Guardian: Book Two, Feather Book Series Read online

Behind him rested a set of wings, hanging from his back like tired kites, drawn with age. His smile relaxed and I was finally able to find a person inside the folds of his smile, seeing that despite the fine lines left from years of happiness, his overall self seemed young and vibrant. Untamed strands of black hair hung down his forehead and it reminded me of Edgar’s, tussled and a bit long in the back as it swept to the right and out of his eyes in a natural wave. He had thick eyebrows and a full black mustache that added to his character, making his smile that much more entertaining.

  I tilted my head and looked at him with interest, finding something familiar in his overall look.

  “Where are my manners,” Margriete grabbed both of the man’s shoulders, holding him at arms length as she analyzed him. She released one hand from his arm and placed it on mine, suspense now growing as the man looked at me, anxiously waiting to know my name, his face still ecstatic. “This is…” she paused and patted my arm, his features nearly shaking with excitement. “This is Elle!” she cried, like a crazy girl at a boy band concert, jumping up and down and squeezing both our hands to death.

  The man’s face became even more animated, if that was even possible, and he unexpectedly rushed into me and gave me the largest hug I had ever received. Not only did his arms nearly choke me in a hug, but his wings as well. I gasped for air as he swung me around and I still wondered who it was that could possibly be this excited to see me.

  “No. Really? The Estella?” The man looked at Margriete for affirmation and she nodded with wide eyes. He placed me back on the ground, now holding me at arms length as though examining my physical health, my face looking shocked. “I have waited all my life for this moment! This is a complete culmination of my life’s work!” he announced, the look of a man witnessing a miracle filling his eyes with immense energy.

  “Oh please,” Sam uttered under his breath.

  Scott was now loosing it as he ran around the yard in circles, his odd behavior rehashed by all the commotion.

  “You’ve done me a great service Margriete,” he patted her hard on the head. “Come girl, come! We have much to speak of!”

  I was still stunned and confused as Margriete laughed beside me.

  “But wait…” Margriete grabbed the man’s arm as he turned to lead us into the house. “She has no idea who you are! Tell her!” Margriete urged.

  “Oh how clumsy of me,” he spun on his heel to face me, the base of his hand thudding hard against his forehead in his forgetfulness.

  I smiled, finding his outgoing and cheery attitude nothing like Sam’s. I had been convinced that all angels were as cold hearted, but this simply wasn’t true.

  “Dear girl, why…” he paused for dramatic effect and I could tell he had a flair for suspense. “I am Edgar Allan Poe!” he exclaimed, throwing his arms out to either side of him with excitement.

  I gasped, my hand covering my mouth. I looked to Margriete. “No…” I denied in a low voice, carrying out the tone as my mind raced to believe it was really him.

  Margriete nodded with enthusiasm.

  Edgar jumped up and down on the threshold, clapping his hands before him, showing that what once was a cute personality was now a bit nutty.

  Edgar grabbed my hand and yanked me in as Margriete followed. Sam ushered Scott through the door as he ducked under the threshold, finding it too small for his mammoth height. As they entered the room Sam hissed at Scott to shut up as he tried his best not to knock him out with a punch, his nerves failing.

  Looking around the room I saw that he had finery greater than I would have initially imagined. The living area was quite expansive and two large leather sofas sat facing each other before a roaring fire. There was a large bear rug on the floor between them and the walls were crammed with books as though the foundation of the house itself was built upon them.

  I watched as Edgar rushed around the corner to another room where the banging of pots commenced. Margriete shamelessly threw herself onto the couch, obviously familiar with the place as though visiting her long lost relative. I couldn’t help but continue to smile, Edgar Allen had been one of the first amazing things I had found out about my Edgar, but now to meet him in the flesh was truly amazing.

  Sam pressed Scott into an armchair near a worn black desk in the corner, placing a blank piece of paper before him and a pen in his hand. I laughed at the childish behavior of it, as though trying to distract him with coloring.

