Angel

by Plum Pascal

  “Thunder butterfuck!” I say as my heart start poundin’, an’ I look back at the door to make sure no one comin’ in. Anyone see this angel with wings an’ it’s an immediate death sentence for her, right here an’ right now!

  “You gotta put them things away, girl!” I whisper right into her ear. Her wings jist beat back an’ forth like a dumb dog excited to meet me. “Girl!” I insist. “You gotta hide them things or you gonna get killed!”

  I dunno if she hear me or if it jist be coincidence, but as soon’s the last word is out my mouth, the girl’s wings fold up an’ disappear into her back, leavin’ jist the dark black tattooed markings.

  When I float back ‘round to the front o’ her, I notice her head’s slouched forward an’, by her breathin’, it seem like she sound asleep. I just hover in the air for a minute whiles I try to figure out what the fuck shit I should do.

  If I tell Anona ‘bout the girl’s wings, she’ll kill her ‘cause she knows that edict ain’t something she can mess with. Or maybe she’ll try to burn the wings off herself, which’ll jist mean a longer an’ worser death for the poor thing.

  I sigh when the answer come to me like one o’ them nasty burps that remind ya o’ what ya ate for lunch.

  I gotta go to the Shadow King an’ tell him we got ourselves a real angel down at the tavern in Precinct Five.

  Fuck me.

  THREE

  Dragan

  Shadow Realm

  “What do you want, sprite?” I ask the irritating creature as it flits before me, buzzing incessantly like a bloody mosquito. At its full height, it stands just above my ankle.

  Frankly, I’m shocked as fuck to see it here, in the dark realm and in the middle of my throne room. But here it is, all the same.

  “I… oh shit… I got me some big… I got big news,” it answers in a tinny voice, its breathing so erratic it can barely get the words out. Its wings beat madly, creating a hissing sound and causing the tiny thing to shift up and down, back and forth.

  The news must be big considering the sprite came here, to the Gorge, to the land of Shadow filled with Shadow Magic. Creatures such as this one are not found in this realm of darkness—nor are they welcome.

  “Spit it out,” I say, leaning back into my throne and observing the silly creature with disinterest. “I’m a busy man.”

  The sprite looks around, appearing anxious when its gaze rests on the centurions posted along either wall. Gargoyles. Their complexions are as stony as the rock from which they’re made. They appear as lifeless statues, perched along the perimeter of the room. Some are larger than others, some hunched over and others standing up straight. Some maintain their mortal forms, appearing carved from stone, while others reveal their gargoyle form—underslung jaws with pronounced canines, beady narrowed eyes, and round, misshapen heads.

  To the untrained eye, they pose no risk, similar to empty armor lining the walls of a corridor. But, in this case, the untrained eye becomes the dead eye.

  Yes, they’re stone, but such stone is capable of animation, such stone rescinds into the warmth of flesh and blood. Such stone isn’t stone at all. And such stone is deadly.

  “They won’t harm you,” I assure the sprite as it returns its attention to me. “Without my order.”

  The creature clears its throat nervously. “Lord o’ the Shadow Lands,” it starts, clearing its throat at least another three times in quick succession.

  “Call me Dragan.”

  It nods and takes a deep breath before proceeding to blast me with so many words spoken at once and at such extreme speeds that I can’t make out what the bloody idiot is trying to tell me. “Again,” I say, shaking my head and doing my best to dampen the swelling tide of anger that’s beginning to crest inside me. “I couldn’t understand a fucking word.”

  The sprite immediately closes its mouth and nods, then takes another deep breath. “I came here from freakin’ Precinct Five ‘cause I couldn’t think o’ no one else to come to.” Apparently realizing I could choose to be offended by its comment, the sprite pauses for a moment before opening its mouth to speak again. “Wait. That didn’t come out right. What I meant to say is that I couldn’t think o’ no one to give this information to who would be powerful enough to actually do somethin’ with it. But you’re the only person I’m aware o’ who possesses Arcane Magic. Soze I’m here.”

  Precinct Five. Interesting. “Does Anona know you’ve come to see me?”

