[Anh Ngữ] Angelfall (Penryn & the End of Days) - Susan Ee (English)

Đông Tịch · 4/8/15

Angelfall (Penryn & the End of Days)

Author: Susan Ee
Genre: Mystery Thriller

Chap 20:

MY BACK snaps, crackles, and pops as I try to stand straight. It’s dusk, and my workday is almost over. I put my hand on the small of my back, my body craning slowly to straighten like an ancient crone.

My hands, after only one day of scrubbing clothes in the washtub, are swollen and red. I’ve heard of dry, cracked hands but never really knew what that meant until now. After only a few minutes of being out of the water, my palm has cracks that look like someone took a razor blade and sliced the skin. It’s freaky to see your hand all cut up, looking too dry to even bleed.

When the other laundry drudges offered me a pair of yellow rubber gloves this morning I turned them down, thinking only prissy old people used those. They gave me such know-it-all looks that my pride wouldn’t let me ask for them at lunch.

Now, I’m beginning to consider getting up close and personal with the one humble bone in my body and asking for the gloves. Good thing I don’t plan on having to do this again tomorrow.

I look around, stretching my arms, wondering when this Anita person is going to attack me. I’ll be really pissed if she waits until my workday is over. What’s the point of getting into a catfight if you can’t even weasel out of an hour of hard labor?

I take my time stretching. I reach above my head and arch my back as far as it’ll go.

My neck hurts, my back hurts, my arms and hands hurt, my legs and feet hurt, even my eyeballs hurt. My muscles are either screaming from hours of repetitive motion or stiff from hours of being held still. At this rate, I won’t have to throw the fight, I’ll lose it honestly.

I pretend not to watch the latrine duty men walking toward us as I stretch my legs. There are about ten of them with Raffe hanging in the back of the group.

When they are a few steps away, they start stripping off their filthy clothes. Grimy shirts, pants, and socks get tossed into the laundry pile. Some get tossed into the trash pile. Raffe dug the ditch instead of working on the truly toxic part of the latrines, but not everyone was that lucky. The only things they leave on are their boxer shorts.

I try very hard not to look at Raffe as I realize he’ll be expected to take his shirt off. He might be able to explain away the bandages under his shirt, but there’s no way he can explain away the bloodstains exactly where wings would have been.

I stretch my arms above my head, trying not to look scared. I hold my breath, hoping the men will move along and not notice Raffe lagging behind.

But instead of moving into the buildings for a shower, they grab the hose we’ve been using to fill our tubs. They line up to hose each other off. I could kick myself for not anticipating this. Of course they’ll hose off first. Who would want latrine workers to walk straight into the shared showers?

I steal a glance at Raffe. He’s keeping his cool, but I can tell by how slowly he’s unbuttoning his shirt that he didn’t see this coming either.

He must have figured he could slip away once they got into the building since the showers couldn’t take everyone at the same time. But there is no good excuse to drift away from this part of the routine and no way to do it without being noticed.

Raffe finishes unbuttoning his shirt and instead of taking it off, he slowly starts unbuttoning his pants. Everyone around him has already stripped, and he’s starting to look conspicuous. Just when I’m wondering if we should make a blatant run for it, the solution to our problem saunters toward us on long, shapely legs.

The woman who walked with Raffe to lunch tosses her honey hair as she smiles up at him.

Dee-Dum walk by as if on cue. “Oh hi, Anita!” they both say with casual surprise. Their voices are slightly raised, as if to make sure I hear them.

Anita glares at them as if they’d just hawked and spat. I’ve seen that look a million times in the hallways given by a popular girl to a band geek when he gets too familiar in front of her clique. She turns back to Raffe, her face melting into a radiant smile. She puts her hand on his arm as he’s about to take off his pants.

And that’s all the excuse I need.

I grab a sudsy shirt out of the gray water and throw it at her.

It makes a plopping noise when it lands on her face, wrapping around her hair. Her perfect hair clumps into a stringy mass, and her mascara smears as the cloth slides wetly down her blouse. She emits a high-pitched squeal that turns every head within earshot.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” I say in a sugary voice. “Did you not like that? I thought that’s what you wanted. I mean, why else would you be getting all grabby with my man?”

The small crowd around us grows by the second. Oh yeah, baby. Step right up. Come see the freak show. Raffe fades into the growing crowd, discreetly buttoning up his shirt. And I thought he looked grim at my last fight.

Anita’s enormous eyes look up helplessly at Raffe. She looks like a distressed kitten, bewildered and hurt. Poor thing. I have second thoughts about whether I can do this.

Then she looks at me. It’s amazing how quickly her face can change, depending on who she’s looking at. She looks spitting-mad. As she stalks toward me, anger turns into rage.

It’s impressive how vicious a pretty woman can look when she sets her mind to it. Either she’s one hell of an actress, or Dee-Dum had a double agenda when they set this up. I’ll

she doesn’t even know about the fight. Why share the profits when you can get revenge instead? I’m sure this wasn’t the first time Anita has snubbed Dee-Dum. Not that I believe for a second that their feelings were hurt.

“You think anything you do would get a guy like him to look at you twice?” Anita flings the wet shirt back at me. “You’d be lucky to get a one-legged grandpa to be interested in you.”

Okay. Turns out I can do this.

I lean a little to make sure the shirt hits me.

Then, we go at it in all our feminine glory. Hair pulling, face slapping, shirt ripping, nail scratching. We squeal like cheerleaders who fell into a mud pit.

As we stumble around in our drunken dance, we bump into a wash basin. It comes crashing down, spraying the whole area with water.

She trips over it while clinging to me, and we come tumbling down. Our bodies contort around each other as we roll in the mud around the wash basins.

It’s hard to look dignified when your head is being pulled down to your shoulder by your hair. It’s embarrassing. I do my best to look as though I’m really fighting.

The crowd goes wild with their cheering and clapping. I catch a glimpse of Dee-Dum as we roll. They’re practically hopping with glee.

Just how does somebody lose a fight like this? Should I break down crying? Land in the mud facedown and let her scratch me a few times while I curl into a ball? I’m at a complete loss as to how to tap out of this fight.

All thoughts of the fight are shattered by a gunshot.

It comes from somewhere past the crowd, but it’s close enough to make everyone freeze in silence.

Two more shots go off in rapid succession.

Then a scream echoes through the woods. A very human, very terrified scream.

Đông Tịch · 5/8/15

Angelfall (Penryn & the End of Days)

Author: Susan Ee
Genre: Mystery Thriller

Chap 21:

THE WIND rustles through the treetops. My blood pounds in my ears.

For a few heartbeats, everyone stares into the twilight with eyes wide as if waiting for a nightmare to come to life. Then, as though a command had been given, chaos bursts through the crowd.

Soldiers run to the trees in the direction of the scream, gripping their guns and rifles. Everyone starts talking, some crying. Some rush one way, others rush another. It’s a crush of noise and confusion bordering on panic. Like the dogs, these people aren’t as well trained as Obi would like.

Anita climbs off me, the whites of her eyes showing all around her irises. She takes off, running after the biggest crowd which is stampeding into the mess hall. I get up, torn between wanting to see what’s happening and wanting to hide in the relative safety of numbers.

Raffe is suddenly beside me, whispering, “Where are the wings?”

“What?”

“Where did you hide them?”

“In a tree.”

He sighs, obviously trying to be patient. “Can you tell me?”

I point in the direction of the scream, where the last of the soldiers disappear.

“Can you tell me how to find it, or do you need to show me?”

“I’d have to show you.”

“Then let’s go.”

“Now?”

“Can you think of a better time?”

I glance around. Everyone is still scrambling to grab gear and run into a building. No one gives us a second glance. No one would notice if we disappeared during the chaos.

Of course, there’s whatever it is that’s causing the panic.

My thoughts must show in my face because Raffe says, “Either tell me or show me. It has to be now.”

Twilight is sliding fast into full dark around us. My skin prickles at the thought of wandering through the forest in the dark with whatever it was that caused an armed soldier to scream like that.

But I can’t let Raffe run without me. I nod.

We slip into the darkening shadows for the closest path to the forest. We half tiptoe, half run through the woods.

Gunshots fire in rapid, overlapping succession. Several guns fire simultaneously in the woods. Maybe this isn’t the best idea.

As if I’m not freaked out enough, screams echo through the oncoming night.

By the time we run across the camp and reach the hiding-tree area, the woods are quiet. Not a single rustle, no birds or squirrels disturb the silence. The light is fading fast, but there’s enough to see the carnage.

About a dozen soldiers had run toward the scream. Now there are only five still standing.

The rest lie scattered on the ground like broken dolls tossed by an angry child. And like broken dolls, there are body parts missing. An arm, a leg, a head. The ripped joints are ragged and gory.

Blood splatters everything—the trees, the dirt, the soldiers. The dimming light has leached the color out of it, making it look like oil dripping off the branches.

The remaining soldiers stand in a circle with their rifles pointing outward.

I’m puzzled by the angle of their rifles. They don’t point straight out or up, the way they would for an enemy on foot or in the air. Nor do they point to the ground the way they would if they weren’t about to fire.

Instead, they point midway down as if aiming at something that’s only as high as their waists. Mountain lion? There are mountain lions in these hills, although it’s rare to see one. But mountain lions don’t cause this kind of slaughter. Maybe wild dogs? But again, the slaughter doesn’t look natural. It looks like a vicious, murderous attack rather than a hunt for food or a defensive fight.

The memory pops into my head of Raffe mentioning the possibility of kids attacking that family on the street. I dismiss that thought as soon as it comes. These armed soldiers would never be this scared of a gang of kids, no matter how feral.

Everything about the survivors looks freaky spooked, as though the only thing containing their panic is their paralyzing fear. Their white-knuckled grips on their rifles; the way they hold their elbows tight near their bodies as if to keep their arms from shaking; the way they move shoulder to shoulder, like a school of fish clustering near a predator.

Nothing natural could cause this kind of fear. It goes beyond a fear of physical harm and into the realm of mental and spiritual. Like the fear of losing your sanity, of losing your soul.

My skin prickles watching the soldiers. Fear is contagious. Maybe it’s something that’s evolved from our primeval days when your survival odds were better if you picked up on your buddy’s fear without wasting time to discuss it. Or maybe I’m sensing something directly. Something horrifying that my reptile brain recognizes.

My stomach churns and tries to reject its contents. I swallow it back, ignoring the acid burn on the back of my throat.

We huddle out of sight behind a large tree. I glance at Raffe crouched beside me. He is looking at everything but the soldiers, as if they are the one thing in the forest we don’t need to worry about. I’d feel better if he didn’t look so uneasy.

What spooks an angel who’s stronger, faster, and has keener senses than man?

The soldiers shift. The shape of their circle changes to a teardrop.

The men ooze nervousness as they back slowly toward the camp. Whatever had attacked them seems to be gone. Or at least, the soldiers seem to think so.

My instincts aren’t convinced. I guess not all the soldiers are convinced either, because they look so freaked out that the slightest sound might be enough for them to open fire, spraying bullets every which way into the dark.

