Free Nightingale Girl by M. R. Pritchard

“Gabriel was a Hellion?”
    She nods. “A handsome one at that.”
    “You left here?”
    “I did. But, I’m sure you’ve found out already, things are not perfect within the Seven Kingdoms of Heaven.”
    They’re definitely not.
    “I am pure darkness. Full-blood. The Council did not want me there. It did not matter that I was carrying the half-blood child of an Archangel.”
    “They didn’t want me there, either,” I say.
    Clea smiles, nodding. “In time. All will be right.” She floats away from me. “Sparrow’s change is done now. Make yourself at home.” She pauses at the door. “But be careful, Meg. This is Hell, and wickedness is rampant.”
    Doesn’t sound much different than Gouverneur or Heaven.
    Clea leaves my room.
    I stand on the balcony for a few minutes longer, my hands gripping the stone railing. The darkness that called me while I was in Heaven has finally quelled. It was nearly unbearable there, not so bad on the earthen plane, and now that I’m here, I can barely sense it.
    I decide to find Sparrow.
    I cross the room and tug on the door handle. Nothing happens. That smothering feeling of being trapped and having no control overwhelms me. I wiggle the door back and forth, slamming it against the frame, but it does no good. I kick at it, and when it still doesn’t budge, I cross the room again and walk out onto the balcony. Leaning over the railing, I search for other means of escape. I could climb over and try to rappel down the rock—but before I decide much, I hear a clicking sound behind me, and I turn to find my door slowly opening.
    “Watch yourself, child,” my mother’s voice echoes in my mind. A warning. It’s nice to know that she’s not going to lock me up in this place, but the threat still makes my blood boil.
    I leave my room, close the door, and walk down the hallway that Clea brought me through. I climb the stone stairwell, turn at the landing, and look down. The stairs descend into a dark abyss. Strange sounds rise up: the chomping of a thousand jaws, the tearing of leather, writhing thuds, and . . . screams. That’s definitely screaming.
    I turn away and run toward the Hellions’ lair. There are dull echoes and movement from the shadows and doorways as I pass. Both soothing and frightening. I pause in front of the lair for a moment before reaching for the handle and pushing the door open.
    The lair is just like I remember: leather furniture, wet bar, giant TV, billiards. It’s nothing but a giant bachelor pad. Chains dangle from the ceiling where Jim strung me up before he stabbed me in the chest. I fucking hate Jim. As I scan the room, I notice seven menacing figures standing on the far side of the room—dark warriors awaiting commands. I recognize a few of them as the Hellions that invaded my house and tried to kill me that quiet afternoon nearly a year ago.
    Sparrow’s there, as well, and—holy hell—he has gone to the dark side. His downy-white wings have been replaced with dark, leathery skin stretched over bone. He’s wearing tight leather pants, a black vest, and boots. He looks like a big biker dude. But with his skin so pale and his bright green eyes, he doesn’t look as dark as the other Hellions.
    If all Sparrow has to do is his time down here, I think I might like it a little too much if this is what he’s going to look like. It’s way better than the Legion gear and that old trench coat he used to wear. Makes something deeper than my trailer park roots tremble at the sight of him.
    I touch the ring he gave me, rotating it with my thumb.
    Don’t let me forget, Meg. Don’t let me forget you.
    I move toward the one Hellion I know, the one who didn’t try to murder me.
    “Sparrow?” I grab his hand and turn to lead him away.
    He doesn’t follow, only stands as still as a stone, jerking me to a stop. Shivers of unease travel up my spine. I look up to face him, not liking what I see. Sparrow’s face is hard, his eyes dark; he tips his head