No Enemy But Time (A Brandywine Investigations Universe Story) Page 6

  Great mother, don't make me use them. Michael, please, please…

  Still thirty feet in the air, Michael shot him a triumphant grin, his wing nearly free of the net. Zack's heart plunged into his feet. This would be the end of both of them.

  Just as he reached for his next arrow, a tremendous chattering went up behind him. The air buffeted him as hundreds of birds took flight at once—jackdaws, crows, grackles, starlings, ravens—a sea of black converging on Michael with single-minded intent. Zack froze, bow half-drawn as the birds swarmed Michael's wings, fouling them with their sheer numbers, weighing him down under their collective greater mass.

  Michael twisted and contorted in mid-air, trying to swat the birds away, but there were too many, always more to take the place of any one dislodged. Shrieking, Michael plummeted to the ground outside the wall, the birds lifting from him in a giant cloud the moment before impact. Still stunned, Zack flung his bow aside and rushed forward to flip Michael onto his stomach before he could draw a full breath.

  He jammed his left knee against the middle of Michael's back, his right foot stomping down on Michael's wrist to keep him down. Cursing, battering at him with his wings, Michael writhed under him. Zack knew he didn't have long before he lost the advantage.

  "You'll never forgive me, so I won't ask," Zack whispered. "But for fuck's sake, I wish I didn't have to do this."

  He pulled his knife and took hold of Michael's left wing, trying to keep it from his face so he could see. Wings, legs, free arm all striving to break free, Zack wasn't sure he could do this without a misplaced knife stroke. Suddenly, Michael screamed in rage and his struggles lessened.

  "Do it, Zack!" Artemis yelled at him while she held Michael's legs down.

  "What the hell are you doing here?"

  "Helping you, you jerk! Do it!"

  Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of both Dionysus and Hermes nearby, as well, though Dio faced away from them, staring into the trees, and Hermes simply stood there with an unhappy frown.

  "Zack!"

  Back teeth clenched hard, Zack lifted the knife and stabbed it down into Michael's back, right at the joining of wing and bone. Michael's screams bled over from fury to anguish as the serrated edge carved into him. Trying to keep his heart locked away in a terrible cold place, Zack sawed at the wing joint, ignoring the awful sounds of metal against bone. The wing snapped in an ugly, split fracture like a tree branch under too much stress, but Zack kept at his sawing, tears filling his eyes as Michael's cries faded and his struggles ceased.

  "He's passed out," Artemis told him softly, but Zack didn't lift his head from his grisly work.

  "Thank fuck."

  He dug out the stub of bone from below Michael's shoulder blade, carving into his back to work it free. Flinging the broken, wilted wing away from him, he twisted to begin on the second one. He reasoned that he had to get all of it, like a tumor, if Michael was to have a chance.

  When he finished, he fell back on his ass, sobbing, hands covered in blood and gore. Gentle hands pulled him back out of the way, and now he understood why Hermes had come as his cousin began packing Michael's gaping wounds, pulling energy from the life around him to lend to the broken angel sprawled in the dirt.

  Strange, tuneless humming came from behind Zack, and he turned to see Dio with his head flung back, eyes closed, singing an unearthly, dual-toned aria, as the plants crept around his feet—ivy and flowered vines reaching around them—moving inexorably toward the wall.

  Zack wiped his hands on his jeans, though he was certain a gallon of bleach wouldn't clean off the blood. He walked on his knees to Michael's head and lay down so their foreheads touched. "I'm so sorry. That was so fucking awful. I'm not even going to say it was for your own good, 'cause right now? I don't even know. I'm here, though. I'm here. No matter what."

  "I don't think he can hear you," Hermes said gently.

  "Don't care. Not even a little." Zack stroked Michael's blood-flecked hair, watching his corpse-pale face for any movement. Not even an eyelid twitch.

  The vines reached the wall and began to climb in slow increments, working hairy root tendrils in between stones, crawling ever upward as if storming a fortress in slow motion. The wall would crumble. The fledgling city would be left a strange ruin in the heart of Arcadia, an eerie reminder of what happened to ill-advised invasions of another god's domain.

