A Gift of Wings (20 page)

“Will you teach me that—when you and Malachi train me to fight?”

He grinned down at her. “That and a whole lot more,” he promised.

***

They found Mo and Eric standing in front of the country club with Mo’s mother and stepfather. The latter was holding a towel-wrapped bag of ice to his face, while Mo’s mother patted him and offered words of comfort.

“How is he?” Lucky asked as she stepped up close to Mo.

“He’ll be alright,” her friend answered, “but we think his nose is broken.” Lowering her voice so that only Lucky could hear, she added, “I can’t say I’m too concerned, since I’ve wanted to break it myself often enough.”

She handed Lucky the wrap she had retrieved from her chair. “What happened to you anyway? I looked all over for you and couldn’t find you anywhere. Did you go after Aidan to ‘get some air,’ after all?”

As Lucky folded the wrap about herself, her mud-stained, scraped hands caught Mo’s attention. Eyes narrowing, she took in Lucky’s messy hair and the stains on her dress. “Are you alright? Did he do this to you?” Her voice was filled with concern and the seeds of righteous anger.

“No!” Lucky gasped. “It was nothing like that. Aidan didn’t do anything to me. We went for a walk, and I fell.” Her lips twisted in a self-deprecating smile. “You know what I’m like in heels.”

Mo said nothing, but Lucky could tell she wasn’t satisfied with the story. “Really, Mo. You don’t need to worry about Aidan.” Then she added for good measure, her voice ringing with the truth of her words, “He was a perfect—angel.”

CHAPTER 13

When they arrived back at Mo’s apartment, Eric and Aidan waited outside while Lucky went inside with Mo. Moving as quietly as she could, so as not to wake Mo’s father, Lucky washed her hands and face and changed out of her mud-stained dress. She sighed as she folded the garment and tucked it into her backpack, wondering if the cleaners would be able to get out the stains. Mo waved away her offers to clean the borrowed shoes, saying she’d take care of them the next day. In only a few minutes, Mo was standing in the open apartment door as Lucky stepped out onto the landing to make her departure.

“I actually had a good time tonight,” Mo said. “Go figure. I guess my mom was right about this one.” Grinning, she added, “Seeing Gerald get his nose punched was icing on the cake.”

Lucky chuckled softly. “I’m glad he wasn’t seriously hurt. What was the fight about anyway?”

Mo shrugged. “Nobody could figure that out. Gerald said he didn’t even know the man. I guess the guy just started yelling at him for some reason, and then he started throwing punches. Weird, huh?”

“Yeah,” Lucky sighed. “You can say that again.” Blowing a laughing kiss at her friend, she headed down the stairs.

When she stepped outside, Eric was nowhere to be seen, and Aidan was lounging against the brick half-wall at the bottom of the stairs, his fingers tucked into the pockets of his jeans. His eyes caught and held hers as she came down the stairs toward him.

Neither of them said a word as they walked slowly to his motorcycle.

“I’ll give you a ride home,” Aidan said, handing Lucky the helmet she had worn earlier.

She strapped the helmet on and told him where she lived as she climbed on behind him. Sliding her arms around him, she locked her hands at his waist and leaned into the strength of his back on the all-too-short ride home.

Aidan cut the engine in front of her building, and Lucky slipped off the seat, unstrapping the helmet and holding it out to him. Still straddling the bike, he took the helmet from her and turned it over and over in his hands. His eyes on the rotating helmet, he said, “I don’t like leaving you alone, but you should be safe. I don’t think he’ll try anything else tonight.”

“Do you know who he was?” she asked.

Raising his eyes to meet hers, he shook his head. “No. And, before you ask, I don’t know why he’s after you.” Those blue eyes held responsibilities beyond his years and a deep sadness she didn’t understand. “I’ll talk to Zeke and the others. See what we can find out.”

She nodded.

“Let me see your phone.”

Retrieving the requested item from her backpack, she placed it in his outstretched hand. After a few moments, he returned it to her. “I’ve added my number. Call me if you need me.”

