Jovienne

by Linda Robertson

  Her back tingled. She rolled her shoulders.

  That had been easier than expected.

  Standing without them, she missed them terribly. To combat her growing urgency, she reversed the visualization.

  Air thickened and converged behind her. Substance and weight latched onto her flesh. New muscles burrowed under her skin and wrapped around bones she’d always had and some she hadn’t.

  A sharp cold pain sliced through her, stinging like alcohol poured on a deep scratch. Veins tunneled through flesh like worms. Nerves crawled, stabbing into her spinal cord. Her heart skipped a beat then began to pound. Her teeth clenched to lock down a pained cry.

  Then it was over.

  Despite the momentary pain, she released and reformed the wings a few more times to ensure her confidence.

  With two of the three things on her to-do list accomplished, she had only to find a new place to stay.

  As she crossed the distance of the upper room, however, she realized that, while every bit as filthy as an abandoned building should be, in the light of day the Hyde Depository’s interior wasn’t terrible. Open enough for sparring. Private enough that her presence should go unnoticed. And not having to feel guilty about being a slob was certainly a perk.

  The downside was, she’d rather forget the memories she’d made here. Stopping at the spot where she’d put her blade through her mother’s—no, the demon’s—chest, she stared at the gouge where her sword tip had hit the flooring. It was the only physical evidence that remained.

  Her chin lifted, but her downcast gaze remained locked on the blackened floor steps away from where she’d beheaded the demon.

  A monster would burrow into bad memories and make it home.

  In the far-right corner, she forced the elevator doors open. Surprisingly, the empty lift was on the second floor. Being an industrial elevator, it was large enough to hold a loaded tow-motor. Without electricity, it wouldn’t be moving from this raised position.

  It was acceptably securable. With the doors shut, it would be warmer than the wide-open space with broken windows. This would be her bedroom.

  The damaged vinyl couch became her bed. A pair of two-drawer filing cabinets and an office door became a table. An upside down five-gallon bucket would serve as a seat.

  Standing between the half-closed elevator doors, she surveyed the room she’d created. She had a place to lie down and a table. Her few needs were met, but it didn’t feel like home.

  It needed a pillow and blanket. It needed books. It needed her angel snow globe, a present from Gramma who had ‘fallen’ down the steps not long afterward.

  But she was not going home.

  She didn’t care if she never saw Andrei again.

  He’d come in her hour of need as she lay orphaned and recovering in the hospital. For that rescue, she’d chosen to see him as her hero. But her hero placed a weapon in her hands and left her to face what fate she would carve out for herself.

  That was his job, and the job was done.

  That’s all I ever was. A job.

  That would explain why saying goodbye wasn’t important and why he kept her at arm’s length. No one would shackle a person they truly cared for to a killing life like this.

  She sank onto the couch. Pushing her fingers through her hair, she brushed the scar on her temple. Andrei had an exact duplicate. He said it marked where the quintanumin went in.

  Twice she had been altered. First, unknowingly after the crash. But this time, she’d been conscious. She’d said no. Well, not aloud because she couldn’t, but that didn’t matter. God knew what was in her heart, right? That’s what they told her in the Sunday school that her father required the family to attend.

  If that was true, then God knew she didn’t want this and He did it to her anyway.

  Overwhelmed by a sudden urge to lock all the doors, seal the holes, and secure the exits, she hurried to the enclosed roof-access stairway in the left corner. It bore a single door and the hinges needed a good oiling. No one could use it without squeaks alerting her to their presence. Even so, she stabbed daggers into the floor at the base to hinder it from being opened. The doors to the lower level got the same treatment.

  The right door had a quarter inch of give, so she held it fully closed with her shoulder. Jabbing the next dagger into place she sliced her finger.

  Blood welled up and she sucked air through her teeth. Smelling the coppery cinnamon aroma of it, she squeezed the wound tightly and paced away, considering where to get something to wrap it with. Everything here was filthy. But it didn’t hurt anymore.

  Blessed weapons.

  She checked the injury again and smeared blood across unbroken skin. After wiping it on her leg, she re-checked. There was no cut.

  Returning to the doors, she stabbed the last dagger into position on the floor and checked her work. To conclude the makeshift security system, she slid a two-by-four into the looped handles. No one would get through without her knowing.

  Except Eitan.

  Her gaze rose to the gaping hole in the roof. She needed to fly. Better to work on that part of her future than wallow in the past.

  Revisiting the meditative technique, she visualized the wings reforming, moving, folding and extending them to mimic her intent. Growing more assured with each successful movement, she flapped them hard enough to stir dust and her body lifted from the ground. The dirty air made her cough and she stilled, feet plopping onto the floor.

  Despite the grit, she grinned. Her heart pounded, exhilarated and intimidated by a moment of being airborne. Deciding it was a good idea to master the movement of them with her feet on the ground before she tried taking to the air again, she ran through her exercises with the wings attached.

  The weight didn’t affect running, but the bulk created a bit of drag if not held to minimize air resistance. Next, she incorporated a sword, this time focused on adding wing movements to enhance the power of her swing.

