Wings of the Divided: The Divided Book 1

by C. J. Sullivan

  Laphelle was honestly curious to hear his answer. After having served Lucifer for centuries, he grew to think that being a faithful servant, defeating the light and fighting God in every shape and form, was what he really wanted. But maybe it wasn't.

  "What do I want out of life?" Jack sat there, chewing, and then raised his finger as he swallowed. "For all my students to get good grades, so I can be known as the best teacher this side of the country."

  "That's not a serious answer."

  "You're right. I do want the kiddos to do well on the test, though. Oh, and I'd like for my dog to come home. He's been gone longer than usual this time, and I really don't want to go to the trouble of putting up posters because I've done that before, and right after I paid for the copies, he comes waltzing back into the yard."

  He gave the angel an angry glance. Laphelle grinned big and innocent. Jack shook his head.

  "But really," he said, "what I really want, is for people to learn how to open their eyes. Not to be so blinded by the world's distractions, you know, the almighty dollar, selfishness, vanity,"—he nodded to the snobby woman—"they're all just plain old excesses. Humanity has fought them since day one. We need to forget them and get back down to the basics of what is important."

  "Basics?" A First Rank soldier under the command of Lucifer, who delighted in creating the distractions of which Jack spoke, Laphelle thought the man's desires were rather foolish. But he was curious about them nonetheless. "Like what?"

  Jack smiled and playfully jabbed his fork into his cake and cut off another piece of the dessert.

  "Like friendship," he said.

  Laphelle spent Monday evening at Jack's, and the night after, and the night after that. Arriving promptly after the man got home from teaching, the angel eagerly listened to his tales of world travel. As he was entertained, he sat at the dining room table, or in the living room, eating Earth food, occasionally laughing at some of the man's more outrageous stories, his spirits full. He didn't think much about Malynko or any other vicious "comrades" of his, if they could be labeled as such. No, his focus was on the man and the music. His interest in Jack grew with each story, especially the one about the gypsy woman, which was told on more than one occasion; its fateful irony intrigued him more and more with each telling. But above all the entrancing tales of adventure and danger, Laphelle was the most fascinated by the fact that Jack had made his travels purely to help people, not to strengthen his reputation or earn money. He made a modest salary being a teacher, but to look at him, to see the wise contentment on his face, was like looking at the richest human in the world.

  The Fallen angel did not say much those evenings, preferring to keep his dark past locked up in the confines of his memory alone. He still hadn't given an answer to Jack's question. Deep down, he seriously searched for the one thing that he wanted most, his heart unsure of the answer. He played the violin each night—his soulful awakening intensifying with each stroke of the strings—and finally agreed to do the amateur concert. Jack clapped his hands and called the auditorium immediately. He landed Laphelle a spot at 8:30 p.m. and told the angel the rules, about how he could send sheet music to the orchestra ahead of time if he wanted them to back him up, or he could play solo. It was a well-known event, he explained, one that talent scouts became more apt to go to each year. Laphelle didn't understand why he suddenly wanted to perform in front of a crowd so badly. Was it for Jack's sake? Or perhaps it was because he longed for the praise he felt he was terribly overdue—or maybe both.

  Hermes was still gone. Laphelle's guilt grew at the sight of Jack's concern. During one terrible moment, he wished he had it in him to grab the Sivli from his back and kill the man with a swift swipe. Kill him and be rid of the new feelings of guilt, fondness, and admiration. Damn Jack's noble heart. How easy it would be to leave behind the mystery of the violin so that he could return to the eternal war of the angels where he was feared as a powerful assassin.

  How easy it would be to slide back into that role and forget all this.

  But he couldn't let go. Not yet.

  He knew, somehow, that a strange and wonderful transformation was taking place within him. A transformation that would soon lead him to make a dangerous and fateful choice. A choice that would lead him to his destiny.

  And only then, would he truly have the answers he so desperately sought.

  ***

  Malynko

  Malynko's followers were eager to learn. Their god spent his nights teaching them how to call forth the "good spirits," how to spread the religion to future worshippers, and how to listen for him in dreams. And when day approached, he returned to the mansion and tried to ignore Laphelle who was always at the kitchen table, lost in thoughts with his head on his arms. He passed by the closet where Kiazmo scraped and pleaded to be set free, and went upstairs to bed. Kiazmo eventually stopped his cries, falling dead silent by Wednesday.

