Grace pauses, yanking me toward the only blank wall in my bedroom that is in the mansion. The mansion that has been my home, where all seven angels lived for the first eighteen years of their life before we stop aging and fly away with our own wings to build our own homes.
Grace closes her eyes, taking out a small glass bottle filled with bright pink liquid that’s bubbling to the surface. “Your wings, Tatyana, they’re not like ours.”
“How do they know? I have not seen them myself.” No angel gets their wings until their eighteenth birthday, even those who are not of The Seven have to wait until they turn eighteen. “I don’t get my wings until tomorrow.”
“You have them now, inside of you, they only show tomorrow, when you want them to show, but you must hide them where I’m taking you to.”
“Grace!” My tone snaps with annoyance, and I feel myself heat inside from the unfamiliar feeling. “What do you mean?”
“Your wings are black, Tatyana.”
Then she pops the small cork off the bottle and splashes the potion over the wall, turning the white cement to a dazzling neon pink. I spin back around to take in my bedroom one more time. My white four post bed, the large cement fountain in the middle that squirts out water from the tip, my floor that is made of the softest plush carpet to sink my toes into. The bath that is in the corner of my bedroom, the gold claw feet etched into the ground.
“I don’t want—”
She shoves me forward, and I go to push off the wall only for my hand to sink through what used to be the wall. It has opened up to a circle of black and pink fog. She opened a portal. “You have no choice, Tatyana. You must leave, you must run and start a new life, and you must hide from the dark, and light, things that will chase you.” Her hair is flying up, catching mine with it. Before I can ask her anything else, she pushes me again and I fall through the hole as everything turns black.
Chapter 2
My eyes pop open and I fly to my feet. A loud beeping horn explodes and hits every corner of my hearing it could possibly penetrate. My hands fly up to cover my ears, but a car swerves and almost hits me. I scream, leaping out of the way while dragging the heavy white sack with me. Ducking out of the way of passing angry drivers, I make my way onto the sidewalk, banging into a few people who are shoving through the crowds, talking on their phones, eating, yelling at kids, and laughing amongst each other. I’ve been to earth before, many times, but every time I’ve come, humans couldn’t see me. I couldn’t touch things, smell the air, hear things with such brutal interruption. This time is different. People stared at me, looking me up and down, and the smell was like grease, burnt rubber and a disturbing mixture of flesh and, well, humans.
I look up at the sky, shading my eyes with my hand and take in all the skyscrapers, large buildings that carry on for miles up ahead. Then I see the flashing billboards and recognize some of the buildings.
She sent me to New York.
Clutching the gold rope, I catch my reflection in the mirror. My hair is still the same blonde with the black streak, and the nightie I’m wearing looks to be the same soft silk in pure white, but the glow that would light around me, radiating from my skin has fallen to soft sepia. But now I also know why people are staring at me, because of what I’m wearing. I need to find somewhere to stay and tidy myself up before I try to understand what’s going on.
I swallow in fear. Fear, I’m feeling fear for the first time. What else can I feel aside from love? I felt annoyance very briefly with Grace, but not enough to warrant me questioning it at the time. As a small child, I would squash down any other feelings that would arise inside of me. I never spoke about it, and when I was old enough to understand, I found out that angels actually weren’t able to feel anything but love. I kept my secret to myself and carried on, while secretly wondering why those angels had so much beef with me.
My head starts to spin again, everything going in and out of focus. My feet start moving, automatically taking me down the street. Money. Humans have money—I have none. Once I reach the outside of a hotel, I pull open the sack and find nothing that I saw Grace put inside.
“What?” I repeat to myself, ignoring the indignant people bumping into me on the sidewalk. There’s a large black box inside instead, and I unlock the clip while leaving it in the sack, popping it open to have a peek inside.
Money is stacked and wrapped in noted paper. Hundreds and thousands of dollars, I’m guessing.
I lick my lips and take out a stack, locking the small box back up and flicking the sack over my shoulder. My bare feet ache just from the short walk it took to get here, pain, and when the doors to the hotel slide open, I rush to the front desk where a woman is working.
“Hi, I need a room.”
The woman’s gaze shifts over me. She pauses, her mouth hanging open. She blinks. “Oh, yes, sure. What kind of room are you after? We have a few you could choose from. Is it just you, ah,” she pauses again, her eyes falling to my nightie. I cringe. “Traveling?”
“Yes. Just me,” I answer, but my voice is different. It struggles to mutter the English words that I have spoken, forced back by an ancient I recognize as Russian. Why do I have a Russian accent in this world?
She begins tapping on the computer, distracting me from my thoughts and I find myself looking over my shoulder every two seconds.
“We have a single room available on the fourth floor. The view—”
“—I’ll take it,” I cut her off, taking some money out and giving it to her.
She looks at the money and then back at me. “Okay, I’ll just get you some change.”
Are humans always this strange? Looking for a reason as to why someone’s word is not what it is? Have they been misled so many times that they no longer know which direction to take a statement?
She returns and hands me back a couple of bills and quarters that I shove into the sack.
After she offers me my hotel room key card, I quickly scatter toward the elevator she pointed to.
