Wings of Redemption

by Sarah Gilman

  He stared straight ahead and his throat worked. “Yes, it could have been something incredible. If things were very, very different.”

  “Why can’t—”

  “Saffron. Don’t.”

  She pressed her lips together and held her chin high.

  A shadow broke free of the others and careened around them in a circle. Saffron gasped and froze.

  “It’s all right,” Kes said, his tone strange—thick, chilly, monotone. “A friend of mine wants to meet you.”

  An archangel with wings as dark as the midnight sky swooped over the path and landed. Black hair matched his feathers, giving him an imposing vibe that made Saffron tense. However, he smiled and the warmth in the expression reached his eyes. “Hello, Saffron Morin.”

  “Saffron, this is Rave.”

  “Hello.” She held out her hand.

  The archangel’s fingers closed over hers and a similar pressure wrapped around her skull. What the hell?

  “Excuse me a moment,” she said. “I don’t feel well.”

  You’re fine, Saffron. This will only take a moment if you don’t fight me.

  Her jaw dropped. The archangel’s voice rang in her mind without the slightest movement from his lips. A mind reader! The idea made her nauseous. What an invasion of privacy.

  “Uh, that’s impressive, but please stay out of my head.”

  You may recall Virgil asking you some questions about your family and their property? You weren’t willing to be forthright with answers, so here I am.

  Her heart shot into her throat. Damn it, a mind reader could pull information out of her head that would put her parents in danger, especially in Virgil’s hands. “Get away from me. Kes, let’s go.”

  Kestrel gripped her arms from behind, holding her in place.

  “Kes?”

  He said nothing and kept his gaze on Rave.

  She struggled, but his grip only tightened. “Kes.”

  Kestrel shut his eyes. “Don’t.”

  Rave stood directly in front of her. His voice filled her head. Let’s talk about the mansion’s security.

  The prompt automatically turned her thoughts in that direction, unveiling crucial information in seconds. Rave smiled.

  She glared over her shoulder at Kestrel. “You son of a bitch. Crisse de tabarnak de calisse!”

  He met her gaze, his mouth set in a thin, unapologetic line.

  Focus, Saffron. How do your parents spend their evenings?

  She tried to think of other things, but her thoughts jerked around in her head as if Rave were physically riffling through them. He must have been doing just that, considering the look of concentration on his face, and that she thought of details she’d never normally notice, such as squeaky floorboards. Everything important rose to the surface, including the fact that her mother was home recovering from pneumonia and her father had canceled his weekend plans to be home for her.

  The blind spots in the security camera coverage.

  The security codes.

  She stomped on Kestrel’s foot, squirmed, elbowed his ribs, twisted, but he didn’t budge. He tightened his grip.

  “Hey,” Rave said. “Your parents deserve to die.”

  She spat in his face.

  Rave gripped her jaw with one hand and stared into her eyes. The pressure in her head increased and images appeared. Vivid, gory images. Two lifeless, face-down bodies on a river bank. Two mutilated backs where wings had clearly once been attached. Blood. So much blood.

  Oh, God. She knew what the poachers did, of course, but she’d never seen the bodies left behind. Only the clean, preserved feathers. If not for Kestrel’s hold, she’d have sunk to her knees. “Crisse.”

  Those were my parents, bitch. I found them like that when I was twenty. Rave released her jaw and stepped back. He nodded at Kestrel. “I’m done here.”

  Rave spread his wings and took off.

  Kestrel released her arms.

  She turned on her heel and smacked him.

  He did nothing. Didn’t even raise a hand to the red mark on his face. He only stared at her, his expression a mask.

  “Don’t you have anything to say to me?” she ground out.

  “I don’t have to explain myself, Saffron. Not about this.”

  “I understand your side. I do. But, that doesn’t make this right, Kestrel. You should have…”

  “I should have what?” Tension filled his voice.