  Malynko brought Christine meals of fruits and sandwiches and allowed her supervised trips to the bathroom. The little girl ate her food in silence, not replying to his harsh questions about Gidyon and Noam. He inquired how they found her and if they had plans to escape from Earth. She answered with pursed lips and a shake of her head, after which she pulled her body into a tight ball. Laphelle was leaving earlier each day, and it did more than stir the embers of Malynko's suspicions, whose generally serene mood slowly transformed into that of a bitter dragon, the dark flames of anger in his breast intensifying as each second ticked on the great clock of time.

  ***

  Noam

  Noam and Gidyon spent their time near the flowing river and in the autumn-touched gardens, amidst the people of Earth. Every day, the Thanatakran pointed out that this could be their last day on Earth, their last opportunity to bask in the mystery of this sacred planet, so they had better make the most of it. Gidyon had smiled at his remarks.

  One afternoon, while on a quiet stroll in the park, the Thanatakran exchanged glances with a girl named Melissa, who sat on a white bench drawing in her notebook. He quickly looked away, careful to stay inconspicuous after reading her name from her mind, but he could feel her eyes on his back, and could sense her thinking:

  I know you.

  ***

  Gidyon

  Thursday afternoon, Gidyon stood in line to buy an ice cream from a vender at the park when he felt a firm tap on his shoulder.

  "Mr. Kramer," Adam said.

  Gidyon turned around and faced the man, his eyes shadowed underneath a red ball cap.

  The angel smiled. "Mr. Jameson."

  "How are you, Gidyon?" he asked quietly, smiling back.

  "I'm good, Adam." Then the healer asked with a hint of nervousness, "How's—how is Harry?"

  Adam looked down to the ground and sighed. "He's been sleeping a lot."

  Gidyon's heart sank. "I tried my hardest. I really did. If his destiny is to die, then there's nothing I can do. And I didn't tell Max anything. I promise."

  "I know you didn't." He looked back into Gidyon's bright, blue eyes. "I'm not blaming you."

  Adam appeared distant, weak. Gidyon recognized his bravery through it all and slowly nodded. The woman in front of him walked away from the vendor. Now at the front of the line, he turned to buy an ice cream cone. Adam put his hands in his pockets. Gidyon thanked the vendor and walked with Adam through the park on a worn, pedestrians' path.

  "What kind ya got there?" Adam asked.

  "Cherry Chocolate Chip."

  "I'll have to try it sometime."

  "It's good. Can't say I've had anything like it before. We don't usually eat. So, what are you doing in the park?"

  "Thinking." He stared straight ahead. "It's hard, you know, dealing with Harry. I mean, if he dies, I'll have to expose everything. And then what will the world think of me?"

  Gidyon wanted to tell him that the truth was always a better route. Keeping secrets was not easy. They ate away at the soul, leaving one's heart barren. But rather than destroy the mo
od, he asked:

  "Are you going to the concert tomorrow night? The amateur show at Remington Auditorium? We're going with Max. He said it's always good, always has lots of undiscovered talent. I love music."

  "I'm surprised you aren't entering with that talent of yours."

  "What, the drums? Hah!" He chomped on the last of his cone. "No, I don't think so."

  "Aww, why not?"

  "Well, for one, I'd put all the other drummers like you to shame." He grinned, narrowing his eyes. "But the truth is, I'd feel terrible if Michael showed up with me onstage."

  "Michael?"

  "I've got this crystal. He's going to locate me with it. And just before he shows up it's going to glow. I wouldn't be able to see it if I was banging away on the drums, you see?"

  "Crystal? What—who's Michael?"

  "The Archangel."

  Adam's cell phone rang in his pocket, and he reached in to grab it. Looking at the caller ID, he raised his eyebrows.

  "Dude!" he said. "It's from home—might be Harry!" Gidyon's heart jumped, and Adam answered the phone. "Hello? Oh, hey, what's up, man?"

  He shook his head to Gidyon. So it wasn't Harry.

