You know what I hate about vacations? The exact reverse of what I've just described.
There are about a million little things that have to be done before going on vacation, and they all seem to revolve around my cat. She needs food, water, a clean litter box, a place to sleep, a window open so she doesn't freak out. Then there's the packing: making sure I have everything in my bag, going through the list so I don't forget anything (I always do, and it's always a hairdryer), doing laundry at the last minute because I forgot that I wear real people clothing during the week, too.
So it amazed me when, at about 7:45 tonight, I found myself with nothing to do because I had already done it all.
Sure, I'm not completely packed (but the hairdryer is already in the bag!), but most of the little important things are done (or are being done...the cat's drinking fountain is in the washer as I type). I even had a few minutes to write a bit of a scene that deserves more of my time and attention. I know that this is going a lot slower than I initially thought it would, but I kind of like taking my time on this. If I step away for a few days, that's okay, because when I come back, the ideas are all there and they seem to manifest into something much better than before. Basically, what that all means is, I'm going to continue taking my time on this one. If it doesn't get done until after Thanksgiving, so be it. At least I'll be proud of what I've written (or so I'm hoping!).
On that preachy note, since I'm leaving for three days and I don't exactly know when I'll be back on Monday (but regular hours start up Tuesday, so I'll have something up that morning), I figured I would leave you all with something a little special. I'm not far into Amory's sequel, but I am far enough that I can give you a small taste of the adventure she's on now. In case you forgot, let me catch you up to speed (SPOILERS!): Amory's wings have been cut off by her best friend Drystan, leaving her in Bexington with her brother, her demon lover, and the rest of the crew. She's sent them all out into the world to find others that will join their cause to protect Rick and this small village, so that the humans can stand a chance against Heaven. The second installment picks up about four days after Amory has left Bexington. She, Oskar, and Fintan are searching the United States for someone to agree to help them. At one of their last stops before heading back home, they meet Jane North, a fierce demon camp leader that might know more than she lets on... (PS, this is not the final draft, OBVIOUSLY)
Truth
be told, I’m not really in a hurry to meet Jane. I know it’s our job – the job
that I set myself – but I just don’t want to stand around all day talking about
fallen angels and I’ve now joined their ranks. It’s enough of a reminder
putting on a jacket each day, my fingers hitting the small nubs of wing that
Fintan couldn’t burn off.
And then that brings up memories of
Drystan. I don’t need to go down that road.
Before another bad thought can even
poke in my head, the door flies open. All three of us are brought to attention
by a large, rather imposing woman. She towers over me, and even though I’m not
exactly tall, the fact that the bun on top of her head skims the top of the
door frame frightens me a bit. Her skin reminds me of the night sky in
Bexintgon: beautifully blue-black, so dark that it seems to swallow the stars.
Every feature on her face is big: eyes, nose, mouth. But it all fits her. She
comes together wonderfully.
“Can I help you?” she barks, her
eyes taking in each of us in turn.
Fintan steps forward, but the look
she gives him stops him comically. Slowly, she turns her face to my brother,
but he shakes his head, his eyes wandering down to his shoes. When she finally
looks at me, I curse the day I set out with these two cowards.
“Jane North?” I ask brusquely.
The corners of her mouth twitch.
“Who’s asking?”
“Amory Ambrose.”
An eyebrow crawls upward. “The
fallen. How have I been blessed with such a guest?”
I offer a smile, but I’m aware it’s
more of a grimace. “Look, can we cut the crap? You know why we’re here. I’m
betting that the moment we left Emily’s camp, she had already let you know that
we were coming.”
Jane blinks at me, and for one crazy
second, I think she’s about to cut us down where we stand. Sure enough, her
fingers twitch at her side, and my hand goes to the knife secured tightly at my
hip, but then she laughs. In fact, she laughs so hard that she bends over, her
bun smacking the doorframe on its way down. Both hands on her knees know, the
back of her neck exposed to us.
Oskar, Fintan, and I exchange a
brief glance. Have we walked into insanity?
“Good lord, little bird,” she
chuckles, straightening again. The laughter is still written on her face. “You
are a tough thing, aren’t you?” Quicker than a woman her size should move, she
wraps her arms around me and pulls me close. Her fingers play dangerously close
to my stumps. “I guess I should call you my little broken bird, huh?”
