Chapter 11 Dark Figures
DARK FIGURES
The following day, when I arrive in the dining room for breakfast, I belatedly realize it's actually lunch and I must have slept in.
Only Lent and Reem are here. Lent has his nose buried in a book, and Reem offers me a plate of food and a cup of coffee. I start to decline before he says, “Lent made it,” his voice thick with a grumble.
I take the cup and swallow a sip before smothering my bread in gravy. I eat slowly, still thinking through the events of the day before. Dio’s voice and the cryptic sentence, along with the feeling of his pointed glare, run on repeat in my head.
After a bit, Fem joins us, filling his plate at the sideboard. We all eat without speaking in a silence that is still companionable.
Eventually, Fem stands and says, “Let's get your bandage changed.”
I rise and follow him to the office. As he gathers the healing kit from the desk, I settle on the couch, the same as the night before. He makes quick work of it in silence this time.
I remain quiet until he moves to put the healing kit away, and then finally ask the question that’s been pressing at me for the past several days. “Where can I get a sword?”
His shoulders tighten. “Why would you want one?” he asks as he turns back to me.
“So that I can defend myself if I’m attacked again.”
His face gets stormy as he says, “The crowd didn’t attack you; they got rough and you were injured. It’s on our shoulders that you were where you shouldn’t be. It would be irresponsible of us to allow you to have a weapon at all, much less around a crowd at one of our concerts like that.”
The breath freezes in my lungs as I realize the boys believe I was hurt by the crowd and not in a sword fight with an angel. An angel whom I ended up killing. Now that I think of it, the death of which should have been shouted across the city.
I suddenly remember Fem telling me that no one has seen an angel in years, and I feel as though puzzle pieces are falling into place in my head.
I have questions, but I can tell this isn’t the place or time to ask them.
Instead, I focus on the reason for the other spike of irritation in me and ask, “Do you really think I would hurt someone in a crowd like that? Someone who doesn’t intend to hurt me? ” The steel sound is back in my voice.
“I doubt you’ve ever intended to hurt anyone,” he says. His voice is soft, but there is an element of coldness to the words.
I’m filled with so much anger suddenly that I can’t speak, the strength of the emotion freezing me so completely that I can’t seem to locate any of the knowledge available to me in my compendium of a brain.
As though belatedly realizing that perhaps he took this too far, Fem sighs and bites his lip. “If we bring you to a concert again, we’ll bring one of the house staff to stay with you,” he says as though that solves everything. He certainly seems to consider it solved as he turns and leaves.
I’m left standing in the office by myself, my rage swirling around me not unlike the constant clouds of smoke. As I try to gain some control over my anger, the only thing I can think to do is leave this house and the stifling behavior of the only people I know.
I stride to my room, thankful the boys don’t seem to be around.
I grab a cloak and stuff my feet in some boots and make my way back to the front door.
I truly expect to run into one of them at some point.
If I do, I’m sure they’ll try to stop me, but none of them show themselves, and soon I’m outside.
As I approach the street, I pause as two carriages rush past, the wind of their movement toying with tendrils of my hair and tossing them into my face. I pause for a moment. Now that I’m outside, I can think more clearly, but without anger driving me, I’m suddenly stuck in indecision.
Finally, I decide to go to the only place I know how to get to on foot and head towards the small book shop I visited with Lent. I retrace my steps carefully. Unfortunately, a map of the city doesn’t roll itself out for me in my head.
“Of all the things that would be useful,” I grumble out loud to myself.
I stick carefully to the walking path on the side of the streets so I don’t get flattened by one of the fast-moving carriages. Thankfully, before much time has passed, I arrive at the front of the bookshop.
As I enter the small shop, a bell chimes above my head.
The musty smell of books surrounds me, and I enter the maze of bookshelves, looking for the counter and shop owner.
I wind through the books, titles, and spines catching my attention as I walk.
Without thinking, I pull a couple off the shelf and, tucking them under my arm, bring them with me.
Eventually, I locate the shopkeeper at the center of the store and lay my books down on the counter.
He looks at the books. Idly, I notice that he doesn’t seem to see the wings of light. “Interesting choices there, young one,” he says. “Do I remember you?”
“I was here a few days ago,” I say. Then, without a pause, I listen to the strange instinct driving me and ask, “Where do you keep the books on angels?”
I catch his eyes widening momentarily before his face resumes its impassivity.
Then, without further comment, he gestures at me to follow as he heads into the maze behind the counter.
I stay close behind him, careful not to trip on the piles of books on the floor.
It seems to be overflow storage for the countless books in this place.
Eventually, the narrow pathways open up into a small room with walls lined with bookshelves.
“This is the section you’re looking for,” the little man gestures. I see that above the shelf is a sign that identifies this as the History section.
“Anything in particular I can help you find?”
I decline his help, again driven by something I don’t quite understand. He leaves with a slight shake of his head.
Left to locate something I don’t know how to look for, I begin at the bottom shelf on the left.
I scan the spines of the books, reading titles in languages that mostly seem to be familiar.
There are many books on historical events and the government.
It’s not until I get to the middle of the sixth or seventh bookshelf that I find something.
This book is unassuming, grey, and small with black letters on the spine that spell Ali D’Angelo.
