Chapter 7

August 23rd

August 23rd – Lucky Horseshoe Hotel, Central

There were eighteen people in Angel's little group, including her and Earnest. And each one had a story to tell.

The dark-eyes woman who had spoken to her earlier was called Jade. She'd been a nurse before Mangeli attacked her town, and her husband and children had died in the labs.

Jason had been librarian and part-time alchemist. Carrie had been living rough on the streets – a thief and a pickpocket, to put it plainly. Phillip had been a blacksmith. Sharon was a seamstress, and Wyatt had been a barkeep. Emily had been an engineer, Nathan had been a builder, Renee had been a plumber. George had been a shop assistant, Oliver was a teacher, Leslie had driven a taxi. Michael was an amateur magician, and Stefan had been a private detective.

And now...

Now they were currently taking advantage of a small hotel's facilities. It had been closed – while the owners were on vacation, most likely – but Carrie knew how to pick locks.

While Angel wondered briefly about the morals of such a thing – they were stealing, after all – she figured after the hell they lived through, they deserved a little leeway. They weren't going to rob the place blind either; just cleaning up, some new clothes and a little food. Then they were going to look for a place to sleep.

In the shower, Angel scrubbed and scrubbed at her skin, as though it would peel away to reveal who she really was. Her wings were awkward. It was hard to scrub her back with them in the way, and the weight of them kept throwing her off-balance. It took a long time to clean the feathers – they were so encrusted with dirt and dust that she was surprised at their real colour. She'd been expecting a grey, but instead they were pure, snowy white.

Eventually, she turned the water off and stepped out. Naked and dripping water onto the tiles, she stared at herself in the mirror for the longest time. Inspecting every facet of her appearance as a jeweller would inspect a gem.

She had straight, straw-gold hair that reached her waist. Running her fingers through the strands, she found they felt quite soft and smooth, almost silky. Her skin was very pale, and she debated briefly whether it had always been that way, or it was simply a result of never seeing the sun during her time in the cell…however long that had been. Either way, her skin was pale; not quite ivory, but more a wintry cream.

Her lips were pretty much average. Not too small, not too big, with a vaguely shell-pink tone to them. Her nose was small and straight, while her ears stuck out slightly from the sides of her head.

Angel examined the rest of her face. Her forehead was fairly smooth, the eyebrows light and thin. Her face wasn't plump or chubby, she could identify the slight swells of her cheekbones.

She decided she liked her jaw. It wasn't square, but it still gave an impression of determination while keeping its femininity. She parted her lips and looked at her teeth; they weren't blindingly white but were fairly straight and looked healthy enough. Her eyelashes weren't particularly long or thick but they were dark and full and probably capable of a coy flutter or two.

The eyes they framed were the sapphire blue of a summer sky, a light, joyous shade yet they still managed to look deep as the oceans. Angel couldn't help leaning closer to the glass, staring into her own eyes, trying to fathom the secrets in their depths. So innocuous, almost innocent, but when they caught the light just so they seemed hard as diamonds. They had a certain sparkle about them too, like a rippling stream catching the sunlight. She wondered at the contradictions; the determined, almost steely edge alongside the light-hearted glitter. They were gentle and open, and at the same time spirited and mysterious.

But she became uncomfortable, gazing into eyes – into a soul – shaped by events she could not remember, and soon looked away.

Shaking her head, Angel left her face in lieu of her body. Her veins showed through the pale skin like smoky blue ribbons, fading out of sight as they traversed her body, only to reappear wherever those pathways of blood strayed close to the surface. She was of average height, but she was built like a willow sapling, straight and slender. Though her wings screamed for scrutiny, Angel refused to be rushed, and she began her minute inspection with her neck. Her neck fit her, she decided, about average length but elegant, the column of her throat just visible.

She continued down her body.

Her shoulders were straight, her collarbones clearly defined. Her arms were lean, but the fingers and wrists were very strong – perhaps she had worked with her hands? Her hands themselves were small, with slight calluses on her palm and the pads of her fingers. Her fingers had small joints that looked as though they had been put to frequent use and the nails, though clean, were short and blunt, almost square. Her stomach wasn't exactly muscular, but it was toned, and she followed the slight flare of her hips with a curious finger.

Her legs were long and slim, and while she didn't think they were as capable as her arms, she could still feel hard, lean muscles. She must have managed to get a lot of exercise.

Angel turned away, her back now facing the mirror. She brushed her hair over her shoulder, took a deep breath, and craned her head around to get a glimpse of her back.

Pure white wings dominated her vision. They were anchored to her skin, their base stretching from her shoulder to just below her hip, and so wide only the thin strip of skin over her spine was clear of feathers. They arched upwards to come level with her head, and the long flight feathers at the bottom brushed against her ankles. She spread them wide, and was immediately astounded by how large they were – her wingspan must have been ten or twelve feet!

Then Angel looked at the wings themselves. They had short feathers on the top, progressing to larger, longer ones as her eyes travelled downwards. They looked exactly like the wings of a bird, with all the different types of feathers; soft, downy ones near the base, long, firm ones at the end. She flexed them, spreading them as wide as she could in the tiny bathroom and then folding them in. She was surprised at their flexibility; they could comfortably fold almost completely out of sight against her back.

Though she could clearly remembering the wings tearing her skin as they grew, there was no hint of scar tissue. The transition from flesh to feathers was smooth, almost elegant.

At length, Angel turned away from the mirror and the stranger she found there.