  Hermes took heavy gauze from his messenger bag and Zack helped to lift Michael so he could bandage the bleeding wounds tightly. "That'll do for now. Are you staying here with him?"

  "No." Zack shook his head. "No, I don't think it would do him much good." He slid his arms under Michael, cradling him close to his chest. "Let's get him back to Dad's, get him in a warm bed."

  Hades asked no questions when Zack and his cousins trooped back into the condo later that morning. He took one look at Michael and led the way to the spare bedroom, bringing extra blankets and water while he shooed the cousins out.

  "Shower," he said pointedly when Zack wanted to crawl into bed next to Michael. "I'll watch over him."

  With a nod, Zack moved to obey, unable to meet his father's eyes. A heavy hand fell on his shoulder.

  "We'll do all we can, Zagreus. You're not alone."

  The family had made that abundantly clear that day. But some burdens he still would have to carry alone. "Thanks, Dad. I… I'm glad you were all here."

  He couldn't get the water hot enough in the shower, trying to scald away the stain of Michael's blood. It looked like it washed off, but he could still feel it on his skin. He probably always would. When he got back to the bedroom, he was surprised to find his father perched on the edge of the bed, stroking Michael's hair.

  "Did he wake up?" Zack whispered.

  "Briefly."

  "Did he… say anything?"

  Hades heaved a slow breath. "I'm not certain he was truly awake. He said he couldn't move his legs."

  Zack sat down hard on the bed, shaking. "What did I do? Dad…"

  "Hush. We can only wait. Time, Zagreus. He needs time."

  * * * * *

  "You're certain he's ready to travel?" Hades stood with his arms crossed over his chest in a belligerent stance that bellowed how much he didn't agree.

  "Maybe. Probably not." Zack rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. "I just think he'd be more comfortable at home."

  "Let Charon drive you, then."

  "It's all right, Dad. Really. Just a couple of hours. We'll be okay."

  "Has he said anything to you yet?" Ti called over from the kitchen where he'd insisted on packing them lunch.

  "No."

  Michael had said nothing since the first time he'd woken two weeks before to say he couldn't move his legs. The family had reacted with typical outraged drama to the whole incident. Both of Zack's uncles and his least favorite cousin, Ares, were all for hunting Mammetun down and making her pay. Hades didn't often play the big brother card, but this time he did, insisting that they leave Mammetun in peace. Her slow fading was more than punishment enough. Every family member who had a stake in the healing arts wanted to help with Michael, too—Apollo, Auntie Hestia, Athena—but Zack wouldn't let anyone in to see Michael besides Hermes. His shame over what he'd done weighed on him so heavily, it felt like a mountain had decided to perch on his head.

  "Zack…" Ti put the cooler by the door. "You're not really in great shape yourself. We'd all feel better if someone, at least, went with you."

  An automatic, irritated denial was on Zack's tongue before he stopped himself and tried to regroup. If he didn't sound reasonable, no way in hell were they letting him go. "Thanks, Ti. Look, everyone's been wonderful and I'm really grateful. I know it hasn't always seemed like it."

  Charon patted his shoulder on his way by to add to the growing pile of supplies by the door. "You've been pretty horrid, but we forgive you."

  Zack successfully fought the eye roll that wanted to follow that. "But I think it'll be better for him. Ju
st the two of us. A place he knows, where he felt peaceful."

  "Zagreus," his father growled. "You have a phone. Use it."

  He took that as permission to go without further fuss. Sometimes Dad was obtuse about what other people felt, but sometimes he got Zack faster than anyone else did. He left them with the task of loading up the Jeep, certain there would be several items (like the cooler) among the groceries and supplies that he would be expected to return. Not something he could worry about.

  The blinds were drawn in the guest room, Michael propped up against his pile of pillows. He did turn his head and blink at Zack. No smile, no word of greeting, but Zack saw it as progress. His heart had broken a little more each day since he'd taken Michael's second pair of wings, until now… Now he wasn't sure there was enough left to put back together. Left with a smear of heart, could you really still love someone? Or was it a sense of duty that he told himself was love?

