Black Wings

by Christina Henry

  “You know you don’t have the authorization to go poking around in there. What the hell are you talking about?”

  “Patrick? You know, Patrick Walker? My friend, one of the Agents under your supervision? He was murdered by some big scary thing last night at Ravenswood and Grace. I want to find out what choice he made. If he’s wandering the Earth, I need to talk to him about the monster that killed him.”

  He stared at me dumbly. “Are you taking drugs, Black?”

  “What?”

  “Walker’s not dead.”

  “Yeah, he is. And you should know about this, because an Agent would have gone to collect his soul. And there should have been the activation of the next closest relative in his bloodline.”

  “But none of that happened, Black. I don’t have any paperwork here; ergo, Walker is not dead.” He said this with the ringing finality of a true believer at a tent revival.

  “J.B.,” I said, striving to put a note of patience in my voice when I wanted to shake his complacent self silly, “I saw his body. I saw said big fucking scary thing that killed him. It almost killed me. And I want to know what happened to his soul.”

  J.B. gaped at me. “Did you have a bad dream last night or something?”

  “No!” I shouted, getting frustrated. “It happened, J.B. Just the way I told you. And this monster—whatever it is—it was stalking Patrick. He knew it was coming after him. He called me to ask for help. And . . . J.B., I’m pretty sure that this is the thing that killed my mother.”

  I’d never seen J.B. look uncertain before. It softened his face, loosened the tension creases around his eyes. “Black, your mother . . . That’s ...”

  “Just check, won’t you? You can find out in a few minutes if Patrick’s dead or not,” I pleaded.

  He hesitated, but something in my face or voice must have told him that I wouldn’t leave until he checked. He picked up the phone on his desk and dialed out.

  “Hall of Records,” he said. He watched me with a strange look in his eye. I couldn’t decide if he felt sorry for me or he thought I’d lost my marbles. Probably a little of both.

  “This is J. B. Bennett, Area Fourteen supervisor. Can you verify the death of one Patrick Walker in Chicago last night?”

  I leaned forward in my chair, gripping the seat with my hands. J.B.’s face changed as he listened to the person on the other end of the line. In about three seconds he looked thunderous, an expression I was very familiar with.

  “What the hell do you mean he died last night? He was an Agent, for chrissakes! I should have been notified so I could activate a new one! I want to talk to your supervisor, young lady.”

  “J.B.,” I said, flapping my hands to get his attention. “We don’t have time for this.”

  He held up a finger to shush me. “Well, you tell him to contact me as soon as he’s done.”

  He slammed down the phone. “Just what in the hell happened last night? That little ditz in the Hall of Records told me that Patrick’s file shows his death but not his choice. I don’t know who they’re hiring down there these days. Faeries, probably. Flaky little things. Lord knows they’re better than the gnomes, but flash something shiny in front of them and they lose all sense of focus ...”

  J.B. continued to rant while I absorbed his words. Patrick’s file showed his death but not his choice. My mother’s file had shown her death but not her choice. That monster . . . Just what had it done to their souls?

  “J.B.,” I said. “Focus. We have a big problem here.”

  “Yes, we do. Someone needs to take those Record Keepers in hand.”

  “Fuck the records.”

  He looked astonished, like I had just sworn in church. J.B. loves nothing if not order. Then he recalled that he was supposed to be the boss.

  “Listen, Black, your attitude is way out of line ...”

  “I’m trying to tell you about a killer monster and you’re worried about my attitude. Why do you always worry about the stuff that doesn’t matter?”

  “What matters more than the official reprimand that I’m going to write up on you as soon as you leave this office?” he asked, his eyes as cold as ice.

  “Patrick’s file shows his death but not his choice.”

  “So? Some idiot in Records didn’t enter the information.”

  “No,” I said slowly. I thought of the sound that I’d heard beneath the overpass as the monster stood over Patrick’s body. A kind of sucking sound. I thought of the odd records that showed two deaths with no choices. “That thing that I saw last night . . . I think it ate his soul.”

