by S.B. Rodgers
“Dead. My family’s dead.”
Gabe blinked, a sympathetic expression growing on his face “Sorry…I had no idea.”
She waved dismissively, idly tracing the wood grain of the tabletop with her other hand. “It’s fine, don’t worry about it.”
He grabbed her hand, looking into her eyes. “Do you want to talk about it?” Abby couldn’t hold his gaze and turned her head away. Gabe dropped her hand, murmured an apology. It hurt her to think of her father, and the mother she had never known. It hurt, but still; Gabe seemed to want to listen, to comfort her. It was more than her stepmother had ever offered.
“I’m sorry, but…”
“Say no more. It was rude of me to ask; you should do things in your own time.”
“…thanks.” She said quietly. She started as Emmanuel placed the platter in front of her, cutlery clattering slightly on either side. He set a glass of ice water in front of her.
“Two daily specials,” he said as he carefully placed another platter in front of Gabe “and one large black coffee, daily house blend. Enjoy!” Gabe smiled at him, thanking him and telling him how delicious it all looked.
Abby murmured her thanks and looked at the steaming hot food in front of her, realizing just how hungry she actually was. The grilled sandwich was golden-brown and crispy, steam rising from its molten cheese center. The squash soup next to it had a white swirl of sour cream in the middle, and, she quickly decided, smelled somewhat like pumpkin pie. She smiled despite herself. It looked much better than the peanut butter sandwich she had shoved into her bag early in the morning. “Thanks for bringing me here, Gabe.”
Gabe finished the sip of coffee he was taking “My pleasure.”
* * *
Gabe waved goodbye to Abby in the hallway as she took off for her next class. Art with the demon, he thought darkly. At least she was going in with a good mood today, and he hoped that it would be enough to get her through whatever Raph was planning today. He had enjoyed himself at lunch; Abby was a thoughtful and interesting girl, and after the initial awkwardness about her family, a good conversationalist.
He found himself staring after her, watching her shape receding down the hallway. I really want to be around her more, he thought, a smile playing across his lips. The smile quickly turned to a frown as he caught himself. To monitor her progress, he thought. So that he would know when to let her go.
Chapter 18
The final bell rang just as Abby set foot in the art room. She heaved a sigh of relief and walked over to her table where, much to her dismay, Raph was already sitting. She groaned inwardly; she had sort of forgotten the uncomfortable situation from last Friday. The lunch with Gabe had wiped any other thoughts from her mind, and now reality was crashing down on her. She steeled herself for another confrontation with Raph and walked over to where he sat staring at her broodingly.
* * *
Raph glowered at her, his eyes red-rimmed with dark, bruise-like circles under them that made his face look gaunt. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days, and really, he hadn’t. One minute I’m invading her dreams like normal, and the next, that angel’s got me out on my ass, he seethed.
Gabe had sealed the mirror, his one portal to Abby’s room, and effectively put a stop to his interference. He had spent the entire weekend awake, trying desperately and with an increasing amount of frustration to re-open the portal. He glanced down at his hands, at the small nicks and gashes that covered his fingers.
He had taken to smashing things with his bare hands, only a few things at first, then more as time crawled by without results. His dishes were now reduced to a scattering of fine white fragments.
Abby sat down silently across from him, ignoring his glare and pulling out her unfinished drawing and supplies. She seemed calmer today, he noted unhappily. She, in contrast to himself, looked well-rested and healthy, her cheeks slightly reddened from the cold outside. That angel was undoing all of his hard work—he was messing with his Abby.
Raph felt jealousy and anger burning in his chest. How dare he touch her, talk to her, even look at her? Abby is mine, he growled to himself.
“Can you turn to the side?” Abby asked, bringing him back to reality.
“Fine.” He snapped, realigning himself quickly using sharp, jerky movements that showed his annoyance.
“Thanks…” she murmured coolly, grabbing her charcoal and setting it to the paper.