  Edgar emerged seconds later, a teapot in one hand and cups teetering on a tray in his other. He placed the tray on the table between the couches, his foot carelessly smashing the head of the bear skin rug as the rug almost seemed to fight back, as though it still had some life in it. Humming, he gave the rug one more fervent smash before hooking the kettle above the fire to warm. Satisfied with both the rug and the kettle he then sat opposite Margriete, patting the cushion beside him and beckoning me to sit.

  “Come, come child, let me tell you some stories.” He smiled wide as his mustache snaked up his cheeks, nearly poking him in the eye.

  My eyes stayed fixed on the head of the bear as I approached, nervous it would snap at me as I sat on the edge of the cushion, still quite shocked by the whole thing.

  Sam pushed Margriete over, claiming his half of the sofa as she whined and leaned her head into her hand against the armrest, her eyes too tired to care what was happening around her.

  Edgar took my hand, rubbing it between his cold grasp. “Darling, you have been my biggest inspiration for love.” He couldn’t sit still as though the words he had to say to me where boiling over in his conscious. “Edgar’s tales and ongoing pain was so deep, so everlasting.” His teeth were yellowed and stained with bits of tobacco, an obvious product of the culture of the 19th century.

  My grin faded, my head still swimming with my notions from earlier, notions of infidelity. “How did he seem then? When you knew him?”

  “Well,” he sat back, “I’ve known him quite some time, even after my human death, I was still his angel.” He motioned his hand around the room, “How else could I earn such a lush living!” he laughed, his chest heaving with drama. “But it was all out of friendship and admiration. I found his life so amazing, so different from mine that I wanted to learn all I could, I wanted to understand how this world came to be.”

  “So you guarded him,” I was shocked to find that my Edgar had needed guarding at all.

  “Yes, after your death…” he looked me up and down. “Or rather disappearance, he was frightened Matthew would come back for him. He confided in me, even as a human. I actually died protecting him. Ha!” he saw the absurdity in it, for it was clear that in any fight, it made sense that Edgar should have been able to defend himself. “That is why, in the human world, my death is still a mystery,” he winked.

  “So that’s how you became a Guardian Angel, you sacrificed your life for him,” I looked away from Edgar as I took in the strange turn of events.

  Edgar smirked and leaned in toward me, “Well I sort of cheated, I knew that if I died protecting him, then I’d live on forever in the next life.” He winked again and leaned back. “Your Edgar told me the stories, of how people could live on, even on earth. This is how I came to be known as a major contributor to the emerging genre of Science Fiction literature.” A chuckle escaped his lips, “Knowing Edgar gave me some great stories, and some of my greatest mysteries.” He spread out across the couch in a prideful manner, “I desperately wanted to live forever, to continue with my gift, so when the opportunity finally showed itself I jumped on it, literally.”

  I smiled, finding his plan conniving but smart and I marveled at how he had tricked us all. “But what happened when you died? Who was it that tried to kill Edgar?”

  “Oh my dear, this is where it gets interesting. If you can believe it, it wasn’t Matthew. It was an everyday man!”

  My eyes got wide, “Just an ordinary man? But then Edgar would have been fine, that man couldn’t have hurt him.”

  Ed
gar slanted one eye, “You’re catching on dear! You’re a smart one. I see why Edgar loved you so dear.” He rolled with laughter for a moment before regrouping, “You see, I was sick with Tuberculosis and so Edgar angered a man, tried to get him to attack me.” He sat up on the couch, adding drama. “He told the poor chap he had slept with his wife! Can you believe that?”

  I looked down at my hands. “I’m really not sure anymore,” I mumbled under my breath.

  Edgar hadn’t noticed as he went on, “So, the man made a vendetta and came after him. It was our little secret, to trick the gods into making me immortal.” He was leaning close to me again, one finger over his mouth as he whispered, “And to this very day, they still don’t know.”

  I smirked, leaning away from him as I found his breath to be foul and his trickery somewhat discerning, but still brilliant.

