Nancy K. Duplechain - Dark Trilogy 03 - Dark Legacy

by Nancy K. Duplechain

  “Will you please at least come inside and have some pie? I didn’t make it myself, but it’s from that new place over on Burgundy.”

  “Oh, I heard they were good.” She thought it over for a moment. “Well, I’m not supposed to have too much sugar, but I don’t think a tiny slice will hurt.”

  As soon as Selena opened the door, she heard loud rock music coming from Noah’s bedroom. She winced. “He’s going to go deaf, I swear.”

  “Now, if it was some good ol’ music, like some Sam Cooke or maybe some Frank Sinatra, I’d understand, but I can’t understand half of what they singing on those songs today,” said Cee Cee, taking a seat at the kitchen table.

  Selena took out some saucers and forks and set them down on the table, and then pulled a pecan pie from the refrigerator, setting it between the saucers. “I thought I’d never want another pecan pie again after I pigged out at Christmas, but I saw this and couldn’t resist. Please, help yourself,” she said. “I’m going to go ask him to turn that noise down.”

  “Don’t argue with him. You don’t need any more stress tonight,” said Cee Cee, already cutting herself a large piece of pie. “You got any milk?”

  “In the fridge,” Selena called over her shoulder, on her way upstairs.

  The music was almost unbearable outside Noah’s door. She knocked, but got no answer. She knocked louder, but still no answer.

  “Noah!” She pounded on the door. “Noah, please turn down the music! We have company!” Again, no answer.

  She hated barging in on his privacy, but her ears could not stand it one more second. She opened the door.

  What she saw felt like someone had just punched her in the gut. She was certain her heart stopped for a few seconds, and was unaware she was not breathing. Her son—her little man—was lying face down on the carpet, blood—so much blood—soaking into the carpet, streaming from the gashes in his shoulder blades, and a long, sharp sword at his side. Near his desk were his beautiful, dark purple wings.

  When she finally caught her breath, Selena screamed. She knelt down next to Noah, her pants now getting soaked with his blood. She put her hands on his head and held it to her lap. By the time Cee Cee made it upstairs, Selena was sobbing and rocking back and forth.

  “Oh, my God in Heaven,” whispered Cee Cee.

  “He’s still alive,” sobbed Selena. “We need to get him to a hospital! Call 911!”

  Cee Cee spied the stereo near the window and turned off the music before rushing to Noah’s side. She placed her hands over his head and then his back. And then she noticed the wings by the desk. “He won’t make it in time.”

  “Please! Please call them! He has time!”

  “No, my baby. But there’s someone who can help him.” Cee Cee rushed downstairs as quickly as she could and picked up the phone.

  ***

  He got to Selena’s house in less than ten minutes. Cee Cee ushered him inside and upstairs. The scene in the bedroom did not frighten him or surprise him, but as soon as he saw the wings on the floor, a grim shadow fell upon his face, and his green eyes narrowed.

  He looked at Cee Cee, and she knew what he was thinking. She shook her head and said, “Just help him. Please.”

  He met Selena’s pleading and confused eyes—the desperate eyes of a mother faced with losing her child—and promised himself that he would do all he could.

  “Please step back,” he told her.

  “Come, baby,” said Cee Cee, gesturing for Selena to join her near the door.

  “Who is this?” said Selena. “What’s he going to do?”

  “Shhh. Just let him work. And pray, my baby. Pray.”

  He set his black bag on the floor beside Noah and took out a bottle of holy water. Pushing a lock of his salt-and-pepper hair from his eyes, he got to work.

  Over the next twenty minutes or so, the man said a multitude of prayers as he poured holy water over Noah’s back and head.

  Cee Cee and Selena prayed together, holding each other’s hands, eyes closed in concentration.

  When he was done, the man asked for a towel. Selena left and came back with one and handed it to him. The man whispered some more words she couldn’t hear and then poured some holy water directly on Noah’s shoulder wounds. He took the towel and wiped the area. When he removed the towel, the wounds had closed. He examined the scars and shakily stood up, wiping sweat from his brow.