  “You didn’t approve of the new gear, either?” Eitan stood just under the hole in the roof. He pushed at the pile of clothes with his toe.

  I’ve got to figure out how to secure the roof.

  Jovienne pushed sweat-soaked tendrils behind her ear and stomped over to him, sword in hand. “Am I supposed to wow the demons or destroy them?”

  “Destroy them of course. You said you wanted less. Did you not intend to use your body as a distraction?”

  She squinted, irritated. “Gee, Eitan, you’re only wearing those thin low-rise pants. Should I assume by your minimalist attire that you intend to use your body as a distraction?” She didn’t think his spine could get any straighter. His chin leveled and he glared. She covered her mouth with her hand. “Oh! Did I make you feel like I was impugning your ability or your moral character because of how you present yourself?”

  He crossed his arms.

  She ignored his trademark pose and met his icy gaze unflinchingly. “I don’t need to subvert my prey to destroy it.”

  “Excellent.” His tone was bland. “Have you flown?”

  “You think I could keep my feet on the ground for long?” It wasn’t technically a lie.

  “Good.” His aura began to shimmer like sunlight on moving water. “Make yourself invisible.”

  Demanding how was her first impulse, but she held her tongue and studied the shining around him again. Considering that he remained visible to her, she assumed he already made himself invisible somehow. Then it clicked: the inner light.

  Recalling the light that she’d seen glowing within herself, she willed that glow to expand and envelope her. In a blink, the warehouse interior was cast in a shade of pale blue.

  Eitan masked his surprise quickly and gave her an appreciative nod. “Follow me.” He leapt through the hole.

  Damn, damn, damn.

  Jovienne leapt to the roof and saw Eitan standing near the edge. In the evening’s fading light, she noted copper streaks in his brown braid. His wings seemed to blaze.

  W
hen she stepped beside him, he pointed to the Transamerica Pyramid. “I will see you there.” He leapt from the roof and soared low across the lot, caught a draft, and gained altitude.

  Jovienne peered over the edge of the building. Neither the jump nor the height bothered her. Leaping outstretched, unprepared to land, and unsure of flying, did. With wings spread and teeth clamped against a scream, she leapt.

  Though she dropped fast, the wings angled and she skimmed the ground. One knee dragged. She arched her back and willed the wings to flap. The tips brushed the blacktop, but she lifted higher. Each time the wings pushed down, she gained altitude.

  Glancing back as she soared over the fence, she saw dirt devils swirling along the unused parking area behind her. Above the sparse traffic, she tested her capabilities, diving here, angling there, flying over San Francisco’s streets and waving at drivers who could not see her. She laughed, circling buildings and peering in office windows.

  This was actually fun.

  A coppery glow soared above her.

  Determined to make a good show, she pumped her wings and pursued Eitan. They wound around building tops, angled directly for the Pyramid, increasing altitude.

  Jovienne meant to win this race.

  Gaining, she worked the wings hard and came alongside him, then pushed ahead. As her shoulders inched ahead of his, he rocketed onward in a copper streak.

  Recognizing the burst of speed as a flying adaptation of the speedy aspect of the quintanumin, she tried quickening for a few short bursts and took her time getting acclimated to the feel of it.

  He paced along the topmost walkway of the Pyramid as she landed in front of him. Though it was not as light-footed as she would have liked, it was not so different than leaping from a taller building onto a shorter one.

  “Nice first landing. Not weak-kneed at all.”

  “Heights don’t bother me.”

  “Good. You’re smart and you catch on fast, I’ll give you that. In-flight quickening with the quintanumin is even easier than accelerating your body while running on the ground because there are no worries of terrain like when you run. Just understand, the more you use this ability, the more you’ll need to eat.”

  Bracing against the wind, she crossed her arms, taking his pose before he did. “Any other tricks you want me to work on?”

  He frowned. “The abilities afforded you by the quintanumin are not tricks.”

  Jovienne snorted.

  “Fine.” He cocked a brow. “How about honesty? You said you had flown, but you hadn’t.”

  “I did not say I had flown. I simply asked if you thought I could keep my feet on the ground, which you should know, I hadn’t. The rest you assumed, as incorrectly as you did with my gear. Whose fault is that?” She fixed him with a cold look. “If you want to talk about honesty, let’s talk about the quintanumin being forced into my mind.” She unfolded one arm to tap the scar on her temple. “Binding a child of nine to this killing fate. It was done to me without my understanding or my consent. And you have the nerve to scold me over a skillfully worded misdirection?”

  Eitan’s eyes hardened into a flat glare.

  Her gaze shifting to the city, she added nonchalantly, “If He wanted another mindless sheep in this destructive flock, He shouldn’t have picked me. I think.” She faced him again. “And I remember.”

  She dove into the wind and flew away.

  SEVEN

  Lake City, Florida

  ARAXIEL DROVE AS far as Lake City, Florida. He hated having to drive, but being a possessor meant that flying was out of the question. If too far from contact with the Earth’s surface, he risked forcible detachment from his host. Just being in the upper floors of a high-rise gave him a sense of losing his grip.