  “So you see, I owed it to him to protect him after that, and I did!” He looked proud of himself as he stretched his wings out behind him, allowing them to rest on the back of the couch, “Eventually, Matthew planned a vendetta of his own, and that was when I made the ultimate sacrifice and earned my retirement. He pushed his chin in the air, “I’m proud of what I’ve made of my life, hard earned lies and creativity.” He smacked his lips as he stood and grabbed the now boiling pot of water from the fire where he poured four cups of tea, hesitating on the fifth as he turned to look for Scott.

  “Looks like your friend has left us,” he exclaimed rather plainly, his mouth sinking with disappointment.

  I turned and looked at the chair where Scott once was, the pen now carelessly discarded on the paper and the writing ending mid-sentence as the ink dripped into a pool. I frowned as regret washed over me, I hadn’t even had the chance to say goodbye.

  “Cheers to that! Good to see the little vermin went back to his own world.” Sam thrust his teacup in the air before gargling it down rather rudely.

  Edgar pulled a flask from his pocket, pouring an amber liquid into his tea as an oak smell rose from the steam. He then guzzled it down in one hot gulp, smacking his lips.

  Margriete jolted awake and leaned forward, her hands trembling as she grabbed the cup and brought it to her lips.

  I placed mine between my now chilled hands where Edgar had held them while he was talking. He hummed to himself as he poured the same amber liquid into my own teacup without my permission.

  “This will help you sleep dear,” he patted me on the head like a dog.

  I brought the tea to my nose, allowing the smell to numb my senses before taking a sip, coughing wildly as the liquid stung my throat and sent an instant wave of sweet dizziness to my head. Edgar watched me as I took another sip, holding one finger on the bottom of the teacup as he forced me to finish it all.

  I coughed one last time, my head now clear and relaxed. “Thanks,” I choked.

  I was curious to find that Edgar drank, or even ate. Perhaps in this world, their hunger was real, where as on the surface they had denied any sort of nourishment, or even comfort. I had never seen Sam eat anything before, but he seemed to enjoy it.

  “Ahhh,” Edgar sighed. “It was unfortunate that I could not kill Matthew when I finally passed on. It was the dagger I needed to get him, but it was impossible to knock from his hand.”

  My eyes perked and I placed the teacup gently on the table. I reached into my belt and grasped the dagger from inside its wraps, pulling it out where I held it in both hands as it lie across my palms. The light from the fire shone across the gold blade and Edgar stared at it with frozen eyes.

  “Why child, you’ve found it!” His excitement overtook him as the cup in his hand flew into the air, its contents shattering as it landed in the fire. His face fell grave then, “But you must protect that, there are any number of beings here that would love the chance to own the power that dagger brings upon this world.”

  He placed his hands across the blade and handle, then grasped my hands and curled them around it.

  My gaze rose from the dagger to his face, “I hope to win Edgar back with it. I do not wish to be powerful, I just wish to be happy and love.”

  Edgar’s eyes seemed to well with tears and he smiled, “That is what the dagger is truly meant for. Its corruption was never meant to be reinforced and the curse of it dies when someone sacrifices the power before the gods.” He held tight to my hands, “You have the heart to destroy this dagger, and in this, no more of your kind will die.”

  I looked at Margriete then back at Edgar, “I fear there aren’t many of us left, at least not that I know of.”

  Edgar’s face sank and he sighed, “This is quite unfortunate.” he shook his head. “But if you can complete this, there will still be hope for you.” He smiled, “You will receive what you wish, but for how long, I am uncertain. You must be wary of the bargain you sew with them.”

  “What do you mean?” I pulled the dagger back toward me, pushing it back inside the wrap in my belt.

  “The gods are tricky, and will find any possible loop hole to get what they want, to ultimately cause you as much pain as necessary before they feel you deserve your reward of happiness, especially your kind.” He sighed, “I fear their discrimination against your perfection has gone further than necessary. I do not understand how or why they still hate you, or rather fear you. I have come to believe that they created in you the power to overthrow them, with or without the dagger, but how this will come to pass is another question completely.” He brought a hand to his face, tapping his chin with one finger.

  I looked at Margriete as she dozed on the couch.

