Wraiths

Wraiths

“That’s them then?” Darin said, taking in what Marc had dropped on the counter between them. “—Not very angelic, are they?”

“No,” Marc said, “I guess not.” He gruffly laughed and pulled over a stool. Sat. “—Hey, turn out the overhead, okay? Your kitchen’s always so bright.”

“Long night?” Darin tapped his watch twice, and the lights came down.

Marc just shrugged. “Did a double. Meegs and I are trying to save money to get out of the city. Before we turn thirty, that’s the idea. Exhausting.”

“Why?”

“Meegs. Less rot, she says.”

Darin lifted the wings, the feather and nylon mess Marc had given him; they were lightweight for their size, almost twice his own width, and long, ridiculously long, but they didn’t feel like much of anything. No weight. He tried them on, shrugging into the double harness, clipping it. The wings came alive now, spanned wide, sitting high on Darin’s shoulders.

Marc grinned. “They look better in the dark.”

Darin gave a few dramatic flaps. Patchy as they were, the wings’ feathers had once been, you can imagine, pristinely white, though they were more brown and gray now. “—Barely held together though, aren’t they?” Darin said, taking them off and holding them out.

“What’d you expect? Been around a long time. They’ll hold.” He groaned. “I don’t know how you can live here, D. The music never stops?”

There was pulsing music coming from the drag.

“You get used to it. Listen,” Darin said, settling back in his chair. “You really think there’s just these ones?” He put the wings on the counter between them again. They were limp again, so they folded well, he saw, got real small.

“Hard to say,” Marc said. “You follow the headlines, seems like wings appear all over. And those wings seem to travel some distances, distances that are, uh…”

“—Miraculous?” Darin offered with a grin.

“Yeah, sure, miraculous distances,” Marc finished, shaking his head. He crossed his arms. “But are there others? Dunno. Could be. Hope so.”

“Yeah,” Darin agreed.

There was the music again, like an ecstatic heartbeat.

Marc was just a few years older than Darin, but the man looked tired and beat down. “So I’ll tell you the same thing was told to me,” Marc said, rubbing his right temple with two fingers.

“Okay,” Darin agreed. “—Wait, where did you get these?”

“You know I can’t say. Nothing personal. Just like you can’t tell me where they’re going next, all right? We just don’t talk about it.”

Darin nodded.

“Right,” he said and closed his eyes as though remembering. “So, you got the wings now,” he said finally. He opened his eyes like he had to check that the wings were there. “You’re an angel. The Angel.”

“Yeah, but —?” Darin began, but Marc quickly continued.

“The Angel, Darin. You’ve got the wings. From here, I don’t need to know your plan, when you’re going to wear ’em out or what you’re going to do with ’em. We’re friends.” He said again, “We’re friends, Darin. There’s trust there. There’s gotta be. I mean, I guess you know what I did if you were looking for it, but I’ll know what you do when you do it, too. So there’s that trust. Just like I can likely figure what the person who gave the wings to me did. And so on.”

He didn’t say so, but Darin guessed Marc had set the fire at one of those elite memory farms the month before: minimal damage, some unseen failsafe in the extinguishing systems. Too bad.

“Take your time. Be careful,” he said. “Seriously. Cover your face; cover everything. Gloves. Wear nothing that could ID you. Put on the wings. Do whatever it is you’re going to do, then pass them on. When you’re ready, that’s it. Next day, next month, next year. Doesn’t matter. That’s the way it works. But, if I was you, I’d pass them on fast — get rid of ’em.”

“And if —?”

“Don’t matter who you give them to, long as there’s that trust.”

“What if someone sees me?”

“They’ll just see the Angel, not you. That’s what they want to see anyhow. Long as you cover yourself up. And not get caught. Understood?”

Darin said he understood. No one had ever been caught in wings.

“Good,” Marc said. “Now, let’s have a beer.”

“I’ve got one or two in —”

“—Oh. One more thing,” Marc said and snapped his fingers. “Don’t mess with the wings. They look like shit, but that’s the rule. Don’t go patching them up or anything. There’s history there. Sitting right between us? That’s lots of stories. A rich, long history of fucking shit up, D. And now you’re a part of it.”

