Her Black Wings (The Dark Amulet Series Book 1) (18 page)

CHAPTER

FIFTY-ONE

Amalya

Elliott…please…

Amalya closed her eyes in the woods and opened them inside the angel’s bedroom. Elliott lay on the bed. She went to his side, sobbing.

“Amalya, are you crying?”

Her lower lip quivered. “Y-y-yes.”

He reached up and turned on the bedside lamp. “Jesus. What happened?”

“My wing…I think it’s broke.”

Elliott threw the covers back, jumped out of bed, and caught her just as her strength drained.

He laid her limp body down on her stomach. He smoothed his hand over the feathers, feeling for a hot spot, even though the break was obvious.

Amalya whimpered, trying to lift her head.

“Hey…stay still. I can set this, but I need you to do something. And you’re not going to like it.”

Noises came from the bathroom as Elliott rummaged through the cabinets under the sink. He came back shortly and put something next to her on the bed. Kneeling down on the floor so he was eye level with her, he stroked her arm.

“Remember I said I need you to do something for me.” He paused until she grunted her understanding. “I need you to open your wings. But I’ll help you. Let me know when you’re ready.”

“Okay,” she whispered. As soon as she flared her wings, she cried out.

“Oh, sweetheart. I know it hurts.” The angel supported the weight of the fractured bone, making it a tiny bit easier. “Just a little further…there that’s it.”

Amalya cried for another reason too. This angel who’d lost his wings…no, had them torn from his body, was still able to help her. He had not hesitated in putting his own feelings aside. He didn’t resent her, like she would have him.

“All right, I need you to take a deep breath. One. Two. Three!” He yanked on the end of her wing.

“Oh, God!” On second thought, maybe he
was
angry. Sweat seeped from her pores and her tears soaked the sheets. Her knuckles turned white as she gripped the pillow.

“Breathe, the worst part is over.” He placed what felt like a board under the wing. While not heavy, it was rigid. Then her wing was bound to the plank.

“Unfortunately, you’ll have to stay like this until it heals. Fortunately, if you’re anything like angels, it should heal by morning.”

I’m not an angel.

CHAPTER

FIFTY-TWO

Hazel

“Tell me again why we’re doing this?” Hazel asked her mother, Genevieve Stevens.

“Because Grandma asked me to help get her house ready to be put on the market, that’s why,” her mother replied.

“You don’t have to be so testy about it.”

Hazel was helping her mother box up her grandma’s personal belongings. The movers had come and gone, taking the heavy stuff to a storage facility. If
Storage Wars
ever did a show in Michigan, that unit with all her grandma’s stuff would go for thousands. What was left was mostly photo albums and the silverware, which Genevieve was taking. Hazel hoped her mom didn’t think she would want the flatware for when she got married.

Hazel couldn’t pretend to be upset about the move. Her grandma had always nitpicked at Genevieve, and Hazel didn’t like it. She hadn’t noticed the constant criticism when she was younger, but now that she was in her twenties, she saw how her grandma treated her mother.

“Come on, Hazel, these boxes won’t pack themselves.”

She exhaled slowly. “Relax, Mom.”

Genevieve continued to shove items into the boxes laid out on the kitchen counter without looking at them. Her mother wanted to be through with this chore as much as Hazel did. She wrapped a collection of glass and porcelain roses in newspaper and listened to the sounds of her mother placing photo albums into the crates. Loose pictures and photo files were tossed on the top. Abruptly, the noise stopped.

“Oh!” her mom gasped.

When Hazel turned, her mother had her hand over her heart. She stared at a piece of paper in her other hand.

“What is it?” Hazel asked as she approached, not expecting her mom to have tears in her eyes. “Mom? What’s wrong?”

Leaning forward, Hazel caught a glimpse of what her mother held. A photograph. From her angle, she couldn’t make out who the subject was. “What are you looking at?”

Her mother inhaled through her nose. “Oh, nothing, just a picture of my sister. I thought Grandma threw all these out. Amalya, your aunt…s-she um…”

“Yeah, you told me, I know. She died.” Hazel wasn’t sure how to comfort her mother. The woman never got emotional.

