Nightingale Girl (25 page)

I shove the door open.

The hole in the floor has been filled in with dirt, the bones of the dead effectively buried. There are scorch marks on the flooring where the Hellions and Jim burned. Noah begins wandering around the room. He stops at the back door and touches the frame before tugging the door open and looking around the backyard.

“It was strange, her scream.”

“It came from outside,” I remind him.

Noah walks toward the pile of rocks, inspecting them. “I think it came from the other side of the portal.

I close my eyes, trying to remember exactly what happened. There was screaming when the portal was in one piece. It sounded like the scream came from the back door, but the Hellion that came through was alone—covered in her blood, but alone. Noah could be right, but . . .

“I destroyed the portal.” I glance at the broken rocks.

“So we rebuild it.” Noah bends and starts sorting through the debris.

We pile the stones, lining up the black markings like a giant puzzle. An arch begins to take shape.

“We’re going to be in deep shit for this.” I wipe sweat off the back of my neck, remembering all those nights Sparrow came to me exhausted. “The Council members already hate me. Putting this back together will give them one more reason—”

“To what? Hate you a little more? You’ve never cared about assholes like that before, Meg. Why start now?”

I shrug, lifting a heavy piece of rock. “I thought once I found out who I really was, life would get easier.”

“Life doesn’t get easier when you find yourself. It’s just new shit for you to doubt.” Noah works with drive. “And who cares? If we find Nightingale, it’s worth it.”

When the arch is finally complete, we stand back.

“What do we do now?” I ask.

“Walk through it?” he suggests.

Unease settles in my gut. “Remind me again why I’m doing this?”

“Because you brought sweet innocent Nightingale to Hell, and now she’s missing.”

“Dick.” I take a step.

Noah grabs my hand, and we leap through the portal.

We are on the earthen plane; I recognize the cabin clear as day. It’s just like I remember it, just like I decorated it a year ago. That was back when I was pregnant, when I was weaker and too afraid to leave Jim.

I turn to Noah. He’s transparent. I reach out to touch his arm, but my fingers go straight through.

“Hey.” Noah moves away from me. “That kind of tickles.” He glances at my face. “What’s wrong?”

“I can see straight through you.”

Noah shrugs as though he couldn’t care less. “I’m dead, remember?”

Things are different on the earthen plane; I remember that much from the last time I was here with Sparrow. Angel wings can’t be seen, the dead are invisible, and Hellions simply resemble really bad convicts.

There’s blood on the floor underneath our feet. We look like we’re standing in the middle of a horror movie.

“I’m suddenly thinking that this wasn’t such a good idea.” I lift my foot, leaving behind a nearly perfect impression of my boot print in the sticky blood. I crouch down to inspect it closer. “It’s been days. This should be dry. Shouldn’t it?”

Noah studies the pool of red for a moment. “Or maybe there was just too much of it to dry up.”

I stand straight. I’m not sure how much blood runs through an Angel’s body, but I know this is much more than I was drained of the first time Jim tried to kill me.

“We should probably get out of here,” Noah suggests.

I walk across the room, trying not to leave any more footprints.

Noah reaches for the door, but the handle slides through his hand each time he tries to grasp it. “Damn.”

I grab the knob. “Going to be kinda hard to be a manservant if you can’t even open a door here.”

As I pull the door open, a black feather flutters down. I catch it in my hand. Small, downy, and soft.

“It’s Nightingale’s,” Noah says.

“I suppose you’d know.”

I shove the feather into my pocket and leave the cabin. There’s a beat-up old Mustang parked in the gravel driveway. A car I don’t remember Jim owning, but there was a lot he was doing without my knowledge.

“Let’s take the car.”

“You’re awful bossy for a dead guy.” I walk to the driver’s side.

While I’m buckling my seat belt, Noah is trying to paw through the vehicle, looking for the keys. His hands slide through everything he touches.

I flip down the sun visor, and a key drops into my lap.

“Good.” Noah looks relieved. “I think we should start in Gouverneur.”

“I don’t want to go there,” I reply.

“I think she’s there. I think Nightingale is there.”

“What makes you so sure?” I start the engine.

Noah pauses before he says, “We have a connection.”