Darin’s was one of the oldest buildings in the neighborhood. He used three metal keys to get in. They still didn’t have ensuite disposal either, so he took the trash down in bags each week. If he timed it right, he’d avoid bumping into his landlord who routinely went out each afternoon with her dog at 16:30. His rent was paid up and she certainly meant well, but Darin had been cornered too many times, invited in for tea too often — which he politely declined again and again — or harangued about one new fad or another his landlord had seen on the holos but not in real life yet... But still, how it burned her up. Last time, it was that Exposall fashion company. She didn’t understand how people could walk around like that, with everything showing — though she was no prude, she’d clarified. And Darin had had to listen for nearly a half-hour. In the end, he took his trash out at 16:40 and arranged his other departures similarly, listening for her in the stairwell below before going anywhere, though that maneuver wasn’t foolproof. A door could open in an instant. Sometimes, he took the fire escape instead, the one just outside his window. He’d descend as far as he could, only a few floors beneath his, and jump to the large dumpsters below. He did so now, landing with a hollow thump. The alley was always dark, even during the day. So it was dark now, certainly, as it was nearly midnight, but the drag was lit up like usual, loud and lively, no matter the time.

His building was on the drag, though his window — the one window he had — thankfully, faced the alley. The drag was always going and always open. People in his building on the other side all shared a shocked state like they were unsure where they were or what they were meant to be doing. Beneath artificial daylight, the drag was canopied for private weather that was always good and hosted — last Darin heard — thirteen-hundred distinct shops, some of them several tents long and wide though many were but a single stall. The drag’s shop tents were modeled after more ancient trade centers, so it often felt anachronistic and foreign but futuristic too, given the nature of the people it attracted: a dusty, claustrophobic maze of goods, canvas stalls, dirt paths, and sellers, all of them shouting for you to come in — a real person handling your goods, an exchange — but there were holos and strobes too, cosplayers and streamers, pocket drones and port cafes. The wares in the drag were varied: antiques, jailbroken drones, pawned scooters, protein shots, books (paper, in at least one stall), handmade furniture, zooshi, livestock, hot helms and slides, stringless guitars with bone amps, chargers, pharma-grade drugs, electric bicycles, cannabis kits, and slimonade slushies. Marc knew a guy who once went in and left with an orangutan — well, Marc said the guy did. Darin’s rent was cheap though: the drag was a destination for many, but it was not the sort of place one settled down, not by choice unless you were limited in your options. Darin wasn’t wealthy; no one in the building was, otherwise they’d live elsewhere. The persistent, thumping soundtrack had taken time for fade to the background for Darin, but it did. Honestly, it helped him sleep anymore, muffled a bit on his side of the building. He’d been in the drag once before, and that’d been enough.

Tonight though, he decided to go back. Darin pulled hard on the straps of his backpack so that it clung tightly to him. He put on his respirator, black nitrile gloves, pulled up his hood. It was habit anymore, the breather and gloves, after the plague flare-up in the drag last year. He jogged down and beneath the neon gate. Down the incline then and around the first bend toward the tame, outer stalls. What was he looking for? Inspiration. He wanted inspiration. He had the wings, but he couldn’t figure out what he wanted to do with them. Ever since Marc brought them, ever since Marc told Darin about having them, about how he wanted Darin to have them next, Darin had decided that whatever he was going to do had to be good. He wasn’t vandalizing a mall or stealing a squad car, though he’d fantasized a bit about the latter. He thought a while about burning down the warehouse at which he and Marc both worked, but that seemed risky — gratifying, yes, but risky and self-indulgent. Anyway, he needed the work. He could liberate the remaining animals in the zoo downtown or disrupt traffic during the supply chain appreciation procession — another was coming up next week — but neither really moved him. It had to be good, whatever it was going to be.

People say that whatever you’re looking for is in the drag. They also say you don’t leave the drag without finding what you need. So let’s see. He was willing to follow fate if she was willing to lead.