  “Fuck no!” the sprite nearly shouts, and its wings begin to beat double-time. “I snuck out quick as I could. Word get back to Anona an’ she’ll have my balls served on a platter.”

  “An unimpressive meal, to say the least.”

  “Right,” the sprite continues, clearly unoffended by my low opinion of his testicles. But, truly, given the creature’s size, his testicles would be little to make note of. “Anyways, Anona probly hasn’t even noticed I’m gone yet. But it only be a matter o’ time ‘fore she do, soze we gotta make this little visit real quick, Demon Lord.”

  “I’m not a demon.”

  “Whatever. Shadow Lord.”

  “Call me Dragan… for the second time.”

  “Yeah, that’s easier to ‘member.” It takes another deep breath and faces me with eyes too large for its small face. “Anona got herself a real angel, Lord Dragan.” Its voice is haunted.

  “That’s what you’ve come to tell me?” I shake my head with a mixture of surprise and irritation while I stand up, letting my wings fan out behind me and arch up to ten feet in either direction. The sprite’s eyes go even wider. “You’ve risked your bloody life—albeit a useless one, but your life all the same—to tell me Anona’s keeping a fucking angel as her newest pet?”

  The sprite nods, then shakes its head and its wings beat even more madly, presumably over my display of bad temper. “No, Dragan Shadow, you don’t understand…”

  “I understand you’re a fool, sprite,” I announce as my wings begin to beat back and forth and the immense current throws the creature back two or so feet in the air.

  His own wings beat furiously as he attempts to remain airborne. “I ain’t no fool.”

  I shake my head. “Even down here, I know about Variant’s edict that all angels are to be returned to him, but I don’t give a fuck, sprite. So, if you’ve come here thinking I’ll reward you for backstabbing your mistress, you’re sorely mistaken. She can keep her fucking angel and deal with the consequences when Variant finds out.”

  “This ain’t got nothin’ ta do with Anona!” the little creature rails at me, apparently forgetting its place. “An’ the girl’s not jist an angel,” it yells against the current I’m creating. Losing interest and not wanting the thing to drop dead from exertion, I stop beating my wings and watch as the sprite inhales a much-needed breath.

  “Does she bear the markings?” I ask, irritated to be further wasting my time. I’ve half a mind to feed the bloody sprite to the demons, imps, ghouls, and goblins that roam the dark mists beyond the walls of this fortress.

  “Well, yeah, but…”

  “Then you are wasting my time.” I inhale deeply as I motion to the two centurions closest to me to escort our winged guest out. “Allow him to exit through the Pyre of Shadows and see to it that he leaves unscathed,” I add. The Pyre of Shadows is the portal in and out of the Gorge, my realm. Although maybe I should call it exactly what it is—the realm to which I’ve been banished for over a century now.

  The sprite’s annoying and has wasted my time, yes, but I don’t care to have the creature’s blood on my hands. Especially if he belongs to Anona. Our truce is an unstable one, and anything untoward is likely to set her off. I don’t have the interest nor the wherewithal to fight that battle.

  “No!” the sprite yells as the two guards shed their stone exterior to become animate. “Listen, Lord Darkness! She ain’t jist a marked angel! As Satan’s your keeper…”

  “Satan isn’t my keeper.”

  “She has wings!”<
br />
  “Halt.” I hold up a hand and each of the guards immediately stops walking, taking their stone form again. The sprite is now captured between them, its tiny hands clasped in the stone of the guards’ hands. The creature’s wings stop beating and it slumps forward, obviously exhausted and no longer finding it necessary to keep itself airborne.

  “What did you just say?” I demand with renewed attention as I close the few steps that separate us.

  “The angel got wings, Dragan Lord,” the sprite repeats nervously, apparently ill at ease with being so close to the King of Gargoyles, the King of Shadow, the master of Arcane Magic.

  “That’s impossible,” I say as I continue to study the creature narrowly. “You know as well as I do that all angels’ wings were removed from them long ago.”

  “I know it sound crazy,” the sprite tells me, nodding emphatically. “But I’m tellin’ you, this one still got her wings. I saw ‘em for myself.”

  “You saw them?”

