Chapter Three

"Would it be rude of me to ask why you're mute?" My voice is tentative in the overall quiet, disturbing the rustle of our feet over the blanketing leaves. Ogden seems surprised, his dark eyes widening, but he swiftly rocks his head from side to side.

His swollen cheeks redden. Ogden tilts his head to me, and, bashfully, opens his mouth.

Inside of Ogden's red maw sits no tongue – at least, not much of one. A pink lump lingers near the back of his throat, distorted and riddled with uneven lumps. It's not a natural malformation, but rather one seemingly severed by a sharp blade. Before I can study it intensely, Ogden shuts his mouth again, ruddy cheeks vivid.

"How did that happen?" I wonder, eyes wide with the sympathy gnawing at my heart. I know of religions that require snipping off the tip of the tongue, but I've never heard of nor seen such cruel torture as afflicted to Ogden. Besides, the childish old man hardly seems the type to commit to an extremist group.

Ogden does not respond, gaze glued the rise and fall of his boots.

"Sorry," I apologize after seconds of silence. "That was prying, wasn't it?"

"You might as well become used to it," calls Raffe from behind me. "Penryn pries much more than anyone I know."

My glare needled with daggers clashes against his arrogant façade.

Ogden glances over his shoulder, then back at me. A single hand shuffles through each of his pockets, the clinking of metal accompanying each dive into his cargo pants. Scruffy seems alert, ears swiveled towards Ogden, as if hidden somewhere amongst the gears, there are treats for the giant wolf. From the pits of a pocket in his apron, Ogden pulls a frayed notebook clipped with a small pen across the rings.

Uncapping the pen, he writes onto the notebook.

Raffe and I exchange a glance. He's as grim and suspicious as ever.

Once he's finished, Ogden pushes the notebook into my hand. There's only one thing written on the page with uneven handwriting and temperamental ink.

Would it be rude of me to ask why Arch Raphael is neither angel nor demon?

I, myself, would like the details to that question. I fall back a step, my stride greeting Raffe's. Tilting the pad so he can read it easier, I hold it out to him. The mild curiosity on his face is rapidly succeeded by first alarm, then suspicion, and finally a calm, cool mask of regal indifference.

"That would be rude, yes," decrees Raffe disapprovingly, "but I suppose I can't leave you empty-handed. Spread your rumors if you will, but I haven't Fallen – just… taken some things that don't belong to me. I plan on giving them back."

Ogden frowns, as if he knows that Raffe's summary of events is massively inaccurate, but he shrugs and plods onwards. Although he seems curious, the old man knows when not to pry.

Glancing once more at Raffe, I join Ogden again, handing him back the notebook. Smiling gratefully, Ogden stuffs it into a random pocket again, slipping the ballpoint pen into another. Then, I fall back once more. Raffe watches me as I regain my placement by his side from the corners of his eyes, but he doesn't breathe a word of sarcasm.

Our surroundings cannot be described as anything but beautiful – not the beautiful as in the first breath of a newborn child or the beautiful as in the sultry red lips of a curved woman, but the feral, untamed majesty that only wild places such as this forest can survive. Jutting through the woods are giant boulders that reach to the sky with stone fingers, and sloping cliffs slick with leaves. We pass more than one roaring creek riddled with waterfalls and salamanders darting through the crystalline waters. Everywhere we go, an eagle's call seems to mock our every step, echoing through the canopy like a declaration of wild beauty.

The very same beauty has made the trail treacherous; at times, I've slipped or lost my balance, the unsteady stones among the stable easily fooling me. Once, I'd stepped in a bitter cold creek, allowing my left foot to freeze to death. Raffe was caught by surprise when he walked into an overhanging branch, the crack of his forehead against bark a mighty one, but otherwise he seems at home with the forest.

Despite his crippled legs, Ogden's stride is powerful, storming ahead of us. The old man reminds me slightly of an ox – he's not exactly the prettiest thing in the world, but strong and tough enough to get the job done. His frame is the one of the aged bodybuilder. Once, in his exuberant prime, Ogden was probably a grunt worker or an athlete. The way he walks without a staff of any type illustrates that he's confident and at ease with his aging as well – Ogden has not stumbled once, despite that loping hobble he has.

Scruffy is confident on the trail, as well. More than once, he's shied from a bird suddenly taking flight or a lizard darting across the leaves, but not once has he quavered from the path Ogden takes. Loyalty glitters as acutely as the copper in his eyes. Seeing the wolf's bobbing trot causes a question to refocus.