“She…” Genevieve took a deep breath. Tears rolled down her cheeks.

“What is it, Mom?”

“She was murdered. I never told you that.” Genevieve sniffled.

“How long ago was that again?”

“About twenty years ago, right before spring. I dunno…” She put a hand up to her temple and rubbed it with the tips of her fingers.

“What happened?” Hazel couldn’t believe her mother was finally telling her how her aunt had died. Not even her grandma talked about it.

“Well, I don’t know exactly. There was a survivor…he was a little kid. He wasn’t much help. He talked about demons and…God. It was nuts really, but it looked like she was hitchhiking.” She sighed. “I don’t know if she was involved with this man, or what happened. They both were dead at the scene. He’d been run over and she’d been shot. I don’t know exactly, but I guess that she saved that little boy. I like to think that.”

Genevieve closed her eyes for a second. She stuck the photo back into a gold envelope, wiped her eyes, and finally looked up at her daughter with a fake smile.

Hazel returned her mother’s smile. At that moment, she realized her mother was still a young woman. Genevieve was only in her mid-forties. Her hair hadn’t grayed and she was still in good shape. No wonder people always mistook Hazel for her mother. She thought of the girl she’d met at the club.

“I think she saved that kid too.”

“What?”

“I just think it’s a good idea to think of your sister in a positive light. Remember the good, not the bad. Even if you don’t know if it’s true or not.”

Her mother nodded. “Me too. I did love her…I never told her I loved her.” Her voice cracked.

There were lots of things Hazel could say right now, although nothing sounded like the right thing.

Genevieve put the gold packet into a box then started taping the lids closed.

“Oh, this might cheer you up. I ran into one of your former students at Eternity.”

“And I’m supposed to know what Eternity is?”

“Just some club. It doesn’t matter, that’s not the point,” Hazel waved dismissively and received a raised eyebrow in return. “Anyway, she said to tell you she was okay. Her name, if you can believe it, was Amalya.”

Her mother’s eyes widened. “I never had a student with that name. I would have remembered that.”

“Well, now that I think about it, I may have assumed she was a student of yours. Hmm. Don’t you know
anyone
by that name?”

“It’s not a very common name, Hazel.”

“Yeah, I can relate.”

“Are you sure she said her name was Amalya, not Amanda? I knew an Amanda. She was a good student.”

“Does she have black hair? Or wear stripper heels?”

“Blonde…”

“Huh? Well maybe she dyed it.”

“Doubtful, and she wasn’t the type to wear heels and people don’t change.”

“People can change.”

“Yeah, I guess. Hasn’t been my experience, though.”

Hazel took the other tape gun, pulled the end of the tape out in a long strip, and placed it over the center of one of the box flaps. She did this three more times until she met her mother at the one that remained unsealed. The gold packet lay on the top of several photo albums. She wondered why her mother thought her grandma would throw out pictures of her own daughter.

“Mom, how come Grandma doesn’t talk about Amalya…like, ever?”

Her mother sighed. “It’s a long story. My sister was younger than me by about three years. She was a bratty child. Treated our parents like crap. Nothing was ever good enough for her. Never satisfied. One night they got into a huge fight and Amalya walked out. I wasn’t there, so I don’t know what the argument was about.”

“And that’s it?”

“Pretty much. She contacted me the day she was killed.” Her mother’s eyes misted over again. “I told her about you. She was your age when she…” Genevieve didn’t finish her sentence. Instead she picked up the pouch with her sister’s picture and handed it to Hazel.

Hazel opened the flap. There were four pictures and a letter addressed to Amalya in her grandma’s handwriting. She looked at one of the pictures and gasped. “Oh my God!”

“What’s wrong?”

Trembling, Hazel covered her mouth with a hand. The girl staring back at her out of a school picture was a younger version of the girl she’d met at Eternity. She knew it was her without a doubt in her mind. “H-how old was she when this was taken?”

“Sixteen. Junior year. What is it, Hazel?”

“This is her. I know it. This is
her
!” Hazel said, practically jumping up and down.