Again, she nodded. Giving him a smile made of equal parts worry and reluctance to leave him, she turned toward the stairs, only to be halted as he called her name.

Reversing her steps, Lucky watched as Aidan fumbled at the back of his neck. Then he held out his hand toward her. Dangling from his fingers was something that glinted in the glow cast by the streetlights. When she took it from him, she saw that it was a gold amulet—a dragon, raised in relief against a stylized sun. The metal was warm from having lain against his skin.

“Put it on,” he said. He waited until she had slipped the chain around her neck before he continued. “It’s an object of power that was given to me by my father. I’ve worn it so long it’s almost a part of me. As long as you’re wearing it, I’ll have a sense of your location, and if you’re in danger, I’ll sense that too.” One corner of his mouth lifted in a half-smile. “It’s not exactly voicemail, but I’ll get the message.”

“Thank you,” she said. “I know it must be important to you, and it means a lot that you’re letting me use it.” She grinned. “Don’t worry. I’ll give it back to you soon. Once you and Malachi teach me all your fighting strategies, I won’t need it anymore.”

“There’s no hurry,” he said, a smile crinkling the corners of his blue eyes. “By the way, the band has a gig tomorrow night. Want to come?”

“Sure, that would be great.” She cast him an inquisitive look. “How do you manage this weird double life of singer-songwriter and avenging angel?”

He chuckled as he shrugged. “I’m not really sure. I’ve never been both at the same time before. I’ll let you know how it works out.” As he was speaking, he strapped on his helmet. “I’ll call you tomorrow,” he said, starting the engine.

With a wave, Lucky turned and walked up the stairs and into the building. He waited until she was inside before he pulled away.

When she slipped into her room, Lucky found Shu and Tef settled in the exact center of her bed. After brushing her teeth and changing into her pajamas, she was about to switch off the light and do battle with the cats to stake her own claim, when the statue of Michael, which she had placed on the bookshelf opposite the bed, caught her eye. She stared at the dragon under the angel’s foot, her fingers rising to touch the outline of the dragon on the amulet Aidan had given her. Looking around the room, she considered for a moment. Then she walked to the bookshelf, picked up the statue, and carried it over to the room’s lone window. Only after placing the statue on the windowsill did she turn out the light and climb into bed.

The cats meowed in protest as she squirmed under the covers and positioned herself between them. Snuggling her tired and bruised body into the bed’s softness, she sighed with relief. Her hand moved again to the amulet around her neck, and she realized that she did feel safe. Michael guarded the window, and Aidan was right beside her. That sense of his closeness stayed with her as she drifted into sleep.

***

When Aidan reached Lake Shore Drive and headed north toward the Gold Coast, he cranked the accelerator well beyond the regulation 45 mph speed limit. He laughed out loud as the wind of his passage whipped around him. There was definitely something to be said for speeding down the highway straddling a machine boasting 162 horsepower. Not that he wasn’t grateful he could motivate under his own wing power again, but he loved his Ducati. It had satisfied his need for speed for the two years he had been wingless, and he had no intention of giving it up now that the wings were back. Those flaming flight providers were a part of his being; his Ducati, well, that was a toy. Besides, sometimes it came in handy, like today, when he was able to give Lucky a lift.

As his thoughts turned to the girl, his brows drew together in a frown. He really did believe she’d be safe tonight. Whoever the Dark One was, creating and controlling those shadow boys would have cost him quite a bit of power, and he’d need some time to recharge his metaphysical batteries. Plus, Aidan had given her the Light-Bringer’s Medallion, which would provide him with the necessary bare bones information—
I need your help; here’s where I am—
should she be in trouble. What he hadn’t told her was that it would also offer her some strength and protection in and of itself. The amulet emitted a kind of energetic net that merged with the wearer’s own energy field, enhancing his or her own natural powers. His not wearing it meant he’d be a bit more vulnerable now than he would have been with it around his neck, but there was no question that she needed the protection more than he did.