  “Sure did,” it confirms. “I was tryin’ to give her a bath, an’ that angel was so outta her mind on Atacomite that her wings jist sort o’ blasted right outta her! I don’t even think she realized what the hell was goin’ on.”

  “But you said she had the markings?” I ask, shaking my head in disbelief. I don’t understand how this could be true. If it is true, it’s an oversight—and Variant doesn’t do oversights.

  “Yeah, she do! Someone marked her, but that same person musta left her wings intact. Maybe on purpose, maybe not, I dunno. All’s I can tell you is that angel’s got her wings an’ that’s a pretty big deal, righty-oh?”

  I shake my head. A “pretty big deal” doesn’t even begin to describe it, should this sprite’s information be accurate. “If what you’re saying is true…”

  “It be true. All o’ it.”

  “Then the fake markings were no oversight,” I finish as something important occurs to me. “Did Anona see the angel’s wings?”

  “Negatory. That be why I came to you, Lord Shadow,” the sprite manages.

  “Why didn’t you tell Anona?”

  “I couldn’t. You know Anona.”

  “I do.”

  “Well, if you do know Anona, then you knows that angel’s in trouble the longer she stay in Anona’s care. The tavern’s the wrong place for an angel. ‘specially one with her wings.”

  “Is Anona whoring her out?” I ask, knowing Anona and her opportunism all too well. Angels, as rare as they have become, are the most beautiful of creatures and, as such, they’re highly sought-after. But one with her wings intact… I can’t even comprehend what her street value would be.

  “That be Anona’s plan,” the sprite responds. “Startin’ tomorrow. That’s why we gotta free her tonight, Dragan Shadow Master.”

  “I don’t have to do anything,” I answer him immediately as I cross my arms against my chest and try to decide what the fuck I should do. If the sprite speaks the truth and there really is an intact angel at the tavern, then I have no choice but to go after her. “I take orders from no one.”

  “Right, right. Forgive me for my insolence, Shadow Demon,” the sprite says, then takes a deep breath.

  “And stop with the titles.”

  “Time’s of the essence, Dragan Lord. An’… an’ that angel needs yer help.”

  I’m quiet as I consider what this means. If the sprite’s telling the truth and the angel really does possess her wings, she could be the answer to the imbalance between shadow and light. She could be the only weapon against the power and madness of Variant. A power and madness that’s quickly changing life as we know it—and not for the better.

  But if the sprite’s lying or has his facts confused, this will be a colossal waste of my time. Not to mention, Anona isn’t someone I want as my enemy.

  “If you’re lying to me,” I begin as I stare him through.

  He interjects quickly “I ain’t, you gotta trust me. I’m tellin’ you the truth.”

  I maintain my expression. “If not, your ending won’t be a pleasant one.” Then, I turn away from him and face the ten or so soldiers who line the room. “We have an errand this evening,” I explain. “Thoradin.” I address the head of my centurion guards.

  “Yes, my liege?”

  “Assemble another ten or so men. We’ll be paying a visit to Anona in Precinct Five.” Thoradin nods as I face the guards still holding the sprite. “Release him,” I order before starting down the long expanse of stone that leads from the throne room. My centurions take formation behind me. Seconds later, the sprite floats up beside me.

  “What’s your name, sprite?”

  The creature beams from ear to ear. “Flumph, Your Shadow Highness.”

  This is going to be a long evening.

  ###

  Flumph

  “How did you get into the Gorge, sprite?” Dragan, the Demon Shadow Lord or whatever the hells he calls hisself, ask me. I don’t notice ‘til now that his eyes be as gray as the stone surroundin’ him.

  He’s definitely an evil-lookin’ guy with his longish black hair, heavy eyebrows, an’ the way he snarls at me whenever he talks. He wear this long ass black cloak over his shoulders an’ it trail on the ground. He ain’t got nothin’ underneath it ‘cept for a pair o’ black pants an’ his shoes.

  I heard tell he’s a gargoyle which I dunno much ‘bout, but what I can say is he’s freakin’ huge. He’s got muscles bigger than my body which, I guess, ain’t sayin’ much.

  “The keeper of the Well of Shadows owed me a favor,” I tell him with a shrug.