  “He will live,” he told Selena.

  She cried again, but out of relief, the fist removed from her gut, and her heart beating fiercely again. “Thank you!” she said, and hugged him. His expression remained grim, though.

  “I’ll help you get him onto his bed, but he needs plenty of rest and fluids. It will take some time for his blood to build back up, but he will be okay.”

  “Thank you,” she said again. Together, they lifted Noah and placed him in his bed. Selena sat beside him, wiping his face and crying, while Cee Cee and the man went downstairs. He was pale and had to hold the rail tightly.

  “I wish you had warned me before I came here,” he said, washing up at the kitchen sink. He was drained and exhausted.

  Cee Cee sat at the table and resumed eating her pie. With her mouth full, she said, “I didn’t think you’d come.”

  “You’re right. I probably wouldn’t have.”

  “But it was a good thing that you did. I know that boy’s not like the others.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  “His momma’s one of us.”

  He put down the dish towel he was using to dry his hands and stared at her with surprise. “She is?”

  Cee Cee licked her fork. “Mmm hmm. She don’t know it, though.”

  “How do you know?”

  “She been coming to see me for about a year now. I was able to read her quite a few times. She definitely has it. Descendant of Gerard.”

  “And you’re just telling me this now?”

  She looked at him in the corner of her eye and raised an eyebrow. “I know you, and you would’ve been trying to recruit her from day one. She’s a good woman with too much on her plate, being a single mother and all, struggling with work and her boy. She don’t need to be running around, battling demons and spirits and, and—”

  “And Nephilim?” he finished.

  She eyed him again. “Now I know you have your reservations, and you’re welcome to ‘em, but you wrong about this boy, Miles.”

  Still tired and drained, he leaned back against the counter and looked up at the ceiling. “Let’s hope you’re right.”

  3

  The Catalyst

  Miles came back on the third day to check on Noah. He asked that Selena give them some privacy. She excused herself and went downstairs to make a pot of soup for Noah’s lunch.

  “How are you feeling?” asked Miles.

  Noah shrugged and then winced. “Shoulder blades are sore.”

  “Before long you won’t even feel it. May I take a look?”

  Noah gave a hesitant nod and then rolled over onto his side. Miles pushed up his T-shirt and saw the scars were now pink. “It looks good,” he said, and Noah rolled onto his back again.

  “Um, thanks. For saving me or whatever.”

  Miles smiled. “Your mother told you why you have those wings, yes?”

  His eyes shifted away from Miles and he nodded. “Yeah.”

  “What did she tell you?”

  “That my father, if you want to call him that, was an angel. Well, not the kind that floats around in the clouds and plays a harp or whatever. She called it a Watcher Angel. I would’ve thought she was crazy if I hadn’t started growing feathers and a pair of weird bones jutting out of my back.”

  “I see. Did she explain to you what these Watcher Angels are?”

  “Kind of. She said she couldn’t find very much information on them. She said they lived with the humans and could have children with them, but she didn’t know why this guy was so bad.”

  “Did she tell you his name?
”

  His eyes found Miles’ again. “She said his name was Raymond.”

  Miles frowned. “There was no Watcher named Raymond. I’m sure that name is just a cover.”

  “I don’t really want to know his real name.”

  “I can understand that. Aside from your wings, have you ever noticed anything else peculiar about yourself? Maybe something you can do that no one else can, or something you can do better than others?”

  He searched his memory and shook his head. “Not that I know of.”

  “Well, it looks like you’ll be okay from here on out. It was nice meeting you, Noah.” Miles smiled politely, and he headed for the door.

  “Wait, that’s it?”

  He turned back to look at him and nodded. “Yes.”

  “I mean, it’s kind of … weird, you know. Like how do you know so much about these Watchers?”

  Miles thought carefully before answering. “I deal with many things of this nature.”

  “What do you mean deal with?”

