Kale? His eyes are no longer swollen and his face is no longer bloody. He looks pale and thin, but he is whole and no longer a mangled mess of human skin barely hanging onto life. His skin shimmers in the lighted shadows in the room. His eyes are so dark I can't see anything but black oily pits.

  I swallow a few times, searching for my voice. “Kale?” I whisper, frightened my voice will fail me.

  Kale looks away.

  Anger shakes my body as hate turns my vision crimson. Fear abandons me, and all that is left is devastation and rage. The audience around me snickers with delight, but Kale continues to look at the ground.

  “What have you done, you bastard?” I scream and am promptly answered with a backhand to the face.

  As my vision blurs, my surroundings seem to change and I am no longer standing bound in a room with the Dark Prince. I swim in darkness, floating freely above the scene, and my heart sinks deeper until all I feel is cold. It wasn’t possible. Kale couldn't have been changed into a diseased pawn of the Dark Prince.

  Chapter 4

  * * *

  “I am dizzy with fever, Papa!” —Hélène

  “No, my princess, it is your mind. It beckons you to remember. Now tell Papa what you saw.” —Papa

  * * *

  I was drenched in sweat. My nightclothes were bunched around my legs. My body shivered violently as I tried to stand. The vision lingered in my head as I inched across the bathroom floor and placed my head over the toilet. I dry heaved, but gave nothing to the porcelain bowl. My head was pounding, and I shuddered uncontrollably. Hot and ready to pass out, I struggled to stay conscious. Normally, my visions weren’t so long. From the time I laid my head on the pillow after dinner until waking, I had been immersed in the sights and sounds of the vision. I had been awaiting my death. The girl in the vision didn’t sound like me, but it seemed as if we were the same person. I stayed glued to the bathroom floor for a while longer before I felt strong enough to get up and change my clothes.

  Weeks had passed since my face plant into the snow. Every night since then, I was awakened by noises outside of my window or the occasional scratching at my door from Max wanting to go outside. Maybe the noises outside were squirrels. Max seemed to really want to catch another one. I’d been working hard to seem as normal as possible, and it appeared everyone was falling back into the routine th
ey’d followed before I darkened their doorstep—dramatic, maybe, but also the truth. Eric came home earlier and Sarah smiled more genuinely. Not at me, of course, but I still saw them occasionally. Max was also getting settled into a routine. Every morning at exactly two thirty a.m., he would scratch at my door and whine. I didn't want to let him out late again and end up frozen in the backyard, but he sounded so pitiful whining behind the door. I sat on the bed and thought about how to break the news to Sarah and Eric that I wanted to leave. I knew Eric wouldn’t mind. He was fine with me staying at the house, but he kept his distance. I preferred that. But Sarah would probably cry. I think she believed that she owed it to my parents to take care of me. My mother had been her best friend, and I was all that was left of her. Sarah thought she could fix me, or at least turn me back into the girl she once knew. The thing, is once you know death, there is no going back. It changes you. It was different for different people. Some believed death was a part of life and they accepted it. They grieved and move on. . They were, in my eyes, smarter than the rest of us for not admitting they were affected. Those people aren’t looked at with pity the same way a crying daughter is. They aren’t labeled broken.

  The shivering and shaking subsided. I was glad it was Monday because that meant that everyone in the house would be gone early. Sarah’s time off was over, and Lea would go to her Aunt Shelia’s house after school. I had offered to watch her, but Sarah decided it would be better for me to have some time to myself. The clock said it was three in the morning. I felt a lot better, but I was still hot, so I decided that I would take Max out after all. His whining had stopped, but if he really had to go, it would be kind of cruel to make him hold it until Sarah or Eric let him out.

  I dressed in my winter gear and went downstairs, making sure to be extra quiet walking past Lea’s room. I heard noises at the front door. I froze, and my heart galloped in my chest. The heavy footfalls sounded like someone running. Whatever made the noise must have been farther from the house because the noise receded. . I wanted to go back to my room and look outside—it had the best view of the front and side yard—but I didn’t want to wake Lea. I cracked the front door and peered out. Max wasn’t at my feet like normal, and I wasn’t going through the house to look for him. By the time I found Max, whoever or whatever had made the noise would be gone.

  I closed the front door and moved toward the shed. My heart sped up and threatened to explode if I didn't head back into the safety of the house. I kept going, swallowing the lump of apprehension that rose in my throat. A loud thud stopped me in my tracks. I started to turn and run back to the house when two dark figures tumbled out from behind the shed. They appeared to be fighting and paid no attention to me. I should have been afraid of the large, dark figures tangled together throwing punches, but I was amazed by the dexterity and stealth of the fighters. They moved with impossible speed and still seemed to fight without making any noise. I wasn’t sure if they had seen me, so I ran to a bush to take cover. I watched them closely just in case the police were called and I needed to give a description of the two men.

  The taller of the two had dark hair that flew freely as he moved back and forth, just out of reach each time the shorter, pale, blond man reached for him. The taller guy’s pale skin glistened in the moonlight, illuminating his sharp features as he moved in and out of the moon’s radiance. They danced and jumped around each other, evading and skirting punch after punch. I moved farther back into the bush and lowered my body to the ground, feeling amazingly stupid for coming outside in the middle of the night to investigate strange noises. The dark-haired figure threw a punch that connected with the blond and made an awful crunching noise. It took everything in me not to get sick in the bush. As they continued to fight, the two lean figures moved closer and closer to the front door. It seemed as if the dark haired fighter tried to keep the fight in the shadows closer to the shed, but Blondie kept making his way toward the house.

