.
Humans have the most terrifying minds. This was the first truth that I've learned at the beginning of my existence and even now, after sixty-eight years, I cling to it. Those words were ringing in my ears as I stared at by brother's body.
It takes only so much to mortally wound these fragile human bodies, such as a well-placed bullet in the head, or a precise slash across one of the major arteries. Then again, that doesn't make the former any less gruesome to witness. The bullet was still there, I noticed, lodged in his skull and it seemed so tiny and non-threatening, or at least, not until it was in a gun in human hands. I ran my fingers across it, making my brother let out a small groan.
It was foolish of us to think that this would work. Taking human forms, opening a bar in one of the busiest streets in Washington DC, hoping to be accepted as an equal part of the community. But, the truth is, humans aren't keen on accepting us, or allowing us to become a part of their everyday lives. To them, we are still legends, just as we've always been, incorporated into myths and fairytales and used to cheer up their offspring before bed, or to teach them an 'important lesson about life', such as: Love always wins, or, Don't take apples from strangers, or, Good will always win over evil. Sure, the lessons are indeed valuable and important, but humans always had trouble to distinguish good from evil. The prime example stood behind me, the gun still shaking in his hand.
"Get up! Put your hands in the air!"
I did, slowly, causing my brother's fingers to twitch as he attempted to grab my wrist. His voice came out as a strangled groan, his lips struggling to form the words. "Belle... don't."
It's fine, I wanted to say, offering him a small smile, but the human's victorious voice interrupted me.
"I knew it! You're demons! Both of you!" He pointed the gun at us, with a murdeous glint in his eyes that I'd seen so many times before, ready to end the job he'd started. My fists clenched as I stared at the man's reflection in the glass on the coffee table in front of me. If I so much as moved, he would shoot, and I didn't really feel like going to Hell. Again.
Instead, I stared at the reflection, calculating and re-calculating if I would be fast enough to turn the trajectory of the bullet, or if I would be forced to call for help. Again.
Deciding against it, because being in anyone's debt was something I just didn't do, I ran.
Bang. Bang.
.
"Really, kids? This is the third time this month."
Damn it.
Ok, wrong choice of words.
Fuck, then.
Belle felt hard ground beneath her, even though she'd landed on top of something soft when she fell. She let out a hiss as she could feel the bullet lodged in her spine, and, even though the pain was miniscule, it was still quite uncomfortable. Also, she was almost one hundred percent sure that her legs were paralyzed. Another groan came from beside her, and when she turned her head, she saw Beau, with yet another bullethole in his head.
She had to admit, that man had an excellent aim.
He looked over to her, as well, his colorful eyes scanning around before he scrunched his nose slightly, then jumped to his feet.
"Hello, Dad. Long time no see," he said politely, yet bitterly, as he shook the ever-falling ashes off his equally gray wings. The bullets in his forehead didn't seem to bother him at all, in fact, it looked like he didn't even notice them.
The incubus scowled at the young man whom he called his son. As if it wasn't enough that he risked his own skin every time he pushed them out, he also had to put up with the attitude. "This has to stop."
Belle cringed at the way words became distorted and detached as soon as they were spoken out loud. That, combined with the distance from her element and the way time was so slowed down that it had barely been a moment since they were shot, made her head feel light.
"Or what? You'll lose your job?" Beau mocked, finally moving over to her and helping her get the bullet out of her spine. He wasn't gentle about it, either, but nonetheless, Belle still sighed in relief when she felt a tingling sensation spread down her legs.
"Well, he definately might."
The voice was unfamilliar, male, yet Belle felt as if she'd heard it at least a hundred times before. Every single word was honeyed and strangely seductive, as if they were spoken by a merman or an incubus, or other such creature who use their voice as s tool to get what they wanted. It sounded like someone one would trust immediately. Then again, when she looked up at her father and brother, her eyes widened.
She'd never seen them afraid, ever. But, at that moment, they were horrified as if they were staring at Death himself. With her back turned to whoever it was, Belle couldn't see their face, but in foresight, she saw a hand lower itself on her shoulder, with red, heavily burnt skin. That image alone made the expression on her face match the ones on the two men in front of her.
"Raphael," the seemingly disembodied voice spoke to Belle's father. "Take your son to the surface."
Not even glancing down at her, the incubus approached Beau and, in the blink of an eye, they disappeared with a single flap of black wings so that the only thing that was left of her brother was an echo of his scream and a single, gray feather, which floated over to Belle and landed beside her feet. Frozen, she stared at the feather, before picking it up with shaking hands and lightly running a finger across its sharp edge.
The image that came to her at that moment made her choke back tears.
Sure enough, she then felt the hand on her shoulder.
.
Father wasn't there when I woke up. Instead, I saw our human murderer drop his gun and proceeded to run to the exit, but he didn't get far. A young and gorgeous policewoman was waiting for him in front of the bar, and, before the man could ever process what was happening, he was pinned to the ground. She smiled at me, her dark eyes glinting, and I couldn't help but smile back. For a moment, I was lost in the chocolate whirlpool that was her eyes, before reality struck me with its icy blade.
The very moment that I looked down at the empty space next to me, was the moment I heard the voice speak my name.
"Beau?"
It was so sweet, so crystal-clear, ringing in my ears over and over. Beau. Beau. Beau. That wonderful sound hadn't grazed my ears in over sixty years. I looked up and couldn't believe my eyes. My sister, my beautiful, beautiful sister, standing barely a few steps away from me. I felt unexplainable relief wash over me. My lips streched into a huge smile, the face of the Devil now completely gone from my mind as I stared into her large, violet eyes.
Within two seconds, I had her in my arms, enveloped in a crushing, desperate hug.
.
He didn't ask how I got my voice back. He didn't ask why my hair was a foot longer than it had been. But, most importantly, he didn't ask about the wilted gray feather that I wore around my neck.
.