  The Well of Shadows be the only way to reach the Gorge an’ it’s guarded by Keepers—creatures whose sole purpose is to guard the comin’s an’ goin’s o’ visitors to an’ from the Gorge. For good reason. In general, this ain’t the type o’ place you wanna go on vacation. It be cold as warlock balls, an’ shrouded in mist so it’s real hard to see. That, an’ it’s always dark. Guess that makes sense, though, ‘cause it be the Shadow Land.

  I follow Dragan through the dark hallway, doin’ my damndest to keep up with him but his stride’s so fast, my wings feel like they gonna rip right outta my back. Not that Dragan takes no notice. That bastard’s as cold as his goddamn castle. An’ he arrogant, too.

  Dick.

  Either side o’ us are his gargoyle soldiers, who look like rocks come to life. Rocks with real bad attitudes, anyways. An’ that’s basically what they are. Dragan animated the stone gargoyles with his Arcane Magic. Or at least, that’s how the story been told since I was a young’un.

  None o’ them soldiers look at us, they just stare straight ‘head as they march through the castle, or whatever the hell this place is called. Whatever it is, it’s real big an’ it’s real cold. It be like four stories high an’ made outta stone. The stone match the soldiers an’ the king o’ the place, so maybe the castle’s made outta them too an’ comes ta life? I don’t really know but it wouldn’t surprise me. An’ there ain’t no comfortable furniture, neither. Dragan’s chair-thingy he was sittin’ on was the only piece of furniture I’ve seen yet an’ that was made outta stone, too. I’m guessin’ he suffers a bad back. An’ probly a sore ass.

  An’ he definitely don’t get many visitors down here. But that’s how Variant wants it. Dragan an’ his militia o’ gargoyles was banished into the Gorge way long ago, when Variant broke the Oath an’ decided he didn’t want to share power no more with the other three protectors. Since then, life as we know it’s been a hell o’ a downer.

  “How we gonna make our way outta here?” I ask, ‘cause I been wonderin’. It be true that the keeper o’ the Well of Shadows owed me a favor, but that got me a one-way ticket into the Gorge. I ain’t sure it’s gonna get me back out agin.

  I don’t get no response, soze I look up at Dragan an’ he’s seriously like the biggest fuck I ever seen. Like, even bigger than Godwin, an’ Dragan ain’t got a little, shrunked-up head. An’ he’s gotta back that’s like the width o’ a wall an’ his hands
are as big as I am, probly.

  I’ve heard tell that he’s handsome, or used to be before Variant took control an’ banished Dragan an’ his gargoyles down here. Now, this guy has a chip on his shoulder the size o’… hisself. The whole time I been here, he ain’t smiled once. Makes me half wonder if he even got any teeth.

  Dick.

  We march outta Castle Death, Dragan in the middle o’ all his stone soldiers an’ me flyin’ right next to him. I notice his wings only show up sometimes. Like right now, as we’re walkin’, you’d never guess he had none. Maybe they only come out when he’s pissed off or somethin’?

  “When we arrive at Anona’s,” Dragan start an’ his voice be super deep, so deep it kind o’ sounds like rumblin’ thunder. “I’ll proceed by myself,” he continue. “The rest of you will keep sentry around the tavern in case I require your assistance. As you’re all aware, we only have an hour from the time we step foot into the Mortal Realm.”

  No one say nothin’, but I figure they hear him loud an’ clear ‘cause he jist shut his mouth an’ keeps walkin’.

  “Why’s you only got an hour?”

  He look at me like he angry at me for existin’. “After an hour, we turn to stone.”

  “Huh?”

  “When Variant banished us here, he knew I’d attempt to escape. He took care of that little problem by ensuring that once we leave the Shadow Realm, we have one hour before we’re forced to shift into our gargoyle forms.”

  “What happen once you take yer gargoyle form?”

  “We can’t shift back until we’re returned to the Shadow Realm.”

  “Soze we got an hour?”

  “We’ve got an hour. No more questions.”

  My wings are gettin’ real tired, soze I float over to his shoulder an’ try to take me a seat on one o’ them enormous things but he flick me away with a big finger right to my gut. Which make me feel like all those mushrooms I ate this mornin’ are gonna come back with a vengeance!