I shift the car into gear and back out onto the road, noticing that the crunch of gravel is softer here—not as sharp of a sound as in Hell.

“What kind of a connection?”

Noah hesitates.

“Just tell me already.”

“She can access the astral plane.”

“So?”

Noah scoffs. “The place of spirits and dreams. Nightingale can travel into your dreams. She can travel across the astral plane.”

I shake my head, not making the connection.

“When you’re done with me and my soul goes back to the astral plane, Nightingale can still visit me. I won’t be alone. You don’t know what it’s like there. The loneliness . . . it’s exponential.”

I grip the steering wheel. I don’t want Noah to leave me. Ever.

“So, you’re in love with an Angel?” I mock.

“Just like you.”

I speed up and ignore him. I was in love with an Angel. Sappy puppy love that twisted into a sick fuckedupness. I’m not sure where Sparrow and I stand anymore. And I can’t really think about him right now.

. . .

It’s night by the time we reach the US border. Good thing, too; there’s no line.

I don’t slow down.

“What are you doing?” Noah asks.

“I left my ID in Hell.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah.”

“Don’t do it,” Noah warns.

I gun it. Put the pedal to the metal and blast through customs.

“Meg!” Noah’s screaming at me. “Don’t do it!”

“Shut up, Noah!” I’m screaming back, and the guy in the shack is watching me wide-eyed, picking up a phone to call for help. And I’m sure the cameras are going to show that it looks like I’m screaming at myself.

“Border Patrol is going to be on our asses faster than a fly on cake.” Noah is fidgeting, twisting to look behind us.

“Can’t you do something?” I ask him. “You’re a ghost, for Christ’s sake. Don’t you have some special ghost power here on Earth?”

“Lucifer altered my astral magic when he tethered our souls.” Noah twists the other way and looks out the passenger window. “I can’t do much unless it involves you.”

“Involves me what?”

“Getting hurt or threatened.”

“So, like, if someone tried to arrest me? Forcefully?”

Noah glares. “Yes.”

“Good.” I press my foot down harder on the gas pedal.

Thelma and Louise got nothin’ on Meg and Noah.

I take the back roads, weave along Route 12, turn sharp onto 26, turn again onto another dirt road that will lead me to 37, then South Hammond to 3. I stay on Route 3 for a good long while.

“Surprised the cops haven’t caught up with us yet,” Noah says.

“Maybe there is a God,” I mock as I turn onto Route 10, drive around Yellow Lake, then turn on to 58 and follow it straight to Gouverneur.

“I don’t want to be in this town.” I slow my speed and come to a stop at the light.

“There’s something here. Jim’s fake dad on the earthen plane knew about what was going on.”

“And?” I’m annoyed. That guy is a jerk. Jim’s stand-in father was a Watcher, an escapee from down under who raises a Hell child on Earth.

“We should find the Watcher. He has to know something.”

. . .

I pull up in front of a large old Greek revival. This is the sheriff’s house, Jim’s fake father, the man who raised him on the earthen plane. Thinking back, I never really liked the guy. The sheriff before him was pleasant enough—seemed to enjoy arresting me as a kid. Thought he was teaching me something. But when that sheriff left and this one came along, things changed; the guy acted like he couldn’t stand the sight of me. Made that well known when Jim knocked me up and dragged me back.

I get out of the car and wait for Noah on the sidewalk. He tries the door handle a few times before giving up and sliding through the side of the car.

“Took you long enough to figure it out.”

“Hey, this is my first time here as a spirit,” Noah says. “Give me a break.”

“Like a wee baby learning to crawl.”

“Sorry if I’m not living up to your expectations.”

I head for the front door and notice the sheriff’s cruiser in the driveway. I knock.

“You going to come in with me?” I ask Noah.

“You going to stop talking to a ghost? Pretty soon people are going to think you’re crazy, talking to no one.” He motions around me. “Invisible man here.”

The door’s flung open, and the sheriff is standing there, shirt untucked, looking like we woke him from a nap.

“You,” he sneers.

“You.” I smile.

The sheriff glances at Noah. His hand disappears to the side of the door, like he’s reaching for something.

“I think—” Noah starts, but the sheriff throws a handful of white dust at him. A piece hits my bottom lip. Foolishly, I taste it. Salt. Noah disappears in wisps of what he was, till there’s nothing.