The temperature is plummeting, and my wet T-shirt clings to me like a sheet of ice. But sweat trickles down my temples anyway and pools greasily in my armpits. Watching the soldiers leave is like watching the basement door close, shutting out the only light in the house and leaving me alone in the monster-filled darkness. Every muscle in my body screams to run after the soldiers. Every instinct is frantic not to be the lone guppy separated from its school.

I look at Raffe, hoping for some kind of reassurance. He’s on full alert: his body tense, his eyes searching the darkening forest, his ears perked as though listening in stereo.

“Where is it?” His whisper is so low I’m reading his lips almost as much as hearing his words.

At first, I assume he’s talking about the monster that could do such damage. But before I can ask how should I know, I realize he’s asking where the wings are hidden. I point beyond where the soldiers had been standing.

He silently runs to the other side of the circle of destruction, ignoring the carnage. I tiptoe-run after him, desperate not to be left behind in the woods.

I have a hard time ignoring the body parts. There aren’t enough bodies and parts to account for all the missing men. Hopefully, some of them ran off and that’s the reason there are fewer of them than there should be. I slip on the blood in the middle of the carnage but manage to regain my footing before I fall. The thought of falling face-first on a pile of human intestines is enough to keep me moving to reach the other side.

Raffe stands in the midst of the trees, trying to find one with a hollow. It takes a few minutes before we spot it. When he pulls out the blanket-wrapped bundle of his wings, the tension leaches out of him, and he hunches his shoulders and head protectively around the bundle.

He looks at me, and there is enough light for me to see him mouth the words thank you. It seems to be our fate to continually pass our debt back and forth.

I wonder how long it takes before it’s too late to reattach the wings to his back. If it was a human body part, it would be past the expiration date already. But who knows about angels? And even if the angel surgeons or magicians or whatever manage to reattach them, I wonder if they’ll be useable or just decorative, the way a glass eye is just so that people can look at your face without cringing.

A cold wind teases my hair, making it brush against the back of my neck like icy fingers. The forest is a mass of shifting shadows. The whipping of the leaves sounds like a thousand snakes hissing above me. I look up just to make sure there aren’t really snakes up there. All I see are redwoods looming under the blackening sky.

Raffe touches my arm. I practically jump out of my skull but manage to stay quiet. He hands me my pack. He keeps the wings and the sword.

He nods in the direction of the camp and walks toward it, following the soldiers. I don’t understand why he wants to head back to camp when we should be running the other way. But the forest has me so creeped out that I’m not inclined to linger alone, nor am I eager to break our silence. I slip on my pack and follow.

I stick to Raffe as close as I can manage without having to explain why I’m hugging his back. We reach the edge of the woods.

The camp is quiet under the mottled moon shadow beneath the camp’s canopy. No lights glow from the windows, although if I look hard enough, I can catch a glimpse of metal glinting in the moonlight in some of the windows. I wonder how many rifles they have trained through the glass, seeking targets?

I don’t envy Obi having to maintain order in those buildings. I’m sure panic in a confined space can be pretty ugly.

Raffe leans over to me and whispers so low I can barely hear him. “I’ll watch to make sure you get safely into the building. Go.”

I blink stupidly at him, trying to make sense of what he is saying. “But what about you?”

He shakes his head. It seems reluctant, for all the good that will do me. “You’re safer in there. And you’re safer without me. If you’re still set on finding your sister, head for San Francisco. You’ll find the aerie there.”

He’s leaving me. Leaving me at Obi’s camp while he goes on to the aerie.

“No.” I need you, I almost blurt out. “I saved you. You owe me.”

“Listen to me. You are safer on your own than with me. This is no accident. This sort of ending…” He gestures toward the massacre. “It happens too often to my companions.” He runs his hand through his hair. “It’s been so long since I had someone to watch my back…I’d fooled myself into believing…things could be different. Do you understand?”

“No.” It is more of a rejection of what he’s telling me than an answer to his question.

He stares into my eyes with an intense look.

I hold my breath.

I swear he’s memorizing me, as though his mental camera is firing, capturing me in this moment. He even inhales deeply as though filling up on my scent.

But the moment passes when he looks away and leaves me wondering if I imagined it.

Then he turns and melts into the darkness.

By the time I take a step, his form has completely merged with the darker shadows. I want to call out to him but I don’t dare make that kind of noise.

Darkness closes around me. My heart hammers in my chest, telling me to run, run, run.

I can’t believe he left me. Alone in the dark with a demon monster.

I clench my fists, digging my nails into my skin to help me focus. No time to feel sorry for myself. I’ve got to concentrate if I’m going to survive long enough to rescue Paige.

The safest place to spend the night is the camp. But if I run to the camp, they won’t let me go until they’re ready to move. That could be days, weeks. Paige doesn’t have weeks. Whatever it is they’re doing to her, they’re doing it right now. I’ve already wasted too much time.

On the other hand, what are my options? Run through the forest? In the dark? Alone? With a monster that tore apart half a dozen armed men?

I frantically beat my brain for a third option. I come up with nothing.

I’ve hesitated long enough. Being found by the monster as I stand frozen in indecision is the stupidest way to die that I can think of. Rock or hard place?

I steel myself to ignore the creepy sensation crawling up my back. I take a deep breath and let it out slowly, hoping to calm myself. It doesn’t work.

I turn away from camp and plunge into the forest.

Đông Tịch · 5/8/15

Angelfall (Penryn & the End of Days)

Author: Susan Ee
Genre: Mystery Thriller

Chap 22:

I CAN’T help but look to see if there’s anything I need to worry about sneaking up behind me. Not that a monster capable of tearing apart armed soldiers would bother sneaking. I wonder why we didn’t evolve with eyes in the back of our heads?

The farther I walk into the woods, the tighter the darkness closes in on me. I tell myself that this isn’t really suicide. The woods are full of living creatures—squirrels, birds, deer, rabbits—and the monster can’t kill them all. So my chances of being among the majority of living things in the forest that will survive tonight are pretty good. Right?

I move through the dark woods by instinct, hoping I’m heading north. Within a short time, I begin to have serious doubts about which direction I’m moving. I read somewhere that when lost and left to their own devices, people tend to walk in large circles. What if I’m walking the wrong way?

Doubts erode my reason and I can feel the panic bubbling in my chest.

I give myself a mental slap. This is not the time to freak out. I promise I’ll let myself panic when I’m safe and sound, hidden in a nice house with a stocked kitchen with Paige and Mom.

Yeah, right. The thought brings a twitch to my lips as if I might grin. Maybe I really am losing it.

I see menace behind every rustle and shifting shadow, behind every bird taking flight and squirrel scrambling on a branch.

After what feels like hours of trekking through the woods in the dark, one of the shadows shifts from a tree like so many wind-blown branches. Only this one keeps moving away from the tree. It separates itself from the larger mass of shadows, then merges into another, greater darkness.

I freeze.

It could have been a deer. But the shadow legs didn’t move right. It might have been something on two feet. Or more accurately, several somethings on two feet.

My hunch proves right when the shadows fan out, surrounding me. I hate being right all the time.

So, what stands on two legs, is three or four feet tall, and growls like a pack of dogs? It’s hard to think of much other than those bodies scattered about the forest floor with missing parts.

A shadow rushes toward me so fast it looks like a dark blur. Something bumps into my arm. I step back, but whatever it was is already long gone.

The other shadows shift. Some dart forward and back, looking like shadows beginning to boil. Something bumps my other arm before I register that another shadow has darted out.

I stagger back.

Our neighbor Justin used to have a set of needlelike piranha teeth displayed on his mantel. He told us once that the carnivorous and sometimes cannibalistic fish are actually quite shy and usually bump their prey before attacking, gaining confidence as their schoolmates do the same. This feels eerily like his description.

The chorus of growling rises. It sounds like a mix of animal growls and disturbingly human grunting.

Another hit. This time, a sharp pain stabs up from my thigh, like I’ve been sliced by razors. I shiver as a warm pool spreads around the pain.

Then I get bumped twice more in rapid succession. Is the blood whipping them into a frenzy?

Another hits my wrist. I cry out this time as soon as I feel it.

This one isn’t just a quick slice. It’s a lingering one, if a flashing shadow can be said to linger. The burning hits me a second after I realize I’ve been—bitten? I’m sure I’d be less scared if I could just see what they look like. There’s something particularly terrifying about not being able to see the things attacking you.

My panting is so loud now that I might as well be screaming.

Đông Tịch · 5/8/15

Angelfall (Penryn & the End of Days)

Author: Susan Ee
Genre: Mystery Thriller

Chap 23:

I CATCH motion out of the corner of my eye. I don’t even have time to brace for another hit before Raffe stands before me. His muscles are tense holding his sword as he faces the boiling shadows. I hadn’t even heard the rustle of leaves. One second he’s not there, the next, he is.

“Run, Penryn.”

I don’t need another invitation. I run.

But I don’t run far, which is probably not my smartest move. I can’t help it. I hesitate behind a tree to watch Raffe fight the demons.

Now that I know what to look for, I can tell there are about half a dozen of them. Definitely running on two feet. Definitely low to the ground. Not all of uniform size either. One is at least a foot taller than the shortest one. One seems outright chubby.

Their small forms could be human or angel, although they don’t move like either. When they go into hyperdrive, their motions are fluid, as though that is their natural pace. These things are definitely not human. Maybe these are some form of nasty angel breed. Aren’t cherubs always drawn as children?

Raffe catches one as it tries to whiz by him. Two others had started going for him but stop when they see Raffe slice through the little demon.

It screeches something awful as it flails on the forest ground.

The others aren’t daunted, though, as they dash at Raffe to do their bump and run routine and shove him off balance. I figure it won’t take long before they start biting or stinging or whatever it is they do.

“Raffe, behind you!”

I grab the nearest rock and take a heartbeat to aim. I’ve been known to hit the bull’s-eye playing darts, but I’ve also been known to miss the dartboard altogether. Missing the dartboard here means hitting Raffe.

I hold my breath, take aim at the nearest shadow, and throw with as much force as I can muster.

Bull’s-eye!

The rock smashes into a shadow, stopping it cold. It’s almost funny how the low demon practically flips backward as it falls. Raffe never needs to know that I was aiming for the other one.

Raffe swings wildly with his sword, slicing a demon’s chest. “I told you to run!”

So much for gratitude. I bend and grab another rock. This one is jagged and so big that I can barely lift it. I might be getting greedy, but I lob it at one of the demons anyway. Sure enough, it lands a foot away from the fight.

This time, I go for a smaller, more aerodynamic stone. I’m careful to stay out of reach of the fighting circle, and the low demons let me. I guess my stone throwing doesn’t even show up on their radar. I take aim at another shadow, then throw with all my might.

It hits Raffe on the back.

It must have hit him on his wound because he stumbles forward, staggers two steps, then stops just in front of two demons. His sword is down, almost low enough to trip him, and he’s out of balance as he faces them. I swallow my heart, shoving it from my throat back down into my chest.