Raph rolled his eyes and glared sullenly forward, sinking into his own tired thoughts. He had tried so hard to break her, to shatter her soul, and now it seemed that his efforts were pointless. He glanced at Abby out of the corner of his eye, watched her scribble away diligently with a serene face. Raph felt a strange feeling in his chest. An annoying fluttery feeling that he tried to shrug off, curling his hand up to his heart reflexively.
He remembered how it all began, why Abby hated him so much now. Last year, he had received his mission, moved into the city and his then luxuriously furnished apartment. He had enrolled at Walkley just in time for the winter semester, placing himself in all of Abby’s classes.
He smirked—that was how he ended up in these stupid art classes, by following Abby around. He had made sure that she noticed him; no, that she saw only him. Lavishing her with attention, making her feel like the most beautiful girl in school; it was all a part of his plan to make her kill herself. If she had just committed suicide, he thought, glancing at her again, his job would be over. He would have gathered her soul and dragged it to Hades.
As it was he had somehow failed, and though that made things more interesting, it also made getting to her that much more difficult. Now she didn’t trust him at all. Abby could hardly stand to look at him, and he knew why. It was because of what he’d done to her that night. What he’d done to humiliate her in front of the entire school, tearing her to emotional and social shreds.
They had been dating for several months, and had planned to go to the winter formal together. It really was a brilliant plan, he reflected. He had built her up, convinced her that it would be the best night of her young life. He had gone so far as to lend her his platinum card, which she had used to shop with all of their popular female friends.
When she arrived by limousine at the ballroom he was already there, decked out in a tuxedo and a boutonniere that matched the corsage of the girl he was dancing with, the beautiful redhead who was certainly not Abby.
Abby had loudly and tearfully confronted him, drawing the attention of the gathered students. Raph remembered what he had said then, and mouthed it again, silently moving his lips. You actually thought I loved you? He remembered her face paling as the blood drained from it, saw her lips trembling with fury and anguish in his mind’s eye. The rush he had felt then, when he knew that he had made such an impact on her, had been life altering.
And then she had run from the room, dashed into the night and disappeared, leaving him feeling hollow inside. A strange numbness had filled him after the rush subsided, after her pained face was out of his sight. He left soon after, using the mirror in the men’s room to return to his apartment, ignoring the drunken exclamations of amazement from a vomiting freshman.
The emptiness persisted aside from a rising sense of panic, and he had felt as though the silence of his darkened apartment was closing in around him. With one erratic movement, he had jerked his knee up, putting his foot through the screen of his television. The sparks had dazzled his vision, fluttering and flitting even as he blinked.
He had stepped back to admire his work and bumped into a lamp, knocking it over. The glass head had shattered, strewing itself across the hardwood floor. He had ripped the socket out of the wall and picked up the jagged-ended metal lamp, hefting the long bar in his hand. It was then that he had begun destroying in earnest, ripping things apart and smashing others, leaving the apartment a complete shambles. Bits of furniture were strewn about the room, and he had abandoned them where they fell.
When there was nothin
g left to destroy, he had stood there with his chest heaving in exertion. He hadn’t understood the feeling that had filled every bit of him then. It was like nothing he had ever felt before, a complex tangle of ideas and things he had no knowledge of. And on top of it all, her crying face, her laughing face, her face had filled his mind. The desire to hurt her, and the desire to pull her close to him and never let her go had been overpowering—he still didn’t know what to make of it. She was his job, his mission, his kill. And he had no idea what he thought of her anymore.
He sighed, that heavy, fluttery feeling still in his chest, and scowled.
“Keep your face still.”
He sighed again. This was going to be a long class.
Chapter 19
Mammon stalked in front of the boy, the soles of his shiny black shoes clacking against the damp cement. He stopped and turned to face him. The young angel was bound, his arms tied with a length of thick old rope that smelled as much of the sea as the nearby docks did. The roughly woven cloth bag was pulled off of his head by Freja, who dropped it carelessly to the ground as she walked gracefully to her master’s side.