The sheriff grabs my arm and yanks me into his house. Just as the door closes, I notice the thick line of white around the house. I saw this in a movie before; spirits can’t pass the lines of salt.

There goes my manservant.

The sheriff slams the door closed, then pushes me so hard I stumble backward, landing on the couch. The TV is on, and plastered across the screen is my blurry image. Me screaming as I plowed through customs. Next comes an image of the blood-soaked cabin. Didn’t take them long to make that connection. Only a few hours. For all the shit I give Canada, they’re faster at making connections than the American police. Good for them, bad for me.

“Always knew you’d grow up to be a convict.” The sheriff locks the front door, pulls a revolver from a drawer, and aims it at me. “Your kind ain’t supposed to be here.” He cocks the hammer. “Figured you’d come looking for that leggy brunette. Jim warned me.” He kicks a stool away from a rocking chair and sits in front of me. “Girl was dressed like a stripper.”

I swallow hard, glancing around to see what I could use to defend myself. The cool metal of the blade strapped to my thigh begs for my touch, but that would be obvious. He’d shoot me in a second. There’s a lamp nearby, a heavy book . . .

“Ah, ah, ah.” The sheriff tips his revolver. “Hands up. I remember your sneaky ways. Guy before me warned me about you. Now, what am I going to—”

Someone walks into the room from the kitchen. I turn—recognize the black suit, white Roman collar, the plain face, light-brown hair, and thick eyebrows. If I saw this guy in public, I’d look right past him. Plainer than plain. It’s a Deacon.

He stands in the threshold between rooms, staring at me like some creeper. A smile spreads across his thin lips. Looks like a man who just won the lotto. He blesses himself with the sign of the cross, forehead to chest, shoulder to shoulder, his fingertips traveling as he whispers a prayer.

“Where is she?” I ask.

The sheriff smiles.

The Deacon steps farther into the room. “You slither here from Eden? Last we heard, you went back to the heavens to stay with your father.”

“Last I heard, your kind were banished to Hell.”

“Jim got me out. Said he had a plan.”

“Jim’s dead, fuckface.”

The Deacon frowns. “We’ve been warned about you.”

“Don’t care what you heard. I’m just searching for a friend.”

The Deacon pauses. “The Angel girl.” His thin brows rise with interest.

“Bet you’d get a good bounty off her,” I say.

The Deacon seems to contemplate it for a moment.

My blurry picture flashes across the television screen again.

“I can help you find her.” The Deacon crosses the room and grabs a jacket off a chair. “Since you can’t leave without going to prison, wait for me to return.”

I relax against the couch cushions. The sheriff lowers his pistol. I was told to never trust a Deacon, but since I’m stuck on the earthen plane with my ability to travel between realms gone, I’ll take all the help I can get.

The Deacon leaves.

“Where’s he going?” I ask.

“Bet you’d love to know.” The sheriff holsters his weapon.

. . .

Sparrow

Sparrow stood alone in the Hellion lair, his back bleeding from being raked across the forests of Hell. It was taking too long to heal. Nearly two days had passed, and Sparrow could still feel the blood oozing down his back and legs. Jim had warned Sparrow about this: drinking old blood made him weak. Now, he couldn’t even attempt to defend himself against Vine.

Sparrow had been suspended by the chains in the middle of the room, waiting. The invisible collar tightened around his neck, and Sparrow could barely breathe.

“There will be punishment for the death of my son,” Vine promised.

Sparrow couldn’t see the Demon, but his voice permeated the room.

“Your mixed-blood abomination is going to pay.” Vine made himself visible.

Sparrow remembered the way Jim looked before he and Gabriel had tried to kill him. Fair skinned and blond haired—deceiving for a Demon. Vine was nearly identical.

He smiled at Sparrow. Wicked, sharp teeth appeared.

“Your girl ruined decades of planning. You know how hard it is to work under the thumb of Lucifer? His pesky daughter sticking her snout in everyone’s business?” Vine thumbed his nose in disgust. “That portal was our chance for escape.” Vine crossed the room and took a whip from the wall of weapons. “That portal was our chance for control.”

Vine snapped the whip against the floor. A threat if Sparrow ever saw one.