Raffe manages to lift the sword. But he doesn’t have time to stop them from biting him.

He cries out. My stomach clenches in sympathetic pain.

Then, a strange thing happens. Stranger than what’s been happening, that is. The low demons spit and make distinct noises of disgust. They spit as if trying to get the bad taste out of their mouths. I wish I could see what they look like. I’m sure they’re making repelled expressions.

Raffe cries out again as a third one bites him on his back. He manages to bat it away after a few tries. That one makes a choking noise and spits noisily as well.

The shadows back off after that. Then, they melt into the general darkness of the forest.

Before I can wrap my mind around what just happened, Raffe does something just as strange. Instead of declaring victory and walking away safe, like any sane survivor, he chases after them into the dark woods.

“Raffe!”

All I hear are the dying screams of the low demons. The sounds are so eerily human, goose bumps prickle my spine. I suppose all dying animals sound that way.

Then, as quickly as it started, the final scream fades into the night.

I shiver alone in the dark. I take a couple of steps toward the black woods where Raffe disappeared, then stop. What am I supposed to do now?

The wind blows, chilling the sweat on my skin. After a while, even the wind falls quiet and still. I’m not sure if I should run to try to find Raffe, or run away from the whole thing. I remember that I’m supposed to be on my way to Paige, and that keeping myself alive until I rescue her is a good goal. I start to shiver more than the cold calls for. It must be the aftereffects of the battle.

My ears strain to hear something. I’d take anything, even a grunt of pain from Raffe. At least I’d know he’s alive.

The wind rustles the tops of the trees and whips my hair.

I’m just about to give up and head into the dark trees to look for him when the sound of crunching leaves gets louder. It could be a deer. I take a step back away from the sound. It could be the low demons, back to finish the job.

The branches rustle as they part. A Raffe-shaped shadow steps into the clearing.

Utter relief washes over me, relaxing muscles I hadn’t realized were tense.

I run to him. I put my arms out for a big hug, but he takes a step back from me. I’m sure even a man like him—that is to say, a non-man—can take comfort in a hug after a fight for his life. But apparently not from me.

I stop just in front of him and drop my arms awkwardly. My delight at seeing him, though, doesn’t entirely dry up.

“So…did you get them?”

He nods. Black blood drips off his hair like he’s been sprayed with the stuff. Blood soaks both his arms and stomach. His shirt is torn at the chest and it looks like he took some damage. I have the impulse to fuss over him, but I hold it in check.

“Are you all right?” It’s a stupid question because there’s not much I can do for him if he isn’t all right, but it just tumbles out.

He snorts. “Aside from being beaned with a rock, I’ll live.”

“Sorry.” I feel pretty god-awful about that, but there’s no point in groveling over it.

“The next time you have a quarrel with me, I’d appreciate it if you could just talk to me first before resorting to pelting me with rocks.”

“Oh, all right,” I grumble. “You’re so damned civilized.”

“Yeah, that’s me. Civilized.” He shakes the blood off his hand. “You okay?”

I nod. There’s no graceful way to step back after my aborted hug attempt so we stand closer than is comfortable. I guess he thinks so too because he slips by me into the clearing. He must have been blocking the wind for me because I suddenly feel cold when he steps away. He takes a deep breath as though to clear his head and lets it out slowly.

“What the hell were those things?” I ask.

“I’m not sure.” He wipes his sword on his shirt.

“They weren’t your kind, were they?”

“No.” He slides his sword back into its sheath.

“Well, they certainly weren’t mine. Is there a third option?”

“There’s always a third option.”

“Like freaky, evil demons? I mean, even more evil than angels?”

“Angels aren’t evil.”

“Right. Gee, how could I have forgotten? Oh, wait. Maybe I got my wacky idea from that whole attack-and-destroy maneuver you guys pulled.”

He heads back out into the forest through the far side of the clearing. I hustle after him.

“Why did you chase those things?” I ask. “We could have been miles away before they changed their minds and came back for us.”

He responds without turning around to look at me. “They’re too close to something that shouldn’t exist. Let something like that get away, and they’ll only come back to haunt you. Believe me, I know.”

He speeds up. I trot after him, practically clinging to him. I don’t want to be left alone in the dark again. He gives me a sidelong glance.

“Don’t even think about it,” I say. “I’m sticking to you like a wet shirt, at least until daylight.” I resist reaching out and grabbing his shirt for guidance in the dark.

“How’d you get to me so fast?” I ask. It must have been seconds from the time I screamed to the time he showed up.

He continues to trek through the woods.

I open my mouth to repeat the question, but he speaks over me. “I was tracking you.”

I stop in surprise. He keeps going so I run after him to make sure he’s only two steps ahead of me. All kinds of questions float in my head but it’s no use asking them all. I keep it simple. “Why?”

“I said I would make sure you got back to camp safely.”

“I wasn’t going back to camp.”

“I noticed.”

“You also said that you’d take me to the aerie. Leaving me alone in the dark was your idea of taking me there?”

“It was my idea of encouraging you to be sensible and go back to camp. Apparently, sensible is not part of your vocabulary. What are you complaining about anyway? I’m here, aren’t I?”

It’s hard to argue against that. He did save my life. We walk in silence for a while as I chew that over.

“So your blood must taste god-awful to ward off those things,” I say.

“Yes, that was a little weird, wasn’t it?”

“A little weird? That was freakin’ Bizarroville.”

He pauses and looks back at me. “Are you speaking English?”

I open my mouth to make a smart comeback but he interrupts.

“Let’s keep it quiet, shall we? There may be more out there.” That shuts me up.

Exhaustion hits me, probably some kind of post-trauma something or another. I figure having company in the dark, even if it is an angel, is as good as I can hope for tonight. Besides, for the first time since I started this nightmare trek through the woods, I don’t have to worry about whether I’m going in the right direction. Raffe walks confidently in a straight line. He never hesitates, subtly adjusting our route here and there to get around some gorge or meadow.

I don’t question whether he actually knows where he’s going. The illusion that he does is enough to comfort me. Maybe angels have a special sense of direction the way birds do. Don’t they always know which way to migrate and how to get back to their nest, even if they can’t see it? Or maybe that’s just my desperation making up stories to make myself feel better, like a mental version of whistling in the dark.

I quickly become hopelessly lost and exhausted to the point of delirium. After hours of trudging through the woods in the dark, I start to wonder if maybe Raffe is a fallen angel leading me into Hell. Maybe when we finally reach the aerie, I’ll realize it’s actually underground in a cave filled with fire and sulfur, with people skewered and roasting. It would explain a few things, anyway.

I hardly notice when he leads us into a house nestled in the woods. By that point, I feel like a walking zombie. We crunch over broken glass and some animal scurries away, disappearing into the shadows. He finds a bedroom. He pulls off my pack and gently shoves me onto the bed.

The world fades out the instant my head touches the pillow.

I DREAM that I’m fighting again by the laundry barrels. We’re soaked in laundry suds. My hair is dripping and my clothes cling, as wet T-shirts will do. Anita is pulling my hair and screeching.

The crowd is too close, hardly giving us room to fight. Their faces are contorted, showing too much teeth and too much white around their eyes. They shout things like “Rip off her shirt!” or “Tear off her bra!” One guy keeps yelling frantically, “Kiss her! Kiss her!”

We roll into a laundry barrel and it comes crashing down. Instead of dirty laundry water, foaming blood splashes everywhere. It is warm and crimson as it soaks me. We all stop and stare at the blood pouring out of the barrel. An impossible amount of it flows out like an endless river.

Laundry floats by. Shirts and pants soaked in blood, empty and crumpled, lost and soulless without their wearers.

Scorpions the size of sewer rats ride the islands of crimson clothing. They have enormous stingers with drops of blood at the tips. When they see us, they curl their tails and spread their wings with menace. I’m pretty sure scorpions are not supposed to have wings, but I don’t have time to think about that because someone screams and points to the sky.

Along the horizon, the sky darkens. A dark, boiling cloud blots out the setting sun. A low buzz like the beating of a million insect wings fills the air.

The wind picks up and quickly grows to hurricane force as the churning cloud and its shadow race toward us. People run in panic, their faces suddenly lost and innocent like frightened children.

The scorpions take to the air. They congregate and pluck someone out of the crowd. Someone small with withered legs. She screams, “Penryn!”

“Paige!” I jump up and run after them. I sprint blindly through the blood which is now ankle high and rising.

But no matter how hard I run, I can’t get any closer to her as the monsters haul my little sister into the oncoming darkness.

Đông Tịch · 5/8/15

Angelfall (Penryn & the End of Days)

Author: Susan Ee
Genre: Mystery Thriller

Chap 24:

WHEN I open my eyes, dappled sunlight streams through the window. I am alone in what was once a lovely bedroom with high ceilings and arched windows. My first thought is that Raffe has left me again. Panic flutters in my stomach. But it’s daylight, and I can handle myself in daylight, can’t I? And I know to head for San Francisco, if Raffe is to be believed. I give it a fifty-fifty chance.

I pad out of the room, down the hall, and into the living room. With each step, I shed the remnants of my nightmare, leaving it behind in the dark where it belongs.

Raffe sits on the floor repacking my pack. The morning sun caresses his hair, highlighting strands of mahogany and honey hidden among the black. My shoulder muscles relax, the tension seeping out at the sight of him. He looks up at me, his eyes bluer than ever in the soft light.

We look at each other without saying anything. I wonder what he sees as he watches me standing in the stream of golden light filtering through the windows.

I look away first. My eyes roam the room in an effort to find something else to look at and settle on a row of photos sitting on the fireplace mantel. I wander over there to give myself something to do other than stand awkwardly under his gaze.

There’s a family photo complete with mom, dad, and three kids. They are on a ski slope, all bundled up and looking happy. Another photo shows a sports field with the older boy in a football uniform doing a high-five with dad. I pick up one that shows the girl in a prom dress smiling at the camera with a cute guy in a tux.

The last photo is a close-up of the little kid hanging upside down on a tree branch. His hair spikes out below him and his mischievous smile shows two missing teeth.

The perfect family in a perfect house. I look around at what must have been a beautiful home. One of the windows is broken and rain has stained the hardwood floor in a big semicircle in front of it. We are not the first visitors here, as evidenced by scattered candy wrappers in one of the corners.

My eyes drift back to Raffe. He is still watching me with those unfathomable eyes.

I put the photo back into its place. “What time is it?”

“Midmorning.” He goes back to rummaging through my pack.

“What are you doing?”

“Getting rid of things we don’t need. Obadiah was right, we should have packed better.” He tosses a pot onto the hardwood floor. It clunks a couple of times before settling down.

“The place is cleaned out of food, every last scrap has been licked away,” he says. “But there’s still running water.” He lifts two filled water bottles. He’s found a green daypack for himself, and he puts one bottle in it, the other in mine.

“Want some breakfast?” He shakes the bag of cat food that I had carried in my pack.