  “There’s no such thing as a soul-eating monster, Madeline,” J.B. said with the long-suffering tone of someone speaking to a moron.

  “You’re an Agent,” I said, matching my tone to his. “You know that the world isn’t what it seems to be. You’ve seen vampires and werewolves and faeries and ghosts. You have wings! Why is it so unbelievable that there is a monster out there eating souls?”

  “Because there aren’t any records of such a creature. Because all those other creatures you mention have had their souls collected by an Agent at death.” He had returned to his normal smug look, the one that made me want to punch him in the face.

  “What if this creature doesn’t have a soul itself, and that’s why we have no record of it?” I didn’t really know where I was going with this. It sounded crazy and illogical to me, too, but I had seen the monster. I knew it had done something horrible to Patrick, to my mother. Maybe it hadn’t sucked out their souls, but it had done something, something that had affected the way their deaths were entered in the Hall of Records.

  I didn’t want to be alone in this. As infuriating as J.B. was, at least he had some authority and resources that I didn’t have. He could help me—if he wanted to.

  “Look, Black. I know you and Walker were close and that you will miss him terribly. Heck, I’ll miss him. Despite his screwup this week, Patrick was an excellent Agent. But,” he said, leaning back in his chair and folding his arms behind his head, “whatever the circumstances of his death are, they’re none of your business. Your business is to collect souls and file your paperwork. End of discussion.”

  “You know what, J.B.?” I said, my temper flaring. “You’re pathetic. There’s a freaking monster out there eating your Agents’ souls and all you’re worried about is another report. Well, I hope you don’t think it or any other piece of paper is going to get you that promotion that you are so desperately seeking. Everyone, including upper management, thinks you’re a giant pain in the ass.”

  J.B.’s face had lost all color by the end of my little monologue. “Get out,” he said through gritted teeth.

  “Gladly.” I stormed out of his office, knocking over a chair as I went. It was immature but doing it made me feel better.

  I fumed all the way home. It was absolutely typical J.B. to care more about reports than people. And while he was being a total ass, my chances of getting anyone with authority to listen to me were slim to none. Even worse, the likelihood of getting a pass to the Hall of Records was now infinitesimal.

  I really wanted a crack at those records. There might be other cases like Patrick’s and my mother’s, cases of an Agent who died with no records showing his choice. Information like that might give me a clue of how to find this creature.

  There was a monster running loose but I had no idea what it was, no idea how it chose its victims and nobody to help me. I was a soul collector and a recipe writer. I’d never conducted an investigation of any kind and I didn’t want to fumble around trying to find answers while this thing chewed through the population.

  As soon as I flew through the dining room window, Beezle clambered in behind me.

  “What is it?” I said. “You look more out of sorts than usual.”

  “That person was here,” Beezle said darkly.

  “What person?” I said, going to the answering machine to check for messages.

  “Angeloscuro,” he spat.
/>   I turned to look at Beezle, my finger hovering over the PLAY button on the machine. “That’s quite a lot of venom for a man you barely know.”

  “I know enough,” he said.

  Something in his tone made me wary. “What do you know? You told me that there was nothing special about him when he first arrived.”

  “No, I didn’t say that,” Beezle said.

  “Yes, you did. I asked you if you’d scoped him out for me and you didn’t tell me anything.”

  “I told you he was a handsome devil,” Beezle responded, crossing his arms over his chest.

  “A fact that I figured out within three seconds of laying eyes on him. So what if he’s handsome? You have some objection to a handsome man living downstairs?”

  Beezle clamped his jaw shut and closed his eyes.

  “Whatever,” I said, hitting the PLAY button on the machine. There were two messages, one from Charlie telling me that Gabriel’s references had checked out. That was fast. Really fast. I hadn’t expected him to get back to me until tomorrow at least.

  The second message was from Gabriel, asking if his application had been accepted. Even when tempered by the coldness of a digital machine, the sound of his voice made me shiver.