Her mother gestured for her daughter to relax by tamping down the air with her hands. “Calm down, her who?”

“The girl I saw at Eternity. She ran up to me, she thought I was you.” Hazel flipped over another picture, gaping.

“That’s not possible.”

“Mom, I swear.” Hazel’s eyes were big as saucers.

Shaking her head, Genevieve said, “She’s been dead for over twenty years. If she were still alive, which she’s not, she’d be forty-two years old.” Genevieve looked at the ceiling and exhaled loudly.

“I know what I saw.” Hazel packed up the pictures and the letter. When her mom wasn’t looking she slipped one of the photographs into her back pocket. She knew some techy people who could help her out.

CHAPTER

FIFTY-THREE

Aza’zel

Okay, so he was an idiot. Aba always called him that. Now, he knew it to be true. Aza’zel paced in front of the portal to Earth. He should be doing something more important, or at least worthwhile, like carving up condemned souls. He enjoyed his work. Liked to pick his victims from the Void.

Instead, the goat was cutting a rut into the stone on the Netherworld side of the doorway to…

Heaven. Well, as close as
he’d
ever come. Not that he ever dreamed of the place until now. He blamed Elliott the Redeemer. Prior to meeting the angel, he’d been content to stay on the Netherworld side. The white haired freak hadn’t done what he’d promised—take him to Earth. However, the angel gave him the desire to overcome his fear of the unknown. Wanting to see and feel grass and trees won out. The only problem now, he wouldn’t be completely satisfied unless he found cold water.

He paused to stare at the fuzzy edges of the portal. Several years would have passed on Earth. It was too difficult to know the exact number though. His sense of time was for shit. Continuing on with the pacing, he contemplated the pros and cons of what he knew in his blackened heart he would do.

He needed cold water
.

***

Aza’zel trotted through the woods. He sensed a water source, but didn’t know where it was coming from. Panting and sweating, he zipped over the terrain. The disk above him had gone away again. In the moonlight, he saw something up ahead. A building without walls? What kind of shelter was this?

He inhaled deeply. Water was near. Using the trees as cover, he ran between them, moving closer to the strange structure. When he was only thirty or so feet away, he discovered the wall-less building wasn’t a house at all, but a roof supported by wooden pillars. Inside were tables, maybe? He crept around the building. Keeping his eyes peeled for signs of human activity, he whipped his head side to side and nearly tripped over a metal contraption sticking out of the ground. He sniffed the air.
Water.
But where was it?

A twig snapped.

He spun around to see a female human running toward him, but she wasn’t looking at him, and was therefore unaware of the beast in front of her. He pawed the dirt with a cloven hoof. Flared his nostrils. Cocked his head to the side.

The female brought her head forward only when he growled. He pushed back on his haunches then sprang forward. Her eyes widened as she came to a sudden standstill, turned, then ran. There was no screaming for help, only a slight whimper.

She ran faster than he thought she’d be able, but not fast enough. He chased her into the woods, allowing her to put some distance between them. She lost her breath and slowed. He toyed with her by staying far enough back for her to believe she could still get away. Stopping to catch her breath, she squinted. Aza’zel had ducked behind a stand of bushes, waiting. His eyesight did well in the dim lighting. If she didn’t move soon he would get bored.

Leaves rustled behind him then he heard voices. Males. One of them said, “We can hear you breathing.”

Deep chuckling on his right snapped his head around. He listened. Someone whose scent made his eyes watery panted.

“Ju-lie,” another of the males taunted. They were after the same female as Aza’zel.

The demon glanced back to her, but she was gone.

“Hey! She’s over here!” Stinky Male and his companions made their presence known. Heavy breathing, their collective stench, and the sounds of tree branches thwapping against clothing gave up their locations.

“Ju-lie…you can’t run forever!”

“Yeah, we’ll find you.”

A chorus of cackling followed.

All Aza’zel wanted was a drink of cold water, however, this was much more fun. A chubby male brought up the rear and breathed the heaviest. He would be the first to die. The goat made a wide turn then headed back in toward the fatso. “Found you,” the demon murmured, coming up behind him.