I grab a handful of the dried kibbles on my way to the bathroom. I’m dying for a shower but there’s something too vulnerable about stripping down and soaping up right now, so I settle for an unsatisfactory wipedown, toweling around my clothes. I at least manage to wash my face and brush my teeth. I pull my hair back into a ponytail and prop a dark cap on it.

It’s going to be another long day and this time, we’ll be out in the sun. My feet are already sore and tired, and I wish I could have slept with my boots off. But I can see why Raffe didn’t bother to take them off, and I’m grateful for it. I wouldn’t have gotten far without my boots if I’d had to run into the forest.

By the time I come out of the bathroom, Raffe is ready to go. His hair is wet and dripping onto his shoulder, and his face is clean of blood. I doubt he took a shower any more than I did, but he looks fresh, much fresher than I feel.

There are no visible scars or wounds anywhere on him. He has changed from the bloodied jeans of yesterday into a pair of cargo pants that fit the curve of his body surprisingly well. He’s also found a long-sleeved tee that echoes the deep blue of his eyes. It’s a little tight around his broad shoulders and a little loose around his torso, but he manages to make it look good.

I snag a sweatshirt and jeans out of the closet. I have to roll up both the sleeves and legs but they fit well enough to do the job.

As we head out of the house, I wonder how my mother is doing. A part of me worries about her, a part of me is glad to be free of her, and all of me feels guilty for not taking better care of her. She’s like a wounded feral cat. No one can truly take care of her without locking her in a cage. She would hate that, and so would I. I hope she’s managed to stay far away from people. Both for her sake and theirs.

Raffe immediately turns right as soon as we get out of the house. I resume following him and hope he knows where we’re going. Unlike me, he seems to have no stiffness or limping. I think he’s adjusting to being on his feet. I don’t say anything about it because I don’t want to remind him why he’s walking instead of flying.

My pack feels much lighter. We don’t have anything for camping outside, but I do feel better knowing I can run faster. I also feel better having a new pocketknife attached to my belt. Raffe found it somewhere and gave it to me as we headed out. I also found some steak knives and stuck a couple into my boots. Whoever lived here liked their steaks. These are high-quality, all-metal German knives. After holding these, I never want to go back to serrated tin with wooden handles.

It’s a beautiful day. The sky is a vivid blue above the redwoods and the air is cool but comfortable.

The sense of ease doesn’t last, though. My mind soon fills with worries of what might lurk in the forest, and about whether Obi’s men are hunting us. As we walk along the hillside, I catch glimpses of the gap in the forest where the road must be to our left.

Raffe stops in front of me. I follow his lead and hold my breath. Then I hear it.

Someone is crying. It’s not the brokenhearted wail of someone who’s just lost a family member. I’ve heard plenty of those in the last few weeks to know what they sound like. There is no shock or denial in this sound, just pure grief, and the pain of accepting it as a lifelong companion.

Raffe and I exchange glances. Which is safer? Go up to the road to avoid the griever? Or stay in the forest and risk an encounter with him? Probably the latter. Raffe must think so too, because he turns and continues in the forest.

It’s not long before we see the little girls.

They hang from a tree. Not by their necks, but by ropes tied under their arms and around their chests.

One girl looks to be about Paige’s age and the other a couple of years older. That would make them seven and nine. The older girl’s hand still grips the younger girl’s dress like she had tried to hold the little girl up out of harm’s way.

They wear what look like matching striped dresses. It’s hard to tell now that the print is stained in blood. Most of the material has been ripped and shredded. Whatever gnawed on their legs and torsos got full before it reached their chests. Or it was too low to the ground to reach them.

The worst by far are their tortured expressions. They were alive when they were eaten.

I double over and throw up kibble bits until I dry-heave.

All the while, a middle-aged man wearing thick glasses cries beneath the girls. He’s a scrawny guy, with the kind of look and presence that must have had him sitting alone in the cafeteria through his high school years. His entire body trembles with his sobs. A woman with red-rimmed eyes wraps her arms around him.

“It was an accident,” says the woman, rubbing her hand over the man’s back soothingly.

“This was no accident,” says the man.

“We didn’t mean to.”

“That doesn’t make it okay.”

“Of course it’s not okay,” she says. “But we’ll get through this. All of us.”

“Who’s worse? Him or us?”

“It’s not his fault,” she says. “He can’t help it. He’s the victim, not the monster.”

“We need to put him down,” he says. Another sob escapes him.

“You’d give up on him just like that?” Her expression turns fierce. She steps back from him.

He looks even more forlorn now that he’s unable to lean on her. But anger stiffens his spine. He flings his arm toward the hanging girls. “We fed him little girls!”

“He’s just sick, that’s all,” she says. “We just need to make him better.”

“How?” He hunches to look intensely into her face. “What are we going to do, take him to the hospital?”

She puts her hands on his face. “When we get him back, we’ll know what to do. Trust me.”

He turns from her. “We’ve gone too far. He’s not our boy anymore. He’s a monster. We’ve all become monsters.”

She cocks back her hand and slaps him. The crack of her palm against his cheek is as startling as a gunshot.

They continue to argue, completely ignoring us as if any danger we might pose is so irrelevant compared to what they’re dealing with that it’s not worth their energy to notice us. I’m not sure what they’re saying exactly, but dark suspicions edge my mind.

Raffe grabs my elbow and leads me downhill, around the mad people and the half-chewed girls hanging grotesquely from the tree.

The acid in my stomach churns and threatens to come up again. But I swallow hard and force my feet to follow him.

I keep my gaze on the ground at Raffe’s feet, trying not to think about what’s just uphill from us. I catch a faint odor that clenches my stomach in a familiar way. I look around, trying to pinpoint the scent. It’s the sulfurous stench of rotten eggs. My nose leads me to a pair of eggs nestled in the dead leaves. They’re cracked in several places where I can catch a glimpse of the brown yolk inside. The stain of faded pink still shows on the delicate eggshell where someone had dyed it long ago.

I look uphill. From here, I have a perfect view of the hanging girls between the trees.

Whether my mother placed the eggs here as a protective talisman for us, or whether she is playing out the type of fantasy the old media would have headlined, “The Devil Made Me Do It,” I’ll never know. Both are equally possible now that she is completely off her meds.

My stomach cramps and I have to double over again to dry-heave.

A warm hand touches my shoulder, and a water bottle is thrust in front of me. I take a swig, swish it around, then spit it out. The water lands on the eggs, tilting them with the force of my ejection. One egg oozes dark yolk down its side like old blood. The other wobbles unevenly down the hill until it rests safely against a tree root, its pink tint darkened by wetness, like the flush of guilt.

A warm arm circles my shoulder and helps me stand up. “Come on,” says Raffe. “Let’s go.”

We walk away from the damaged eggs and the hanging girls.

I lean into his strength until I realize what I’m doing. I pull back abruptly. I don’t have the luxury of leaning on anyone’s strength, least of all an angel’s.

My shoulder feels cold and vulnerable once his warmth is gone.

I bite the inside of my cheek to give myself something more demanding to feel.

Đông Tịch · 5/8/15

Angelfall (Penryn & the End of Days)

Author: Susan Ee
Genre: Mystery Thriller

Chap 25:

“WHAT DO you think they were doing?” I ask.

Raffe shrugs.

“Do you think they were feeding the low demons?”

“Maybe.”

“Why would they do that?”

“I’ve given up trying to make sense of humans.”

“We’re not all like that, you know,” I say. I don’t know why I feel I have to justify our behavior to an angel.

He just gives me a knowing look and keeps walking.

“If you ever saw us before the attack, you’d know,” I say stubbornly.

“I know,” he says, not even looking at me.

“How do you know?”

“I watched TV.”

I snort a laugh. Then I realize he’s not joking. “For real?”

“Didn’t everybody?”

I guess everybody did. It was on the air for free. All they had to do was catch the signal and they’d know all about us. TV wasn’t exactly a manifesto of reality either, but it did reflect our greatest hopes and worst fears. I wonder how angels think of us, if they think of us at all.

I wonder what Raffe does in his spare time, other than watch TV. It’s hard to imagine him sitting down on his couch after a rough day at war, watching TV shows about humans to wind down. What’s his domestic life like?

“Are you married?” I instantly regret asking this question as it conjures up an image of him with a painfully beautiful angel wife with little cherubs running around some estate with Grecian pillars.

He pauses in his trek and glares at me as if I just said something totally inappropriate.

“Don’t let my appearance fool you, Penryn. I am not human. The Daughters of Men are forbidden to Angels.”

“What about Daughters of Women?” I attempt a cheeky smile but it falls flat.

“This is serious business. Don’t you know your religious history?”

Most of what I know about religion is through my mother. I think about all the times she raved in tongues in the middle of the night in my room. She came in so often while I slept that I’d gotten into the habit of sleeping with my back to the wall so I could see her coming in without her knowing I was awake.

She’d sit on the floor beside my bed, rock back and forth in a trancelike state, gripping her Bible and speaking in tongues for hours. The nonsensical, guttural noises had the cadence of an angry chant. Or a curse.

Really creepy stuff while you’re lying in the dark, mostly asleep. That’s about the extent of my religious education.

“Uh, no,” I say. “Can’t say I know much about religious history.”

He begins walking again. “A group of angels called the Watchers were stationed on Earth to observe the humans. Over time, they got lonely and took human wives, knowing they shouldn’t. Their children were called Nephilim. And they were abominations. They fed on humans, drank their blood, and terrorized the Earth. For that, the Watchers were condemned to the Pit until Judgment Day.”

He takes several steps in silence as if wondering whether to tell me more. I wait, hoping to hear as much as I can about the world of angels, even if it’s ancient history.

The silence is heavy. There’s more to this story than he’s telling me.

“So,” I prod. “The long and short of it is that angels aren’t allowed to get together with humans? Otherwise, they’re damned?”

“Very.”

“That’s harsh.” I’m surprised I can feel any sympathy for angels, even ones in ancient stories.

“You think that’s bad, you should have seen the punishment for their wives.”

It’s almost as if he’s inviting me to ask. Here’s my chance to find out more. But I find that I don’t really want to know the punishment for falling in love with an angel. Instead, I watch the dried needles crunch under my feet as we walk.

SKYLINE BOULEVARD abruptly ends at Highway 92, and we follow Freeway 280 north into the once highly populated area just south of San Francisco. This is a main artery into San Francisco, so it shouldn’t be a surprise to hear an actual working truck on the road below us. But it is.

It’s been almost a month since I heard a moving car. There are plenty of cars that work, plenty of gas, but I hadn’t realized there were any clear roads left anymore. We crouch down in the shrubs and scan the road. The wind cuts through my sweatshirt and teases hair strands loose from my ponytail.

Below us, a black Hummer weaves in and out, following a path that’s been cleared between the jammed cars. It stops and idles for a while. If it turned off its engine, you’d never know that it was any different from the thousands of other cars abandoned on the streets. When it was moving, I could see the path of cleared cars that it followed. But now, I see that the path cleverly winds and even backtracks to hide the fact that it is a path.