  It didn't matter. He had destroyed Michael, completely, utterly. With his own blood-drenched hands, he had ripped the light out of his eyes. Some nights, Zack still woke up screaming.

  In theory, it had been the only way. When the angels came to banish Michael from heaven, they ripped out his glorious, shining wings. Zack had reasoned that the brushfire, transient power of the fallen came from their second set of wings. Fallen angels who gained human followers sometimes became godlike, their lives extended indefinitely. Of course, the angels' instruments had been better suited to the task, and though Michael had suffered horribly, he hadn't fed the ground with three-quarters of his blood when he lost his first wings.

  Zack had removed his second wings by sheer, brutish force. This was obviously not the recommended method. No one could tell him what happened after a fallen angel's second wings were removed. Maybe no one had ever done it before, but the forcible ripping away of that much power had caused devastating psychic and physical trauma, almost as if Michael's spine and brain had been injured in a high-speed collision.

  "All set to go. We're going home." Zack wrapped the blankets around Michael and lifted him, his body achingly light. The wheelchair was already packed. It should have been harder to carry him to the elevator and down to the parking garage, but Zack wasn't even breathing hard by the time they reached the Jeep.

  "Love you," Zack murmured against Michael's forehead as he settled him into the passenger seat and buckled him in. He didn't need a response, but he still needed to say it.

  Numerous hugs and promises later, they were on the road home. Zack took the back roads Michael liked best, though he regretted it when Michael's breath caught and he gripped the armrest on the passenger side as they passed a particular bit of marsh. Zack wasn't certain how Michael recognized it, but from the timing and the crossroad they had passed, he was certain Michael had changed at that spot.

  The panic in Michael's eyes was the closest sign of emotion since his second fall and Zack's heart smear broke just a little more. He reached over and squeezed Michael's free hand, the one not holding the door in a death grip. Michael didn't respond but he didn't pull away either. Maybe that was good.

  The house… Had they really only been gone a month? Everything looked the same. Oh, the grass was a little shaggy out front, but Zack had hired a service to cut it once in the interim. Someone watched as he pulled into the drive and got Michael's wheelchair out. He didn't care. Let the neighbors stare and wonder. Most of the houses were farther up the street anyway, only their house and Mrs. Pendleton's at the end by the creek. He moved Michael gently from car to wheelchair and then into the house, all his hopes dying when there was still no reaction.

  At least I can take care of you here, in peace.

  He debated putting Michael right to bed, but that didn't seem healthy. He'd already spent three weeks curled up under the covers. Instead, he left the wheelchair in the kitchen, facing Michael toward the window so he could see all of their suncatcher friends.

  "I think they missed you." He kissed the top of Michael's head. "Norbert probably most of all."

  Again, he received no response, but he could be patient. He had to be, now. After he had brought everything in from the car and had put the groceries away, he had a better idea. With a lot of grunting and a little swearing, Zack carried Michael, wheelchair and all, down the back steps and into the yard to set him down by his butterfly garden.

  Have to put a ramp in there. Especially if Michael starts trying to get around by himself.

  There it was again, that little niggle of optimism that refused to go away. He wished it would. At least the weather was beautiful and Michael's flowers were in full bloom, busy with bees and yellow sulphur moths. The chime of the doorbell reached him in the yard and he tamped down on exasperation. Maybe he wouldn't open it…

  It rang again, and a third time. "All right, all right…" Zack clomped back through the house and yanked the door open. At first, he saw no one until a throat cleared and he looked down at Mrs. Pendleton, their only next-door neighbor. Tiny, white-haired, and carrying a casserole dish that had to be half her body weight, she smiled up at him.

  "Hello, there! I saw you come home and wondered if you could use some dinner." She peered around him, trying to see into the house. "Is Michael all right?"