  I stared at them fighting, praying it was almost over as the cold seeped into my bones and invaded my joints. The position I was in was leaving me stiff, and my muscles begged and pleaded with me to be stretched. I didn’t move. I feared the fighters would hear the glasslike snow crunching beneath me. It was Blondie’s turn to land a punch that sent the raven-haired stranger sliding across the icy snow. They were evenly matched and the fight would most likely continue until dawn. They seemed to figure that out and were at a standoff. They were closer to the front porch, and I could see their faces better. Could see me under the dead bushes? Blondie was bleeding from his mouth where his jaw had been cracked earlier, but it didn’t affect his ability to grimace and snarl at the dark-haired assailant. His voice was deep and full of animosity as he spoke to the dark-haired man.

  “This isn’t over, Nosferat.” His accent was so thick I could barely understand the last word. Nosferat? I hoped my brain would recognize the word, but it didn't.

  He charged. The blur of movement jarred me, and it seemed as if they’d both disappeared. The raven-haired man lay coughing and writhing on the ground. Blondie had bulldozed him, and he wasn’t getting up. What the heck happened?

  I should have run when I’d had the chance while he lay broken and in pain. As I lay there in the snow and weighed my options, his voice came to me as if he were standing right next to me. It wasn’t the voice I’d heard calling to me for the past several months, but the accent was similar, and his voice pulled at me to remember, but I couldn’t. The cold was starting to affect my thinking, and I wasn’t sure he had spoken until he spoke again, louder, and I knew his comment was meant for me.

  “Will you stay there hidden in the shadows?” he asked clearly. I could tell that he was in pain. I watched him attempt to stand up. He failed miserably, and for a moment, it seemed he’d given up trying. He rested his head in the snow, cradling his side. Oddly, my fear started to disintegrate, and I wondered why I felt compelled to help. A strange feeling crept up my spine and tingled throughout my body. Before I knew what I was doing, I was standing over him, offering my hand. I could see that he was only a year or two older I was. He was beautiful. His dark eyes held in in their gaze, and I noticed a flash of recognition glittering there. Instead of taking my hand, he stared at me, his face emotionless. I felt exposed under his glare, so I withdrew my hand and put it in my pocket.

  “So, do you need me to call an ambulance or the police or something?” I asked to fill the silence. I felt silly for not asking earlier. He didn’t answer right away, and I saw the shadow of a sly smile play across his lips as he continued to gaze at me from the ground. I wanted to see his wound, but I didn’t dare reach down and pull up his shirt. After a long pause, he lifted his head and looked toward the shed.

  “No need to call anyone.” His voice was smooth, but still held traces of pain. I wondered how he was going to leave if he couldn’t get up on his own.

  “Okay, well…,” I said.

  He needed someone to help him. It was obvious he couldn't leave there and get some place warm without help.

  “Get me to that barn, and I will take it from there. You are freezing. Look at you. You’re shaking,” he said as he tried to get up. I pulled my hands from my pocket and held them in front of me. I was shaking and I hadn’t even realized it.

  “You want to go to the shed?” I asked. I took my hands and tried to breathe warmth into them, but my breath didn't generate enough heat to reduce the effect the bitter cold had had on them. “Why?” I was truly confused and wondered what explanation he would come up with.

  “Don’t worry about it. Just help me inside there and go inside your home before you freeze to death, and then this will all be for nothing,” he said, motioning toward his wound.

  I was confused by what he meant about the wound. He barely put any of his weight on me as I helped him to his feet. I glanced at the shed and noticed the door was cracked open and the padlock was in the snow; it looked like it had been crushed. Once he was inside, I stifled the questions I had abou
t where he would go and how he would get there. His face and posture said that he was waiting for me to leave. I stood there indignantly. How could he sit there and look at me as if I was the problem when he was the one bleeding on the floor? Even though my fingers were popsicles and my thighs burned from the cold, I wasn’t leaving without an answer. I tried to steady myself. My shivering had increased and stopped me from coming off as the tough girl I wanted him to think I was.

  “What’s your n-n-name?’ I stuttered through chattering teeth. I hugged myself for extra warmth and wondered how long I’d been outside.

  He sat down on the cold cement floor. All he wore was jeans and a thin jacket, but the cold didn’t seem to affect him much. His aggravation was clear as he spoke. “It doesn’t matter. You won’t see me again after tonight. Now go inside before I carry you in there!”

  Ticked off, I wanted to argue that I was the one who had carried him into the shed, but my lips were chapped, and my face hurt.

  “Whatever. You better not be here in the morning, or I’m calling the cops,” I said as I turned and ran back to the house. My anger swelled with every step I took.

  The front door was unlocked, and it took me fifteen minutes to make it quietly up the stairs and to my room without waking anyone. My hands and feet were slowly thawing. I had been outside for an hour. I’d worn my gloves, boots, and hat, but still managed to end up lying in the snow. At least I hadn’t face planted again.

  After I changed and warmed up my hands, I went to the window in the small alcove in my room. The little nook had a laptop desk in the corner and a cute little window seat with a long yellow cushion across the length of it. Being in this part of the room reminded me I still hadn’t unpacked my laptop and books. I sat in the window seat and looked outside at the shed. I had the perfect view of the front of it, but I couldn’t see the back or if anyone was back there. The door seemed to be shut, and there were no movements outside that I could see.