Satan's Sword (Imp Book 2) (12 page)

My mood cheered considerably when I got home just in time to meet the delivery guy with my latest canary. He was very appealing with his bright yellow feathers, alert dark eyes and chirping noises. This one was the prettiest of those I’d received so far. I wished I’d bought another one so that I could Own one, or maybe just let it fly loose around my house. Unfortunately, I’d been rather short-sighted when I bought the thing and hadn’t thought to buy a cage or food. You’d think by now, after losing four canaries, I’d be prepared, but that wasn’t the case. I spread some newspapers in a cat carrier reinforced with chicken wire as a temporary home and threw in a handful of wild bird seed as food. Hopefully that would be more palatable than the dog food which had killed one of the previous canaries. I had a premonition that this bird wouldn’t last long in my care and that I should put it to use right away, before I managed to kill it and had to wait again for a replacement. The rain showed no signs of clearing up, but I decided that as soon as I called Dar, I’d head to Sharpsburg.

Dar was beside himself with excitement when I called him.

“Some vampire guy met me at the aquarium and gave me a box,” I told him with a twinge of guilt over what the box didn’t hold.

“What does the box look like?” Okay, maybe he wasn’t as dumb as I had thought.

“It’s ten-by-seven and wrapped in brown paper.”

“Ten by seven meters? Fuck, how’d you get it in your little car? How much does the damned thing weigh?”

He was a dumb as I had thought. “No, you
idiot
. Ten by seven inches. And no one uses metric in this country unless they are scientists or buying soda.”

Dar was silent for a moment as he calculated the size of the box. “That’s it? It’s supposed to be able to change shape and size, so maybe it would fit in a box of that size.”

I could tell he was contemplating whether to ask me to open the box and tell him what was in it. If it was something really cool looking, I’d keep it for myself and he’d need to try and pry it from my cold, dead fingers, but if it wasn’t what he wanted then he’d be making a risky trip through the gate for nothing, and possibly appear a fool in front of Haagenti. I didn’t offer to peek. Why make it easy for him?

“Look.” I finally broke the silence. “I’ve got a lot to do this evening. This box doesn’t appear to hold anything that’s going to get up and walk away, so just come over here tomorrow sometime and retrieve it. I’ll stick around all day, but if I’m away from the house when you get here just watch porn and drink beer until I get back.”

I could feel Dar wavering. “Did the guy say anything to you? Anything at all?”

“He apologized for my having to drag my ass to Baltimore on such a horrible day. It fucking sucks outside. Cold rain and wind. I hope it clears up, or gets cold enough to snow soon. Oh, and he told me to have a nice day.”

“Okay,” Dar said reluctantly. “I’ll be there tomorrow as soon as I can sneak past the gate guardian. Do you think you could prevail. . .?”

“No,” I interrupted him. “I refuse to prevail. You want this thing, you find out a way to get it.” I hung up the line abruptly. Then I opened the box.

I was curious. Dar had said whatever the artifact was it could change shape, so maybe it
was
something cool that I’d want to keep for myself. I took off the brown paper and saw a white shiny box with the words “Greetings from Atlantic City” across the top. Removing the cellophane covering, I peeked under the top and laughed. Well, that was just funny. Then I put the top back on and went to get my bird.

By the time I reached Sharpsburg, I was rethinking the appeal of canaries. Sixty minutes of chirping and flapping around in a cat carrier was enough to put me off birds entirely. He was pretty, though, with the deep yellow of his feathers and the structure of his wings. Back home, we all included wings in our forms. It made getting around much easier, and they had a dramatic flair. Feathers were not really practical though. Bat-type wings were flexible, structurally sound, and basic. They were easy to repair and had a nice, menacing look to them. Feathers were too frou-frou, and where some might be able to pull that off, most of us would be teased unmercifully. Angels used feathers. You don’t want anyone thinking you aspired to be like them. Still, I thought, they were pretty and soft. Their intricate structure and specialized form held a fascination for me.