Once I’m inside my room, I lock up the door and rush to the bed, emptying the contents of the sack onto the cover. The large black box falls out with a note.
Tatyana, I’m sorry I had to rush you out so fast, but you are in grave danger. I have dreaded this day and was hoping that it was not true and that you would not bare the wings of the fallen, but you do. You must leave and never come back. I cannot watch over you while you’re there as I will have trackers on me. There is a man in an industrial site off of Brooklyn. The building is joined behind a bar, the address is 657-5A Bellanoia Avenue, Brooklyn. Go to him and tell him Gracey sent you. Stay safe, Tatyana, and I do hope we see each other again.
As soon as I’ve read it, the note ignites into a ball of flames in my hand and I drop it to the ground before the flare hits my skin. I didn’t feel the heat, so I bed down to the warm ash and run my index finger through the burnt orange embers, feeling nothing. Maybe I am still an angel, or at the very least, I still hold their power.
Standing, I pull the box out and pop it open, grabbing out the money. I’m going to need to get some clothes before going to see this man.
Running my finger over the bills, I sigh, leaning back on the bed. I close my eyes and think over what has just happened. My future was set, I was to become one of The Seven. Everything I thought I knew about myself was a lie or at the very least a contorted part of the truth. Standing up, I make my way to the large window that overlooks the busy streets below and watch as people walk, jog, and rush through crowds of people. Cars honking, speeding off in a race against time. What time? Why are people so angry?
Pulling my hair into a high top knot, I head to the bathroom and turn on the shower. Things are much the same down here as they are up there, only back home everything is twisted into gold and silver, deep whites that glow against the shimmer of gold. Every touch is magical, like caressing something that sends a jolt of electricity through you. Nothing like earth.
After my shower, I slip into the
hotel robe and tie it around myself before ducking under the covers. Sleep. I was always an angel who loved her sleep.
The next day, after doing a quick clothes shop, I’m sitting on the hotel bed counting through the money when my tummy rumbles. I haven’t eaten since being on earth, and in Nirvana, though you could eat and we did eat, it was never to cure hunger. It was purely for entertainment.
Gathering up more money, I put the larger amount back into the sack and stash it under the bed before making my way out of the hotel. I will find food, and then I’ll go and visit this man Grace has said I could trust. Walking into a sushi bar, I stack up different rolls and take a seat, chowing down like I haven’t eaten in centuries. The appetite of an angel is unmatched back home, but down here it’s even more so. Food tastes here. The sweet deep-fried teriyaki chicken crunching under each bite. Oh my, I think it’s making me more hungry. People stare as I eat, roll after roll, plate after plate. Why are they watching me instead of eating? That’s a total waste of food.
After almost eating out the entire small sushi shop, I make my way back to my hotel to pick up some more cash. Food is delicious here, but it sure is expensive.
I’m walking back into my hotel room when I see a shadow zap passed me. My skin prickles and I quickly slam the door shut.
“Who is there?”
Then I rush around searching every corner of my room, wanting to find who it was, but coming up with nothing. Whatever it was had disappeared.
Dark walls are built around me, constricting my space with every single pound. I shake my arms, but my movement is halted by the cuffs that are strapped around my wrist.
“Hello?”
A shadow catches my eye in the corner of the room and I pause. Grey eyes look at me, lost in the dark smoke. I see nothing but eyes.
“Oh no.”
“Oh yes.”
I shoot off the floor, sweat pouring out of my skin. Sweat? I’m sweating. This isn’t right. I quickly snatch up my hotel key and bolt out the door.
Chapter 3
The address is imprinted into my brain, and when the taxi pulls up to the curb of an old bar, I know it’s the one. I see the aged saloon-style bar with a few bikes sitting out front and a cage that leads out to the back where a large industrial building is built.
“Thank you.” I lean forward and hand the driver a hundred dollar bill. As soon as my door is closed, he zooms off with it. I wasn’t expecting to get any change back, but the fact that his intent was ill, bothered me. Making my way toward the bar, I take the three steps up, the wood squeaking under my weight. Just as I reach the door, it’s slammed open and a seething boy with long blond hair comes crashing out with no shirt on.
“Excuse me,” I murmur, but he shoves me out of the way, dropping down onto one of the entry stairs. He rocks on the step, his shoulders rising and falling in anger. He looks a lot younger than my eighteen, maybe around fourteen or fifteen?
“Are you okay?” I ask because old habits die hard and I have great compassion toward humans, despite my complaining about the scent of them when I crash landed.
He doesn’t answer.
Maybe he wants some space, so I turn around and push the door open, the bar falling silent as I enter.
I really hope Grace was right about this. All eyes are on me, and this time, thanks to the shopping I did today, I know it’s not my clothes. I’m wearing a white zip-up hoodie under a leather jacket and tight black jeans with some style boot with orange stitching. I liked the easiness of the garments, and high heels don’t appeal to me right now, I’d also fear for my own safety if I ever wore high heels.
“Um.” I clear my throat, my eyes flying around the room. My vision slips over the group of bikers in the back, the couple seated near the front, and the scattering of people sitting at the bar.