  "No, no, I'm not busy what's—" He stopped and listened for a couple long minutes. "Oh, hey, that's great, man! Congratulations!" He tapped his foot. "Yeah, sure, man. Okay, I'll be there in a few minutes. I'm here with Kramer." He turned his face up toward the sky, the sun glinting off of his shades. "Oh, I don't care, you're buyin'! Okay. Bye."

  He placed the phone back in his pocket. "Anyway, that was Clark. Remember him?"

  "Yes, I do."

  "Well, he finally got a job. He's gonna work at a used guitar shop downtown. He's so excited about it he's freakin' out. Wants to buy me lunch. Said you're invited if you wanna come."

  "Oh, I can't today. Tell him congratulations for me."

  "Sure." He started to walk off then turned back to the angel. "Gidyon, thanks—thanks for everything."

  Gidyon gave the brave man a small, sympathetic grin. Adam took off running to his car. The angel stood motionless for several minutes, listening to the birds that chirped far overhead. He watched a group of young boys chasing each other in a game of tag, knocking each other over and screaming with pure, youthful fun. He imagined that Adam and Harry had played the same sort of game when they were younger, having known one another since childhood. It would be very hard for Adam to lose a friend like that. Such losses in life were strong enough to make a man bitter—reclusive—with a constant, grieving weight on his heart. The angel clasped his hands together below his waist and closed his eyes.

  Please hang on, Harry. Your father misses you terribly. But if you return to health for anything, do it for your best friend's sake.

  ***

  Laphelle

  Before Laphelle left for Jack's that afternoon, his attention was pulled to the closet where Kiazmo remained locked up. Not a sound had come from it since yesterday. The blond rogue's curiosity was piqued. He approached the wooden door slowly, reaching out for the knob. Before unlatching the lock, he stopped, fearing that Malynko might catch him. But his interest was too intense and he went ahead anyway. The door creaked as it opened. Kiazmo did not stir. Laphelle called his name. He reached in to feel for a light switch, and his hand brushed a long string hanging from a bulb. He pulled it.

  "Malynko!" he cried. "Get down here!"

  A door upstairs slammed, and then the Elitist's firm stomping resounded down the hall and to the stairs. Laphelle turned around and saw him fumble to put pants on. Malynko gave a big swoop of his wings and hovered in the air, sliding the material over his legs with ease.

  "What is it?" he asked, rushing to Laphelle's side.

  "In there." Laphelle pointed to the lit closet with revulsion on his face.

  Malynko moved to the doorway, his brow furrowed. When he saw what lay inside, he froze. Laphelle moved up beside him, as they both stared at the bloody figure of Kiazmo, dead and twisted into a convulsive knot. His wrists were gashed open; his own blood stained his lips and fingernails.

  "Why didn't you let him out?" Malynko asked, his eyes transfixed on the disturbing image.

  "Me?" Laphelle stepped back, appalled. "It was YOU who put him in here! It isn't my fault that he went insane!"

  "The thirst consumed him. You should have heard something, should have realized—"

  "I should have realized nothing, Malynko! YOU are to blame for this!"

  Malynko glanced sharply to his right and stared at the defiant figure at his side. Laphelle tore himself away from the challenging stare and strode over to the chair where his sheathed weapon sat. He took the Sivli, placed it on his back, and headed to the door.

  "It's early, Laphelle," Malynko said with warning in his tone, his glowing eyes watching the rogue distrustfully.

  "I'm aware," the First Rank said.

  He grabbed the sunglasses from the mantle and left the house.

  ***

  Malynko

  Malynko held his arm up to shield the sunlight that shot in from the front door. When Laphelle was gone, he stared at Kiazmo's dead body for a while, and then burned it to cinders.

  He stayed awake that day, unable to calm his furious nerves. Where was Lucifer? Why hadn't he come for them yet? And Laphelle—why was he leaving during the day? Why? With Sunday fast approaching, Malynko wondered if he would be meeting the angels of light alone. He needed Laphelle. He needed the Sivli. Gidyon could heal any wound, except those inflicted by the Sivli. To fight with that weapon would ensure quick victory.

  In a hushed whisper, he said, "Laphelle, you wretched fool!"

  As he returned with heavy steps to his bedchamber, he felt it: a cold, dark apprehension gnawing at his insides, one that sucked him dry of reassurance and filled him with the fear of not knowing what tomorrow would bring.