Now that the Hummer has stopped, the path is blocked, and it would be very tough to see the trail at all unless you knew about it. The Hummer is just one in a sea of empty cars, the path just a random pattern of gaps among an infinite maze. From the ground, you could probably see the driver and passengers in the Hummer, but from the air, you’d never know. These guys are camouflaging themselves against the angels.

“Obi’s men,” Raffe says, coming to the same conclusion I have. “Clever,” he says with some respect in his voice.

It is clever. The roads are the most direct way to get anywhere. The Hummer cuts its engine, and it effectively disappears into the scene. A moment later, Raffe points up. Tiny specs mar the otherwise clear sky. The specs move fast and quickly turn into a squad of angels flying in a V formation. They sweep low over the freeway as if searching for prey.

I hold my breath and crouch as low as I can in the brush, wondering whether Raffe will call out for their attention. It hits me again just how little I know about angels. I can’t even guess as to whether Raffe wants this new group’s attention. How can he tell if they’re hostile?

If I do manage to infiltrate the angels’ lair, how will I find the ones who took Paige? If I knew something about them, like their names, or unit identification, I’d have a start. Without realizing it, I had made the assumption that the angels are a small community, one maybe a bit larger than Obi’s camp. I had vaguely imagined that so long as I could find the aerie, I could observe and figure out what to do from there.

For the first time, it occurs to me that it could be much bigger than that. Big enough for Raffe not to be able to identify whether these angels are his friends or foes. Big enough for them to have deadly factions within their ranks. If I were to walk into a camp the size of a Roman invading army, could I just figure out on the spot where they kept Paige and simply walk out with her?

Beside me, Raffe’s muscles loosen and he deflates into the ground. He’s decided not to try to get the angels’ attention. I don’t know if this means he’s identified them as hostile, or if he just couldn’t identify them at all.

Either way, it tells me that his angel enemies are more threatening than the risks he takes on the ground. If he could find friendly angels, they could carry him to wherever he needs to go, and he could get medical attention that much sooner. So the threat must be severe for him to pass up that chance.

The angels turn and swing past the sea of cars again, as though to sniff the air for prey.

I can barely find the Hummer again even though I saw where they stopped. Obi’s men know their camouflage all right.

I wonder what mission makes them risk getting caught on the road? It can’t be us. We’re not worth the risk, at least, not that they know. So they must think there’s something important near or in the city. Maybe recon?

Whatever it is the angels are looking for, they don’t find it. They swoop up and disappear into the horizon. The air rushing past their ears as they fly must dull their hearing. Maybe that’s why it has to be so good to begin with.

I let out a deep breath. The Hummer below finally restarts its engine and resumes winding its way north toward the city.

“How did they know the angels were coming?” he asks, almost to himself.

I shrug. I could make some random guesses, but I don’t see any reason to share them with him. We’re smart monkeys, especially where survival is concerned. And Silicon Valley has some of the smartest, most innovative monkeys in the world. Even though I escaped Obi’s camp, I feel a pang of pride at what our side might be doing.

Raffe watches me carefully, and I wonder how much of what I’m thinking is on my face.

“Why didn’t you call out to them?” I ask.

It’s his turn to shrug.

“You could be getting medical assistance by sunset,” I say.

He pushes himself off the ground and brushes off. “Yes. Or I could be delivering myself back into the hands of my enemies.”

He starts walking roughly in the same direction as the road again. I follow on his heels.

“Did you recognize them?” I try to keep my tone casual. I wish I could just ask him directly how many of them there are, but that’s not a question he could answer without betraying military secrets.

He shakes his head but doesn’t elaborate.

“No, you didn’t recognize who they were? Or no, you couldn’t see them well enough to recognize them?”

He pauses to dig the remaining cat food out of his pack. “Here. Please stuff this in your mouth. You can have my share.”

So much for my information mining. I guess I’ll never be a spymaster like Tweedledee and Tweedledum.

Đông Tịch · 7/8/15

Angelfall (Penryn & the End of Days)

Author: Susan Ee
Genre: Mystery Thriller

Chap 26:

“CAN YOU drive one of those things?” he asks, pointing to the road.

“Yeah,” I say slowly.

“Let’s go.” He turns downhill toward the road.

“Um, won’t that be dangerous?”

“It’s unlikely there will be two units flying in the same direction within an hour or two of each other. Once we’re on the road, we’ll be safer from the road monkeys. They’ll think we’re Obi’s people, too well armed and too well fed to attack.”

“We’re not monkeys.” Hadn’t I just thought we were clever monkeys? So why does it sting that he just called me one?

He ignores me and keeps walking.

What did I expect? An apology? I let it drop and follow him down to the freeway.

As soon as we step onto the asphalt, Raffe grabs my arm and ducks behind a van. I crouch beside him, straining to hear what he hears. After a minute, I hear a car coming toward us. Another one? What’s the chance of another car just happening to be on the same road only ten minutes behind the first car?

This one is a black truck with a canopy over the bed. Whatever is under there is big, lumpy, and somehow intimidating. It looks a lot like the truck they were filling with explosives yesterday. It rumbles by, slow and full of purpose, toward the city.

A caravan. It’s a very spread out caravan, but I’d

the contents of my pack that there are more cars ahead and behind. They’ve spread it out to be less noticeable. The Hummer probably knew about the angels flying toward them because they got word from the cars ahead of them. Even if the first car was taken out, the rest of the caravan would be all right. My respect for Obi’s group goes up another notch.

When the sound of the engine fades, we get up from our crouch behind the van and start looking for our own ride. I’d prefer to drive a low-profile economy car that won’t make much noise and won’t run out of gas. But that’s the last car Obi’s men would drive, so we start looking at the large selection of beefy SUVs on the road.

Most of the cars don’t have their keys in them. Even at the end of the world when a box of crackers is worth more than a Mercedes, people still took their keys with them when they abandoned their cars. Habit, I suppose.

After looking at half a dozen, we find a black SUV with tinted windows with the keys on the driver’s seat. This driver must have pulled the keys out of habit, then thought better of dragging the worthless metal with him on the road. It has a quarter tank of gas. That should at least get us into San Francisco, assuming the road is clear that far. It’s not enough to get us back, though.

Back? Back where?

I quiet the voice in my head and climb in. Raffe climbs in the passenger seat. It starts on the first try and we begin weaving up 280 heading north.

I never thought moving twenty miles per hour could be so exciting. My heart pounds as I grip the steering wheel like it’s going to fly out of control any second now. I can’t watch all the obstacles on the road and still be on the lookout for attackers. I throw a quick glance at Raffe. He’s scanning the surroundings, including the side mirrors, and I relax a little.

“So where are we going, exactly?” I’m not an expert on the city’s layout, but I have been there several times and have a general idea of where neighborhoods are located.

“Financial district.” He knows the area well enough to identify the city’s districts. I briefly wonder how but let it go. I suspect he’s been around a lot longer than I have to explore the world.

“I think the freeway goes through that, or at least near it. That’s assuming that the road is clear that far, which I doubt.”

“There is order near the aerie. The roads should be clear.”

I throw him a sharp look. “What do you mean, order?”

“There will be guards at the road near the aerie. Before we get there, we’ll need to prepare.”

“Prepare? How?”

“I found something for you to change into at the last house. And I’ll need to change my appearance too. Leave the details to me. Getting past the guards will be the easy part.”

“Great. Then what?”

“Then it’s time to party at the aerie.”

“You’re just full of information, aren’t you? I won’t go unless I know what I’m getting into.”

“Then don’t go.” His tone is not ungentle, but the meaning is clear.

I grip the steering wheel so hard I’m surprised it doesn’t crumple.

It’s no secret that we’re only temporary allies. Neither of us is pretending that this is a lasting partnership. I help him get home with his wings, he helps me find my sister. After that I’ll be on my own. I know this. I’ve never for a moment forgotten about it.

But after only a couple of days of having someone watch my back, the thought of being on my own again feels…lonely.

I clip the open door of a truck.

“I thought you said you could drive this thing.”

I realize I’ve been pressing on the accelerator. We’re weaving drunkenly at forty miles per hour. I pull it back down to twenty and force my fingers to relax.

“Leave the driving to me, and I’ll leave the planning to you.” I still have to take a calming breath as I say this. I’ve been mad at my dad all this time for leaving me to make all the hard decisions. But now that Raffe is taking the lead and insisting on me following him blind, it churns my stomach.

We see some ragged people along the side of the road here and there, but not a lot. They scurry away as soon as they see our car. The way they stare, the way they hide, the way their furtive, dirty faces peer at us with burning curiosity brings to mind the hated word: monkey. This is what the angels have turned us into.

As we get closer to the city, we see more people. The path on the road is less labyrinthine.

Eventually, the road is mostly cleared of cars, although not of people. Everyone still looks at the car, but there’s less interest, as though a car moving on the roads is something they see regularly. The closer we get to the city, the more people there are walking on the road. They look around warily at every sound and motion, but they’re out in the open.

Once we enter the city proper, the damage is everywhere. San Francisco got pummeled along with a lot of other cities. It looks like a smoldering, post-apocalyptic, melting nightmare out of some Hollywood blockbuster.

Coming into the city, I catch glimpses of the Bay Bridge. It looks like a dashed line across the water with a few crucial chunks missing from the middle. I’ve seen photos of the city after the great quake of 1906. The devastation was staggering, and I’d always found it hard to imagine what that must have been like.

I don’t have to imagine anymore.

Entire blocks are charred rubble. The initial meteor showers, quakes, and tsunamis only caused part of the damage. San Francisco was a city that had rows and rows of houses and buildings built so close together you couldn’t fit a piece of paper between the buildings. Gas pipes burst and caused fires that raged unchecked. The sky was choked with blood-tinged smoke for days.

Now, all that’s left are the skeletons of skyscrapers, an occasional brick church still standing, lots of pillars holding up nothing.

A sign proclaims that Life is God. It’s hard to tell what product the sign was selling because the sign is singed all around those words as well as on the missing letter. I assume the sign used to say Life is Good. The gutted building behind it looks melted, as if still suffering the effects of a fire that just won’t stop, even now under an alien blue sky.

“How is this possible?” I don’t even realize I say it aloud until I hear my voice choked with tears. “How could you do this?”

My question sounds personal and maybe it is. For all I know, he could have been personally responsible for the ruin around me.

Raffe stays quiet for the rest of the drive.

In the middle of this charnel, a few blocks of the financial district stand tall and shiny in the sun. It looks almost completely undamaged. To my utter amazement, there is a makeshift camp in the area of the city that used to be South of Market, just outside the undamaged portion of the financial district.

I weave around another car, assuming it is dead, until it suddenly lurches in front of me. I slam on the brakes. The other driver gives me a dirty look as he drives past me. He looks about ten years old, barely tall enough to see over the dashboard.

The camp is more of a shantytown, the kind we used to see on the news where refugees flocked by the thousands after a disaster. The people—although they aren’t eating each other as far as I can tell—look hungry and desperate. They touch the car windows like we have hidden riches in here that we could share with them.

“Pull over there.” Raffe points to an area where a pile of cars are stacked and spilling onto what used to be a parking lot. I drive the car there and park. “Turn off the engine. Lock the doors and stay vigilant until they forget about us.”