I’d never seen an angel’s wings. The two angels I’d seen here hadn’t included them in their forms. I guess it would not exactly be stealthy to walk around with big-ass wings. The humans would freak. And how would you fit inside doorways and smaller, human-sized spaces? Not very practical. I thought about my wings. I hadn’t worn wings since I’d come here, over forty years ago. They were the typical bat-type wings. Rusty red-brown with mottled blue and green swirls, and talons along the ridge and at the bottom edge. It was close to dark. Maybe I’d fly a bit when I was done here. I missed flying.

I waited until the park security had done their closing sweep and left the battlefield before opening the gates and driving down toward Bloody Lane. I needed to get the car closer in, so I plowed through the fencing, four wheeling across the carefully groomed grass and along the dirt path to the wooded copse. The curators would have a fit in the morning. I’d be sure to throw a bunch of empty beer bottles around before I left so they’d blame the vandalism on drunken teens.

I pulled my supplies, including the cat cage with the canary, out of my SUV and walked the three feet to my destination. The Sharpsburg gate stood before me and I did my usual routine of sticking in my hand, etc. before carefully retrieving my bird. Closing my eyes, I plunged my fist with the canary clenched tight into the gate, counted to ten, then withdrew my hand. The bird looked at me cheerfully and chirped, seeming none the worse for wear.

Well. Now was the time to do it and die or not die. I was scared. Really scared. Gregory’s words rattled around in my head. Something about how I needed to be more than an imp, and that in the future there would be a scarcity of rocks. I needed to do this.

I tied a rope to my waist and the other end to the bumper of my Suburban. Of course, the gate could disintegrate the rope, or drag the huge SUV in along with me, or kill me so my bloody remains would be found attached to a rope attached to the bumper of my car when the gate spit my mangled body out. I chose instead to pretend that it would be some kind of lifeline to help me find my way back and pull myself out of trouble. I was good at deluding myself.

Taking a deep breath, and keeping a gentle but firm grip on my canary, I stepped through the gate and to the other side. The gate itself was shallow, and I immediately found myself surrounded by nothing and everything. I’m not sure how to describe it. My eyes didn’t see anything, my ears didn’t hear anything. None of my human senses registered input. It was neither light nor dark. I breathed, but I didn’t seem to need to. It was more out of habit.

Closing my eyes, I extended my personal energy to the limits of my form and tried to sense this place directly. Suddenly there was everything. Color, light, sound, smell. Not as a human would perceive though. Back home, the energy saturated everything making the very air feel thick, heavy, and musky. Here the energy felt clean. My mind became sharp and focused and I could see possibilities and alternatives stretching before me like threads intertwining on a three-dimensional map. My body felt slightly itchy and I wanted to remove it like an article of clothing. It was the same feeling I’d had after Gregory and I had done the angel nasty in my house.

I opened my eyes to check on my canary and make sure he hadn’t croaked or anything while I was busy exploring this unknown world. He seemed fine, looking around with bright eyes. Suddenly he tweeted, the sound huge and echoing in the vast physical silence of the place. Alarmed, I loosened my grip and the bird flew out of my grasp. Great. Stupid fucking bird had possibly alerted whatever might live here of an alien presence, and now he’d escaped. I’d barely been able to grab him from the confines of the cat carrier, there was no way I could manage to catch him in this place, even though he was clearly visible, a splash of yellow in nothingness.

Panicking, I abandoned the bird and dashed back out the gate to find myself standing with a rope around my middle, a few feet from my Suburban in the dark. That was enough for one night. In fact, that was probably enough for an eternity. I’d lost my bird, and I wasn’t sure if I’d be able to explore this gate in the future. What if the bird had alerted any residents of my trespass? Would they be able to follow me back through the gate to this realm? Would they be able to set up traps to catch me if I showed up again? I wish I knew where the hell it led to. An elf could probably tell me. Gregory could definitely tell me. Not that I was going to clue him in on these particular extracurricular activities.

I left the battlefield, determined to give up on this gate forever. I’d need to keep my eyes open for another one to try and examine. The whole experience made me feel depressed, like a failure. Maybe if I flew it would help my mood.