  ***

  Jack

  "Jack?"

  The man could hear Laphelle's voice, but he did not welcome it today. He sat on the couch, leaning his back against the squishy cushions, his heart jumping at the inconvenience of a guest. Now was definitely not the time.

  "I'm busy." Wiping his brow, he tried to calm his nerves. "Just come back later, kid, okay?"

  "Why?" said the angel. He appeared in the room, hands on his hips. "What's wrong?"

  Jack held a greeting card with both hands. A dove was painted on the front, the bird in frozen flight amidst a soft blue background. He tried to hide his sorrow by casting his eyes down.

  "Hmm," Laphelle said. "Are you ill?"

  The man continued to look at the card, not reading it anymore, but rather letting his eyes travel the fold down the middle, consuming the image of the hurried black handwriting.

  "What's that?" the angel asked.

  "It's nothing."

  "Jack, I'm thousands upon thousands of years old. You can't fool me." With lightning hands he snatched the card from his hands and peeked at the lettering with a taunting grin on his face. "Hmm, what do we have here?"

  Jack stood up.

  "Give it back," he demanded.

  Laphelle raised his brow. "Why should I do that? What's in here?" He waved the card around dramatically. "Are you participating in some secret plot to take over the world that I don't know about? How dare you hold out on me—"

  "Give it back, Laphelle." His voice was cold. "Now." The angel's eyes widened. Toning it down a little, Jack sighed. "Give it back, and I'll explain."

  Please don't make me explain.

  "Who sent it?" Laphelle asked, handing the card back.

  Jack vehemently grabbed it from him, closed it, and placed it back in the white envelope. Then he put it on the coffee table and sat back down on the couch. He felt so heavy. No matter how many times he received the card, it never got easier. The angel seated himself on the coffee table next to the card.

  "It's from my brother-in-law," Jack said.

  Laphelle's face fell deadpan. "You're kidding, right?"

  "No. I wish
I were, you inconsiderate asshole"

  His reply was harshly abrupt, lit with pain. He regretted it, but couldn't help snapping. Now was not the time for a chat. He just wanted to be alone.

  "This conversation is over," he said.

  Laphelle sat so still, the man thought that maybe he had been frozen in some magical, angelic spell. Then, quite unexpectedly for Jack, the rogue said:

  "Please. Keep going."

  "Since when did you start giving a rat's ass?"

  "Now."

  Jack looked at him.

  Of all the blasted days of the year, that blond rascal chooses now to show a little compassion. Ironic.

  The man let out a sigh. Well, this concern was a good, solid step for Laphelle's emotional growth. Who was he to shake the ladder of his progress by being a stubborn hypocrite? He nodded and took a deep breath, preparing himself with a brief moment of silence. Then, he began.

  "My travels finally led me to Ireland," he said. "It was there that I met Tierney." Upon saying her name, he felt a lump rise in his throat. "I never planned on staying in Ireland. I just wanted it to be temporary like all the other places I breezed through. But I guess my heart was telling me it was time to settle down. Because I fell in love with Tierney. And I married her." He smiled. "This all happened after I met the gypsy woman and after I got the Strad from Kamooloo. Tierney taught violin lessons. That's how I met her. Through music. In my mind I can still see her face the day we met. She had this presence, you know? Not just looks, though she was so very beautiful—at least to me, she was. Some people say I have strange taste. But so much of it lies beneath the surface for me."

  The words were flowing like floodwaters from a dam. Perhaps this was a better idea than he'd thought. Well, he'd know for sure once he got to the end—if he did. And what an end—it was never over for him. Never forgotten.

  Keep going, Jack. Keep going.

  "I called my mother to tell her I'd gotten married—it was a quick wedding because Tierney and I were two impatient people. Mom was fine with it." He laughed. "She was used to my impulsive nature by then. Anyway, Tierney worked at a bank while I made a name for myself there in town, which was 'The Traveling American Doctor' or as some called me 'The Cheap Yankee Doc.' They didn't seem to care that all I had was an EMT license. I soon forgot about the old gypsy. I forgot about everything, actually. The rest of the world didn't even exist as far as I was concerned. It was just me and Tierney and the music we made together there at the heart of my new, perfect life."