“They’re going to forget about us?” I ask, watching a couple of street guys climb onto our hood. They make themselves at home on the warmth of our car.

“Lots of people sleep in their cars. They probably won’t make a move until they think we’re asleep.”

“We’re sleeping in here?” The last thing I feel like doing with all this adrenaline rushing through my veins is sleep under glass surrounded by desperate people.

“No. We’re changing in here.”

He reaches to the backseat and grabs his pack. He pulls out a scarlet party dress. It’s so small that at first, I think it’s a scarf. It’s the kind of shapely and tiny dress that I once borrowed from my friend Lisa when she talked me into going clubbing with her. She had fake IDs for both of us, and it would have been a fun night except that she got drunk and went home with some college guy, leaving me to find my way home on my own.

“What’s this for?” Somehow, I don’t think he has clubbing in mind.

“Put it on. Look as good as you can. It’s our ticket in.” Maybe he did have clubbing in mind.

“You’re not going to go home with some drunken college girl, are you?”

“What?”

“Never mind.” I take the skimpy bit of fabric, along with the skimpy matching shoes and to my surprise, a pair of silky pantyhose. Whatever Raffe doesn’t know about humans, women’s clothing isn’t one of them. I shoot him a piercing look, wondering where he learned his expertise on the topic. He returns my glance with a cool look of his own, telling me nothing.

There’s no private place to change away from the prying eyes of the homeless guys on our hood. Funny—I still think of men like that as homeless even though none of us have homes anymore. They were probably South of Market hipsters back in the day. “The day” being only a couple of months ago.

Luckily, every girl knows how to change in public. I pull the dress over my head and under my sweatshirt. I pull my arms out from the sweatshirt’s sleeves and wiggle into the dress using my sweatshirt as a personal curtain. Then I pull it down to my thighs, and then take off my boots and jeans.

The hem doesn’t go as far down as I’d like, and I keep tugging it to make myself more modest. Too much of my thigh is showing, and the last place I want this kind of attention is where I’m surrounded by lawless men under desperate conditions.

When I look at Raffe with anxiety in my eyes, he says, “It’s the only way.” I can tell he doesn’t like it either.

I don’t want to take off my sweatshirt because I can feel the skimpiness of the dress. At a party in a civilized world, I might be comfortable in it. Might even be excited at how cute it is, although I have no idea if it’s cute or not since I can’t see myself. I can tell, however, that it might be a size too small for me because it’s tight. I’m not sure if it’s meant to be this tight, but it only adds to the sensation of being naked in front of savages.

Raffe has no qualms about stripping in front of strangers. He pulls off his T-shirt and slides out of his cargo pants to button on a white dress shirt and black dress slacks. More than anything, it’s the feeling of being watched myself that keeps me from blatantly watching him. I have no brothers, and I’ve never seen a guy strip before. It’s only natural to have the impulse to watch, isn’t it?

Instead of looking at him, I look forlornly at the strappy slippers. They’re the same shade of scarlet as the dress, as though the previous owner had one custom-made to match the other. The high, thin heels are made for accentuating legs while sitting cross-legged. “I can’t run in these.”

“You won’t have to if things go according to plan.”

“Great. Because things always go according to plan.”

“If things go awry, running won’t help you anyway.”

“Yeah, well, I can’t fight in these either.”

“I brought you here. I’ll protect you.”

I’m tempted to remind him that I’m the one who dragged him off the street like roadkill. “Is this really the only way?”

“Yes.”

I sigh. I slip into the strappy, useless sandals and hope I don’t break an ankle trying to walk in them. I take off the sweatshirt and flip down the car’s visor to access the mirror. The dress is as tight as I’d guessed, but it looks better on me than I’d thought.

My hair and face, however, look like they’d be more at home in a ratty bathrobe. I rake my hand through my hair. It’s greasy and matted. My lips are chapped and flaking, and my cheeks are sunburned. My jaw is a splash of mango colors from the bruise Boden gave me during our fight. At least the frozen peas kept the swelling down.

“Here,” he says, opening his pack. “I didn’t know what you’d need so I just grabbed some things from the bathroom cabinet.” He takes out a men’s tuxedo jacket from his pack before handing the pack over to me.

I watch him staring down at the jacket, wondering what he’s thinking that makes him look so somber. Then I turn to dig into the pack.

I find a comb to run through my hair. My hair is so greasy that it’s actually easier to style, although I’m not fond of the look. There is also some lotion that I rub onto my face, lips, hands, and legs. I want to peel the flakes of skin off my lips, but I know from experience that doing that will make them bleed, so I leave them alone.

I smooth on lipstick and mascara. The lipstick is a neon pink, and the mascara is blue. Not my usual colors, but combined with the tight dress, it sure makes me look slutty, which I figure is exactly the look we’re going for. There’s no eye shadow so I just smear a tiny bit of the mascara around my eyes for that extra sultry emphasis. I take some foundation and smear it over my jaw. It’s tender and the parts that need the makeup the most are the parts that are the most sensitive. This better be worth it.

When I finish, I notice that the guys on the hood are watching me put on my makeup. I look over at Raffe. He is busy rigging some sort of contraption involving his pack, wings, and some straps.

“What are you doing?”

“Making a—” He looks up and sees me.

I don’t know if he noticed when I took my sweatshirt off, but I’m guessing he was busy at that time because he looks at me with surprise now. His pupils dilate when he sees me. His lips part as he momentarily forgets to marshal his expression, and I could swear he stops breathing for several heartbeats.

“I’m making it look like I have wings on my back,” he says quietly. His words come out husky and velvety as if he’s saying something personal. As if he’s giving me a caressing compliment.

I bite my lip to focus on the fact that he’s actually just giving me a plain answer to my question. He can’t help it if his voice is mesmerizingly sexy.

“I can’t go where I need to go if they think I’m human.” He drops his gaze and cinches a strap around the base of one of his wings.

He puts the empty pack with the wings strapped to it onto his back. “Help me get the jacket on.”

He has sliced the back of the jacket with parallel slashes to let the wings peek through.

Right. The jacket. The wings. “Should the wings be outside?” I ask.

“No, just make sure the straps and pack are covered.”

The wings look securely strapped to the pack. I gently arrange the contraption so that the outside feathers cover the straps. The feathers still feel vibrant and alive, although they seem a bit wilted compared to the way they were when I first touched them a couple of days ago. I resist the urge to stroke the feathers even though he won’t be able to feel it.

The wings lie molded to the empty backpack the way they would mold to his back. For such an enormous wingspan, it’s amazing how tightly they compress to his body when they’re folded. I once saw a seven-foot down sleeping bag get compacted into a small cube and it wasn’t as impressive a change in volume as this.

I drape the jacket material between and on either side of the wings. The snowy wings peek out in two strips through the slits in the dark material with no sign of the pack and straps. The jacket is big enough that he only looks a little bulky. Not enough to bring attention to it unless someone is very familiar with Raffe’s form.

He leans forward so he doesn’t crush his wings with the back of the seat.

“How does it look?” His beautifully wide shoulders and clean line of his back are now accented by the wings. Around his neck is a silver bowtie shot playfully with curls of red that match my dress. It also matches his cummerbund around his waist. Aside from a little smudge of dirt on his jaw, he looks like he just walked out of a Hollywood magazine.

The shape of his back looks about right for a jacket that’s not perfectly tailored for wings. I have a flash of the magnificence of his snowy wings spreading out behind him as he stood to face his enemies that first time I saw him. I feel a little of what his loss must mean to him.

I nod. “It looks good. You look right.”

His eyes look up into mine. In them, I catch a hint of gratitude, a hint of loss, a hint of worry.

“Not that…you didn’t look right before. I mean, you always look…magnificent.” Magnificent? I almost roll my eyes. What a dope. I don’t know why I said that. I clear my throat. “Can we go already?”

He nods. He hides the teasing smile but I can see it in his eyes.

“Drive past that crowd and up to the checkpoint.” He points to our left, where it looks like a crowded, free-for-all market. “When the guards stop you, tell them you want to go to the aerie. Tell them you heard they sometimes let in women.”

He climbs into the backseat and crouches in the shadows. He pulls the old blanket over himself, the one that used to wrap his wings.

“I’m not here,” he says.

“So…explain to me again why you’re hiding instead of just walking through the gate with me?”

“Angels don’t walk through the checkpoint. They fly directly to the aerie.”

“Can’t you just tell them you’re injured?”

“You’re like a little girl demanding answers to questions during a covert operation. ‘Why is the sky blue, Daddy? Can I ask that man with the machine gun where the bathroom is?’ If you don’t stay quiet, I’m going to have to dump you. You need to do what I tell you, when I tell you, no questions or hesitation about it. If you don’t like it, find someone else to pester into helping you.”

“Okay, okay. I got it. Geez, some people are so grouchy.”

I start the engine and inch out of our parking spot. The homeless guys grumble, and one of them bangs the hood with his fist as he slides off.

Đông Tịch · 7/8/15

Angelfall (Penryn & the End of Days)

Author: Susan Ee
Genre: Mystery Thriller

Chap 27:

I DRIVE through the crowd on Montgomery Street at a speed that’s maybe half of what I could do on foot. People get out of the way, but reluctantly, and only after giving me assessing looks. I check the doors again to make sure they’re locked. Not that the locks would stop anyone should they choose to break the windows.

Luckily, we are not the only ones in a car here. There’s a small line of cars waiting at the checkpoint, surrounded by a mass of people on foot. Apparently, they are all waiting to cross the checkpoint. I go as far as I can and stop at the end of the line of cars.

There is an unusually large percentage of women waiting to cross the checkpoint. They are clean and dressed as though going to a party. Women stand in high heels and silk dresses among the ragged men, and everyone behaves as though that’s normal.

The checkpoint is a breach in a tall chain-link fence that blocks the streets around the financial district. With what’s left of the district, it wouldn’t be too hard to permanently fence it off. But this is one of those temporary fences made of self-standing panels. The panels are connected together to make a fence, but it’s not embedded into the asphalt.

It wouldn’t take much for a crowd to push it over and just walk on top of it. Yet the crowd respects the boundary as though it’s electrified.

Then I see that it is, in a way.

Humans patrol the fence from the other side and poke a metal rod through whenever they see someone getting too close. When someone is poked, there’s a zap sound along with a blue spark of electricity. They’re using some kind of cattle prod to keep people away. All of the prodders except one are grim-faced men who show no emotion as they patrol and occasionally prod.

The female prodder is my mother.

I bang my head against the steering wheel when I see her. It doesn’t make me feel any better.

“What’s wrong?” Raffe asks.

“My mother is here.”

“Is that a problem?”

“Probably.” I drive forward a few feet as the line moves.

My mother is more emotional about her job than her fellow prodders. She reaches as far as the fence will let her to shock as many people as possible. At one point, she even cackles as she zaps a man for as long as she can before he staggers out of her reach. She looks for all the world as though she’s enjoying inflicting pain on people.