  Beezle’s prejudices and my own mixed feelings notwithstanding, I knew I was going to accept Gabriel as a tenant. Frankly, I needed the money and no other potential client had returned with a deposit in all the time the apartment had been advertised. I chalked up my misgivings to nervousness about being attracted to him.

  Attraction was not something I had a lot of experience with. I spent so much time alone as an Agent, rarely mixing with non-Agents, and I never dated. The job just wasn’t conducive to a normal social life. How do you explain to your date that you have to leave the movie for fifteen minutes as the hero is about to rescue the damsel because you have to pick up a soul that just had a heart attack while driving on Lower Wacker?

  I called Charlie back, thanked him and promised to pay his bill as soon as I received it. Then I called Gabriel. He had a cell number listed on his application and he picked up after the first ring.

  “Gabriel Angeloscuro.”

  Damn, his voice was sexy. The wing scars on my back were tingling and all he’d done was say his name. I felt like a quivering maiden in a romance novel.

  “Mr. Angeloscuro, this is Madeline Black. I’m calling about the apartment?”

  “Yes, Ms. Black?”

  “Your application was accepted, so if you’d like to come by and drop off a deposit and first month’s rent, I can give you the keys. You can move in anytime.”

  “Is today at four P.M. an acceptable time?”

  “Yes, that would be fine. See you then.” I hung up before he could speak again. Three minutes of conversation with him made me want to run for the shower and turn the water to icy cold.

  Beezle glared at me as I placed the phone in the cradle. “I hope you know what you’re doing, Maddy.”

  “Getting some income, that’s what I’m doing.”

  “At what price?” he asked.

  “Beezle, if there’s something really wrong with Gabriel, then why don’t you tell me what it is instead of making these ringing pronouncements of doom?”

  He threw his clawed hands up in disgust and flew out the window, presumably to return to his nest over the front porch. I put Beezle’s mood swings out of my mind as I contemplated my next move. I needed to get into the Hall of Records. In order to do that, I needed a pass, because my level of clearance didn’t give me authorization. In order to get a pass, I needed to kiss J.B.’s ass. Right. Not in this century.

  That left less-than-legal means of entry. I was pretty sure that I didn’t have an undiscovered talent for breaking and entering. I’m very much on the clumsy side and I didn’t know the first thing about lock-picking or avoiding security equipment. What I did know was a very powerful witch who lived in Lincoln Square who could sell me an amazing concealment charm that would help me get in and out of the Hall undetected.

  I gave her a quick call and she agreed to have one ready for me the next day at a rather exorbitant price. It was a good thing that Gabriel was coming by with a rent check.

  My investigation seemed stalled until I could get into the Hall, and I didn’t want to pace the house and think about the creature when I couldn’t do anything about it right then. I decided to spend the afternoon working on pear recipes for my article. In order to bring in a little income I work as a freelance food writer and recipe developer, selling articles to different magazines. Agents who work directly for the bureaucracy, like J.B., pull in a regular paycheck, but everyone else is on their own.

  My Agent status prohibited me from getting a job that required regular hours. As with dating, a boss probably wouldn’t understand if I rushed out in the middle of a departmental meeting. Most Agents find jobs with flexible hours or work from home, the way I do.

  For the next few hours I put all thoughts of Gabriel, Beezle and the possibly soul-sucking monster out of mind and lost myself in the kitchen. When I next looked up, the buzzer was ringing insistently and it was four o’clock already.

  “Crap.” I had meant to quit working a half hour before Gabriel arrived. I wanted to have the new lease printed out and everything ready to go for him.

  I yanked off my apron as the doorbell continued to sound and hurried to the stairs instead of buzzing him up. Beezle was nowhere to be seen, which surprised me because I figured he’d be lurking around to glower at Gabriel while the lease was signed.

