Chapter 10 The Calm Before the Storm
THE CALM BEFORE THE STORM
Iwake and feel a sudden sense of relief as I realize I'm looking at the ceiling of my own room. I’m thrown for a minute, not remembering why I should be relieved to be in my own space. Then I remember the events of the day before.
I push myself up and pull back the blankets to inspect my injured leg.
It is again wrapped in a fresh bandage, and there is no trace of blood.
Something tells me to remain in bed, but I am quickly becoming restless with the recent lack of free will, so I push myself out from under the covers and onto the floor.
My face contorts with pain as I put weight on my leg.
However, after a moment and a breath, I’m capable of moving to the small attached bathroom.
I tend to my needs, remove the silky shift I am wearing, and clean myself as well as I can with a cloth and the sink.
I pay particular attention to cleaning the dirt from the prior day’s adventures off my feet.
On a small shelf, I find a few nondescript bottles and a brush.
I pull the brush through my hair, flinching as I catch on the multitude of tangles in the waves of pink.
Once my hair is untangled, I reach up and somehow twist it against the nape of my neck.
My hands act without conscious thought, which is something I’m beginning to become uncomfortably familiar with.
I find a couple of silver pins, which I knew were on the shelf from my previous exploration, and pin my hair.
Still looking in the mirror, I sigh at my mismatched eyes and the bright shadow wings now protruding from behind my shoulders. However, there is nothing to be done about either, so I turn back towards the bedroom.
Walking to the closet, I sort through and find a pair of leggings that I pull on.
They’re mostly black with a few white and red swirls in a strange pattern down the side of the left leg from hip to knee.
I also pull on a loose tunic that is a smoky grey.
The back is lower than the front, and the sleeves are long enough to hang over my hands.
My body thus hidden, I head towards the door.
As I get there, the knob moves as though of its own accord, and I brace myself, those thoughts of where to find a weapon renewing themselves feverishly in my head.
As I instinctively ready myself to disable whoever walks through the door, instead, I catch sight of Fem.
He seems both surprised to see me outside of the bed and surprised to see whatever expression must be on my face.
I pull myself back from whatever ledge I was about to leap from and walk forward and past him into the rest of the house.
He’s surprised enough that I get nearly past him before he reaches out to take my arm.
I pull it roughly from his grasp as I say, “What?” in a voice that sounds strangely like a blade being removed from a sheath.
His eyes widen further as he says, “I was just coming to check on you. You shouldn’t be up yet.” His voice is steady, but I can see how off balance he is.
That strange intelligence in me seems to be running figures instead of emotions, and it causes me to hesitate. My voice is softer as I respond, “I just don’t know why you would send an angel healer to me after what happened.”
Fem is frozen for a few breaths, looking at me strangely. “What?” he finally asks, looking surprised.
“Why would you send an angel to care for me after I had just killed one of their kind?” I hear the steel sound back in my voice.
Both of us stand frozen, neither moving nor likely breathing.
The room feels strangely still, like there is an energy that is hesitant to break us free from this spell.
Unsure what else to do, I begin to look for answers amongst all the chaotic memories in my head.
Suddenly, a door opposite my room opens roughly, running into the wall behind it, and Reem and Lent enter this space, caught in some argument.
They don’t seem to see us and continue to argue, their voices loud in the space, blind to all else but their disagreement.
Looking at them with narrowed eyes, Fem hesitates. Then he looks back at me as he says, “We’ll talk about this later.”
What I see on his face as he speaks to me isn’t apology, shock, or horror. Instead, his expression is more akin to sadness, and I pause, again wondering what great plot line to my own life I’m not understanding.
Fem moves towards the others and says wearily, “What now?”
Reem and Lent are pulled from their blindness back into the world as they notice Fem and me.
“Should she be up yet?” Reem asks, looking at me.
Fem half shakes his head, “We’ll talk about it later, but what are you arguing about now?” he repeats himself.
I’m desperately clutching at plot threads for what my next action should be.
Is it so normal to be provided with a healer who was on the side so recently involved in violence?
Do they wonder why I have wings of light protruding from my back?
Can they even see them? Are these things so normal to those who live in this world, and is it just me that is off balance?