  She swallowed, her mouth as dry as cotton. “Protected me. At the very least, you could have not helped them. Virgil and that archangel could have mind-raped me without you.”

  “I’m not a coward who turns his back.”

  “You turned your back on me. Batard,” she spat out in French.

  He sighed. “Let’s go—”

  “I’m not going anywhere with you.” She followed that with more profane insults that were most effective in her primary tongue.

  He nodded, unsurprised. “The town hall is that white building over there. They’ll give you a room.”

  She hurried away from him and refused to look back, even though her body tried. Earlier, she’d been feigning sleep while they lingered in bed together—she hadn’t wanted the moment to end. He’d whispered goodbye in her ear, and told her he was sorry.

  Now she knew why.

  He had meant it. But this was unforgiveable.

  …

  Kestrel stayed up all night. Even though it sprinkled and thunder murmured in the distance, he sat on the terrace. Inside, the bed was as they’d left it. Her scent clung to the blankets. After returning home alone, he’d walked away from it, an unfathomable pain filling his chest.

  The assassination was underway. The Guardians had analyzed the information from Rave, assembled a team, and headed out. They needed to be done before Saffron left the colony and got to a phone. Kestrel checked the time on his cell. Three a.m. It would be a couple more hours before the demons reached Montreal.

  He ground his teeth. The rain fell harder.

  Cursing himself for being a ridiculous cliché by sitting out in the weather, he got up and went inside.

  Time to grow a set: clean up, get rid of her stuff, and go to sleep.

  He gathered the bedding first and dropped it in a heap by the laundry in the bathroom. He added her clothes to the pile. He found a bag and packed all the cosmetics. Finally, he flicked off the lights and lay down on his blankets on the floor.

  Tomorrow morning, the world would be a little bit safer for his species. Abel Morin was but one of a half dozen major Collectors in the world, but each one killed was a victory.

  Why did he want to slam his head against the floor?

  He stared into the dark. His thoughts drifted back to when he’d first seen her, cross-legged in the gravel outside the colony’s front gate, staring at her hands. She’d gazed up at him, her eyes wide with shock and wonder. He’d hated being regarded that way. Still did. However, he’d grown to love that look of rapture on her face whenever it appeared: when he flew with her, when she walked through the garden, when they’d made love.

  So different from when she had last looked at him.

  She’d stared at him the way he’d undoubtedly regarded her after he’d discovered her identity. He’d almost turned his back on her that first night. She was a Morin. His enemy, just like the rest of her family. Just like the poachers.

  It’s up to you to be a better man than your enemies.

  Dec’s words had gotten through to him that evening. Tonight, they stung him. Yes, archangels fought for their continued existence on the planet, but how did they want to wage that battle? Did they want to sneak into someone’s home in the middle of the night? Kill him in his bed, a tactic used by many poachers in the beginning, before the archangels had the benefit of the demons for protection? Did they want to be as low and merciless as their enemies?

  What good was survival if it made them capable of the cruelty he’d shown Saffron?

  Survival was about life.
He would have liked to spend more of what was left of his with Saffron in his arms, rather than regretting what he’d done to her.

  It was too late for that.

  But not too late to spare her the pain of her family’s deaths.

  He cursed quietly. He reached for his cell phone, searched through previous incoming calls, and dialed the number he found.

  The call went to voice mail. No surprise, given the hour. He hung up and called again. And again. Hopefully, she’d left the ringer on. If she didn’t answer—

  “What?”

  “Thyme?”

  “Who’s this?” Thyme demanded in French. “It’s two in the morning. That’s insane, even by my standards!”

  “I’m an acquaintance of Saffron’s in Eden.” His own French was rough, but understandable.

  Silence.

  “I need you to call your parents.”

  “Why? Is Saffron all right?”

  “She’s fine and will be at your hospital tomorrow as scheduled. However, if you want your parents alive to see Saffron again, they need to get out of the house, now. It’s best if they go to a hotel with high security.” Hopefully the demons would still have access to the mansion and destroy the cursed feather collection.

