A Gift of Wings (44 page)

“Let’s get you cleaned up then, shall we?” he said, gathering her gently in his arms. She groaned as he lifted her, her aches and pains springing back to sudden life.

“I’m sorry,” he apologized.

She rested her head against his shoulder. “It’s okay,” she said into his shirt. “I think some pain is unavoidable. It’s worth it to get rid of all this blood.”

She relaxed against him as he carried her into the bathroom. Settling her into a seated position on the closed toilet, he began to remove her clothing. She tried to help, but she felt so weak that she made no protest when he brushed her hands aside. She let him move her body about as he needed to, concentrating on staying upright, as he slipped her jeans and panties down her legs and unhooked her bra to slide it off her arms. When she was undressed, he stripped down to just his jeans, then picked her up again and stepped into the shower with her.

The warm water streaming over her revived her somewhat, and as Aidan stood her on her feet and leaned her back against the shower wall, bracing her with one knee on each side of her, she realized that she would probably be embarrassed when she remembered this. Right now though, she didn’t feel much of anything except relief and pleasure as the water and Aidan’s soapy hands washed the blood and dirt out of her hair and off her skin. She gasped with surprise as his hand ran over her abdomen. Pushing weakly at his hand, she looked down at her unmarked skin.

“But the sword…,” she began, looking back up at him with a puzzled frown.

“Raphael healed your wounds,” Aidan said, sliding his hand back to the spot where the wound had been.

“Oh, right. Malachi said something about that. Who is Raphael?”

“He’s another Archangel, like Uriel—though not as scary. He’s a healer. Zeke called him after you were—hurt.”

“If he healed me, why do I still feel so weak?”

“Part of it is blood loss,” he replied. He paused a moment before continuing, “And part of it is poisoning from the sword itself.”

“Poisoning?” she asked.

Aidan didn’t answer her question, but repositioned her so he could soap her back and legs.

After he had let the shower rinse all the soap away, he bundled her up in a huge towel, carried her back into the bedroom, and set her down on the bed. Someone had changed the sheets while they were in the shower. She was sure the ones that were on the bed before must have been stained with her blood. Excusing himself, Aidan left the room, to return a few moments later having traded his wet jeans for a pair of gray sweat pants.

He was carrying a navy silk pajama top, which he helped her into, after disengaging her from the towel.

“Zeke’s,” he offered, by way of explanation.

It was only as he sat behind her, carefully drying and brushing her hair, that he returned to their earlier conversation. “The sword was made of an angelic material that is poisonous to humans, to anyone who is not at least part angel.”

“Will I get better?” she asked, feeling strangely unconcerned about the answer.

“Once you are Made Naphil, you will be immune and will heal completely.”

“Yet another reason for the Making.”

“So it seems,” Aidan sighed.

Moving from behind her, he repositioned her so that she was reclining on the bed again, her head resting on a pillow.

“Thank you,” she said, forcing her eyes open as they drifted closed.

“You’re welcome,” he responded. “Is it okay if I stay with you?”

“Yes,” she said, rolling onto her side. “S’okay.”

She was almost asleep when she felt him slide into the bed and spoon himself around her. She drifted away to the soft touch of his lips against her neck.

CHAPTER 29

When Lucky awoke, she was alone in the bed. Aidan had managed to leave without waking her. Fumbling with the overlong sleeves of Zeke’s pajama top, she pushed herself up to sitting, grateful to find that she was no longer quite as weak as she had been. Moving slowly, she stood up and, after waiting a bit to make sure she was strong enough to balance, made her way to the bathroom. Once she had used the toilet and washed her hands and face, she decided she had just enough energy to get herself back to the bed. She was sitting up, but leaning back against the pillows with the covers pulled over her legs, when the door opened.

“Good evening,” Malachi said, as he stepped inside. He was carrying a tray holding a steaming tea pot, two cups, and several other closed containers.

“You remember that I can’t eat, right?” she said with a smile.

He smiled back at her and set the tray on the bedside table. “You seem to be feeling a bit better.”

She nodded. “I’m not up to fighting off any attacking Powers, but I don’t feel quite as weak as I did.”

“Good. We have some work to do, and we do not have much time.”

He moved a chair nearer the bed, positioning it so he was within easy reach of both Lucky and the items on the tray.

The closed containers seemed to contain dried herbs of some sort. As Lucky watched, Malachi placed a pinch of the contents of each container in each of the cups, before filling the cups with hot water from the teapot. Then he sat back in his chair.

“Now, I want you to relax,” he said. “Close your eyes. Take deep, slow breaths.”

She did as he asked, relaxing into the rhythm of her breath. After a few breaths, she realized he was speaking again, in a language she didn’t know, but which sounded familiar somehow. It took her a few more breaths to remember where she’d heard it before. Although she didn’t understand the words, the rhythm and intonation were like those of the language Aidan had spoken the night he changed the wards on his apartment to allow Sambethe access.

Malachi paused his chanting to speak to her again in English. “Open your senses, Lucky. Allow your powers to work.”

She obeyed, activating her powers bit by bit, while he resumed the chant. Senses open, she could see the words he spoke spiraling around her, letters of fire in an unknown alphabet but somehow familiar. She felt as if she were on the verge of being able to read the circling words, but their meanings kept eluding her, their secrets stored away just beyond her reach. She frowned in concentration, pushing her senses farther in an attempt to grasp that which was hidden.

“Do not struggle so.”

The English words were oddly muffled, as though she had cotton in her ears, but she recognized Malachi’s deep voice. Then she realized with some surprise that she could still hear him speaking the other words, the ones that were circling her, the ones she could almost, but not quite, understand. She focused on one word in particular. If only she could read at least one of them. Perhaps that would be the key to unlocking the mystery of the rest.

