My Fallen Angel (20 page)

She was going to die.

He’d seen such wounds before.

She was going to die.

The brown coverlet enhanced the paleness of her skin. The ragged gash on the side of her head still pulsed blood.

“’Ere cap’n.”

Garrick took the wet rag from Calico without looking up; the hand he used to wipe away Lucy’s precious blood shook with emotion. He touched her gently even though he knew she felt nothing. He wiped softly even though she would never know of his tenderness. He caressed her cheek even though she would never sense the love in his touch. Still, some part of him refused to believe it, refused to accept that Arlan would allow her to die.

“It can’t happen.”

But it could. Keeping Lucy alive had never been part of his mission.

He hadn’t known he’d spoken the words aloud until he felt Calico’s hand on his shoulder. The gesture was meant to reassure him.

It didn’t.

Garrick said nothing; he couldn’t have spoken if he’d wanted to. He felt bereft, as if she were already gone, and so guilty for letting her fall into the devil’s game for his soul.

The door to the cabin opened and Garrick glanced up.

It was Beth.

“Oh God,” she cried, rushing forward when she spied her friend. In an instant she was by her side, tears already making tracks down her cheeks. “Is she dead?” Her eyes held fear and disbelief as they gazed across at him.

He shook his head.

Beth looked back at Lucy, her face nearly as pale as her friend’s. gently, she reached to stoke the side of Lucy’s cheek. “She can’t die,” she said, her blue eyes glistening with tears.

Garrick felt his own eyes burn. Still, he tried to maintain control. He wanted to drag Lucy into his arms, to hold her to him and inhale her sweet smell, except he knew that smell would now be tainted by blood.

He watched as Beth straightened one of Lucy’s auburn curls, like a child soothing her favorite doll. The breath she took was ragged, a sound escaping from her that was half moan, half sob. Garrick looked away, but her next words forced him to look back at her again. “This is
your
fault, Garrick Wolf,” she spat out. The tearscame faster now, the words gasped out. “If you hadn’t broken her heart, this would never have happened. She loved you.” She pulled her hand away and flexed it into a fist. “Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”

“It means everything.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Does it?”

It was a moment before Garrick could speak over the lump of emotion clogging his throat. “Yes, Beth, it does. I love her.”

She jerked as if he’d hit her, her eyes examining his closely. “Liar.”

“Am I, Beth? I wish to God I were.”

She stared at him, emotions flicking across her face. And when next she spoke, her voice had gathered fury.

“You bastard,” she cried, her hands balling into fists. “How
dare
you say you love her? ‘Tis only your guilt which speaks, not your heart.”

He couldn’t answer her, for how could he begin to explain? Instead, he got up and headed for the door. As he rested his hand on the knob, something made him glance back and he found himself saying, “Believe what you will, Beth, but I do love her.” He swallowed, barely able to speak. “I would sell my soul for her.”

And with that, he left.

He found Belial where he’d left him. The devil’s eyes glowed with unholy glee as he watched Garrick’s approach. He leaned back against the rail, his ridiculous red cape glistened with beads of moisture. The rain still fell from heaven like tears from God.

“Why, Garrick. What a pleasant surprise. Imagine meeting up with you here.”

Garrick’s jaw tightened. “What do I have to do?” he clipped out.

The dark angel feigned a look of innocence magnificent in its understatement. “Whatever do you mean?”

“Cut line, Belial. I’m here to sell my soul.”

The devil managed a look of sudden enlightenment. “You are? My, my this
is
a surprise.”

“Now,
Belial.”

“Oh, but being in such a rush is not at all wise. These things should be heavily considered. But if you insist.”

“I do.”

“Very well. I guess it’s my duty as master of war and pestilence to grant you your wish. It’s very simple really. A verbal contract, nothing more. Your life in exchange for Lucy’s. The term is for eternity.”

“Agreed.” Garrick didn’t feel a moment’s remorse. He turned away, wanting only to get back to Lucy.