I remove the book and flip through the pages.
There are many drawings and illustrations, most of which make little to no sense to me.
However, toward the back of the book, I see drawings of the wings I’m familiar with.
Those same wings that emerge from my shoulders when I look at myself in a mirror.
There are words beneath the drawings, but I don’t understand their meaning. The strange instincts and map in my brain don’t seem to understand either at this moment. Despite that, I know I need it, so I close the book and take it back to the counter along with one other history book that stood out.
Without looking at me, the tiny shopkeeper pulls out the other books I left, and I add these two books to the top of the pile. He takes them and tucks the books into a small canvas bag.
Turning to me, he says, “That will be twenty-three coppers.”
“Please put it on The Boys’ tab,” I say with a confidence I do not feel.
His eyes widen further and stay that way. “This is highly unusual. I really need their approval, miss.”
“You’re welcome to get it.”
He stares at me and then, as though realizing that I mean he can go check with them himself, he says, “Ok, alright, I mean if they have an issue with it they can take it up with you?”
“That will suffice,” I say firmly.
He goes to a drawer in the back to make a note. With that recorded, he asks, “Anything else?”
I shake my head, and he wishes me a good day. Thus dismissed, I leave the shop and head back to the mansion.
When I get back, I kick off my boots and head straight to the office for the other book that my instincts are suddenly drawing me to. I find it easily on the same shelf where I’d subconsciously seen it previously. I tuck it into the canvas bag with the others and head back to my room.
As I leave the office, I catch something at the edge of my vision.
Turning towards the front door I see movement through the window set in the door.
As I go to investigate, my hand wrapped around the handle of the bag, ready to use it as a weapon if needed, the door opens, and Malam steps through it.
We freeze simultaneously, eyeing each other. I see him note the bag in my hand and relax it to my side.
“What are you doing, Chaosta?” he asks. His voice is guttural and dangerous, but no more than usual.
Those black shadow wings stand out from his shoulders.
As I see them, I think of my own wings of light.
At that moment, he tenses as he looks past my face to either side of my shoulders.
Then, with a growl, he grabs my arm and pulls me into the office.
He drags me into the middle of the room roughly, towering over me, his grip bruising on my arm.
“What happened?” he asks, and his voice is now surprisingly gentle, at odds with his behavior.
I attempt to shake him off and, despite my small size and lack of weapons, he releases me and stands back. “You can see them?” I ask, slightly breathless.
He stares at me for a moment and then nods, his face still a mask of some strong emotion.
Is it rage?
“The boys don’t seem to be able to see them,” I finally say.
“Humans aren’t observant enough to see angels or demons unless we specifically allow them to, as I have,” he growls. “I will ask again, what happened to you?”
“The healer the boys brought me was an angel, and that angel brought me to talk to one of their kind named Rex.”
“And?” he asks, his voice more of a snarl at this point.
“Rex gave me the wings as a gift to ensure I wasn’t burdened by the darkness,” I respond.
“And are you burdened by the darkness?” he asks, his voice far too quiet.
“I’m not sure yet.” I stare back at him.
I watch as his shoulders tense at the words and then, closing his eyes, he reaches up and pinches his nose between his thumb and forefinger.
I hear him muttering something, the words of which are mostly lost to me.
The only thing I hear is, “...measuring contest will get us nowhere,” and then he drops his hand to his side and looks at me again.
“Did you get the name of the healer?”
“They were called Bonum.”
He flinches slightly and then nods. “I see,” he says and then grows quiet for a moment.
“Why are you here?”
“I was summoned,” he says.
“By me?”
He shakes his head and says, “The band. For them, it’s a ritual that takes at least six hours; they can’t bring me instantly like you can.
” Then, as he takes a breath, I see a shudder run through him, and he says, “I am compelled again to join their company.” With that, he turns and walks towards the back of the mansion.
I follow, but as he arrives at a door I don’t recognize, he turns to me suddenly, so I stop too close. Rather than step back, I hold my ground, looking up at his face and meeting his light green eyes.
He peers down at me, unreadable emotions burning across his face.
“It is up to you to determine what must be done, as that is the contract I created when I gave you life. I know one of my people spoke with you about what we stand for when you were at our stronghold. Just know that I feel my kind are more in need of help, and quickly. I only ask that you review all before you act.”
With that, he turns and, opening the door, steps through and closes it before I can follow.
As some strong emotion runs through me, I look down and see my fists clenched, the bag hanging from my left, the books momentarily forgotten.
A map, although not the useful one I looked for earlier, reveals itself in my head with two paths extending. One path leads me into my room for an afternoon of research and reading, the images from the book playing in my memory.
The other…
Even as I think of it, I decide.
I quickly go to my room, set the bag of books beneath my bed where the house employees won’t quickly find it, and go to the wardrobe.
I choose a skirt and leggings in black and dark grey, and pull on black socks.
I slip a dark, hooded, long-sleeved shirt over my head, pull the hood up to cover my hair, and then examine myself in the mirror.
Only a glimmer from my eyes looks back at me from beneath the hood. Everything else is cloaked in shades of darkness. Thus attired, I return to the door to the lower level and follow Malam’s footsteps into the dark.