"Is Scruffy some type of harmless demon?" I wonder, prepared to discern more of Ogden's body language.

"No," answers Raffe for me. His gaze is trained on the wolf as well. "Demons are never harmless. They're treacherous and foul, and any appearances they may have that lean towards innocence are masks to hide the wickedness inside. For that reason, this pathetic creature is not a demon."

Ogden's head tilts back, as if he's listening in on our conversation.

"But what if Scruffy's wearing one of those masks?" I challenge. "What then?"

"A demon speaks in riddle and rhyme, which Scruffy does not do. A demon burns beneath sunlight, which Scruffy does not do. A demon's growl instills fear in the hearts of Men. Or Daughters of Men. Your sister pranced right up to Scruffy after hearing him growl at his stick."

"Right, so, not a demon. What is he, then?"

Raffe frowns, pondering. "That, I'm not sure. Maybe a human scientist's biological experiment. Maybe a monster – on occasion, there is just a random creature spawned not from Hell but from Earth. Scruffy is a mystery to me."

"Oh. Okay." I don't feel that there's anything more to add to the conversation.

Ogden shrugs and mimes scratching his head when my eyes clap against his.

Another silent moment passes.

"So, he's more like a friendly, fluffy monster, then?"

Raffe sighs. "Why? Are you going to rename him Pooky Bear, too?"

It's pleasant to have Raffe back to his normal, teasing self. That other side of him, frustrated and angry, had been difficult to both communicate with and tolerate. Inspired by the turn of our conversation, I smirk.

"Oh, no, only Pooky Bear likes glittery skirts. Which reminds me." I unsheathe Pooky Bear and smile at her teasingly. "What do you want this time, Pooky Bear? Tutus are so mainstream… maybe next time, I'll get you a tiara! Or Cinderella's glass slippers! We've got to trash the Teddy Bear image; it's just not working for me, you know? How about a unicorn? Or a pegasus? Or maybe a unicorn pegasus!" My gasp is overacted. "I know! I'll get you wings, so you and Raffe will match! What do you think we should go for: Tinkerbell or Cupid?"

Anger flares from the blade. Raffe's glower is as scalding as hellfire.

"Right," I answer for Pooky Bear, nodding in grave agreement. "Always go with Tinkerbell."

"You know," threatens Raffe solemnly, "someday, she's just going to leap from that scabbard and saw your head off, and there'll be nothing I'll be able to do about it."

I bat my eyelashes at him, not completely hiding the sneer curling my lips. "I don't know what I'd do without my Knight in Feathered Armor. Thank goodness you're here, Princy Pie!"

Ogden observes the banter thoughtfully, glancing over his shoulder with an odd scrunched look dominating his misshapen face.

"If we were in a fairytale," Raffe estimates, "you'd definitely be the Evil Queen. No doubt about it."

"But Disney villains get the best songs!" I exclaim enthusiastically, twirling Pooky Bear in my hand. "I'd have a dark solo rivalling the likes of Scar's song!"

Raffe snorts rudely. "The day you sing something that even comes close to Scar's song is the day I eat a shoe."

"That should be my magical talent!" My grin broadens. "My voice is so awful that anyone who hears it has the irrational urge to eat a shoe! Call me" – I strike a fighter's pose with Pooky Bear in hand – "the Shoe Siren."

Ogden's reverberating chuckles thunder through his chest like an old drum. Scruffy licks up the side of Ogden's face at the noise experimentally.

"You are one-hundred percent crazy," Raffe scolds. "Absolutely insane."

"That's why I'm the villain, right, Knight in Feathered Armor?"

For the first time, Raffe cracks the slightest smile. It's just a mere smirk toying with the tips of his lips, but it's a smile all the same. His expression is so devilishly handsome, Satan himself would faint with envy.

"I wouldn't consider me any type of protagonist, either," he argues. "No, I'm much more skilled at the unfriendly wanderer image. Viewers like mysterious and sexy. Bad boys will always be a thousand times more interesting than the perfect man."

"I'm surprised you know so much about children's movies." I cock an eyebrow at him, watching Raffe through my lashes. "But a villainess doesn't need an emotionally unstable partner, either. Bad boys go better with good girls."

Raffe chuckles. "Not in all cases."

"True," I admit. "There was Robin Hood and Maid Marion. They were both good guys, or idolized like that. But Maid Marion died. So, as a female, I don't particularly like that partnership."