“Wait a moment.” The devil waited until he’d turned back to him before saying. “It’s necessary to tell you a few things before you’re allowed to agree.”

“Whatever it is, I agree.”

“Nevertheless, I must tell you. There are certain rules which govern these sorts of transactions. One wrong move and the powers above”—his lip curled in derision—“will void the contract.”

“Can we not deal with this later?”

“No.”

“Very well. What are these terms?”

The devil must have read his anxiety. He was reveling in it, really, for he took his time in framing a response, even going so far as to stroke his chin in thought. “Hmmm, let me see. Ah yes. First, I must have your agreement that the term of the deal is for eternity.”

“I
already
agreed to that. Do not waste my time.”

Belial’s eyes narrowed. “You have no choice
but
to listen, Garrick. I am the one in charge here, not you. You’d best remember that.”

He pointed one of his taloned fingers at him, then crossed his arms, drumming one pointy nail against his red sleeve.

Garrick concealed his frustrated impatience only by focusing on an image of Lucy’s face. He was doing this for her, needed to be patient for her. He musn’t forget that. Gritting his teeth, he nodded.

Belial looked amused. “Second, you are to agree the commodity is a soul for a soul.”

“Done.”

“Lastly, we agree that the contract commences tonight at, hmm, say midnight.”

Garrick had almost agreed, before the realization sank in that he wouldn’t have time to marry Lucy, and suddenly it became vastly important that he should do so. “And what if I don’t agree to that?”

“Then the contract is void and Lucy dies.”

He almost agreed right then, except suddenly he found himself saying, “I want three days.” His heart pounded in his chest. All he wanted was for this to be over, for Lucy to be safe. Still, he held firm. His mission was the boy, and by God, he would finish it. For Lucy’s sake.

Belial looked astounded at his tenacity. “Certainly not.”

“Then no deal.”

“No deal? Have you taken leave of your senses? Lucy will die if you don’t agree.”

“Come now, Belial,” Garrick said, refusing to give in, praying his desperate gamble would pay off. “Surely three days is a short enough time to wait for my soul.”

“What in hell’s name would I have to gain by agreeing to such a thing?”

“My soul?”

“But if you agree, I’ll have that anyway. If you don’t, Lucy will die.”

“Then what else can I trade you?”

Belial stared across at him, looked about to tell him no again, but then he tilted his head and stroked the goatee on his chin. “Now there’s a thought. I
could
have you do something for me. Something detrimental to the welfare of other souls I have in my power. Perhaps the duke and his friend the countess?” He straightened and pierced Garrick with a glare. “I have it! Upon arriving in London, you must set Ravenwood free.”

Garrick blanched. Before he could stop himself he said, “No. I can’t. He’s vital to proving Tom’s identity.”

“That
is
a problem. I guess that means we can’t agree.” The devil turned away.

“No, wait. Stop.” Garrick was nearly frantic now, terrified Lucy would slip away while he stood here squabbling.

Belial turned back to him, eyebrows raised.

“You really are a bastard, aren’t you?” Garrick asked.

Belial bowed, his smile as wide as a shark about to gobble its prey. “I am.”

“If I agree to this, will you give me the three days with Lucy before coming to claim my soul?”

“I will.”

Garrick closed his eyes, both relieved and unsure, torn. He didn’t want to let down Tom, and by letting Ravenwood go he would greatly diminish their chance at proving the boy’s identity. Then again, perhaps not. If he could convince Ravenwood to aid them of his own free will, perhaps not all would be lost.

Garrick saw the devil’s eyes narrow and realized he’d forgotten to shield his thoughts. Not that it mattered. Belial would know what he was up to, anyway. It was like doing battle with the wind.

“We’re agreed then. You’ll give me three extra days in exchange for Ravenwood’s freedom.”

“Yes, but now you must agree not to try and talk Ravenwood into aiding you.”

“Bastard! That’s not what you originally said.”