The male stopped abruptly. “Davis? Is that you?” He spun. “Ahhhh—”

Aza’zel cuffed a palm over the guy’s face, placed his other clawed hand on the back of his head and twisted.
Crunch.
The demon kicked the headless human aside as he slumped to the ground.

He found his next victim while the man was coming to check on his friend. Goat-legged demons could jump high on the vertical. Springing up, Aza’zel reached for an overhead branch and waited for his prey. He leapt down onto the man’s back, tackling him, grinding his face into the thick mud. Helpless to escape his fate, he suffocated. The demon rejoiced by jumping up and down on the man’s back, beating him into the ground. His hooves broke the man’s ribs.

“Noooo!” the female screamed. Aza’zel turned an ear toward the sound for a second to orient himself and then rushed off. He thundered over the ground in long strides, hooves kicking up clumps of earth with each determined step.

The clearing where he’d encountered his first human in the Earth realm came into view. The female knelt in the tall grass. He could see only the top of her blonde head bobbing. The last man alive stood over her with his back to Aza’zel.

The fur on his legs muffled his way through the grass. He carefully placed each hoof for minimal noise.

Schklikt, klikt.

The female protected her head with her hands. “No…please…” she begged.

“Where is it?” the human male asked though clenched teeth. He lowered the black something in his hand a smidge, clearly a weapon based on her reaction.

“I told you, I don’t have it. Please!”

The demon smelled her salty tears. He stood directly behind the man now.

“Maurice thinks you do…and so do—
awk
.”

Claws wrapped around his neck, piercing the skin, crushing the larynx. The man gasped for his last breath and collapsed. Aza’zel tore at the man’s clothing and shredded the fat and muscles of his torso, blood splattering Aza’zel’s chest and furry legs.

The female, Julie, stood gaping, her face ashen. He turned to her with a roar. A warning. Although she backed up cringing, she didn’t flee. “Pan?” she whispered.

“Why are you not running?” He beat a fist on his chest, confused by her bravery.

Backing up, she tripped over a rock and landed on the ground in a crab-walk position with her ass planted. He started toward her. She swallowed hard, reached inside her shirt, and pulled out a leather cord. An amulet dangled from her hand. “Y-you g-gave me this…”

Abruptly, the demon halted. Furrowing his brow at her, he swiped the pendant from her hand and held it up to his face. Then stared at her.
Julia…

“You are the little human female?” His voice sounded like he’d swallowed a handful of tiny stones.

“Yes, I’m Julia,” she breathed and rubbed at the scratches on the back of her hand.

“How are you so big?”

She recoiled. “I was only eight the first time we met. What’dya mean, how am I so big? I grew.”

“How much time has passed?” He knew he’d spent some time mulling over his decision to find cold water, but how long?

“You don’t know?”

“I have no real concept of time.” Even to him this sounded idiotic. He found he couldn’t look her in the eye anymore. He was a stupid goat, and well aware she no longer viewed him as a threat. Why would she?

“Haven’t you heard of a clock…or a calendar? I’m eighteen.” She stood and brushed grass and dirt off her pants.

Two days?
He’d spent two days pacing.

He paced the area around her. When he realized what he was doing, he stopped and cursed. “How come you are not afraid of me? I am not human.”

“I know, but you just saved my life.”

“I was looking for cold water. That’s what I was doing.”

“What?” she snorted out a laugh. “Cold water? Why?”

“Do you know what I am?”

“Satyr?” she said with a hopeful look on her face.

Chuckling, he said, “I don’t know what that is.”

“Then what are you?”

“Tell me why you’re not afraid first.”

“I was. Earlier, I didn’t know what you were at first in the dark. I thought maybe you were a bear. Then you—you killed all three of them, didn’t you?”

“Yes. I enjoyed their fear. It is strongest right before death.”

“Jesus,” her eyes widened. “You’re a…a demon, aren’t you?”

“Careful, Julia, I could still kill you.”

“But you won’t. I don’t know why, but you won’t,” she said shaking her head.

She
didn’t
know why, but he did. Even demons had weaknesses.