“Lucky.” Again that muffled voice, and with it the realization that Malachi was speaking the English words inside her head. “You do not need to understand the words. Just let them in.”

She did her best to comply, softening her gaze so she couldn’t even see the fiery words as distinctly. But the desire to understand, to know, kept goading her, and she found herself, almost against her will, concentrating on a single word, her mind pushing against the locked door of its meaning, mental fingers feeling for a way in.

Then Malachi spoke in her head once more. “Hear me, Lucky. You do not need to understand. Relax, breathe, and let them in.”

Taking a deep breath, Lucky closed her eyes, so she could no longer see the spiraling words. Slowly, she released the desire to understand, the need to know. Opening her eyes again, she allowed herself to see the fiery letters simply as shapes, lovely calligraphy writ by fire on air. The letters spun around her, and she opened herself to their beauty and power. The sound of Malachi’s voice speaking the foreign words licked at her mind like tongues of flame.

The scent of dark herbs, spicy and pungent, filled her nose, and she felt the touch of a cup against her lips. “Drink,” commanded Malachi’s voice in her head, and she drank.

The words spun so quickly now, she felt as if she were in the center of a fiery tornado, one that was closing in on her. When the spiral was so near she could almost feel the touch of the letters as they circled her, the spinning ceased. Then the words settled onto her body, wrapping her in warmth, like a blanket, before they sank into her skin, each letter burning like a tiny cinder as it did so. Lucky felt detached from her mind and her thoughts, and her eyes closed as her awareness centered in the stinging of the letters on her skin.

“Now,” said Malachi, the English words falling on her ears instead of into her head, “we wait. Let your spirit call your Makers. Do not try to force anything. They will come to you as they are called.”

The stinging of her skin intensified until Lucky longed for a pool of cool water to quench the myriad tiny sparks. Then the burning sank through her skin, through her muscles, and into her bones—and a stillness deeper than any she had ever known settled around her like drifting snow. She opened her eyes, and it was as if that stillness had blanketed the world: she was alone in a field of undifferentiated white, blankness stretching out in all directions. She drifted in the white void, waiting for whoever—or whatever—would come to her.

After what seemed like hours, but could have been a matter of minutes, something began to take form in front of her, like a film coming into focus on a screen. As the image took shape, she saw that it was G-Ma as she had been during Lucky’s last visit to the assisted living facility, in those moments of clarity when she had recognized Lucky and they had been able to talk.

“G-Ma,” Lucky said, reaching toward the image, but it shifted and changed, flashing to a scene of her grandmother and herself on that fateful evening when they had realized G-Ma could no longer live in the apartment but had to be moved to assisted living. Lucky had held her grandmother, comforting her as best she could. Tears rose to her eyes as she witnessed the scene from the outside, seeing her own arms around her grandmother, the older woman’s head pillowed on her shoulder.

Then the scene shifted again, showing a much younger Lucky cradled in G-Ma’s arms. The child she had been was laughing as she looked up into the smiling face of her grandmother, who had eyes only for the granddaughter on whom she had lavished a world of love.

“Oh, G-Ma,” Lucky choked, tears streaming down her face, “I miss you so much.”

The image faded away, and Lucky stared at the place where it had been, wondering if she would ever stop grieving her grandmother’s loss.

Then, into the midst of her grief, came memories of G-Ma holding her, laughing with her, teaching her to cook or throw a pot, and telling her she loved her. G-Ma’s voice filled her head in a rushing chorus of “I love you, Lucky,” and “Lucky, I love you.” Fresh tears followed the tracks down Lucky’s cheeks as she was enveloped in her grandmother’s loving presence. She closed her eyes and let the sense of G-Ma’s love sink through her skin and into her bones like Malachi’s fiery words.

Lucky had no idea how long she rested in that tender place before she became aware of another presence near her. She opened her eyes and nearly screamed aloud. Standing only a few feet away, lashing its thick tail, was a massive dragon. Its scales were mingled green and gold, and huge dark green wings flared from its back. Lucky gasped as the creature reared up on its hind legs and roared, flame spouting from its open jaws. When it settled down to the ground, its great head resting on its curled front feet, much like a cat, its wings trailing away on either side, Lucky had an absurd desire to pat its head. Before she had time to think better of the action, she had covered the distance between herself and the beast and rested her right hand between its eyes.

The creature’s large gold irises with their cat-like pupils were on a level with Lucky’s head. As her hand stroked back over the smooth, dry scales, those eyes closed, and the dragon began to shrink until it fit into the palm of Lucky’s now upturned hand. It continued to shrink as it climbed up her arm, onto her shoulder, and down her chest to disappear with a flash of golden light into the Light-Bringer’s Medallion resting on her breastbone. The amulet heated until Lucky feared it might burn her, before cooling to a temperature that no longer caused her discomfort, but was warm enough to make it impossible for her to forget the medallion’s presence against her skin.

No sooner had the dragon disappeared into the amulet, than another large shape appeared before her. Lucky recognized the statue of the
lamassu
and, without surprise, watched it morph into her friend and mentor as she saw him when her senses were wide open—multiple pairs of lapis blue wings surrounding a form perpetually shifting from man to bull to lion to eagle and back to man again. Then the Cherub settled into his more familiar human form, clad in khakis and a white button-down shirt, his long wheat-blond hair pulled back from his temples. Only now, three pairs of blue wings extended from his back and curved inward at their ends. He reached out his hand toward her, and she saw that he was holding a china tea cup. She took it from him and raised it to her lips. The contents slid down her throat like warm honey, filling her with a sense of safety. As Zeke’s form began to fade, she had the sense of being enveloped in the protective embrace of his great blue wings.