It was crowded tonight. There were people everywhere, and, because of the music, they all had to yell. It was deafening. Some were there to shop — had been there hours already; they carried bags of all sorts. Some were just lookers — or lookers and touchers. Some were collectors with assistants. There were tourists trying to take photographs though they weren’t supposed to do so. Others appeared to be regulars, swiftly honing in on bakeries and pharmacies, electronics repair, saying hello to friends, other regulars, and keepers. Yet still many more wandered like they were lost, like they’d been lost down there for years. There were stories like that: people going in but never coming out; tents surrendered to vegan squatters or dour perks addicts or Ibegah rebels; cultures and cliques and gangs and legends and families and fads made right there in the sprawling drag. Darin lived just outside it all.

He left the book shop now, stuffing an original NLA pamphlet and an early Kikori zine repro into his bag. The fruit stand beside was overflowing with toranges; he bought one that looked ripe, though it was always hard to tell. He put that in his jacket pocket.

“Hey, midnight commando,” a man called, “come here.” He was leaning upon a stool just inside his tent. He wore one of those hats that split off into half a dozen points, all of them sagging and tipped with bells. This one also lit up. Otherwise, his clothes were pretty drab.

Darin stepped aside to let the people behind him pass.

“Yes, you,” he said, waving Darin inside. “What is this? You like to cover your face? If fate was it happened again, that breather wouldn’t protect you anyway. Take it off, okay? You look crazy.”

“I’m good,” Darin said.

“Fine, fine, but if we’re to negotiate anything I’ll want to see your face.”

Darin did put down his hood at least. “You sell rugs?”

“What’s it look like?” The man stepped aside, waved toward the rolled rugs precariously stored behind him to twice his height.

There was a pile beside them too, the top few folded back. The uppermost seemed to display an epic, ancient battle, horses and men and birds tangled in the mess of it.

“It looks like rugs,” Darin said.

“Astute shopper here. Well, I sell fabric, too,” the man said. “But I don’t imagine that’d interest you.”

“No.”

“Friend,” the man called, just as Darin was turning to leave. “Perhaps there is something you are looking for other than rugs or fabrics?”

Darin thought a moment. “Inspiration,” he said, thinking that’d be the end of it.

“An artist?”

He thought again. “Something like that.”

“Go see my brother in stall eight-ninety-four. Tell him Lem sent you and to go fuck himself, okay?”

“He’s got inspiration there?”

“Oh, yes,” Lem said. “Everything and more in stall eight-ninety-four.”

So she’ll lead then.

The holo maps said Lem’s brother’s stall was a ways away, but Darin started down the path that’d take him there. It wasn’t a direct line, but nothing down there was. Three muddy dogs careened around the bend and disappeared past another. A fourth, smaller one came slowly up behind but was soon after the others. Two men argued over something. A near-nude man danced on a very small stage in the path’s center, a fishbowl of credits and foreign money between his heels. A woman desperately haggled for two collectible Marburg virus plushes she clutched to her chest. Someone yelled thief again and again, but no one turned to see. Sellers called to everyone unless they were host to a looker inside. Someone had dropped a plate of food, unrecognizable now with so many people since having trampled right through it. Darin held the straps on his pack and cut through the bunched crowd watching a historical holo. He followed the downloaded map on his wrist.

The young girl working the stall didn’t look like Lem’s brother. Darin stepped back to check the number. No, he’d gotten it right.

“What? You lost?” The girl sat at a small desk in the rear of the stall, her big boots up on the top of it. Unlike the others, she didn’t seem to want anyone there.

“Sorry, I was told to come here.”

“Lem sent you?”

“Yeah.”

“He tell you to find his brother?”

“Yeah, and —”

“To go fuck himself, right?” The girl rolled her eyes, dropped her feet dramatically, and huffed as she stood. “Lem’s an only child. And he probably told you that corny phrase he keeps trying to sell me too.”

Darin shrugged, pulling on his backpack’s straps. “Kind of catchy.”

“If you say so.”

The girl’s stall was a double, mostly old toys and magazines. There was some framed art leaning in the corner, some old helms covered in gamer decals.

“What’re you after?”

“I don’t think you have it.”

“I’ve got the next fourteen stalls. Try me. Come on,” she said, leading Darin through the curtain behind the desk. “We’ve got everything.” The stalls beyond weren’t on the path, it seemed; you could only get to them through the curtain she’d opened for him. She clapped and some lights came on. “Impressed?”