'I would probably have been considered pretty,' she thought as she dried herself off, dabbing at her wings. 'Maybe even beautiful.'

With a soft sigh, she donned the baggy gown again, and walked out of the bathroom.

oooooooo

August 23rd – Warehouse District, Central

"So, where are you taking us, exactly?" Angel couldn't help asking as Carrie led them through the towering buildings.

They were lucky it was so late. A small group walking through the streets and led by a girl with wings would have raised a lot of questions if anyone was still around.

"I lived in Central a while back," the woman answered, eyes darting from side to side. "And while I was...you know...living rough...I found this place...I never told anyone, but it would be perfect."

"And this place is...?"

"Here," she whispered, pulling up a drain cover. "In here."

"Does that lead where I think it leads?" Wyatt asked, eyeing the dark hole in the road. "I mean, that's not-"

"It's a sewer," Carrie said, already beginning to slide down the small metal ladder on the inside of the drain. "But don't worry, we won't actually be walking through the muck, we just need to get down there..."

The others automatically looked to Angel for guidance.

"It's dark down there," Earnest whimpered, clutching her arm tightly.

"It'll be okay," Angel coached, "I'll go down next, okay? I'll make sure it's safe."

Her wings made it awkward to descend into the drain – they kept shifting unconsciously, and hitting the sides. But she kept going, until she was standing on a small concrete shelf above the sewer waters.

One by one, the others followed. Carrie set off along the shelf at a brisk trot, stopping in front of a large crack that ran the length of the wall beside them.

"Here."

"The crack?"

"Watch this."

And to the other's astonishment, Carrie slipped into the crack sideways, vanishing into the wall.

Amid the yelps and exclamations, Angel called, "Carrie! Carrie! What happened?"

Her voice came back from behind the moss-covered bricks. "Come on, it's okay...trust me."

Taking a deep breath, Angel turned sideways, flattened her wings against her back, and squeezed into the crack. The ragged walls pressed into her like a vice for a several moments, and then the pressure was abruptly released, as though she had come out in an open space.

Angel's brow furrowed, her eyes trying to pierce the darkness. "Carrie?"

"I'm here. Guess we forgot some light, huh?"

"Not necessarily."

Angel held her hand out, clenching her fist and concentrating. The white fire returned, flames that seemed to be composed of solid white light, flames that didn't burn, but instead felt like a silk glove on her skin.

White light spilled from the flames, illuminating the space around her...and Angel gasped.

She and Carrie had emerged through the end wall of an enormous wine cellar, obviously long unused. There was a long corridor running up the centre, with pillars creating small alcoves of either side. Gigantic wine barrels were resting in them, giving off a vague fruity odour.

Angel walked up the 'corridor', her fist held high, watery light reaching the towering rafters. Angel guessed the roof would be about fifty feet above their heads.

A large circle of bricks stood in the middle of the corridor, as though it were once a vat of some kind. But Angel had no idea what kind of vat it could have been – the circle was about a metre in diameter, and the bricks only reached her waist.

At the end of the little walkway, there was evidence of a door, but a lumpy mess of set concrete blocked it. That probably explained this cellar's disuse – the building had probably been knocked down and the cellars filled in with concrete. But this one had obviously been a shoddy job.

"Well, what do you think?" Carrie asked, gesturing around the huge cellar.

Angel grinned. "Perfect. Let's get the others in here."

oooooooo

August 23rd – Hidden Cellar, Central

Several hours later, Angel curled up in her bed with a deep sense of satisfaction. Within the space of six hours, the cellar had become a pleasant base of operations. They'd been forced to make several trips to the surface again for materials, but now they were set up quite comfortably.

The wine in the barrels had been off, so they'd dumped it into the sewer. When cut in half and resting on the curved side, the barrels made very spacious beds. Everyone had claimed one of the small alcoves as a makeshift bedroom, given some privacy with sheets strung between the pillars.

Renee had discovered a rusty sink in the corner of the cellar, and with some quick plumbing tricks, coaxed it into working again. They now had running water, and as far as toiletry needs were concerned, Angel figured they could just squeeze through the crack in the wall and relieve themselves directly into the sewer.

The biggest problem had been lighting...until Angel discovered her white fire could be transmitted to other objects. It had taken some time, but eventually she had managed to create a bonfire in the 'vat' that sat in the middle of the cellar. The white fire gave light, but no heat or smoke. And it didn't extinguish. So all the 'bedrooms' were at the very ends of the cellar, where it was darkest.

At first, Angel had wanted to go after Mangeli straight away, but the others had convinced her otherwise. Earnest had mentioned that his father had backers – those who supported his research financially so they could profit from it later, and Angel decided it would be wise to go after them first. After all, they had no idea where Mangeli was, while Earnest had a good idea of who the backers were. And if they took out his support, Mangeli would be stranded, and might be forced to reveal himself, however discreetly, in an attempt to garner more.

Yes, everything was going to work out fine.

Angel smothered a yawn with her hand, rolled over on her side (being careful not to squash her wings) and closed her eyes.

oooooooo

AN: This chapter may have seemed unduly lengthly, but I felt it was necessary. With that part in front of the mirror, I tried to show Angel's confusion at who she could have been – examining herself in the mirror for clues as to who she was. I wanted to show that the people who were following her were from all walks of life, and so gave them a brief job description to try and flesh them out, rather than having them as faceless minions. And as for the cellar, well, every hero needs a base of operation.