“Tatyana?” a voice says from the back. My eyes follow the direction until they land on a man, who has to be in his early thirties, standing there with sweat trickling off his chest. He looks like he had just come back from a run.
“Yes,” I answer, my eyes coming to his.
He gestures over his shoulder, flinging a towel over himself. “Follow me.”
I let my legs carry me to where he is and dip around the bar entrance before exiting through a back door. When the sun hits my face and he starts taking me down the metal steps, I stop.
“Who are you?”
He gestures toward another large metal industrial building. “If you can hurry up, I can tell you.”
I continue, following behind him.
Once we hit the entry door to the building, he slides the heavy door open and I follow behind. He bangs his fist against a knob and a light flickers above me. I shade them with my hand until I’ve adjusted to the sight.
“A gym?” I ask. What the heck is Grace playing at.
“To some. Or to others it can be something else.”
I enter farther, watching as the dust from the ground hits the tip of my boot. “Are you going to tell me what’s going on?”
He takes a water bottle out of the fridge, popping the lid off. “Has the thirst hit you yet?”
“What?” I ask, confused.
He slams the fridge door closed. “Eventually, you’ll lose the benefits that there is to being an angel, but not the powers.”
“Well apparently I’m not an angel.”
“Oh, you are,” he, who I still don’t know his name is, says, taking a long pull of water.
“Well, I don’t know much about me, it seems.”
He runs his hand through his hair. “I don’t know what Grace expects me to do, because there’s no helping you.”
“What do you mean?” I ask, and I imagine my face is pulling a somewhat puzzled look. “What do you mean by there’s no helping me? And if I’m truly a holy one, which my mark will have you say I am, then why is it that I’ve been cast out of the gates so quickly?”
He seems to ponder over my words, because he then steps closer to me, his hand coming to my chin and tilting my head up. I swallow harshly as he searches my eyes. “Because you are of evil.”
“Many people have done evil things. That does not mean they are evil, and I have not spoken, nor acted in any way evil—”
“—Yet,” he interrupts my rambling. “You have not done any of that yet.”
I fall back onto the chair that’s beside a boxing bag. “What is your name?”
“Killian with a C.”
“And who are you, Killian?”
He pauses, licks his lip and smirks. “Satan’s gatekeeper.”
“What?” I shoot up from the chair I’m on back up against the wall. He watches me, seeming entertained by my reaction. Once he’s bored, he rolls his eyes and points to a table. “I’m not going to hurt you, Tatyana. I can get into a lot of shit for helping you, but I made a promise centuries ago that I intend to keep.”
“Promise?” I ask, tilting my head.
“Yes, to your mother.”
“My birth mother?”
His expression falls. “Yes, your birth mother. How many mothers do y’all have up there?” He shakes his head and then glares back at me. “My promise to her is worth more than my life.”
He pulls up a chair and takes a seat opposite me. My throat clenches, a tingle sliding down and setting deep in my stomach. I caress my neck, the movement catching his eye, then he looks back at me. “Do you know who our mother is, Tatyana?”
I shake my head. “No. I didn’t know about anything until last night when Grace…”
He offers me a small smile. “Your mother is the Queen of Darkness.”
“There’s such thing as a queen of darkness?”
He seems to be annoyed with me again. It must have something to do with my lack of knowledge as far as our world goes. Angels are not sheltered, but it would seem I am at a disadvantage right now—so maybe we were shielded to an extent.
“Yes, Tatyana, there is, and that woman is your mother.”
“So, wh
y can’t I see her?”
He shakes his head. “It’s too complicated to get into right now, but you can’t, and she can’t know that you’re exiled.”
“So I’m running from my mother? Is that why Grace said I have to keep running? Because my father and mother are both chasing me?”
He watches me carefully, his face blank. “No, child, and I’m not ready to talk about who your father is right now.” He exhales, his eyes meeting mine. “You’re running because once Dyavol finds out you’re alive and weren’t killed centuries ago, your mother, fucking God himself, wouldn’t be able to stop the wrath that he will unleash onto the world just to kill you.”
“Dyavol?” I whisper. “Devil.”
He nods, pleased with my language. “We need to get you back to where this started. It’s the only place you will be safe until enough time passes that we know no one knows of your existence.”
“He will raise?” I’ve heard of him, he who shall not be named. But the way Killian said his name was like it is spoken in everyday language here.
He pauses, searches my face and then mutters. “Him raising is the least of our worries. It’s the apocalypse after.”
“As in the actual apocalypse?” I ask, my eyes popping open. “That’s impossible. That isn’t supposed to happen at the very least for another—”
“—You think he cares? When you were born, he wanted to eradicate you. Our only choice was sending you up there and have them believe you were one of them. Pure and all that bullshit.”
“Dyavol…” I whisper again in an attempt to have the words feel not as foreign on my tongue. “Does he know that I’m here?”
Killian chuckles, disappearing into a room. “Oh, he will know that you’re walking the earth again by now, definitely.”
Such Violent Delights: A Holiday Paranormal Romance Anthology Page 28