"It depends on the version," Raffe points out. "In Disney, which seems to be our theme, they lived happily ever after."

"Yeah, well." I shrug. "I never actually watched Disney's take on Robin Hood, just BBC's. And after Maid Marion died, Robin Hood's life kind of sucked, like the rest of the series."

"Once your eyes are adjusted to a glorious light, it's difficult to learn to see the world in any other way." Raffe's slight smile fades. "I can't say anything about the rest of the series, but you can't blame Robin for any failure."

Ogden's eyes sparkle with curiosity. Walking backwards, he jabs a thumb at his chest and tilts his head to one side.

"…What would you be?" I interpret, glancing him over. "That's what you're asking?

Ogden nods, head bobbing. His dark eyes sparkle, hands rubbing together eagerly.

Raffe frowns. "Maybe the old wise man," he guesses. "Like Merlin, or something."

"No…" My eyebrows pinch together. "He's far too playful for that. He reminds me a bit of the blind dude from 'Quest for Camelot,' except a little more spirited."

"I never saw that one," admits Raffe. "I've heard about it, though. The critics didn't seem to like it that much."

I shrug. "I didn't like it either, honestly, but Paige adored it. She was devastated to find out that there weren't any action figures for her to play with. But, Ogden" – I squint at him, stepping over a stray root – "I don't know where to categorize you. You're… different. Not in a bad way, though. I find you to be pretty cool, actually."

Ogden beams like a praised toddler, turning back to the front, grinning. His steps are high and his arms swing. Scruffy, enthused by Ogden's change in demeanor, pants louder. A thread of drool sways from his large pink tongue.

"Maybe he'd be a travelling character," considers Raffe. "A light wanderer to my mysterious and sexy."

I glance at him. "You seem to know an awful lot about movies," I note. Delirious thoughts worm their way into my brain. "What, were you some sort of archangel couch-potato?"

Raffe's eyes go cold, dark blue webbed with frost. "Excuse me?"

I enthuse the thought a little while longer. "What, does that not even correlate to your angelic terms?" I tease. "Is Raphael too ashamed to admit his fascination in monkey television? Too proud to admit his obsession with Disney?"

"Your imagination must be bored," Raffe scolds. "You're going crazy. Maybe we should find a doctor for your mental health."

Through the trees, a voice calls, the tone light and the sound young. "Is it doctors you're interested in, then?"

Scruffy tosses up his head and howls jubilantly, springing forward like a rabbit. He bounds over a crest in the terrain, the wolf's excited yips quickly harmonized with the jovial laughter of some male voice. Beaming, Ogden limps a little quicker, waving excitedly to us.

"Hugo," mutters Raffe beneath his breath. Glancing once at me, he breaks into a jog

I dash forward, feet dancing over the leaves. Ogden hobbles weakly, trying to keep pace, but his crippled leg can't seem to compare to my long strides. Once, I slip on moss and nearly tumble to the leaves before regaining my footing, but mostly, I run flawlessly. Sliding down the hill separating me and the strange voice, I nearly crash into Scruffy.

What awaits me is another steampunk cosplayer sitting in a clearing.

"You took your time," he comments, coppery eyes flashing humorously. "Tell me, are you customers or friends? Customers are always welcome!"

"Wh – you're Hugo?" I stutter, confusion mounting.

"That would be me, yes," the boy concurs cheerfully. "What can I interest you in? I see you've already got an angel sword, but does it need mending? Or do you want an angel shield? There's a discount next week, so stick around, because it's really annoying to have to lug it around everywhere!"

Tall and thin, he is slighted by Raffe's height, but not by much. His face is much younger than I had originally expected, the juvenile curves reminding me of a fifteen-year-old's face, but, already, the dust of a beard dapples his chin. A grubby leather aviator's jacket with a fluffy edging sheathes a loose shirt; the cream-colored collar of his shirt crowns the slope of his neck, the pale color forcing the coiling black tattoo on his flesh to stand out more. A fingerless leather glove framed with brass covers one hand, and a utility belt wraps around his waist. Oddly stitched combat boots cuff dress pants at the knees. A black tie is casually hangs loosely around his neck. In his shaggy hair, a long strand of flashy beads is strewn, the gleam reminding me of abalone. It would be a lie to say that his appearance is not handsome in a quirky, youthful sort of fashion, but his coppery red eyes ruin the style slightly.

