I shrugged. “What’d you hear?” I avoided him by focusing on pulling out my books before class started.
“
That he was in prison…” he said excitedly. “In Germany.”
I turned to stare at him, expressionless, before responding flatly, “No.”
When Sylvia Cross approached me about it in my fourth period, I gave her the same response.
Then it was lunch break and they could stare firsthand at the one who’d killed a guy in France, was extradited to Germany, spent several weeks in the squalid conditions of a German cell, eating rats to survive, fighting demented and depraved inmates, eventually paying off an official in order to risk a daring escape back to the United States.
By the end of the day, Eran was the most notorious student in campus history, taking the title I’d held since starting at the school. Even the faculty eyed him suspiciously. He took it in stride, seeming not to notice a single sideways glance or overhear a not-so-distant snicker. Thinking back, I realized he was astutely familiar with this scenario. Eran had never been one to tip toe a line and as a result he’d encountered fierce rumors and violent antagonism during several of his lifetimes.
“
You handled that well,” I said complimenting his resilience once we were standing at my bike at the end of the day.
“
Huh?” he asked, perplexed.
“
The amount of attention you were getting…” I hinted.
“
Oh, that…I didn’t notice it much.” He shrugged. “My thoughts, for the most part, were on you.”
I glanced up. “Me?”
“
Sure,” he said, slipping on his helmet so that his voice became muffled as he continued. “I was figuring out how I could get you alone.”
My stomach burned as those words registered in my mind. He’d been thinking about spending intimate time with me? All day long? My confidence faltered then as the full weight of it hit me. I could tear apart Fallen Ones, whisk myself and others to the afterlife and back, but when it came to being intimate with Eran I went weak in the knees.
Noticing my reaction, he winked arrogantly at me, and then gestured to take a seat on my bike.
“
What did you come up with?” I muttered shyly, as I slipped on the bike behind him.
“
You’ll see…” he teased.
I sighed in disagreement, not wanting to wait any longer. “Tell me,” I demanded.
“
Wait and see.”
“
When?”
“
Soon, Magdalene.” He reached his hand around and placed it against my thigh, the weight of it making me crave him more. Then he said the only pointed comment that could distract me from his hand. “You have a problem with patience, my dear.”
In reaction, I scoffed and then brushed his hand off my thigh for emphasis.
Chuckling, he started the engine and by the time we’d made it to the house, I could not discern whether I was infuriated with him or impassioned by him. It wasn’t until he slipped his arms around my waist just outside the kitchen back door did I know.
“
Your impatience is one of your most endearing qualities,” he said.
It wasn’t one or the other. It was both.
CHAPTER FOUR:
Fernando Vega
The next few days passed quickly and followed the same patterns as the first day back. Faculty and students continued to keep their distance from Eran and me, though the rumors started to dissipate in favor of Becky Monahan’s reaction to alcohol at the latest party. Intermittently, Eran or I would find the warden peering around the corner at one of us, ensuring we were keeping Ms. Beedinwigg’s promise, and watch as a frown rose up in finding that we were.
Homework began piling up so Eran and I were the last ones to sleep each night, books covering the kitchen table, heads drooped over them. While we knew much of it all ready, having experienced some of it firsthand, the actual paperwork needing to be turned in was mountainous. The kitchen lights were the last ones turned off for the evening.
I began feeling stronger, I noticed. My muscles moved easier, their aches having subsided. My meal portions, which had been twice my regular amount, were subsiding too, my body no longer needing it. My appendages, oddly enough, itched to be released, which I complied with when I started lessons again with Ms. Beedinwigg.
Ms. Beedinwigg was surprised and exhilarated to find me at her doorstep midway through the week. She led me inside for a quick hello to Mr. Hamilton and then down the stairs to her underground training room. There, she had jerry-rigged the walls to support her frame and a system of levers and pulleys so that she could spar with me airborne. I’d thought my appendages would give me an advantage but after the first lesson, as we sprang from wall to wall and flew around the room in the midst of fighting drills, I found that she was nearly as good a fighter in the air as she was on the ground. Our trainings lasted only an hour but it left me physically drained and inspired me to keep working on my recovery, which also kept Eran happy.
My work at The Square the following weekend was especially fulfilling, knowing I would be leaving again soon. It seemed as if word had spread throughout my regular customers that I was back because every one of them stopped in for a quick message delivery to their loved ones. That night, I had over forty messages to deliver from both new patrons and regulars.
Of the new ones, I witnessed a few of the most dramatic afterlife habitats I’d ever come across. One woman had recreated every locale where she’d ever found herself happy while on earth. I found her sitting halfway between a vineyard and the Pacific Ocean, one leg in each realm. A man who’d been Italian in his last life had created an elaborate dinner party for a few hundred of his closest family and friends. I had to deliver my message following him around an enormous kitchen with ovens stacked five high and along both walls as he fluttered between them, delivering hors d'oeuvres as they came out. Finally, a little boy who’d passed on from a hit-and-run accident was, in my opinion, the most exciting. He’d created his afterlife as a continuum, moving from a land of dinosaurs to one filled with zoo animals openly wandering an expansive range to the Wild West with cowboys and Indians roaming the hills. I’d had to chase him through two of his realms before catching him and delivering his mother’s message. He smiled softly and gave me a discreet message in reply. “I love you, Mommy,” he said and then, in typical childlike fashion, he returned to creeping up on a sleeping lion.