  I pushed open the door at the bottom of the stairs, expecting to see Gabriel standing in the foyer. Instead, J.B. stood just outside the exterior door. He gave a little finger wave when he saw me. I could hear my buzzer still ringing upstairs although he stood outside on the porch and the doorbells were inside.

  “Must be broken,” I mumbled as I pulled open the exterior door. “What the hell are you doing here?”

  “I take that to mean you aren’t happy to see me,” J.B. said.

  “Am I supposed to be?” I asked, crossing my arms and leaning against the doorframe. “Have you come to apologize for being a total jackass today?”

  He smiled winningly. “I’m sorry for being a total jackass.”

  I pushed away from the door and gaped at him. “Are you sick? Maybe take a wee too much cough syrup?”

  “No, why?” he said, continuing to beam. His smile was a little disconcerting. He looked like a game show host.

  “I’ve never heard you apologize for anything to anyone. I might need to send out an interdepartmental memo to commemorate the occasion.”

  He spoke in a low, confidential tone. “Look, Maddy, I really need to talk to you. Can I come in for a little bit?”

  I narrowed my eyes at him. Something was wrong here. J.B. never smiled, he never apologized and he never, ever called me Maddy. I shifted my weight, considering him, and that was when I saw Beezle. His little body was crumpled facedown on the porch a few feet behind J.B.

  “Beezle!” I cried, and shouldered J.B. aside, kneeling on the peeling wood of the porch. I lifted the gargoyle very gently in my hands and turned him over. There was no visible sign of damage on him but his breathing was very shallow.

  “Well, I was trying to get inside, but having you outside is an acceptable substitute,” J.B. said behind me, and he kicked me in the side of the face.

  5

  STARS EXPLODED AS I TUMBLED DOWN THE PORCH stairs and onto the walkway. A metallic taste filled my mouth and I spat blood as I rolled to my back. I could feel more blood dribbling down my chin. I’d lost Beezle during my gymnastics routine and I tried to sit up, groping the ground for him.

  “What the fuck?” I said to J.B. as he walked slowly down the stairs toward me. His eyes were alight with madness.

  “Oh, little girl, if you knew how long we have been seeking you,” he said, and his voice was very, very different from J.B.’s voice.

  He didn’t look very much like J.B.
either. The irises of his eyes had expanded to cover all the white, and changed from J.B.’s bottle green to a fiery orange-red. The pupils slitted, and his teeth . . . Well, suddenly he seemed to have far too many and each one was far too sharp.

  He stepped over and kicked me in the face again. I whimpered as my head slammed to the pavement. I wondered listlessly where my neighbors were. It was after four o’clock. Weren’t people supposed to be on their way home from work and school? Why was everyone just letting this thing beat the crap out of me in the middle of the street?

  The thing-that-was-not-J.B. bent over me, yanked me up by a handful of my sweater and put J.B.’s face close to mine. I could smell brimstone on its breath.

  “I will be honored above all others once I bring my master your heart,” he said, showing me a strange sigil that was burned into his other hand. The sigil looked like an ampersand with the bottom loop cut off halfway.

  All I could muster at that moment was some spit and bravado, so I hocked a mess of blood on his face. “Sorry, bud. Whoever sent you here is going to be disappointed because I’m keeping my heart right where it is.”

  “Whoever sent me? You mean you do not know the sign of my master, Focalor?”

  “Why would I know another freak like you?” I asked, and kneed him in the balls.

  He dropped me to the ground and yowled in pain, which accomplished what I had wanted—to be released. Unfortunately, the abrupt landing also made my head explode, so I was unable to take advantage of the opportunity to get away before it grabbed me again.

  “Can it be?” he hissed, and his saliva spattered on my face. My skin burned where the moisture touched it. “You do not know your father is the sworn enemy of my master?”

  Something of the blankness and confusion I felt must have shown in my eyes because the monster started to laugh. The sound of its laughter made me nauseous.

  “You don’t know. You don’t know who you are. And—” He took a long sniff, closing his eyes to savor it. Then he opened them again, and his smile widened. “You’re a virgin.”