“I know, but I’ve changed my mind. Best to agree now before I change it again.”

For a moment Garrick almost argued the point, but he knew it would probably be pointless. Lucy was waiting. “Very well, I agree. Is that all?”

“No. The final term is agreeing on a time and place for the contract to commence.”

Garrick took a deep breath, knowing he had no choice. For the first time in his life he realized what it meant to love someone so completely, so thoroughly, so absolutely, he would do anything for her. And so hesaid, “Midnight. I’ll meet you wherever I am three days hence.”

Belial smiled, all but rubbing his hands together in glee. “Agreed.”

There was no streak of lightning, no clap of thunder, just the normal sound of a ship gliding across the waves. Garrick blinked, amazed that it’d been so easy. When he opened his eyes, Belial was gone.

“He agreed. I can’t believe he actually agreed.”

Arlan watched from above, a frown clouding his normally sunny features and his wings beating a furious rhythm against the walls of his office as he stared down at Garrick. The view through his office floor was of the ship and the top of Garrick’s head as he made his way back to Lucy’s side.

“Why did he do it?” Arlan shouted, looking up at the ceiling. “He had to have known Lucy would be well taken care of. Didn’t he realize they would have been together again up here?”

In response, thunder vibrated through his little room, the reverberation knocking papers off his desk.

“I know, I know. He felt responsible. But now what are we going to do? We’ve lost him. And Lucy was supposed to report for duty tomorrow. Instead she’s tucked into bed down there, alive as the day she was conceived—”

The sound of thunder rang out again.

“Fine. I won’t ask any more questions,” Arlan mumbled. “I’ll just sit back and trust You know what You’re doing.”

•  •  •

Lucy awoke slowly the next morning. The heavy blackness which held down her lids faded into brightness. Two blurry blobs of light sharpened to become lanterns hanging from the skull archway; they rocked back and forth with the ship. Pain pounded in her head, sharp spikes which made thought nearly impossible; the fierceness of it turned her stomach.

A chair creaked. Gingerly, she turned her head.

It was Garrick.

He sat in a chair next to the bed, the lanterns casting a ghostly glow over his haggard features. She tried to smile, but then the thought penetrated that she shouldn’t, though for the life of her she couldn’t remember why. A memory floated into her mind, one of pain, not the physical kind, but the other kind. Hurt. Betrayal. She tried to hold the thought, but her head pounded too furiously.

“How do you feel?”

She opened her mouth to speak, managed to produce a small gurgle, then swallowed and tried again. “Horrible,” she croaked.

He smiled at her, a tender smile full of concern, of love. That struck her as odd, but the blackness was calling to her again. She closed her eyes. Garrick’s words forced them open again.

“You nearly died.”

She concentrated on his voice, absorbed what he’d said, then nodded, the muscles of her neck protesting the motion. “Feels like it.”

His smile wobbled a bit. Again she couldn’t squelch the feeling that there was something terribly wrong. “What happened?”

“A boom broke lose and hit you in the head.”

She wanted to say something flip, like, “Oh, is that all?” but she didn’t have the strength.

“Lucy,” he whispered so tenderly. “I love you.”

Why did those words strike a cord of anger and despair? She closed her eyes. Words echoed in her mind.

I love you.

I love you, Garrick,
she had said.
And if that makes me a …

Trollop.

He had called her a trollop. Her eyes snapped open. Everything came back to her in a flash. The bath. Their lovemaking. His horrible words.

“No, Lucy,” he said, obviously realizing that her memory had returned. He reached for her hand, clutched at it. “I didn’t mean it—”

“Get out,” she hissed, the words taking all her energy to force out.

“No. I won’t. I know what I did was wrong, but I had to.”

She turned her head away, the movement causing a stab of agony to pound into her skull. She didn’t want to see him, wanted him to leave. Now. That he would say such things and not mean them made her ill. Why would he do that? To torture her? Probably.