It took a moment for Darin to take it all in. The stalls were even shut off at the tops, too. Racks and stands and shelves and buckets of goods: fence posts, halogen bulbs, basketballs, tarantulas, scooters, birdhouses, bicycles, longbows, more magazines, rakes, a bowling ball, copper pipes, canes and walkers, ancient handsaws, prosthetic arm, shovels, wigs, a heartshaped locket (empty), coils of hose, coffeemakers, lumber, several mannequins of varying sizes and shapes, electronic drumkits, tarpaulins of myriad sizes and colors, cherry tree, doorknobs, a grill, a sink, hats like the one Lem wore, capes, lingerie for men and women, compost soil, books, a full car, cages, coffins, swords, crossbows, tires, wrapped ropes, two birds. There were things Darin couldn’t name.

“Where’d all this come from?”

Petty shrugged. “Found it. Suburbs. Lots of abandoned houses out there.”

Darin had heard about that. “Are there lots of these?” he said.

“These what?”

“Secret stalls.” He looked then in an aquarium from which four large frogs eyed him suspiciously.

“It’s not secret,” she said. “I just don’t show everyone.”

“But you showed me.”

That last muddy dog appeared then, the smaller one, and sat quietly aside them like he was listening. She bent to pet him. “Like you said, Lem sent you. He’s an old fool, but he’s got a good sense for these things. Pet him,” she said, “don’t be a maniac.”

“For what?” Darin said, squatting to pet the dirty dog.

“You’re after something not easily found.” She stood beside Darin now, her hands tucked deep into the big front pocket on her overalls, so Darin stood too, and the dog watched attentively. “So, what is it?”

“Inspiration.”

The girl laughed. “That I don’t have. But you’re welcome to look around.”

Darin just nodded.

“I’ll be out front. Just call.”

The dog stayed with him.

He looked well-fed at least, though he didn’t have a collar. Darin’s mother had had a Patterdale terrier about this guy’s size a long time ago. Beneath all the mud, it was hard to say even the fur’s color, but the dog was friendly enough. He figured following the dog around a bit was as good a way as any to see what all was back there. It wasn’t always obvious what you were meant to see — and you certainly had to be looking if you were going to see anything at all. The dog sniffed around an old, red gas can first, then a full rack of denim pants. Then it was the cherry tree, the pickaxe, the pile of shoes (upon which he pissed), the c-flour sacks, the single rollerskate, haybales. Then the dog lay down. So Darin went looking around by himself.

Emptyhanded, Darin was just about to go. He bent down beside the dog to say goodbye when the dog jolted up and growled. Darin looked, trying to see what the dog was seeing. They were just a few meters behind the girl’s desk, but the curtain was pulled shut. “Hey,” Darin said softly, “it’s okay, it’s okay.” But the dog just kept growling. “What is it? Who’s out there?” Darin stood and slowly approached the curtain, pulling it back only enough to see without being seen. There was someone out there with the girl.

“I told you he isn’t here,” the girl said.

“Oh, Petty. Please. But you are,” the man out there said.

Darin shifted, angling to see who it was.

“And as far as I’m concerned,” the man continued, “the daughter of the man who owes is close enough. Family. So, just swipe through and send those overdue credits my way, okay? It’s easy.”

The man was big, Darin saw. Wide and tall. He wore a long leather coat. He had one hand. The other arm ended in a blunt stump wrapped in leather too. His large head was shaved, save the front, which was gelled and stuck up in a single point like a horn.

Petty lied. “I don’t know his passcode.”

“I don’t believe that for a second. No sales then either? Now,” the man said, “I’ll give you a chance to consider the ramifications of that lie you just told. Or,” he said, “you could remedy it fast and send those credits. Unless you had some other repayment in mind.” He tucked his blunted arm into his coat. “I’ll browse while you think it over.”

Behind the curtain, Darin knelt once more to try to calm the dog, but it was no use. “Okay, okay,” he said, already swinging his backpack around. “You’re a good boy,” he said, pressing his head against the dog’s, “aren’t you?”