  He smiled again. “Tell you what. If you find yourself exhibiting anything else unusual, like what I asked you about, then pay me a visit.” He fished a business card out from his wallet, borrowed a pen from the desk, wrote something on the back, and handed it to Noah. “Take care.” And with that, he left.

  Noah looked at the card in his hand. It had a phone number and the words:

  Miles Knighten

  Historian/Anthropologist

  Knighten Oil Co.

  On the back of the card, Miles wrote down an address in the Garden District.

  ***

  Meanwhile, Selena’s spirit diminished. The day after Noah’s incident, she called St. Anthony Elementary to tell them that she needed off for a few days. Since she wasn’t sick, they insisted on knowing why she needed to miss work. She confided in the vice principal that it was a delicate issue. She told her that Noah had attempted suicide, but that he was going to be okay. By that evening, the principal called her to tell her that she was sorry about what happened to her son, but the school felt she would be better suited as a stay-at-home mom so that she could properly rear her son. Even though Selena pleaded with her, the principal put her foot down. And that was the beginning of a new set of worries for Selena.

  ***

  Noah’s return to school was met with much whispering and amused stares from the other boys. They were too scared of him to tell him anything to his face, but he still heard stifled laughs as he walked the halls. They did a poor job of trying to look inconspicuous as they craned their necks over their shoulders to look at him in the back of the classroom.

  Noah did his best to stay calm. He couldn’t get in trouble again. He didn’t want to do that to his mother, so he kept his head down and avoided eye contact. And, as the day wore on, the laughter became more pronounced as the boys realized Noah wasn’t going to do anything to them. All it took was one foolishly brave boy named Nick—a running back on the football team who was twice Noah’s size—to cross the line.

  After school, Noah started his walk home. St. Anthony’s School for Boys was a just a block from the Mississippi River and a half mile from his house in the Irish Channel. The Girls’ school was just down the street from the Boys’. Noah usually took the main route home, but he didn’t want to see any more of the boys that day, and he didn’t want to hear any more of that annoying hushed laughter. He instead went a block east toward the river and followed the pier to his neighborhood.

  After he passed the Girls’ school, he smelled cigarette smoke and looked around. He saw a lazy plume of smoke coming from behind a post on the dock. A pair of legs wrapped in navy blue tights stretched out from under a blue plaid skirt on the other side of the post. As he got closer the angle shifted, and he saw the profile of a pretty girl with wavy brown hair and porcelain skin with light freckles. She puffed on the cigarette every now and then, huddled in a heavy coat and looking out on the water. When he got closer, he saw that her eyes were red and angry, and he heard her sniffle.

  He almost didn’t say anything, but it was reassuring to know someone had as bad a day as he had.

  “Hey. Are you all right?”

  She blew smoke from her mouth and looked up at him. “Fine,” she said, and resumed gazing at the river. He noticed that she had a heavy French accent.

  He started to leave, but part of him wanted to talk to her, to find out why she was crying. “No one ever told you that cigarettes can kill you?”

  She shot him a glance over her shoulder. “Plenty of girls my age smoke where I’m from.”

  He shrugged. “Then that makes it all right, I guess. See ya.” The girl did not respond, and he gave up.

  Noah got maybe fifteen yards down the pier when he heard the unmistakable donkey laugh of Nick DiMartino. He glanced over his shoulder to see Nick and his friend Bus (so named because the high school giant was once hit by a bus that did absolutely no damage to him) coming his way, but they didn’t notice him yet. They were too busy trying to kick each other in the privates and laughing like a couple of idiots.

  They did, however, notice the girl sitting by the post on the dock. They stopped in their tracks, and Bus nudged Nick with his elbow and nodded in the girl’s direction. He whispered something to him, and Nick’s donkey laugh went at full force, his breath puffing up into the air.

  Nick shoved Bus toward the girl, who hadn’t noticed them—or pretended not to notice them—and Bus stopped short of falling. Still laughing, Bus pushed Nick toward the girl, egging him on. At last, Nick adjusted his pants and walked over to the post, casting one asinine look over his shoulder at Bus who had his hands over his mouth to keep from laughing out loud.