  No, he's not, you nosy old biddy… Zack closed his eyes on a slow, indrawn breath. Mrs. Pendleton was just trying to help. If he'd managed not to alienate most of the family through all this, he could deal with a nice old lady.

  "Come on in. Michael's out back right now, enjoying the sunshine." Zack took the casserole with a murmured "Thank you," and led her back into the kitchen.

  "Is he sick?" Mrs. Pendleton asked in a hushed voice. "Does he have that AIDS thing?"

  "No, ma'am." Zack put the casserole on the counter and fussed with making coffee. There. He could be hospitable, too. "We… went upstate to have a couple of… growths removed from his back."

  "Oh, dear. Do the doctors think they got it all?"

  Zack had to stop for another slow breath. Who the hell knows? "We hope so. But the… the operation…There's, I guess, neurological damage. He can't walk yet. Doesn't always…" ever "track what's going on around him."

  "You poor boys." Mrs. Pendleton patted his arm. "Give it time. My Harold, rest his soul, regained most of the use of his legs after his first stroke. Let me know if you end up needing a walker or anything to help with mobility. I still have everything in the garage."

  "Oh… thank you." Zack had to turn away for a moment, all the sun and the dust in the house apparently irritating his eyes. She was kind enough to let him collect himself without comment, and they chatted a few minutes more about the weather before she said her goodbyes.

  Just a quick peek outside to see if Michael's all right… oh, fuck.

  Zack dashed outside to where Michael lay sprawled on the grass, his wheelchair having rolled out of reach. With a little cry of dismay, he took the back steps in one jump and flung himself down beside Michael.

  "You okay? Did you fall? Were you trying to get up?"

  Michael, propped up on one hand, his useless legs bent at the knees, wasn't sitting stock-still, though. His left hand trembled like a caterpillar-laced leaf in the wind, but he reached and tugged methodically at the little shoots of chickweed cropping up between his marigolds.

  "Michael?" Zack stared, afraid to move and break the spell. Michael was weeding.

  "The lupines are coming up."

  "The… what did you say?" Zack's heart cracked just a hair more to hear that beloved voice again.

  "The lupines," Michael pointed a shaking hand toward the back of the bed. "Wasn't sure they would."

  There it was. The final crack. Zack's heart finally lay in nothing but shattered pieces in the grass. "Michael? Do you know me?"

  After three weeks of blank stares, Michael finally looked at him with those impossibly blue eyes, free of red, free of malice. "I know you. I… do. Could you help? This is hard for me."

  With tears streaming down his fac
e, Zack helped Michael into a more comfortable position, letting him lean back against Zack's side. He kept having to wipe his eyes on his T-shirt sleeve, but it didn't matter.

  Love wasn't the answer to everything. That was a hard lesson to learn. But it was more than enough for sitting in the sun, pulling weeds. It was more than enough to start the seeds of two new, stronger hearts growing again beside the butterfly garden.

  The End

  About Angel Martinez

  While Angel Martinez is the erotic fiction pen name of a writer of several genres, she writes both kinds of gay romance – Science Fiction and Fantasy. Currently living part time in the hectic sprawl of northern Delaware, (and full time inside the author's head) Angel has one husband, one son, two cats, a changing variety of other furred and scaled companions, a love of all things beautiful and a terrible addiction to the consumption of both knowledge and chocolate.

  For more information on Angel's work, please visit:

  Official Website:

  Erotic Fiction for the Hungry Mind

  Facebook:

  https://www.facebook.com/Angel.Martinez.author

  Goodreads:

  http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/1010469.Angel_Martinez

  Email:

  ravenesperanza@yahoo.com

  Also by Angel Martinez

  Available from Mischief Corner Books

  Vassily the Beautiful

  Hearts & Flowers: A Tale About Hay Fever and Bad Decor

  Prisoner 374215

  No Enemy But Time

  Brimstone: Demon Owned & Operated (Omnibus)

  Mischief Corner Anthologies*

  "A Matter of Faces" in Cabin For Two: An Anthology

  "Hell for the Company: Brimstone 1" in The Horns and Halos Collection