The boy shivered, pain, terror and exhaustion all working against him. One of his wings was gone, sliced off cleanly by Fenris when the boy had tried to escape. He hadn’t tried again, and they had managed to pull him into a warehouse on the docks with no real difficulty.
“Even in a city named after a holy man, you seem to be at a disadvantage.” Mammon said, eyeing him coolly.
The boy shook on his knees, feeling the blood oozing down his back and pooling at the base of his spine. He gritted his teeth to keep them from chattering. The bay breezes were cold, seeping in through the old corrugated metal that made up the building and piercing his wet clothes. “Wh-what do you want with m-me?” He managed to stutter out, unable to keep his voice under control.
“Information. I need to know something; something about a guardian, here, in America.” He stared at him, his pale eyes burning into the boy’s own dull blue.
“I’m j-just a messenger. That b-bag has my delivery.”
Mammon looked at Freja for confirmation. She nodded, gesturing to her brother. “Fenris.”
He grinned lopsidedly at her “Yes?”
“The bag, brother. Check the bag he was carrying.”
“Ah.” Fenris produced a heavy paper bag from inside his filthy camel coat, opening it and sticking his hand inside. He spoke as he rummaged noisily “Feels like…some sort of…bread? Maybe? And a…a paper!” He pulled his hand out of the bag, holding up a piece of paper and a loaf of strange bread. Fenris handed the paper to Mammon reverently, who showed no interest in the bread. Fenris took it as a sign and took a big bite of it.
Freja stared at him in exasperation, shaking her head in disbelief. Fenris munched away, not bothering to swallow before he took another bite “What? It’s good!” he spoke around the food, his words coming out garbled.
Mammon ignored them, intently reading the note he held in his gloved hand, his piercing eyes running across the page. “Who was this for?” he finally asked, fixing his gaze on the boy, who sat silently shivering in front of him.
The boy sniffed, inhaling through his nose “What does it matter to y-you?”
Mammon tilted his head, staring at him for a moment. “Fenris.” He called out. Fenris paused, his hand in the bag, reaching for more bread. “Break his leg.”
Fenris swallowed the food in his mouth before grinning happily. “Which one?”
Mammon smiled unpleasantly, the motion not reaching past his lips. “Surprise me.”
* * *
The boy had put up less resistance than the others. It was mildly disappointing, Mammon thought. The dogs got so much more enjoyment if the prey was stronger. He had given much more information than the others, though. After his legs were broken and Freja began working his remaining wing, the boy had talked. Well, sobbed, more like.
But his information, if it was true, was invaluable. If it was true, they were looking for a man named Aiden. That had been the name on the boy’s lips as he died. That was the man they would seek out. According to his network of minions, Aiden was a very powerful angel, and apparently he had a young daughter.
Mammon smiled his unsavoury smile again. A plan had formed in his mind. He called out to his dogs, who were standing together at the end of the pier. Fenris was hunched over the body, plucking at the wing with his fingers. At the sound of their master’s voice, both of their heads whipped around, seeking him out with their blue eyes in the gloomy, late-night fog. “Throw it in and let’s go. We have a young lady to visit.”
He turned and began walking away through the mist, a chill breeze playing with the pale, damp hair that clung to his forehead. Dreadful wet place, he thought, his lip curling in distaste. He heard the splash, somewhat muffled in the fog. Mammon nodded curtly in satisfaction. The night had ended well—for himself, at least.
Chapter 20
The black sports car pulled into the parking lot just before the team bus. Gabe parked the car before turning to Abby, who sat in the passenger’s seat wearing a slightly nervous expression. “Don’t worry,” He laughed. “We’re going to win!”
“I’m sure you will, but why am I here again?” she asked, looking out into the perfect Friday afternoon. They were at their rival school, St. Peter’s Prep, where Gabe would be playing in the final game of the fall season. He had tried to convince Abby to go with them for over a week, mentioning it almost every time they met. And there had been many meetings. Gabe had appeared “coincidentally” between classes, at lunch, and even a few times in classes that he wasn’t registered in. The previous afternoon, Abby had finally broken down and asked him why he wanted her to go with him so badly.