  It was after nine PM when he neared the intersection of I-75N and I-10W. Eager to reach the abhadhon, he’d been ignoring the hunger pangs of his physical body, but he could deny it no longer. A billboard advertised a restaurant just off the highway ahead and they were open late.

  By the time that he finished eating, his body wanted sleep. This weakness irritated him. Anxiety over his intentions affected this fleshy vehicle that carried him and he regretted not taking the younger and more vigorous Ivan.

  He checked into a hotel. This body needed to be at its best when he faced this abhadhon.

  San Francisco, California

  ANDREI AWOKE TO an amber sunset glowing on his bedroom wall. He tugged the pillow over his face.

  Gotta get up. Gotta get to the heights before the cringe hits. And then you gotta act on what your heart’s telling you to do.

  Even so, he lay unmoving.

  His life had broken into achy pieces before Vincent died, and afterward, living was a lonely chore he wasn’t sure he wanted, until Jovienne came. She had given him a reason to retreat from the brink. But that motive was gone.

  All he had left was the cruel voice of his conscience and the promise of facing his daily torture alone. The only respite would be the oblivion found in a bottle.

  He remembered that oblivion. He wanted it back. But before he gave himself over to it, he needed to tell her the truth. She deserved to know. It was one burden he could remove from his heart.

  Get up!

  Kicking his feet over the side, he sat up on his creaking bed. The gladius laid on the floor. His breath left him in a rush.

  Had she been here while he slept?

  No. She’d never come into his bedroom.

  He stared at the sword and wondered if it being here meant she’d succeeded, or if it meant—

  He wouldn’t allow that thought to finish. Lifting it, he spied the jeweled lapel dagger placed beneath. The gladius dropped to the side and he fell to his knees to scoop up the little dagger, cupping it in his palms as if it were as fragile as a baby bird.

  She wouldn’t have given this back.

  Did this mean…? No! She couldn’t have failed.

  Rejecting that thought, he tried to convince himself that he’d see her in the heights. A glance at the window, however, revealed he had lingered too long. He had mere minutes to get there.

  He jerked his duster from the hook, shoved the lapel dagger into his pocket, and climbed onto the fire escape. He leapt to the roof, flipped up his collar, and ran north.

  He jumped onto the next building, and then the next. The hair on his arms stood up. He wasn’t going to make it. Instead of halting and curling up, he forced himself to run faster. He left the pungent odors of the Tenderloin behind.

  The cringe began.

  With each leap, it seemed his skin would peel off, yet he refused to stop. He wouldn’t—couldn’t—let the cringe immobilize him this time. He had to reach her.

  When he arrived atop the forty-three-story summit of the 333 Bush Street high-rise, the cringe had passed. He was sweating and shaking, nauseous and achy, but he’d seen no sign of her.

  His shoulders slumped. Fear crept into his heart. Wait—

  The mighty hand that squeezed and tore at him began instead to push him, prodding him.

  The Call That Followed.

  Tonight, it turned his head like a compass needle to the northwest.

  Oh, you idiot. She’d fly!

  He searched the sky and found it empty.

  Teeth grinding, he forced a new thought: A demon was freed, and she’s out there doing her job.

  But he couldn’t make himself believe it.

  To counter that doubt, he considered going northwest to see if she was there. But Vincent had warned him against answering the Call until he had passed the test and become stronger as an angel. Andrei feared the cinders were once people like him who, not yet angelic, gave in to that summoning and were…ruined.

  His stomach clenched and he shivered.

  He wouldn’t take that risk in the best of times, let alone now when doing so was only a means to confirm—he wouldn’t allow his heart’s fear to form the words.

  The little dagger bit into his clenched fist. The breath h
e’d been holding escaped. His eyes burned.

  This place had been her solace against the dusk drums, but she had been his solace, protecting him from an isolated and lonely life. Crouching, he brought the lapel dagger from his pocket. He’d been winning his battle against the tears, but when he opened his hand, he surrendered.

  Holding the knife to his lips, he kissed it, and then placed it where she always stood to view the city.

  He turned away and ran. Misery leaked out of him, drop by drop, damp streaks trailing in the wind created by his speed.

  Though sprinting west, toward home, he didn’t want to go there. More than ever he wanted to crawl into a bottle and never come out.

  He headed south toward McGhee’s.

  JOVIENNE, CLOAKED WITH invisibility, stood beside a lightning rod atop the Transamerica Pyramid. The gusting wind caused the building to sway several inches and almost drowned out the drums. The eastern sky was getting inkier by the minute. In the west, a veil of gold and salmon pink billowed around the last edge of the sun. Her favorite view was to the north: Coit Tower flanked by San Francisco Bay and Alcatraz.

  Her stomach quivered as her gaze shifted straight down toward the sea of structures that made up this city so very far below.

  Incredible jumps had been commonplace for many years, but to leap here would have been impossible. There was no starting point high enough and close enough to enable the jump, and the minimal landing surface moved with the wind. Only the wings sprouting from her back made this possible.

  She could leap away from this perch without having to consider the next landing spot or worry the wind might blow her leap off-course. With wings, she could go anywhere, anytime. No one would even see her.