"My," he gasps excitedly, "are you Penryn? Penryn Young? Well, now, staring into the face of a celebrity! Then I guess that would be Pooky Bear" – he gestures flamboyantly towards the sword in my hand – "and that must be the terrifying angel Raphael!" Hugo backs away, eyes twinkling. "Don't eat me, kind archangel sir. I promise you, I'm nothing but skin and bones."

Raffe doesn't seem very amused. "What do you mean, you have angel shields?"

"Ah, I have an angel shield." Hugo shrugs. "Don't rip me to pieces. I'm just a merchant, trading goods. The angel looked like he wanted it off his hands, so we organized a bargain. It's what I do. Ah, Ogden." Hugo parries around Raffe and scurries up the hill. "These people are confusing me. Are they customers?"

Ogden shrugs, then rubs his belly.

"Well, why didn't you say so?" Hugo turns to me again with a beatific smile. "If you're here for food, we don't charge anything for meals. And if you're Ogden's friend, then I can give up my cheerful merchant façade." His face melts slightly from the tight glee it'd held moments before. One hand rubs at his eyes. He cracks his neck, yanking his head from side to side. "Oh, boy, I hate forcing cheer. Natural cheer is good. Faked auctioneer cheer is not."

"Wait, so you sell things?" My brow furrows. "Angelic items? That business can't be very profitable."

"Actually, it's not at all profitable. I just go from place to place and trade items to anyone who wants to get rid of 'em. Any quirky magic items, and building materials." Hugo spreads his arms out, indicating the piles of clutter littering the relatively clean clearing. "Angel helms, angel swords, angel shields. No angel parts, stop giving me that glare, Batsy." He cocks a sassy eyebrow at Raffe. "I don't get anything out of the exchange if we're talking currency. But I make friends, valuable friends, and I pick up secrets. Yep, I only make actual business in my secrets."

"Angels have been coming to you?" Raffe's lip curls. "Why?"

"I'm a wee bit older than I look," admits Hugo humbly. One hand sifts through Scruffy's thick mane, as if he's searching the wolf for bugs. "Over the decades, I've struck up some friends among my feathered partners. Of course, most of the ones I've been associating with are in hiding – it's not safe for a solicitous angel, not anymore."

Raffe's jaw clenches. "Who are the angels you have been dealing with, exactly?"

"That's my policy." Hugo shrugs apologetically. "It's to ensure the safety of all my clients, unless, of course, I have a particular dislike of them or their opinions. Once, I got Michael, and he was a real bitch about getting some sandals. Like, I just had boots, so take the goddamned boots and get on with it. So when Thea came along asking about him, of course I told her I'd seen him!"

"Thea?" I inquire, a ghost of a memory spluttering my pulse.

"Yeah, I'm keeping her a secret," apologizes Hugo with a surreptitious glance in my direction. "But, seriously, Raphael and Penryn Young, running into me? Fate is such a delicious thing! Maybe, after you guys are nice and fed and plump, we can discuss maybe me giving away some secrets to the lovely Miss Young" – he tips his head respectfully – "in hopes that she may save humanity!"

Cautiously, I narrow my eyes at him. "What's for dinner?"

"Rabbit." He jabs a finger at a few of the fluffy morsels strung up from the low hanging limb of an evergreen tree. "Shot 'em this morning with my bow. Not for sale, by the way. Why?"

"And we can go if we'd like?" verifies Raffe.

"Well, yeah." Hugo's face scrunches, as if he's puzzled. "Why wouldn't you be able to? I mean, I don't think you're Fallen, but you can still fly with those wings, right?"

Raffe nods crisply, but his eyes are suspicious. "How do you know about the difference between angel and Fallen?"

"I told you." Hugo spreads his hands wide. "I work with all sorts of clients. Angels especially get offended if you call 'em by the wrong name. For example: one time, I called a seraph a cherub, and it nearly bit my head off. That would've been extremely bad."

"Who have you been funding recently?" I inquire.

"Can't say, but the twins certainly told me to keep an eye out for you." Hugo winks at me. "Obi thinks you're dead, but they're having none of it. Clever boys, they are. I taught them all they know."

"Wha –" I blink. "Whatever. The real question is: Will you stab me in the back tonight?" It's brunt, and most likely to be answered untruthfully, but I might as well cut to the chase.