Aidan sped through the overpass around the museum campus and, weaving between a few cars, shot up past Navy Pier and reluctantly decelerated to slip onto the Oak Street exit. Traversing the few blocks to his building, he entered the parking garage and eased the bike into its spot. A short elevator ride later and he was inside his own space, trying not to trip over the vibrating ferret that was weaving figure eights around his ankles.

After filling Harley’s bowls with food and water, he hung up his jacket, removed his boots and socks, and poured himself a scotch. He raised the glass to his lips as he walked across the cool marble tiles toward the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the night city. Catching the reflection of the baby grand in the window glass, he hesitated for a second and then changed course.

He stood beside the piano for a few moments, a muscle working in his jaw, before he set the glass down on its sleek surface and seated himself on the bench, where he sat for several moments more, head down, hands clenched around the bench’s edge. Finally, heaving a sigh, he lifted his fingers to the keys and lightly stroked a few. A perfect minor D broke the silence. He played through the first chords of the “Lacrimosa” from Mozart’s
Requiem
, and then let his hands fall back to rest on his thighs. He picked up the scotch and threw back the remaining contents, before placing the empty glass on the piano. The hand that returned to rest against the keys trembled.

Gods, he missed his mother. The piece had been a favorite of hers. She had taught him to play it on the piano when he was only ten. Tears filled his eyes as his right hand repeatedly fingered a few notes. Sometimes the weight of her loss—and his own guilt—was still almost more than he could bear. This world in which he lived, the one he’d just returned to, was not meant for humans. Involvement in it had cost his mother dearly.

Visions of her broken and bleeding body still haunted his nightmares. And always they carried with them the knowledge that he was responsible—that his recklessness and arrogance had caused her death. He remembered kneeling over her, staring in silent horror, beyond speech, beyond tears, beyond grief. Everything in him had screamed in agony, but no sounds had passed his lips other than those made by his ragged breathing.

It was Zeke who had finally drawn him away from her, as it was Zeke who had stood by his side at the funeral ceremony and, later, at the formal hearing, where his brother, as his Captain, stripped him of his rank, demoting him to the Fallen equivalent of foot soldier. A few days later, in front of Zeke, Lucifer, and the other members of the Allied Council, Aidan had taken his punishment further, resigning his commission in the Forces and formally renouncing his wings. Against his wishes, Zeke had intervened and petitioned the Council to make the Renunciation temporary, a request they had readily granted.

When he had walked out of the council chamber that day, Aidan had had no intention of ever returning, and he had been bitterly angry with Zeke for refusing to grant him permanent Renunciation. He had taken up residence in the condo his mother had owned, and which she had left to him, and proceeded to empty it of almost all her possessions, except for some photographs and keepsakes and the baby grand that had been her pride and joy. This living space had been selected and designed to be both his refuge and his personal emotional torture chamber.

His left hand joining his right on the piano keys, Aidan played another few bars of the “Lacrimosa.” He originally intended to stop there, but, almost of their own volition, his fingers continued to stroke the keys until he had played the piece through to the end. As the last notes faded from the nearly empty room, he bowed his head. He remained in that position for several moments. Then, taking a deep breath, he rose to his bare feet and retrieved his empty glass, which he half-filled again, before walking slowly down the hall to his bedroom.

Discarding his battle-stained clothes, he moved into the bath and turned on the shower. After giving the water a moment or two to warm, he stepped under the hot spray, allowing it to wash away not only the niggling aches and pains from the evening’s battle, but also some of the anguish of the memories he had carried for the past few years. Tonight was the first time he had been able to play the “Lacrimosa” in its entirety since his mother’s death. And while the pain of her loss and the role he had played in it still felt like a constricting band around his heart, he felt as if that band had loosened a notch or two, as if he had somehow turned an emotional corner. He had no illusions that his past was entirely behind him, but he realized that the last two years—even the last few days—had changed him. He was being given a second chance, and he was determined to do his best to meet the challenges ahead of him—including keeping Lucky safe.