All Who Wander Are Lost (An Icarus Fell Novel) (49 page)

The room we’d
entered made me realize the smell wasn’t the fresh aroma of
spring flowers, but the manufactured scent of burning incense.

We were in a
church.

No,
not a church.
The
church.

Crap.

Bruce
Blake-All Who Wander Are Lost

Half-a-minute had
passed since Icarus faded from sight and Trevor disappeared from the
cage with a pop of rushing air and a slop of water from the pail
he’d picked up a second before. Poe stared at the wet spot on
the grubby straw; it was the first time since she’d found
Trevor that he’d seemed remotely lucid. She was thankful but
worried and prayed silently that he’d end up with Icarus.

Ric. I have to
remember to call him Ric.

After Trevor
disappeared, Poe killed time pacing the cage. She kicked straw
aside, looking for a trap door in the bottom of the pen through
which she might escape but found none. She wandered to the bars and
looked out at the gray-white mist roiling in the space the other
cages recently occupied, the blank spot where a forest grew not so
long ago. If she did find a trap door or another way out of the
cage, she’d likely be safer staying put.

This was limbo, a
place where she’d been put on pause. She’d been in
places like this before and knew the mist held far worse places than
the confines of her cell. The same mist as this lurked at the bottom
of Abaddon’s pit, the same mist concealed horrors too much
even for the residents of Hell.

Poe shuddered and
strained to keep her teeth from chattering.

With the
straw-kicking and mist-searching done, both yielding nothing, she
sank down to the floor and sat cross-legged. Waiting.

Waiting for
what?

She didn’t
know.

She hung her head
and looked at her hands in her lap, watched her fingers fiddle with
each other like a science experiment over which she had no control.
To prove to herself it wasn’t the case, she made them stop.

How did this
happen to me?

Her life—or,
more accurately, her after-life—went from misery to elation on
the day, years ago, when Michael rescued her from Hell. During her
time serving as a Carrion, she’d felt like every soul she
retrieved and sent to Hell ripped away a piece of her own to go with
it. The years spent doing it came close to ruining her. Then Michael
came along, took her away, and she thought Hell done with. Never
expected to be back.

Michael.

She closed her eyes
and replayed the harvesting of Sister Agnes’ soul. All these
years she—and higher powers, too, it seemed—thought
Azrael killed the nun to keep her soul for himself. Clearly,
Michael’s hand touched her, released her from the mortal
world.

But why?

“
You’re
not crying, are you?”

The words startled
Poe. She drew a surprised breath and looked up at the woman standing
in front of her. Even in the dreary, overcast world of the limbo,
the silver stud shone from the spot between her lower lip and chin.

Poe stood. “What
are you doing here?”

Piper shrugged.
“Don’t know. One minute I was in my own cage, then the
mist came and I ended up in here with you, watching you curled up on
the ground, mewling.”

“
I
wasn’t crying.”

“
I
would be if I were you.”

“
What
does that mean?”

Piper sauntered to
the bars and looked out at the swirling fog contemplatively. “Think
about it: he can only take one soul back.”

Poe stood erect,
muscles tensed and teeth clenched, waiting for the other woman to
continue.

“
Forget
the priest and his flunkies. And those other two fellows, whoever
they are.”

“
Tony
was his soccer coach,” Poe said, a surge of pride swelling her
chest because she knew this about Icarus and Piper didn’t.
“The other is named Orlando. Like the city.”

“
Whatever.
He wouldn’t choose any of them over his son.”

“
Azrael
said he wasn’t one of the choices.” Poe’s voice
trailed off at the end of her statement, saddened by its content.

He’s here
because of me.

“
Maybe,
but we both know he’ll be the first choice if he can be, which
leaves us here.”

She gestured toward
the fog.

“
If
it means Trevor is safe, I’ll stay.”

“
How
noble. But what should worry you more is if the boy really is off
the table. How will you fare when Icarus’ choice is between
the treacherous bird Poe, his mother and,” she faced Poe, her
lips pulled up in a devious smile, “his lover.”

“
His--?”

Piper nodded,
raised an eyebrow as if daring Poe to argue the point. She didn’t.
Instead, her shoulders drooped and she looked away.

Michael. Trevor.
Icarus. I’ve lost them all.