"Well, I can't say for certain." Hugo scratches his chin, eyes twinkling. "I mean, if you come at me with Pooky Bear in hand, I'm not going to sit idly by. But if we make a mutual no-stabbing-in-the-back treaty, I can assure it, yes, but I'm afraid that Batsy here may try to hurt Scruffy." At the sound of his name, Scruffy mewls pathetically, his huge eyes glistening in the fading daylight. "He's not one to deal with wolves, now are you, Raphael?"

"Call me Wrath," snaps Raffe irritably, crossing his arms over his chest. The superiority he glares down at Hugo with reveals the Raphael just waiting to emerge: black, bitter, cold. Dangerous.

A wistful expression consumes Hugo's expression. "If only a greater percentage of you archangels were – were – at least bi! I'd take a bi archangel! But no, have to be straight, always straight… Ah well, what can I say? If there was a gay archangel, I'd know about it."

"You're…" I cock my head. "Gay?"

Raffe seems shell-shocked, blinking dumbly. His proud stance falters a little, settling into something slightly more defensive.

"Yep." Hugo nods enthusiastically as Scruffy laps at the side of his face. "Not Ogden, though; I'm not creepy, I swear. No, his wife died a little while back. Poor guy's all alone now."

Ogden blushes again, eyes downcast. My empathy for the old mute strengthens more than ever; it's as if someone is twisting my heart in my chest.

"I'm sorry," I whisper to him.

Ogden shrugs, and gestures towards Hugo, and smiles again.

"Even I don't know what you meant there, buddy," laughs Hugo apologetically, the tinkling bell his laughter seemingly belonging to a boy without a care. It's a laugh worthy of World Before.

Warily, I study Hugo's face, searching for any sign of hostile intentions. If he's traveled as much as he claims, then… he might know someone that could help Paige. "Do you know any medical personnel, with all your travels?"

Raffe half-cocks his head to watch me.

"So you are looking for doctors." Hugo's enthusiasm fades. He scratches at the back of his neck, nails raking over the blank ink there. "Sorry, but not really. I mean, not anymore. The apocalypse and everything – no. Sorry, I don't know anyone. But…"

"But what?" I press urgently.

"We're meeting up with somebody that's been around a whole helluva lot longer time than me down the way a bit. Now, Bryon, he knows people, lots of people. That guy's got deep connections. If you stick around a bit, you might be able to talk to him."

"Bryon?" I question.

Hugo nods sheepishly. "Sorry, but that's one secret I can't let out. He's real nice, though. Practically raised me, and a whole buncha other misfits. You'll fit right in, I do believe." His eyes sparkle at that, as if some inner trickster had been delighted by his joke. Scruffy starts sniffing at his hair.

I nod slowly. "I think we'll need to talk it over" – I cast a sharp glance at Raffe – "but I think we should be able to come to an agreement. One more thing?"

"Yes?" wonders Hugo.

"I – I've got a sister. She's back at camp, and I probably need to fetch her before she gets too worried."

Hugo's eyes soften, melting like metal a forge. "Ah, yes, the poor little girl. She's welcome here. This camp is just filled with people who don't belong. She will be no different than Ogden and I."

A surge of gratitude floats my heart. "Thanks. I think she needs people that treat her like an actual human being."

Hugo's smile is dry. "Don't we all. Hey, if you want, I can give you a ride on Scruffy." He pats the wolf's shoulder, looping two fingers through the breast collar. Adoration swallows his expression as Hugo massages his wolf's neck. "I know he looks scrawny, but he's all muscle, I can assure you. You'll probably get there a little faster than just walking."

"Can that saddle hold more than one person?" I question skeptically.

"I know for sure it can hold two. If I need to walk on the return journey, I will."

Studying Scruffy's grinning face, I smile. "Sounds like a plan. Stay here, Raffe, and try to think of a reason not to trust these people. I'm coming up dry."

Ogden rolls his eyes, but still, the old man is grinning.

I do not believe I have any commentary on this, other than: tada! I'm not sure when I'll actually get around to posting the chapter – I'm in the middle of Pride and Prejudice, an excellent book, dare I say, and I'm enjoying reading it. For years, I've watched the BBC 1995 version on repeat, but it's great to finally get around to having the book in hand. A word for the wise: always watch the 1995 version.

There was more than one inquiry after Josiah. Both times, there was a request for the underrated angel. I will have him appear, and he will become useful to the plot – but not quite yet. You have my word, he will be a character. Honestly? I like Josiah, a lot.

POLL: Hugo – sketchy or trustworthy?

Ciao,

~wolfluvermh