Darin waited and sweat and cursed to himself ’til the man returned to the desk, where the girl still sat, seemingly unafraid. She had one hand in the big pocket of her overalls.

“So,” the man started. “About our problem.”

“Go to hell.”

He almost looked hurt. “Now…”

Before anyone could say another word, before another threat could be leveled at the young girl, Darin stepped out from behind the curtain. For a moment, no one said anything. They both just stared at this man standing there now beside them, his hood up, his respirator making every breath loud, and those ridiculous wings stretching out behind him. Darin tried not to shake.

“What is this, Petty?” the man said. “You hire the Angel to protect you?” He almost laughed.

“I, I —,” Petty stammered.

“Leave,” Darin said. “Now.” He’d found a rather large ax in the back, so he showed the man now how he’d wield it. It was heavy as he lifted it. One good swing of it, and it’d cleave off an arm mostly or stick in a rib at least. Given the chance, it would take off the man’s other hand. Easy. No doubt there. The handwritten tag on it called it a maul.

“Look, Petty,” he said, talking to the girl. “You gotta be kidding right now. This a joke?”

Petty looked from the man to Darin then back. “I don’t think it’s a joke.”

“I’ll leave, I’ll leave.” He looked to Darin — “Okay?” — then back to Petty. “But I’ll be back, you know.”

Darin took a step forward. “You’re not listening.”

“Fine, okay.” The man turned quickly and left, though not without a final glance back at Petty.

Darin lowered the ax. He actually dropped it.

“Holy shit,” Petty said, pushing Darin back behind the curtain. “You’re the fucking Angel?” She kept shoving Darin back, excitedly saying, “Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit,” again and again.

“I’m... —I’m not the Angel,” Darin said.

“But you’ve got the wings. You’re the fucking Angel.”

He shrugged the wings off and stowed them in his bag again. “Who was that guy?” He couldn’t catch his breath suddenly.

“A Wraith.”

“A what?” Fuck it. He lowered the breather and took big gulps of air.

“You never heard of them? Gang down here. Big one, too. That’s what they’re called: the Wraiths. Stupid name.”

“No, I —”

“They’re mostly perk dealers, but they get nasty sometimes. Worse than the cops. Hector’s crew’s the worst of ’em. People hate them down here but —”

“Wait. You’re a perk —?”

“No, no. My dad is though.”

The dog was pawing at her pant leg now.

She said, “Owes them credits, just like all the holos make it seem. Those never end well, you know.”

Darin nodded. “What would that Wraith have done if —?”

Nudging the dog down, she said, “Not now, Zero.” Petty shrugged. “Can we talk instead about how you’re the fucking —?”

“What would he have done?”

“Heard some stories from other girls. Nothing good. I got a switchblade in my pocket, so don’t worry. I’ll use it this time if —”

“This time? He —?”

“Just once, but —” Petty looked away. “I guess I gotta thank you.”

“It’s okay.”

Petty looked back toward the first stall. “He’s gonna be back though,” she said. “With more of ’em, too. You gotta get out of here.”

She was right. He dragged his sleeve across his forehead. “What about you?”

“What about me?”

“You’re just a kid. And they’re ra- —”

“I’m nineteen. Don’t be an idiot. In drag time, that’s like twice that —”

“They’ll —”

“What’re you going to do? An ax won’t do it next time. And the time after that, you’ll be long gone.”

“Shit,” Darin said.

“So, get out of here. I’ll be —”

“No, no.” Darin said, “I can’t.”

“Okay, so what’re you going to do? Kill them all? That how this ends?”

“Maybe.”

Petty laughed, but she stopped when Darin didn’t find it funny. “You’re serious?”

He looked around the large, rear stalls. “Those swords real?” He pointed at a clutch of them in an umbrella stand.

“They’re for cosplay.”

“Oh.”

“But I’ve got real enough ones around somewhere.”

“Helmets,” Darin said aloud, taking stock. “Bats. Pitchforks.”

“I’ve got tasers locked beneath the desk,” Petty offered.

“And those gas cans. Are they full?”

“Some.” She looked around but turned back to Darin. “Holy shit. You’re like a —”

“I’m nobody.” He put his respirator back on.