  “What’s going on?”

  “Just do as I’ve told you. They’ll be killed if they stay in the mansion. I estimate they have two hours at the most.” He disconnected the call.

  He gathered the pillow in his arms and shut his eyes. There. It was done. The Morins could heed his warning or not. He’d tried.

  He’d have one less regret tomorrow.

  Chapter Ten

  The next morning, Saffron fumed, but her body refused to help her lash out at her demon escorts. Somehow, they’d slipped her drugs that made her drowsy. She couldn’t blame them for drugging her, considering she’d tried to sneak out of the colony twice the night before and had successfully scratched a Guardian’s face.

  She could move, but she might as well have been swimming in paste. She stared at the passing landscape, her head resting against the glass of the SUV’s backseat window.

  The vehicle came to a stop at an intersection. A couple standing on the sidewalk kissed. An American Kestrel perched in a tree, glaring down at the street. Saffron swore under her breath.

  “We’re almost there,” the demon next to her said. He touched her arm. “Do you need more water?”

  “No.” She managed to pull her arm free.

  “Have it your way.”

  If she had it her way, she’d have jumped out of the vehicle and gone for the nearest phone. Not that it mattered. Her parents were likely dead. Tears streamed down her cheeks.

  A little while later, they pulled into the sprawling U-shaped drive of the hospital and parked in the patient drop-off area. Thyme paced around by some potted roses.

  Saffron really hated roses. She’d be happy to never see another damned rose. However, the desire to see her sister renewed her strength. She fought her drugged system and shoved the door open.

  “Here you go.” The demon reached over her and opened the door. “Wait for someone to help you, or you’ll fall.”

  Thyme hurried over, wrapped her arms around Saffron, and helped her out of the vehicle. The demons shut the door and drove off.

  A short distance away, her mother stepped out through glass automatic doors, wearing a beige dress suit, twirling a lock of her auburn hair around her finger as she always did when nervous or stressed.

  Saffron straightened and gasped. “Mom?” she shouted in French. “Mom!”

  Her mother’s gaze found hers. She rushed over, making remarkable time in her heels. Saffron succumbed to hysterical tears as her mother held her close.

  “Thank goodness,” her mother’s voice shook. The lingering pneumonia made her short of breath and reddened her eyes. “Thank goodness you’re safe.”

  Saffron wiped at her face, her movements still sluggish. “Me? I told you, I was completely fine. You, on the other hand, should be resting.” She embraced Thyme again. “I was so worried about you! Of all the idiotic ideas to go anywhere with those men!”

  “You’re the one who went to Eden and practically begged them to kidnap you!” Thyme squeezed Saffron’s shoulders. “You scared the life out of me!”

  “Girls!” Their mother chuckled and coughed into a handkerchief.

  Thyme headed for the line in front of the reception desk. Saffron followed her mother to a bench and they both sagged against the stained wood.

  “We received a threat last night,” her mother said. “We had to leave home and check into a hotel. We tried to reach you, in case there was danger to you also. I haven’t gotten a moment’s sleep.”

  “What kind of threat?”

  She shrugged and smoothed her hair. “Probably a hoax, but you can never be too careful. Some man called Thyme in the middle of the night and said we had to get out or we’d be killed. Crisse de Ciboire! Well, at least nothing happened. We called in extra security for the house. No one got inside, nothing was damaged.”

  Saffron’s heart jumped into her throat. Kestrel? Could he have…? “Did the caller give a name?”

  “No.”

  “Thyme?”

  Her sister, who’d been standing in line for the check-in desk, hurried over, her long braids swinging.

  “The man who called you. Was he one of the demons you spoke to before?”

  “No. He said he knew you in Eden. His French was very accented. Oh, and the call came from the same number the demons gave me to call you a few days ago.”

