Page 39 of Wings of Torment
Sounds filter from further up the street, beckoning me forward. I step out into a street lined with buildings that look different from the houses. An angel exits a door, bag in hand, and I realize it’s a shop. The more I look, the more I notice the signs announcing produce or bread, even clothes. What the hell?
Are the Fallen expected to shop here, in their own district, instead of in the merchant district? Are they evenallowedto go elsewhere? What the fuck is happening? Mom and Dad mentioned having more to spend than they ever did before, but the more I see, the more I think it’s a gently painted facade. Someone wants to keep the Fallen sequestered, and they’re well on their way to accomplishing that goal.
Worry settles heavily in my stomach as I mentally add to the list of things I need to look into. It’s getting too fucking long.
Up ahead, a Fallen angel swoops down from the sky, landing hard and walking even more forcefully toward a door on the other side of the street. He doesn’t bother putting his wings away, nor does he go inside, but for some reason, I can’t look away.
It’s only when he starts arguing with someone inside the building that I realize what has me so captivated. In his annoyance, he shifts enough that I can see his wings full on, and it’s impossible to miss the featherless line that claws up one side. I wonder what happened to him to stop the feathers growing back. Does it affect his flying?
The longer I stare, the more my thoughts churn. Why can’t I look away from this angel? What is it about him that has me so interested?
A commotion starts, and I realize that he’s standing at another door, arguing with yet another angel. His distinctly nasal voice is hard to miss, yet I still can’t make out what he’s saying. I wonderif he was as big of a grump before the accident that harmed his wings or if that’s just a product of his misfortune.
Unperturbed, I watch on, fascinated by the scar on his wings. Then everything shifts into focus.
The man lets out a growl of words that I don’t catch before turningin my direction.
My chest heaves, heart pounding as I duck into a small alley between two shops and try to stay calm. I know why he seemed so familiar and what the small voice in my head was warning me about.
Could this be the angel Zeke saw, the one seen at the armory during the theft? But if it is, what’s he doing in the Fallen district, and why is he arguing with those shop owners?
Nothing makes sense and yet, deep down, I just know it’s him.
Now what the hell do I do?
15
Istep through a door markedstaff onlyand enter a small café. The angel behind the counter doesn’t seem bothered that I’ve just entered through the wrong door. Not that I’d care if she did. There’s absolutely zero chance I would’ve stayed in that alley and risked being caught snooping.
There are enough problems on my plate right now. I don’t need to somehow make it onto the shit list of some psycho angel dude with a superiority complex. Hard pass.
I order a hot apple cider, which the Sinful Café announces as a speciality, to blend in better but keep my eye trained on the scarred angel. He hasn’t flown off, which is odd. Does that mean he’s not done with whatever it is he’s doing in the district? Though I suppose he could just live here. He’s a Fallen, after all. But then what the hell was he doing at the scene of a demonic crime?
I take a seat near the window, pretending to flip through a magazine while I watch him walk down a side street.
Barely a few seconds tick by before I stand, determination making my legs move toward the door. I can’tnotfollow him. We have so many fucking questions now and zero answers. I’d be a fool to pass up the chance at finding any. And as afraid as I might be, the thought of being kept in the dark for even a moment longer scares me more.
Plus, it’s not like I’m an idiot. I have no intentions of confronting him. Shouting “Hey man! Tell me your name and why you were at the armory during a robbery” is more likely to get me killed than give me any answers. Especially if he kept any of the weapons he stole. But I can be careful, quiet, and at least find out where he’s going.
The cider warms me as I nonchalantly head toward the street our scarred friend just went down. If I’m caught, I can just pretend I’m new and exploring. The drink helps too. I’m only a silly schoolgirl, after all.
But the street is empty.
The further down it I go, the less civilization there is. There are no more shops, no angels in sight. Only me and my fear. It’s strange, though. I’m not just afraid of him, but of walking away from this with no information. Of letting down my friends, and even myself. How can I be so scared of a corrupt angel, and yet even more afraid that I’ve let him slip away?
As I approach the end of the street, certain I’ve lost any chance of learning something helpful, his familiar nasally voice echoes off the buildings.
“It’s a fucking disaster is what it is.”
The scarred man sounds so fucking close that I almost jump back, but stop myself before I give myself away. There’s no doorway for me to step into, only an old tarp covering whatmight be a rickety shelving unit, and I sure as hell don’t think that’ll be quiet. Shit.
In my frantic search for a place to hide, I miss the rest of the conversation, and by the time I pay attention again, things have taken a turn.
“You were supposed to be transporting the goods. Instead, I find out you’ve been blabbing to your friends.”
“Come on, Roderick. He’s trustworthy. A real loyal angel. You’ll see when he gets—” someone says, their gruff voice pleading.
“If I had to guess, you’d trust anything that had two wings and could fly. But this? Nah. What the fuck am I supposed to tell the big boss man, huh? I ain’t wanting to look bad, ya know, so here’s what we’re going to do.”