“No, you’re the first somebody I’ve ever met.”

“Come on. We should hurry.”

“The Angel,” she said. “Goddamnit.”

“Hey,” Darin said, “what’s the dog’s name?”

Petty shrugged. “I call him Zero.”

“He’s not yours?”

“Not anybody’s really. Belongs to himself.”

They didn’t come back right away. It was hours. If Darin had his way, they’d have never come back. What did he expect to happen? Honestly, he had no idea. Whatever it was, it was like his mind wouldn’t let him go to those places.

Petty got them some food; there was a taqueria that backed up to her last stall.

“So you’re not the Angel?”

Darin shook his head. They were sitting on the dirt floor, way in the back. “I’m not, but I am. Far as I know, there’s just one set of wings that’re passed around. Friends pass them on to friends or, at least, people they know, trust. Never the same person twice, I don’t think. That’s how it was told to me.”

“Who gave them to you?” she tested him, angling a chip toward her mouth.

“A friend.”

She ate. “And, so, what? You’ll give them to someone else after you —?”

“Yeah. Not sure who’s the —”

“But you’ve gotta —You have to use them first. What are you going to do?”

Darin hefted another messy bite. “I wasn’t sure. Before. But now?” He shrugged. “I’m still not sure.”

Petty passed him the flimsy plate of carne asada.

“Thanks.” He traded her. The tacos de birria were just as good.

“Well,” she said, “I think you’re the bravest person I’ve ever met.”

Darin blushed.

“You think I’m kidding? You came out from behind that curtain like the, the… the fucking grim reaper with an ax and shit.” She fell back laughing. “Damn, seeing Hector’s face go pale like that...”

“Did it?”

“You couldn’t miss it.”

“I thought I was going to pass out. Or, like, shit myself.” He shook his head. He could hardly remember how it happened. “I wasn’t looking anywhere but —”

“You know we all love you.” She almost choked, coughing into her elbow. “I mean, the Angel. Even Hector probably cheers you on. Well… not anymore, maybe. Sure, the Angel probably pisses people off from time to time, but there’s nothing like watching those stupid ports burn in the parks or, like, ritzy lofts flood with sewage. The Angel’s for the people.”

“The Angel might be, but I’m just —”

“No. Darin, you’re too hard on yourself.” At some point, he’d decided to trust her with his name.

He just looked into the plate.

Zero licked her fingers.

“Petty, I —” He was about to say he was scared. He was about to apologize. Maybe he should have just stayed back behind the curtain. Maybe he should have told Marc to give the wings to someone else. He was about to say he was sorry, because he couldn’t do what…

But Zero jumped up, running full tilt toward the front stall.

“Shit,” Petty said, standing quickly. “I think they’re here. Darin,” she said, “get up.”

But he’d already stood. Darin put up his hood and kicked the food away. He found his backpack just as Petty clapped out the lights. Fuck it. He didn’t need the wings. He crouched and waited now, his hands finding the sword hilt beside him.

Hector was the first through the curtain; Darin recognized the voice, saw the ridiculous silhouette against the light outside, that one damn horn. “Petty, you in here? You better come out now, okay?” He turned back, calling, “Find the lights.”

And it wasn’t long before someone did. There were four Wraiths now, all of them just as big as Hector.

Darin stood behind a tall shelf of nails, casters, tools — tile cutter, miter saw, five belt sanders — and rebar, weights for lifting, bolts, and railroad ties. He’d given up on the respirator. Still, every breath he took seemed to resound in his ears. Every heartbeat was supercharged. He closed his eyes now.

The fire was louder than he’d expected, roaring just as soon as Petty tossed the match. She clapped the lights out, but the fire was bright enough to see by. Darin saw her hop away against the tall flames. Her head was comically big in the helmet. She disappeared again.

The fire kept the Wraiths in; that’s all it was supposed to do. Maybe it’d scare them a little, distract them. They’d tracked some gasoline in with them on their boots, but nothing caught they couldn’t stamp right out. Still, they backed away from the blaze by the curtain, forced farther in.

“The fuck’s this, Hector?” one of them asked.

“Just find Petty. If you see the Angel, kill him.”