  “Crisse.” Saffron slumped against her mother. Her pulse pounded in her ears. Her mouth dried out. “Can I see your phone, Ty?”

  “Sure.” Thyme handed over the cell. “I’ve tried calling him a couple times. He doesn’t pick up.”

  Saffron sent a text to the number. Kes? It’s Saffron. Call me. Please.

  “We increased security at the house even though we left,” her mother said. “Neither the police nor the security company saw anything unusual. Moving forward, your father is having the entire system re-evaluated. We can go home after your surgery and you can stay with us while you recover, so you don’t have to worry about those awful stairs at your place.”

  “That’s good. Thank you.” The stairs would be manageable, in all reality. Normally, Saffron would refuse to be fussed over by her mother. However, after coming so close to losing both of her parents, she wanted to spend time with them.

  Later, as Saffron waited to be called by the nurse, the phone vibrated. Shaking, she connected the call. “Kes?”

  “Saffron.”

  Fresh tears fell. “It was you.”

  “Are you all right?”

  “Uh, yeah. I’m at the hospital waiting for pre-surgery prep.”

  “Good. Be well, Saffron.”

  “Wait—”

  The line went dead.

  “Saf?” Her mother wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “Who was it?”

  Saffron just shook her head and shut her eyes.

  …

  Three Months Later

  Saffron walked into her father’s showroom and shut the door. The tomb, as she’d thought of it since she’d been a little girl. Her parents were away on a business trip, but security hadn’t given her a second glance when she showed up. She had no-questions-asked access.

  She sickened herself, betraying her parents’ trust. However, this was something she had to do. She flicked the light switches and held her breath.

  The room illuminated before her. Feathers of all sizes and colors filled the display cases that lined the walls, like a butterfly collection. But these weren’t butterflies. These were men and women. Adults and children. Lovers. Parents.

  It was past time they were given peace.

  She’d missed Kestrel more, not less, as the weeks turned into months. But how could she go back to Eden? How could they ever make a relationship work?

  She would always be a Morin. However,
perhaps she could win her archangel’s trust, just as he’d won hers. He’d spared her parents when he had no reason to, so he must feel as strongly about her as she did about him. At least, that’s what she hoped.

  It was high time she did the right thing by the archangels. By Kestrel. Her family would always mean the world to her. They may never forgive her, but they’d never stop loving her. She walked around the room the way one walked through a graveyard: looking at the memorials, but unable to see the beings they once were. As she moved, she held a bottle of accelerant upside down, drizzling the sweet-smelling liquid behind her and over the mahogany frames of the display cases. Which were Skye and Thrush? She’d never know. The cases had no names.

  In the center of the room, a perfect set of wings hung suspended by clear cords in a massive glass case. White feathers with silver streaks that glimmered like diamonds. Unlike the other displays, this one had a name: Michael. Legend had it, Michael was one of the first archangels to fall to earth, and he’d possessed a psychic talent that provided him an indefinite lifespan. Supposedly, he’d been thousands of years old. Most people didn’t believe in the psychic abilities of archangels, but still, Michael’s reputation had made him the most sought-after target for centuries.

  Her great-grandfather had trapped and killed him in 1910 and made the front page of major newspapers. The articles were mounted under glass beneath the wings.

  And thus had begun the Morin family legacy.

  She splashed the flammable fluid around on the wooden frame. Leaving the area dripping, she moved quickly through the section devoted to younger “specimens.” Children. She completed her circuit around the room, breathing hard, chilled, and nauseous.

  She tossed the empty bottle aside and stepped carefully out of the liquid on the floor. She propped the door open to feed oxygen into the space and took one last, long look at the carnage her family had instigated.

  “This doesn’t fix anything,” she said into the silence. “But it’s the best I can do.”

  Finally, she lit a match and tossed it.

  Chapter Eleven

  “She did what?” Kestrel stared at Decimus. “Are you certain?”