Despite appearances, I recognize fear in my mother when I see it. If you didn’t know her, you’d think her zest comes from malice. But there’s a good chance that she doesn’t even recognize her victims as people.

She probably thinks she’s trapped in a cage in Hell surrounded by monsters. Maybe as payment for a deal made with the devil. Maybe just because the world conspires against her. She probably thinks the people who get close to the fence are actually monsters in disguise stalking her cage. Someone has miraculously given her a weapon to keep those monsters at bay. So she’s using this rare chance to fight back.

“How did she end up here?” I wonder out loud.

Dirt smears her cheeks and greasy hair, and her clothes are ripped at the elbow and knees. She looks like she’s been sleeping on the ground. But she does look healthy and fed, with rosy coloring in her cheeks.

“Everyone on the road ends up here if they don’t get themselves killed first.”

“How?”

“Beats me. You humans have always had some kind of herding instinct that seems to bring you together. And this is the largest herd around.”

“Town. Not herd. Towns are for people. Herds are for animals.”

He snorts rudely in response.

It probably is better to leave her there instead of trying to take her with me inside the aerie. It’s hard to be stealthy with my mother around. That could cost us Paige’s life. There’s not much I can do to ease her torment when she’s like this. The people will eventually learn to stay away from her while she patrols the fence. She’s safer here. We’re all safer with her here. For now.

My justifications don’t ease my guilt about leaving her. But I can’t think of a better solution.

I tear my gaze away from my mother and try to focus on my surroundings. I can’t be distracted if we’re all to stay alive.

In front of me, the crowd starts to show a pattern. Women and teen girls, all dressed and made up to the best of their resources, press up against the people in front of them, hoping to get the attention of the guards. Many of the girls are surrounded by people who look like parents or grandparents. The women often stand beside their men, sometimes with children.

The guards shake their heads at virtually everyone who requests entry. Occasionally, a woman or a group of women refuses to move out of the way after they’ve been turned down, choosing instead to beg or break down crying. The angels seem not to care one way or another, but the crowd cares. The mob shoves the offending rejects into itself, mindlessly pushing them back with their shifting and shoving bodies, until the losers are ejected out at the rear of the crowd.

Occasionally, the guards let one through. From what I can tell, the ones let through are always female. While we inch up to the gate, two are admitted.

Both are women dressed in tight dresses and high heels, like me. One of them enters without a backward glance, clicking confidently away down the empty road on the other side of the gate. The other goes hesitantly, turning around to throw kisses at a man and two grubby children gripping the chain links of the fence. They scurry away from the fence when a man with a cattle prod approaches them.

When these women are let through, a group at the edge of the crowd exchanges goods. It takes me a minute to understand that they’re taking bets on who gets in. A bookie points to several women near the guards, then accepts items from the people around him. The bettors are mostly men, but there are women in the group too. Each time a woman is let through, one of the bettors walks away with an armful of goods.

I want to ask what’s going on, why humans want to go into angel territory and why these people camp out here. But I would only prove Raffe right about acting like a little girl, so I tamp down the flood of questions and ask the one that’s operationally relevant.

“What if they don’t let us go through?” I ask, trying not to move my lips.

“They will,” he answers from the dark recesses of the backseat footwell.

“How do you know?”

“Because you have the look they’re looking for.”

“What look is that?”

“Beautiful.” His voice is like a caress from the shadows.

No one has ever told me I’m beautiful before. I’ve been too preoccupied with dealing with my mother and taking care of Paige to pay much attention to my looks. Heat flushes my cheeks, and I hope I don’t look like a clown when I get to the checkpoint. If Raffe is right and this is the only way in, I need to look as good as I can if I want a chance of seeing Paige again.

By the time I reach the front of the chaotic line, several women have just about thrown themselves at the guards. None of them were allowed in. It doesn’t make me feel any better about my greasy hair as I drive up to the guards.

They give me a bored once-over. There are two of them. Their speckled wings look small and withered compared to Raffe’s. One guard’s face is lightly speckled with green, just like his wings. The word dappled comes to mind, like a horse. Looking into his face is a wrenching reminder that they are not human. That Raffe is not human.

Dappled waves at me to come out of the car. I hesitate for a second before slowly getting out. He didn’t do that with the other girls in the cars in front of me.

I pull down my hem to make sure it covers my butt. The guards look at me up and down. I resist the urge to slouch and cross my arms across my breasts.

Dappled waves for me to spin around. I feel like a stripper and I want to kick them in the teeth, but I do a slow spin for them on my unsteady heels. Paige. Think about Paige.

The guards exchange a look. I frantically think about what I could do or say to try to get them to let me through. If Raffe says this is the way in, then I must find a way to get them to let me in.

Dappled waves me through.

I’m so stunned I just stand there.

Then, before they can change their minds, I turn away from them so that if they shake their heads, I can’t see it. I slide back into the car as casually as I can.

The little hairs on the back of my neck stand stiff in anticipation of a whistle blowing, or a hand on my shoulder, or German shepherds nosing in behind me just like in the old war movies. We are, after all, at war, aren’t we?

But none of that happens. I start the engine and they wave me through. And I gain another piece of information. The angels don’t see humans as a threat. So what if a few monkeys get in through the cracks in their fence or crawl in little go-carts around the base of their nest? How hard would it be for them to take us down and contain the intruding animals?

“Where are we?” Raffe asks from the shadows behind me.

“In Hell,” I say. I keep the speed at a steady twenty miles per hour. The streets are empty here so I could go sixty if I want, but I don’t want to call attention to us.

“If this is your idea of Hell, you’re very innocent. Look for a clublike scene. Lots of light, lots of women. Go and park there, but not too close.”

I look around the weirdly deserted streets. A few women, looking cold and forlorn in the howling San Franciscan wind, stumble down the sidewalk toward some destination only they know. I keep driving, looking at the empty streets. Then I see people spilling out of a tall building along a side street.

As I get closer, I see a crowd of women around a 1920s-style nightclub entrance. They must be freezing in their skimpy party dresses, but they stand tall and attractive. The doorway is arched in classic Art Deco, and the angels guarding the front entrance are dressed in modified tuxedos with slits in the backs to make room for their wings.

I park my car a couple of blocks past the club. I put the keys in a pocket on the visor and leave my boots in the passenger footwell where I can grab them in a rush if I need to. I wish I could stuff them in my sequined clutch, but there’s only room in there for a tiny flashlight and my pocketknife.

I slide out of the car. Raffe crawls out from behind me. The wind hits me as soon as I’m out, whipping my hair into a frenzy around my face. I curl my arms around myself, wishing I had a coat.

Raffe straps his sword around his waist, looking like an old-fashioned gentleman in his tux. “Sorry I can’t offer my jacket. When we get closer, I need you to not look cold so no one wonders why I don’t take off my jacket to give to you.”

I doubt anyone will wonder why an angel doesn’t offer a girl his jacket, but I let it go.

“How come it’s okay for you to be seen now?”

He gives me a tired look as though I’m exhausting him.

“Okay, okay.” I put my hands up in surrender. “You call the shots, I follow. Just help me find my sister.” I mimic turning a key in a lock on my lips and throw away the pretend key.

He straightens his already straight jacket. Is that a nervous motion? He offers me his arm. I put my hand on the crook of his arm and we walk down the sidewalk.

At first, his muscles are stiff, and his eyes constantly scan the area. What’s he looking for? Could he really have that many enemies among his own people? After a few steps, though, he relaxes. I’m not sure if it’s natural or forced. Either way, we now look to the world like a regular couple out for the evening.

As we near the crowd, I can see more details. Several of the angels going into the club are in old-fashioned gangster zoot suits complete with felt hats and jaunty feathers. Long watch chains drape to their knees.

“What is this, a costume party?” I ask.

“It’s just the current fashion for the aerie.” His voice sounds a bit clipped, as though he doesn’t approve.

“What happened to the rule of not fraternizing with the Daughters of Men?”

“An excellent question.” His jaw clenches into a hard line. I don’t think I want to be around when he demands an answer to that question.

“So producing children with humans gets you damned because Nephilim are a big no-no,” I say. “But anything up to that…?”

He shrugs. “Apparently, they’ve decided that’s a gray zone. It could get them all burned.” Then he adds in a whisper, almost to himself, “But the fire can be tempting.”

The thought of superhuman beings with human temptations and flaws sends a chill through me.

We walk past the protection of a building to cross a street, and I’m back to being whipped mercilessly by the wind. Wind tunnels have nothing on the streets of San Francisco.

“Try not to look so cold.”

I stand up straight even though I’m dying to curl into myself. At least my skirt isn’t long enough to whip up.

The opportunity to ask more questions dries up as we approach the crowd. The whole scene has a surreal feel to it. It’s as though I’m walking out of a refugee camp into an exclusive supper club, complete with tuxedos, women in formal wear, expensive cigars, and jewelry.

The cold doesn’t seem to bother any of the angels who lazily breathe cigar smoke into the wind. Not in a million years would I have imagined angels smoking. These guys look more like gangsters than pious angels. Each one has at least two women lavishing attention on them. Some have four or more crowded around them. From the snippets of conversations I catch as we walk by, all of these women are trying their darndest to get an angel’s attention.

Raffe walks right past the milling crowd toward the door. There are two angels standing on guard but Raffe ignores them and keeps walking. His hand is on the crook of my elbow and I just go where he goes. One of the guards eyes us as though his Spidey sense is sending alarm signals about us.

There’s a moment when I’m sure he’ll stop us.

Instead, he stops two women trying to get in. We walk past the women, leaving them to convince the guards that their angel had merely forgotten them outside and that he’s expecting to meet them inside. The guard firmly shakes his head.

Apparently, you need an angel as your ticket into the aerie. I let out a breath as we glide right through the doors.

Đông Tịch · 7/8/15

Angelfall (Penryn & the End of Days)

Author: Susan Ee
Genre: Mystery Thriller

Chap 28:

INSIDE, THE two-story vaulted ceiling and Art Deco touches give the impression that the foyer was meant to welcome people of good breeding. A curved, gilded staircase dominates the area, creating a picture-perfect setting for couples with long dresses and tuxes, tasteful accents and pedigrees. Ironically, chubby cherubs look down at us from the frescoed ceiling.

To the side stands a long marbled counter that should have had several attendants behind it asking us how long we intend to stay. Now it’s just an empty reminder that this building used to be a posh hotel only a couple of months ago. Well, not entirely empty. There is a single attendant looking very small and human among all that marble and angelic grace.

The lobby is spotted with small groups chatting and laughing, all dressed in evening clothes. Most of the women are human with only an occasional female angel circulating the foyer. The men are a mix of human and angel. The human men are servants carrying drinks, picking up empty glasses, and checking in coats for the few lucky women who have them.

Raffe hesitates only briefly to survey the scene. We drift along the wall down a wide corridor with marbled floors and velvet wallpaper. The lighting in the foyer and hallway is more atmospheric than practical. This leaves much of the walls in soft shadows, a fact that I’m sure doesn’t escape Raffe’s notice. I can’t say that we’re sneaking through the building, exactly, but we’re certainly not calling attention to ourselves.