The drag’s music was still there: bleating and grooving obliviously. Darin had almost forgotten.

Zero was barking, growling, and barking again. One of the Wraiths kicked him away.

“Split up. I can’t do this all night.”

It was two of them, none of them Hector, who came along the row behind Darin. He waited for a beat, then gave the whole thing a shove, toppling it atop them both. At that point, putting a sword in them was unnecessary but he did it anyway — quickly, one after the other, finding something soft in the dark. Alarming how easy it was that way. When the other two came running, Petty was already on the one’s back, a laughing taser sizzling against his neck, cackling madly in its robotic voice. They fell backward together. Zero was back to his barking. The taser stopped laughing.

By the time Hector turned, Darin had come around behind, out of the dark it seemed, all while pulling the sword’s blunt length hard against Hector’s throat, using both hands to try to choke him. Best case, this would all be over in a moment. They’d thrash around, knock things over, tumble on the floor until Hector went limp against him. But it wasn’t over. Hector threw his elbows wildly back, like he’d been choked like this before, like he knew what to do. His sharp elbows hit Darin hard in the ribs again and again. Hector spun ruthlessly, swinging his elbows. They knocked down the shelves around them. He rammed Darin into everything he could until he was free.

Darin fell back, holding the sword in one hand, trying desperately to look like he knew how to use it.

“No wings?” Hector squinted in the fiery dark. “Think you’ll kill me with that antique?”

Darin fought back the dizziness. “Your friends didn’t complain.”

Hector put up his one good fist, a set of spiked metal knuckles on it. “Fine.” But before he could move to strike, Petty had already jabbed her switchblade deep into his thigh.

And then Darin had him skewered on that old sword. At first, Hector looked confused, unsure what to think of the thing protruding from his chest. Then he was surprised, angry even. Then dead in a leather heap.

Petty clapped, and the light came on. She came around with her helmet under one arm. She had blood on her hands, her overalls, but it wasn’t hers. “Holy shit.” Her stalls were a mess.

Zero stopped barking. Darin just dropped to the ground. He thought he was going to be sick.

Petty doused the fire then returned and knelt beside him.

She touched his side. “Oh shit, you’re hurt.” Her hand came back red and sticky —more than it’d been before. “Hector got you? When did —?”

“No. That’s —I forgot,” he said weakly. That’s nothing. Torange.”

“What?”

“Torange. It’s —Earlier, I got one.”

She fell back against one of the still upright racks nearby. “Darin, I —”

“It’s okay, Petty. There’s —”

“We just started a war.”

“I know, I know.”

“Good. We’re gonna need —”

“In a moment.” Darin was finally seeing those black spots disappear in his sight.

She put her head back, thinking it all through. “Damn,” she said. Then, a moment later, “Damn.” She was laughing by then. But, soon, she fell silent, thoughtful. She looked at Darin. He didn’t look sick anymore. He’d pulled himself over and up against the rack with her. He looked all right. “You could’ve done anything. With those wings, you could have —You could have done what everybody else would have. Put the wings on and smash up a park or burn down an amalgam faith center, but —You didn’t. You did something for —Like actually for another —”

“Yeah,” Darin said. “That wasn’t my plan to —”

“You’re not nobody,” she said, patting his hand.

Zero was leaving red paw prints everywhere.

Darin could hardly move. “No?”

“No,” she said. “Keep the wings. You’re the fucking Angel we need.”

Darin smiled. “If you say so.”

“You are,” Petty said. “Don’t be stupid.”

“I —”

“Darin, look at me. Look at what we did. Together,” she said. “Imagine it. You’re the Angel we need now.”

Darin thought of nothing. He tried to conjure something, anything — whatever might convince him otherwise, whatever might tell him... “You’re right,” he said finally.

“Wait, what?” Petty reached over and shook him. “I’m right?”

Darin stood, offered his hand to help her up. “Maybe I am.”

“Hell yes. Say it.”

Darin laughed. “I’m the Angel.”

“Damn. That gives me chills.”

“You said people down here hate the Wraiths?”

“Those sadistic bastards? More than anything.”

“Good. Let’s go get the rest of our army.”