Wings

Chapter 3

When we finally return to the kitchen, the eggs are so cold they're congealing on the plate. We opt to toss them, but reheat the bacon, sausage, biscuits and grits. We tuck into the feast, enjoying every morsel. Finally, after devouring our food in silence for some time, Nick speaks. "When do you leave?" he asks reluctantly.

"As soon as possible," I reply, equally reluctantly. "New Orleans this time."

"When's your flight?" he asks.

"I... I'm winging it this time," I mumble. "The earliest flight I could get was at four p.m. and it included an overnight layover in Chicago. I couldn't deal with Azrael's torment for that long."

"Christ April," Nick mutters. "I hate it when you wing it."

I get up from the table and move around to his side. I rest a hand on his shoulder as I kiss him gently. "I know," I whisper. Nick pushes his plate away and draws me down onto his lap. He wraps his arms around me, hugging me tight against him. We sit like that for a little while, my head on his chest, his heartbeat in my ears. His head on my shoulder. It's not long enough.

After a while, Nick stands up, and we clean off the table. I'm prolonging my departure as long as possible, but I know I have to leave, eventually. Sooner rather than later. So as the sun reaches its noon-day peak, I grab my bag from my room and head toward the door. Nick meets me at the front door. "I wish you didn't have to leave..." he whispers, pulling me into a tight hug.

"If I stay, you die," I whisper back. "You know that."

"I know," he says fiercely. "I know. This is all my fault."

"No!" I cry, pulling back from his embrace to gaze up at his face. "No, this is not your fault. It's not your fault you got cancer. It's not your fault your parents were assholes who valued their booze over the life of their oldest child. It's not your fault I made a deal with Azrael to save you instead of facing a lifetime without you. It is not your fault. None of this is your fault." I clutch him, squeezing him as if to squeezing out every drop of doubt from his very being. "I love you Nicholas Collins."

"I love you, April Foster," Nick replies. "Be safe," he adds, kissing me. I break our embrace and open the door. "I will be in New Orleans by the end of the week, I promise," Nick says.

I pause in the doorway and cast one last lingering glance back at him. I have a niggling grim feeling about this job. But I shove it out of my mind and step out into the sunlight. As I tighten the strap on my cross-body backpack, I hear Nick close the door to the apartment. I know he is watching from the window, though. With a deep breath, I climb up on to the railing that runs the length of the apartment block. With a gulp, I step off the railing. I plummet toward the concrete sidewalk five floors below our apartment.

Suddenly, I hear a WHOOSH! And my descent halts abruptly. A set of giant wings, as black as a midnight sky, sprout from my shoulders. With a single flap of them, I lift all the way back up to the fifth floor where Nick is watching from the window. When he sees me hovering just beyond the railing, he smiles a sad smile and gives me a slight wave. I flap a few more times until I clear the top of the apartment building. I pause just long enough to orient myself. Then with a last look, I head off into the blue sky toward New Orleans.