A steady stream of people flow in and out of a pair of oversized leather doors accented in brass. We’re headed in that direction when three angels push through it. They’re all wide and solid, every graceful move, every casual bulge of muscle, declaring them to be athletes. No, athletes isn’t quite right. Warriors is the word that rattles around in my brain.

Two of them stand head and shoulders taller than the crowd. The third is more compact, more lithe, more like a cheetah to their bears. They all carry swords dangling along their thighs as they walk. I realize that other than Raffe and the guards, these are the first angels I’ve seen with swords.

Raffe ducks his head toward me, flashing a smile as though I just said something funny. He bends his head close enough to mine that I think he’s going to kiss me. Instead, he simply touches his forehead to mine.

To the men walking by, Raffe would look like a man being affectionate. But they can’t see his eyes. Despite the smile, Raffe’s expression is one of pain, the kind you can’t stop with aspirin. As the angels walk by us, Raffe subtly turns his body so that his back is to them at all times. They laugh at something the cheetah says, and Raffe closes his eyes, steeping in some bittersweet feeling I can’t begin to understand.

His face is so close to mine our breaths mingle. Yet he’s far away from me in a place where he’s buffeted by emotions deep and unkind. Whatever he’s feeling, it’s very human. I have this strong compulsion to try to pull him out of this mood, to try to distract him.

I place my hand on his cheek. It’s warm and pleasant. Maybe too pleasant. When his eyes don’t open, I tentatively touch my lips to his.

At first, I get no response and I consider backing off.

Then, his kiss turns hungry.

It is not the gentle kiss of a couple on a first date, nor is it the kiss of a man driven by simple lust. He kisses me with the desperation of a dying man who believes the magic of eternal life is in this kiss. The ferocity of his grip around my waist and shoulders, the grinding pressure of his lips, has me off balance so that my thoughts whirl out of control.

The pressure eases, and the kiss turns sensual.

A tingling warmth shoots from the silken touch of his lips and tongue straight to my core. My body melts into his and I’m hyperaware of the hard muscles of his chest against my breasts, the warm grip of his hands around my waist and shoulders, the wet sliding of his mouth on mine.

Then it’s over.

He pulls back from me, taking a gulp of air as if surfacing from choppy waters. His eyes are deep pools of swirling emotion.

He shuts his eyes off from mine. And eases his breath in a controlled exhale.

When he opens his eyes again, they are more black than blue and completely unreadable. Whatever is happening behind those shuttered eyes is now impenetrable.

What I saw there a moment ago is now buried so far I have to wonder if I imagined it in the first place. The only thing that hints that he feels anything at all is that his breathing is still faster than normal.

“You should know,” he says. His whisper is low enough that even angels probably can’t hear it beyond the background noise of conversations in the corridor. “I don’t even like you.”

I stiffen in his arms. I don’t know what I expected him to say, but that wasn’t it.

Unlike him, I’m pretty sure my emotions come through loud and clear on my face. I can feel one of those emotions heating my cheeks in humiliation.

He steps away from me casually, turns, and pushes through the double doors.

I stand in the corridor watching the doors swing back and forth until they settle.

A couple pushes through from the other side. The angel has his arm around the woman. She wears a full-length silver sequined dress that hugs her body and winks at her every move. He sports a purple suit with a neon pink shirt that drapes its wide collar over his shoulders. They both stare at me as they walk by.

When a man in purple and screaming pink stares at you, you know it’s time to change your appearance. Although my crimson dress is tight and short, it’s not out of place here. It must be my stunned and humiliated expression that they’re looking at.

I school my face back to what I hope is neutral and force my shoulders to relax, or to at least look relaxed.

I’d kissed guys before. Sometimes it got awkward afterward, but never like this. I’d always found kissing nice and pleasant, like smelling roses or laughter on a summer day. What I just experienced with Raffe was another animal. This was a knee-melting, gut-twisting, vein-tingling, nuclear meltdown compared to other kisses I’d had.

I take a deep, deep breath. Hold it. Let it out slowly.

He doesn’t even like me.

I let the thought roll around in my head. Anything I feel during that time gets shoved into the vault with the ten-foot-thick door slamming as soon as it goes in, just in case something in there has any intention of crawling out.

Even if he did want me, so what? The result would be the same. A dead end. Our partnership is about to dissolve. As soon as I find Paige, I need to get out of here as fast as I can. And he needs to get his wings sewn back on, then deal with whatever enemies are causing him trouble. Then it’s back to him destroying my world with his buddies, and me scrambling for survival with my family. And that’s just the way it is. No room for high school fantasies.

I take another deep breath and let it out slowly, making sure all residual feelings are under control. All that matters is finding Paige. To do that, I need to work with Raffe just a little longer.

I walk to the double doors and push my way in to find him.

Đông Tịch · 7/8/15

Angelfall (Penryn & the End of Days)

Author: Susan Ee
Genre: Mystery Thriller

Chap 29:

AS SOON as I step inside, the world fills with the roar of jazz, laughter, and chatter along with a blast of heat, the scent of pungent cigar smoke, perfume, and scrumptious food all rolled into an incomprehensible wave of sensation.

I can’t shake the surreal feeling of being thrown back in time. Outside, people are starving and homeless in a world shattered by a worldwide attack. In here, though, the good times never ended. Sure, the men have wings, but other than that, it’s like being in a 1920s club. Art Deco furniture, men in tuxes, women in long dresses.

Okay, the clothes don’t all look 1920s. There is the occasional ’70s or science fiction futuristic outfit, like a costume party where a few of the guests didn’t understand what a 1920s outfit should look like. But the room and furniture are Art Deco, and most of the angels are in old-fashioned long-tailed coats.

The room glitters with gold watches, shiny silks, and sparkling jewels. The angels are dining and drinking, smoking and laughing. Through it all, an army of white-gloved human servers carry trays of champagne glasses and hors d’oeuvres under the winking chandeliers. The band members, the servants, and most of the women look human.

I feel an unreasonable blast of disgust for the humans in the room. All traitors like me. No, to be fair, what they’re doing is nowhere near as bad as what I did by not disclosing Raffe at Obi’s camp.

I want to dismiss them all as gold diggers, but I remember the woman with the husband and hungry kids hanging onto the fence as she walked toward the aerie. She is probably that family’s best hope of getting fed. I hope she made it in. I scan the crowd, hoping to see her face.

Instead, I see Raffe.

He leans casually against the wall in a shadowy corner, watching the crowd. A brunette in a black dress with skin so white she looks like a vampire leans into him suggestively. Everything about her oozes ***.

I’m inclined to go anywhere but to Raffe right now, but I have a mission and he’s a crucial part of it. I’m certainly not going to give up the chance to find Paige just because I feel socially awkward.

I steel myself and walk over to him.

The brunette puts her hand on his chest, whispering something intimately. He’s watching something across the room and doesn’t seem to hear her. He holds a tumbler of amber liquid that he tosses back in one swig. He places the empty glass beside a couple of others on a nearby table.

He doesn’t look at me as I lean against the wall beside him, but I know he sees me, just like he sees the girl who is now giving me a death glare. As if her message isn’t already clear, she drapes herself onto Raffe.

He takes a martini from a passing waiter who holds a tray of them. Raffe gulps that down and grabs another before the waiter leaves. He’s downed four drinks in the short time it took for me to get myself together and find him. Either he’s shaken by something or he’s falling off the wagon hard and fast. Great. Just my luck to be partnered with an alcoholic angel.

Raffe finally turns to the brunette, who gives him a dazzling smile. Her eyes sparkle with an invitation that makes me embarrassed to watch.

“Go find someone else,” says Raffe. His voice is distracted, indifferent. Ouch. Even though she gave me that murderous glare, I still feel a pang of sympathy for her.

But then again, he only told her to go away. At least he didn’t tell her he doesn’t even like her.

She pulls back from him slowly, as if giving him a chance to say he was just kidding. When he goes back to people watching, she shoots me one last scathing look and leaves.

I scan the room to see what Raffe is watching. The club is cozy and not as big as I’d initially thought. It has the energy of a larger place because of the boisterous crowd, but it’s more of a lounge than a modern club. My eyes are immediately drawn to a group sitting in a booth as though it is a king’s dais and they are the chosen ones.

There are certain kinds of groups who can do that: popular kids on lunch benches, football heroes at a party, movie stars at a club. There are half a dozen angels lounging in or around the booth. They’re joking and laughing, each with a drink in one hand and a glamour girl in the other. The area is thick with women. They’re either rubbing their bodies on the men to get their attention, or strutting by slowly as though they’re on a catwalk, watching the men with hungry eyes.

These angels are bigger than the others in the club—taller, beefier, with an aura of casual danger that the others don’t have. The kind of danger tigers in the wild project. They remind me of the ones we saw coming out of the club, the ones Raffe wanted to avoid.

They all wear swords with casual elegance. I imagine Viking warriors might look like that, if Vikings were clean-shaven and modernized. Their presence and attitude remind me of Raffe. He would fit in. It’s easy to visualize him sitting in the booth with that group, drinking and laughing with the gang. Well, the laughing part takes a little imagination, but I’m sure he’s capable of it.

“See that guy in the white suit?” He nods his head almost imperceptibly toward the group. He’s hard to miss. The guy is not only wearing a white suit, but his shoes, hair, skin, and wings are downy white. The only color on him is his eyes. From this distance, I can’t tell what color they are, but I’m willing to

they would be shocking up close, just in contrast with the rest of him.

I’ve never seen an albino before. I’m pretty sure that even among albinos, his total lack of color is rare. Human skin just doesn’t come in that shade. Good thing he’s not human.

He stands leaning on the edge of the round booth. He’s the guy who doesn’t quite belong. His laugh starts with a half-second lag as if he’s waiting for the cue from the rest of the guys. All the women skirt around him, careful not to get too close. He is the only one without a girl draped over him. He watches them prowling by but doesn’t reach out to any of them. There’s something about the other women avoiding him that makes me want to avoid him too.

“I need you to go over there and get his attention,” whispers Raffe. Great. I should have known. “Get him to follow you to the men’s room.”

“Are you kidding? How am I supposed to do that?”

“You’re resourceful.” His eyes roam over my tight dress. “You’ll think of something.”

“What happens in the bathroom if I get him there?” I keep my voice as low as I can. I figure if I’m loud enough for the others to hear over the roar of the club, Raffe will surely let me know.

“We convince him to help us.” He sounds grim. He doesn’t sound like he believes our chances of convincing him are great.

“What happens if he says no?”

“Game over. Mission abort.”

I probably look the way the brunette did when he told her to go away. I look at him long enough to give him a chance to say he’s joking. But there is no humor in his eyes. Why did I know that would be the case?

I nod. “I’ll get him to the bathroom. You do whatever it takes to get him to say yes.”

I push away from the wall and step out of the shadows, target in my sights.

[Anh Ngữ] Angelfall (Penryn & the End of Days) - Susan Ee (English)

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