  Edgar seemed to come to a conclusion, “They will stop at nothing to torture you. Though your soul is innocent and though you do not deserve the pain, it will not matter. It is their fault for creating you, not yours, so never feel as though any of this is your fault.” His eyes fell to his lap in sorrow and pity.

  I placed my hand on his, “Do not pity me Edgar, I feel I have lived a sufficiently happy life, full of love. Though I have faced my troubles, it is nothing I do not willingly bear.”

  He looked me deep in the eyes, “Then you are of a better soul than all of us, selfless and kind. You will surely face a lovely retirement. I would not be surprised to see you placed in a chair of power one day, and not from greed, but retribution. They will think that it will be punishment, but I fear you will rise to the task and we will see a better day, a day of light and peace with those that inhabit the surface, with what was once mine.”

  I smiled. “Thank you Edgar, for all your kindness, for all you have done for my soul, and for Edgar.”

  He clapped his hands together, “I will bless your journey, and hope you find your way to that ultimate peace.” The wild flash in his eyes returned as he stood suddenly. “But now child, you must rest,” he hastily grabbed the teacups from us all and rushed into the kitchen where I heard them crash into what I supposed was a sink.

  He ran back out, his socks slouching around his thin ankles, “Rest here, and in the morning, we will get you better equipped for the task.” He blew into the air in no exact direction as all the candles in the house were snuffed out.

  Still grinning, I watched as he ascended the creaky stairs to his room. I leaned back into the warn couch, my muscles aching with a satisfying pang. I was making progress and my heart was righteous enough to handle the coming challenges. I had no idea what faced me, but I knew I needed to keep a clear sharp head. Whether Edgar had honored our love or not, my task was heartfelt and true and I would never stray from my morals to persevere.

  I allowed myself the comfort of the night as my lids shuttered close. As sleep fell over me, my mind did not wander to dream because I was already there, in the place where dreams were made and nurtured, in the City of Angels and on the cusp of meeting my demons.

  COMBING

  The sound of loud squawks woke me from a deep sleep as sunlight streamed through the stained glass window and onto the couches. I rubbed my eyes and turned my head to look for Sam and Mar
griete. The table between the two couches was now gone, along with the bearskin rug and I rose my eyebrows, looking around to see where it could have possibly escaped to, and whom had moved it.

  Finding nothing and feeling a bit uneasy I looked back at Sam and Margriete. Both were still in a deep rest, suggestively sprawled across each other on the couch. I let a small quiet laugh escape my lips, finding their unconscious closeness juxtaposing their temperaments toward each other during the day.

  I pressed my weight forward as my sore body urged itself to sit up. The leather squeaked loudly and I cringed, hoping for a few more minutes of solitude before Sam and Margriete woke. I ran my hand through my hair as it instantly tamed itself from the tiresome rest, now lying across my head in a disciplined manner.

  My clothes hadn’t felt as grimy as I had expected, but after the swim in the cleanest river I’d ever seen, I figured it had the chance to come clean. My jeans felt tough, as though they had been line dried and I couldn’t help but feel traveled. If this were an adventure, however, I needed to feel like it was one, grimy, rough, and tired.

  I stood and tiptoed to the old cottage window, peering through the wavy handmade glass and into the yard. It was there that I finally found the coffee table and bear skin rug, creeping through the grass like a pancake, stalking a goat on the other side of the fence. I tilted my head, finding the phenomenon not only disturbing, but unreal as well.

  I shook the image from my thoughts, focusing on something familiar. The surrounding mountains and trees wanted to suggest you were the only one here, in a happy solitude of retirement like the mountains of the North Cascades had seemed. Their peaks were kissed with snow, and the clouds wrapping them as though drawn to their power.

  I looked away from the mountains to the bird cage that was to the right of the window where I could barely make out the ravens rustling within their confines. They pecked at a lump of corn and seeds, held together by what seemed a mixture of peanut butter and grape jelly. Their eyes were a soft gold and I found beauty where any normal person would only find fear and hate.