By the end of the first week, I felt fully recovered and the reminder that Fallen Ones still walked the earth made me more and more motivated to return to hunting. The thought became so pervasive that as Eran was washing up for bed on Sunday night, I lifted my bed mattress and pulled out the leather-bound book encapsulating all Fallen Ones dossiers. Opening it to the very next one I’d intended to kill, I sat on the edge of the bed, listening to the shower running down the hall, and quickly read the pages.
“
Fernando Vega,” I muttered to myself, my eyes reading quickly over his summary. “Mississippi…18 Hilbrook Way…no pets…no significant others…”
After I had consumed the rest of his information, I slipped the book back beneath the mattress. Directly next to it laid my black leather suit, neatly folded like a prized possession. Next to it, laid my weapons.
I stared at them for only a second before my body began moving on its own.
The next thing I knew, I had slipped on my black leather suit, secured my weapons in their respective places, and pulled open my balcony doors.
Without thought behind it, I lifted my shoulders then and my appendages sprang out. I extended them wide, enjoying the stretch. They reached outward, almost touching either side of the balcony, lengthening the muscles and tendons like others do with their arms and legs. A groan escaped as I allowed myself to feel the freedom of my fully-healed body.
As I stood there, assessing the night, my bedroom door opened, moaning against its hinges, and I knew Eran had finished showering. He was checking on me and, I was certain, he didn’t expect to find me suited up facing open balcony doors.
Without turning, I stated, “I’m ready.”
It may have been the resolute tone in my voice, my stance, or simply the feeling in the air but he knew without question that I was correct.
I heard shuffling behind me and then he was at my side, his appendages already unfurled and resting behind him.
He had given his unspoken agreement, I knew. And while I didn’t need it, it was a comfort nonetheless. Although I would never admit it to him – even if he had some indication of it already – with Eran being amply familiar with recovering fighters, his concurrence that I was equipped to take on a Fallen One again meant that I wasn’t fooling myself. That was reassuring.
What was not so reassuring was the fact that he would be accompanying me. Getting him even remotely close to danger was not a pleasant forethought. I was certain it was the same for him.
It was late so the street was quiet. Lights were off in our neighbor’s houses and the only thing that seemed to be moving was the alley cat scampering across the lawn next door.
The air was clear, fresh tonight with almost a sugary taste to it. It made me wonder how the air was in Mississippi…
My wings pumped hard, lifting me effortlessly off the balcony and over the street. I soared higher, enjoying the cool wind on my face. I’d missed it, I realized. Elated to be in the air again, I spun like a missile through the night sky until I was far above the city. Using various ground markers – the placement of cities, mountain ranges, major highways – we found our way to Mississippi and along the river there.
The air was more humid here, I noticed, becoming noticeably more so as we dropped towards a small structure on the water’s edge surrounded by acres of trees. Fernando lived in an abandoned house on the edge of the Mississippi River. Knowing this from his dossier, we simply needed to fly up river until my radar picked him up.
Our speed was somewhere between a bullet and an airline jet so it didn’t take long before I felt the hair stand at the back of my neck.
That’s when I stopped in midair.
Realizing it, Eran came to a sudden halt. He peered over his shoulder at me, questioning.
“
I did as you asked…” I explained firmly. “I gave you warning that I was going to leave for a hunt and, against my interests, I’ve allowed you to escort me. Now, I have to make a request.”
He nodded, hesitant and unsure where I was going with this conversation.
“
I need you to fall back.”
He opened his mouth to protest but I didn’t allow it.
“
Feel free to stay close, you can even watch, but do not interfere. This is my undertaking. Allow me to do it without intervening.”
Even while I debated on whether I was deceiving myself in to thinking Eran would actually stay out of the fight I’d elected, I used my appendages to angle myself down towards Fernando’s dwelling. Once there, I drew closer and circled once before landing on the river’s bank.
The walls had long since given way to the weather that regularly crept up from The Gulf and entire boards were missing from every external wall of the house. Moss grew over the remaining ones, draping down from the roof and windowsill of nearly every window. There was no glass and no doors to prevent the elements from entering his home. Peering inside, I found few pieces of furniture, each one looking as if he’d bought them at a flea market over a century ago.
I might have felt sorry for Fernando if he didn’t work as a hit man for mob bosses.
Eerily quiet on the bank of the river with just the wind in the trees and the lapping of the water on the shore, it made me wonder if Fernando had killed or scared off every living thing in the vicinity. The carcasses of dead animals piled against a tree told me that may very well be the case.
I stepped through the brush and closer to the house, noticing that it was actually well lit from inside. Kerosene lamps hung from the rafters giving the place a hazy, yellow glow.
Just as I was within a few yards from it, a giggle began from behind me, and the hairs on the back of my neck rose to their fullest height. It continued as I turned around, seeking the source in the darkness.
It broke in to intermittent snorts as my eyes found Fernando hunched against a tree. His hand was arched over his mouth as if he were ashamed of his giggling.
I stared at him, waiting for him to finish. Already my awareness level had been piqued, drawing in my surroundings through each of my senses. A mosquito buzzed from somewhere inside the house, the scent of rotting wood along the shore enflamed my nose, and, most interesting of all, Fernando Vega’s hand was twitching nervously against his mouth. This one was unlike other Fallen Ones, powerful still, but scared.
“
Maggie…” he said smiling through his giggles. “Such an honor…”
“
Thank you,” I replied almost curtly. I didn’t feel nearly as impressed by him as he did with me and it didn’t bother me to show it.
His giggling settled and then snuffed out all together. Still, he held on to his wide smile. “We crossed paths once…up in Montana.”
I bristled. “Montana was where I was born.”
His grating giggle returned. “And where you died.”
“
What do you know about that?” I asked firmly.