My attention is then pulled back to the boys’ conversation as Reem says, “That’s it, we’re holding an audition for a singer. I know you can sing Lent, as can I, but that doesn’t mean we should. Nor does it mean any of us has the talent to be lead.”
As Reem speaks, Lent holds his hands up as though surrendering.
I note that Fem smirks slightly at both of them.
“Next thing we know, Fem will want to audition for the part,” Lent says with a laugh.
At that, Fem’s face goes red, but he doesn’t say anything.
“Alright, old boy, as you say, it shall be so,” Lent says to Reem as though he didn’t notice Fem’s reaction. “If I may ask, though, are we to get on the road to complete our errands, or may I take a nap?”
“Gods Lent,” Fem says, “I’m the one who’s supposed to always be sleeping. What’s with you?”
“It’s all these late-night sessions,” Lent says with a yawn.
With his mouth still open, Reem punches him hard in the shoulder and shakes his head slightly. Lent snaps his jaw shut and looks at me. With that motion, I note that there is something they don’t want me to find out about the “late night sessions.” As with many things, I note it for later.
“What errands?” I ask, irritation filling my voice. Luckily, more than thinking me an ungrateful guest, they seem relieved that my question is about errands and nothing else.
“We will be having the auditions in the basement of a small shop a short distance away,” Reem says.
“We need to bring some of our things from here to that shop and get set up. Since the band is well known, we expect many people will want to audition. We’ll need some basic refreshments and seating for ourselves and those auditioning. ”
“I’ll help,” I offer quietly. Anything to get out of this house and relieve my boredom.
Even as I say it, Fem is shaking his head. “You’re not yet healed enough to help with this. You’ll stay here with our employed help after I re-bandage your leg.”
“My leg feels fine,” I say.
“It’s not only your leg that I’m worried about,” Fem says.
“Then what?” I ask, and I hear the steel back in my voice
“Your recovery seems to be impacted, perhaps by the pain meds,” Fem says. His voice is now soft. An attempt, however late, at kindness.
As I glare at him, Reem puts his hand on Fem’s arm and pulls him aside. While they talk, I muse about what he might mean. Do the pain meds slow healing? Even as I consider, they turn back towards me. It’s clear that whatever Fem was feeling about my recovery, he has shared it.
Reem stands, arms crossed against his chest, looking irritated.
Without further explanation of what’s happening, Fem says, “I’ll re-bandage your leg. If the wound is healing well, you may accompany us tonight. If your leg doesn’t look healed enough, you will agree to stay here.”
The order is clear in his voice, and without hesitating, I agree.
Fem nods and says, “Come with me,” as he walks out of the room.
I follow him to a room I haven’t been in yet that resembles some sort of office. There is a large desk along one wall, and bookshelves line that wall and two others from floor to ceiling. Along the fourth wall, there’s a large couch.
“Sit,” he says, nodding to the couch.
I sit myself at the edge of the large piece of furniture and watch as he pulls a small, structured bag out of the desk. He carries it over to the table in front of the couch and sets it down. He then turns on a lamp near the center of the room and brings it close to us.
“Sit back and set your leg here,” he says as he gestures towards the edge of the couch near him.
I oblige and watch as he gently unwinds the bandage.
He works in silence for a few minutes and then, glancing briefly up at me through his eyelashes, says, “I can tell you still think the healer was an angel.”
“I don’t think anything,” I say with a tight voice. “The healer was an angel.”
Fem shakes his head slightly.
“Even if the healer wasn’t human, which he was, angels don’t work as healers,” he says.
“I know what I saw,” I say, and he’s quiet again.
I focus back on the work he’s doing, careful to keep myself from showing the pain on my face as he inspects the gash on my leg.
“While it would be fun to think so,” he says, his voice lilting in a way that makes my jaw clench, “no one has actually seen an angel in centuries. It is much more likely that the pain meds are messing with your head.”
“What do they work as?” I ask.
He lifts his head, clearly surprised by my question.
He pauses for long enough that I’m caught off guard when he responds.
“According to the histories that Lent is always talking about, if there were to be a non-human healer, it would be a demon. We suspect there may still be angels placed in high-level government positions. However, we have no proof of that.”