He had looked at her with surprise and given her the same answer he was giving her now. “Because I need you to cheer me on!”
Abby sighed, figuring that it was too late to do anything about it now. They were already here, after all. “Alright, let’s go. I need to get a good seat if I’m going to watch this, right?”
* * *
Abby took a seat in the bleachers, closer to the bottom than the top, which was already packed with St. Peter’s students. She was two rows behind the Walkley team bench—Gabe had insisted that she sit there, saying that he wanted her to be close to the action. She was also minding his gym bag while he played. She glanced around; there were a handful of students from Walkley sprinkled throughout the bleachers; mostly seniors on their spares, people she knew by face but not by name.
She turned her gaze to the field where the game was set to start. She grimaced, noticing the cheerleading squad was warming up near the sidelines. Quickly looking away, her eyes sought out Gabe. He was sitting near Raph, who was hunched over and looking as sullen as ever. Raph wasn’t looking too well these days; he seemed tense and restless, and more volatile than ever.
Gabe noticed her looking over and waved, smiling at her. She returned the gesture with a small wave of her own. It was nice having him around, she thought, knowing that her recent happiness was mostly due to him. He had been so attentive and friendly, and, despite her own cautions against it, she could feel herself opening up to him. You have to keep yourself in check. She knew this feeling, the tentative fluttering in her heart. She had let it happen, had let herself get out of control with Raph, and the results had been…less than stellar. The whistle blew, bringing her attention back to the game; it had finally begun.
* * *
Abby clapped her hands together, smiling. Gabe had just scored his second goal of the game, and both teams were having a short break. “Abby!” Gabe called as he jogged over, all smiles despite the sweat dripping off his forehead. “Can you bring me my water bottle?” he asked, pointing at the bag she sat next to.
“Sure,” she rummaged around for a moment, finally grabbing the cold metal bottle and bringing it down to him. She stood on the bleacher in front of him, nearly his height becau
se of the wooden bench. “So, now I’m your water girl?” she teased as he tipped the bottle back, drinking thirstily.
He swallowed, wiped his mouth off on his arm. “Something like that. You’re more like…a personal hydration specialist?” She laughed; it sounded like music to his ears. Gabe stopped for a moment, watching her. He felt his heart skip a beat, the powerful feeling in his chest overwhelming him for a second. He pushed the feeling away and tried to join in her laughter, managing a weak chuckle.
He was about to say something else to her when the whistle blew, summoning him back to the field. It was when he turned after waving Abby a quick goodbye that he saw Raph standing off to the side, glaring at them with red-rimmed eyes. Gabe shrugged off the hateful gaze and ran towards the center field. They were going to win, he could feel it. And maybe when they won, Abby would laugh like that again, he thought, the feeling rising in his chest again. He shoved it down roughly, focusing as the whistle blew again.
* * *
Britney stood in front of Abby, her squad fanned out behind her, watching with as much interest as malice. “Give it.”
Abby stared at her. “What?”
Britney made a sound of exasperation, rolling her eyes. “Give me the water bottle. I’ll take it from here.”
“No, I’ve got it.” Abby replied, placing the bottle gently back into Gabe’s bag.
“In case you didn’t notice, that wasn’t, like, a request.” Britney crossed her arms over her chest, looking down at Abby with a cruel smirk. “Besides, I’m sure he didn’t want you to do it anyway. He just didn’t want to bother anyone who’s actually important.” She held out her hand. “So give me that bottle, you frumpy loser, and quit bothering Gabe. He doesn’t need fat little bitches like you clinging to him all the time.”
Abby withered, shrinking in on herself as each insult lashed at her. She trembled, not knowing what to do next. She didn’t want to give Britney anything, she knew that much. She reached out for the bag, pulling it closer to her body. “No.” she whispered, her voice failing her. She swallowed, tried again. “No.”