I wait for the anger to come, but,
surprisingly, it doesn’t. Instead, amusement bubbles out of my mouth. “I guess
that would be the right term.”
She pulls me inside the house while
waving at the other two. “Get in here! Emmy did indeed let me know that you
three were on your way here. But she said that you had some good things to say.
She also told me,” she adds in a stage whisper, “that you were traveling with
two gorgeous men, and she wasn’t kidding!”
While she laughs again, I glance
back at my brother and Fintan, both of whom have the good grace to appear
embarrassed.
We’ve been ushered into one of the
coziest houses I’ve been in since Bexington. While most of the camps we’ve gone
to have been just that – camps – Jane has obviously chosen comfort over
anything. There’s no sign of tents or make-shift latrines anywhere: chintz
chairs, pillow like sofas, a fire already going behind the iron grate. It even
smells like a home: cinnamon and mint and honey and all those good things that
disappeared from the Earth when everything fell apart. I wouldn’t be surprised
to find a matronly woman bustle out of the kitchen with a tray full of out of
the oven cookies and cold milk for us.
But that doesn’t mean there aren’t
signs of war here. Swords are shoved in the corner, thrown haphazardly into a
stack. There’s thick iron bars over the windows, built on the inside, hidden
from passerby’s by some pretty floral curtains. Paper is scattered across all
surfaces, it seems. Jane pushes it all aside, gesturing for us to take the sofa
across from a handsome leather chair set up right in front of the fire.
She sees me glance at the steadily
climbing flames and smiles. “We demons can never get enough heat. Am I right?”
This seemingly rhetorical question is aimed at the two others.
Neither of them says anything, but I
notice that Fintan goes to stand at the fireplace while Oskar takes the seat
closest to him.
Jane smirks at me. “Demons. What did
I tell you?” Then she claps her hands together once, loudly. I swear I can hear
little disturbed feet scuttling for higher ground. “Now! You’ve traveled all
this way for a good reason, I hope.”
“You must know why we’re here,”
Oskar says warily.
“Of course I know why you’re here,”
she huffs, rolling her eyes. Everything seems to be a joke to this lady. “But
rumors and gossip can only get you so far. I need to hear it straight from the
source’s mouth. In this case,” she adds, pointing her finger at me and winking,
“from our little broken bird right here.”
Strangely, the name doesn’t bother
me. It’s better than the pitying looks I’ve received from most of the camps
we’ve visited. Or the fearful ones. I’m not sure which are worse.
“We need help,” I tell her frankly.
“Bexington is the last peaceful place on this planet, and I think we all know
why that is.”
“Rick,” she says simply.
I nod. “Rick. But now…We think that
Toussaint knows Rick is hiding there. He has to. There have been angels and
crazy humans bombarding that place for the last few months. The villagers are
good fighters, really, but…” I shrug, looking up at Fintan.
“But they do not have the kind of
training that demons and angels have,” he picks up for me. “Amory thought that
it would be prudent if we went out into the world and asked others with similar
interests as us for help.”
“And how’s that working out for
you?”
It could be my imagination, but I
think I hear laughter in Jane’s voice. “For us? I mean…pretty okay. There’s
been a few camps that like what we here. But…” I trail off, not sure how to
explain.
What can I say? How can I tell Jane
that many of the camps out there are made up of terrified humans that don’t
want to believe that angels and demons are real? How can I tell her that so
many of the humans threatened our lives, that they chased us off their land
without even listening to what we had to say? How can I tell her that she’s one
of our last hopes, that we know she could convince many with her clout?
Something about Jane North has made other camps bend to her will, and we could certainly
use that right now.
She’s the youngest creature we’ve
come across. She can’t be more than twenty-two or so, even though she’s been a
demon for five times that long. But we’ve heard other camps speak her name in
reverence, seen the power that she’s amassed. Her camp is easily three times as
big as Bexington, and that is some serious man power than could help turn this
war around.
Oskar’s hand creeps into mine. I
take it gratefully, squeezing it until I think I can feel the nonexistent pulse
in there. He offers me a smile, the same one that he’s given me each time we’ve
failed.
Have we already failed?
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