  Noah couldn’t hear what Nick said to the girl, but she reacted pretty much the same way she did to him, which was basically to ignore him. Nick, however, wasn’t quite as disinterested or polite as Noah. When the girl clearly wanted nothing to do with Nick, he looked back at Bus, who, with his red face and tears glistening from the dim winter light, looked like he was about to pass out trying to keep from laughing.

  Nick scowled and said something else to the girl. This time, it got her attention, and she looked offended. She flicked her cigarette up into his face, and this sent Nick into a rage. He grabbed her by the hair and pulled up onto her feet. The girl screamed out in pain, and this, in turn, sent Noah into a rage.

  Dropping his book sack, Noah rushed at Nick, knocking him down. They wrestled for a moment before a stunned Bus realized what was going on. He hurried to help his friend, pulling Noah off of him. Together, the two of them took turns pummeling Noah, bringing down their fists and then kicking him when he was down. The whole time, the girl screamed at them to stop and even tried to pull them off, but they just pushed her down. All Noah could do was curl up into his jacket and protect his head and ribs.

  “Put ‘im in the river!” said Nick. “Roll ‘im! Roll ‘im!” He and Bus stopped kicking and rolled him off the dock and into the water.

  “Stop it!” the girl screamed.

  Nick whirled around and pinned her up against the post. He put his knee in between hers and put one hand up her skirt and another up her shirt. The girl’s big brown eyes widened with horror. She tried to scream, but he took the hand from her shirt and covered her mouth.

  “Hey, Nicky, c’mon. What are you doing?”

  “Shut up! This lil’ bitch needs to learn a lesson.”

  “C’mon, man, you don’t want to go to jail or nothin’.”

  “I’m not gonna go to jail. She’s not gonna tell on me. Are you, you lil’ French bitch?”

  “Dude, c’mon. Let’s go! Someone’ll walk by here any minute.”

  While they argued, neither one heard the displacement of the water’s surface tension or the squishy footsteps of waterlogged sneakers coming up behind them. Before Bus knew what hit him, he was suddenly lifted off the dock and thrown toward the pier, landing hard against a commercial garbage bin.

  Nick looked back at wh
ere Bus was just standing, and he saw Noah coming at him at high speed. Shocked, he moved away from the girl, stumbled and fell backward onto the dock. Now it was Noah’s turn to pummel Nick. He went at him with a ferocity that scared the girl. She was afraid he would kill him.

  “Stop!” she yelled at Noah.

  Noah stopped. He bent down and, with a steady, gritty voice, said, “Right now, I have enough of my faculties to stop myself. But I don’t know if I’ll be able to stop next time. Do you understand me?”

  Through a bloody mouth and nose, Nick gave a barely audible “Yeah.”

  Noah got up, grabbed the girl’s black backpack near the post and handed it to her. “They won’t bother you anymore,” he said.

  She was too stunned to say thank you, but managed a nod.

  Noah continued down the pier, picking up his book sack where he had left it. The girl ran to catch up with him. “I’m Nadia, by the way,” she said, out of breath.

  “Noah.”

  “Sorry I was rude to you earlier.”

  He shrugged. “Looked like you were having a bad day.”

  She frowned. “It’s just that … I really miss my family back home. I cried a little today, and some of the girls saw me and started making fun of me and my accent.”

  “Where’s your family?”

  “Back in France, not far from Paris. We were all supposed to move here, but my mother was about to have a baby, and they didn’t want to move so close to the due date, so they sent me here first so that I could start this semester with everyone else. They thought it would be easier on me.”

  “And it hasn’t been?”

  She huffed. “I hate it here. Everyone is so mean.”

  Noah laughed a little.

  “Everyone except you so far.”

  “No, no I get it,” said Noah. “I kind of feel the same way to tell you the truth.”

  They walked for a while in silence. Noah’s teeth were chattering, and he was sure tiny icicles were forming on his hair. When they got to the end of the long pier, they stopped.