Piper laughed, the
sound dull and lifeless as the mist surrounding the cage deadened
it. Hearing the sound made Poe look up. Seeing the mirth on Piper’s
face—in this place and at her expense—drove the despair
and feelings of loss from her instantly. Anger filled the spaces it
left behind, sending energy down her limbs and coursing through her
head.

She remembered the
boys who started her along this path, the things they did in the
shed in the woods and hated them. She recalled Michael’s hand
brushing the nun’s stomach. Not knowing why he would do such a
thing frustrated her. Trevor’s face came to mind and what the
boy had been through because of her brought embarrassment.

I had no choice.
I was pushed into it.

Piper’s laugh
continued, the sounds falling from her lips to be stomped into
submission by the mist.

If she didn’t
bring Icarus here, none of this would have happened.

A vein at Poe’s
temple pulsed. The chords in her neck tightened. Her hands clenched
into fists. Her next thought caught her off guard.

And now Icarus
loves another, not me.

The anger and
hatred, frustration and embarrassment exploded a scream from her
lips and her legs launched her at the so-called angel.

Piper’s
breath left her lungs with a satisfying whoosh as Poe’s
shoulder contacted her midsection. They collapsed to the floor of
the cage, rolled in the straw jockeying for position and leverage
and came to a stop with Piper on the bottom struggling for breath.
Poe grabbed her by both wrists, pinned her to the floor.

“
Why?
Why did you do this? Why didn’t you just leave me alone?”

Piper glared up at
her, silent and seething.

“
You’re
no angel,” Poe said, anger smothering her words. “You
were never an angel.”

“
Maybe
not, but neither are you anymore.”

Piper’s words
hit Poe like she’d slapped her across the face. She stared
down at her, shocked at the thought, before shaking herself free of
the other woman’s words.

“
Icarus
will take me back, not you.”

She let go of
Piper’s left wrist and cocked her arm back, her slender
fingers—what Icarus once called ‘piano-players
fingers'—curled into a fist. Piper brought her arm up across
her cheek to protect herself from the impending blow.

“
That
is enough, ladies.”

Poe looked up, fist
still pulled back ready to strike, and saw the man standing outside
the bars of the cage. Mist swirled around him, partially concealing
his face, but Poe had spent enough of her time over the past years
staring at that face to recognize the archangel under any
conditions.

She bared her teeth
and leaped from Piper, hands grasping for Michael.

Bruce
Blake-All Who Wander Are Lost

The church looked
to have recovered from the explosion which left it a pile of rubble.
Neat rows of wooden pews lined the room; the marble altar gleamed;
the organ sat awaiting a talented set of fingers to coax hymns from
its pipes. Even the bibles and hymnals I’d seen burned and
shredded were intact and interspersed at regular intervals. I
wondered what might be written on the pages of a bible in Hell.

“
Hello?”

My voice echoed
into the high ceiling but no one answered. I put my arm around
Trevor’s waist and dragged him across the threshold. The stoup
on the wall by the door contained a fluid looking more like blood
than holy water but I didn’t stop to examine it. Other things
around the church were not quite right, either: the pipes of the
organ stood askew, shadows of dirty footprints showed on the carpet,
and termite trails marred the wooden pews.

Hell’s
version of the church.

I hauled Trevor to
the closest seat and set him down as gently as possible. His head
lolled to the side then fell forward until his chin rested on his
chest. I laughed a little to myself thinking about how many people
spent their Sundays looking exactly like this at the back of the
church drooling on their Sunday best. My amusement dissipated
quickly at the sound of a step behind me.

Here we go.

I straightened,
fists clenched at my sides, and turned expecting to find Marty or
Tony had followed me from Hell-Sully’s. Instead, I looked into
my mother’s face. She wore the whole nuns’ get-up—black
hood, white bib, black dress—and the sight of her startled me.
When you’re expecting a fat, drunk guy and you get a fully
decked out nun, it catches you off guard.

“
Mother?”

She looked past me
at Trevor slumped in the pew. I glanced back at him, too. He’d
slid down a little but held his own.

“
Is
this...?”

“
Trevor.”

She touched her
lips with her fingers and stared, eyes wide.

“
My
grandson?”

I nodded.

“
Yeah.
I guess not many nuns get to say that, do they?”

I felt bad for
having said it as soon as the words left my mouth. Would it remind
her of how awful it must have been for her to have me? What must a
pregnant nun have gone through? She probably had it worse than a
priest accused of abusing a child—at least they were used to
that. The thought made me look over my shoulder for a quick survey
of the church.