I didn’t want to be caught flying around close to my house, so as I left, I drove the back way to reach Dargen’s Landing. I was always surprised to see any cars at all parked down at Dargen’s Landing. Most people accessed the Potomac River and the C&O canal towpath at the major spots like Brunswick and Point of Rocks, where there was plenty of parking and easy access from the highway. To get to Dargen’s Landing, you had to circle past Brunswick and along the Potomac for miles down twisty narrow country roads, then manage to see the half hidden sign for yet another narrow wooded road that lead to the parking area. A few people were persistent about finding it, though, as there was a nice boat launch.

I loved it here. It was secluded, and on a lower traffic part of the towpath. The few people you’d see in the parking lot ignored you and minded their own business, whether it was biking, jogging, or fishing. It was an easy jog to the railroad bridge river crossing to Harpers Ferry, and there were lovely views of jagged outcroppings and the churning, muddy Potomac river. I vowed to call Candy this week and have her meet me here for our river run. Maybe we’d do it at night on four feet.

Although the rain had stopped by the time I pulled in, everything, including myself, was still wet and smelling of damp leaf mold. Normally I’d want to climb up and launch a flight from a higher area, like the cliff by the railroad bridge, but here I was sure my take off would be unobserved. I created my wings with a pop from the raw energy I held within myself, as I typically did at home, and flapped to rise majestically into the air. Flapping was all I did. Fucking gravity. This was clearly not going to work.

It took me about an hour of playing with combinations and doing mathematical calculations in my head to come up with something reasonable. The wingspan ended up being fifty feet across, even with partially hollow bones. I had to balance out the extra weight with wingspan and musculature. I also had to alter my spine angle into a curve to support the massive muscles, and extend and strengthen my breastbone to hold the additional chest muscles. I wouldn’t win any beauty contests.

I’d opted to keep my arms so I could grab something if I wanted. I daydreamed for a few moments about scooping up anyone unlucky enough to be out walking tonight, like one of those flying monkeys from The Wizard of Oz. Finally satisfied that I could perform a standing take off and maintain a decent flight, I searched for a clearing large enough to accommodate my humongous wings.

Huge as they were, the wings felt glorious after so long without them. I stretched and arched them out, getting the feel for them all over again, then with a run down the boat launch I took flight. Well, I tried to take flight. Vertical takeoff is always hard, and I was carrying a lot of weight. I beat my wings furiously wishing I’d been able to catch an updraft or at least a wind to assist. Sweat beaded on my skin with effort and my feet touched the water as I slowly edged upward.

Once aloft, I was able to take advantage of gentle wind along the river and gain some altitude. The higher, the better. Up high I’d look more like a large bird. A few feet off the Potomac and people would be thinking the dinosaurs had returned. I couldn’t resist a quick drop to plunge down under the bridge to Harpers Ferry though. I folded my wings tight against my body and gained speed on the descent, shooting between the bridge supports. Then used my momentum and a burst of energy to help me streak back up into the sky.

I was on my own up high. It was night, after all, and all the nocturnal flying animals were lower down catching bugs and stray rodents for dinner. It was amazing to once again feel the cold damp against my wings, hover while supported by the thermals, and to dance in the winds. I felt free, truly free. Not a bound demon, living under an angel’s restrictions in a human world. Not a lowly imp, a cockroach who ran to avoid those who would squash her flat. Free. There was a sense of poignancy about it all, though, as if this were my last moment of freedom before a cage closed in upon me.

I thought about Dar and his annoying problem, that crazy lump of blanket at the abandoned grocery story, Candy, chafing under the thumb of a bunch of bigoted angels, and Gregory. That irritating, controlling asshole that fascinated me. I wondered what his wings looked like, if he ever snuck out and flew. I’d bet he was amazing to watch in the air. I would have liked to fly with him, to try and catch him.

After about an hour of playing around I found myself heading back to Dargen’s Landing and my vehicle. I landed beautifully along the boat launch, not even wetting my feet, and walked toward my car with wings still extended. They brushed against tree trunks and I relished the feel of the wet jagged bark against the membranes. There was no one here, and I wanted to enjoy them as long as I could before I dispersed them. My Suburban sat quiet in the dark lot. I stood beside it a few moments then returned myself to my typical human form. It was dark and silent in the autumn night beneath the damp trees, and I felt so lonely. So empty.