Free Nightingale Girl by M. R. Pritchard Page A

to the side, a quirky and familiar movement.
    “Sparrow?” I ask.
    He flicks my hand off his and grabs my wrist, hard enough to leave bruises. “Who are you?” he asks, his voice deep, unfamiliar.
    In the second that it takes him to say those three words, I die inside. Every tiny shred of hope that I had for this new life with him, it shrivels and turns to dust.
    “Aw, that sucks, Meg.” Jim chuckles from behind me. “Guess your momma forgot to tell you that part. Birdman don’t remember you.”
    I swallow hard and consider reaching for my blade.
    “Don’t worry your trashy little head. He’ll slowly come back to himself—a little darker, though. The change is rough on the cherubs. Twists their gizzards or some crap.”
    I die a little more inside.
    “Clea warned me,” I reply as I turn to face Asshole Jim.
    Jim’s gray eyes and blond hair are the same. He would still be handsome if it weren’t for the fact that half of his face is burned off. Sparrow and Gabriel did that to him when they came to my rescue. Serves the jerk right.
    Jim’s smile is lopsided as he says, “Welcome back.”
    I want to punch him in his stupid, deformed face.
    Instead I reply with, “Screw you.” I’m glad Sparrow nearly killed him. I wish he had succeeded.
    Jim touches his cheek. “Like this look?” he asks.
    “You’re almost as pretty as you were before you became a complete jackass.”
    Jim smirks and steps closer. I back up, remembering how terrible he actually is. Only one kind of man beats his pregnant fiancée. Only one kind of man kills his own unborn child, his own flesh and blood. And that kind of man is standing in front of me.
    Jim raises his hand before it comes down hard but stops just before touching me. “Your grandpappy may have forbidden me from touching you,” he whispers, slapping my cheek lightly. “But we still crave your trashy blood.”
    I settle my hand on my weapon and straighten my shoulders in an effort not to look scared shitless. Lucifer has threatened to kill Jim if he touches me. And I may hate everything about Jim and the Hellions, but I have to put up with them until Sparrow is done here. This entire situation is more fucked up than the day I found out who I really was. What I really was.
    Craving control, I change the direction of the conversation and ask, “Will he remember what he does as a Hellion?”
    Jim shrugs. “Don’t know. There’s a chance he could start to remember. But, to tell you the truth, it’s been so long since we’ve had a winged prince down here I can’t remember all the details.”
    My heart aches for Sparrow. Whatever he does in the name of my grandfather, there is a chance he’ll remember.
    As a member of the Legion, he protected man in the name of God—even killed. Down here I’m sure the things he’s going to do are dark and wicked. The memory of the Hellions invading my home and assaulting me flicks through my memory. I can’t imagine Sparrow doing something like that, participating in something so evil.
    Jim snickers. “Don’t worry. Your grandfather frowns upon the things the Hellions did to you. I doubt birdboy will be involved in anything like that.”
    It takes me a moment to realize that Sparrow still has a grasp on my arm. I wrest it away from him and turn to Jim. “Go fuck yourself.”
    I stomp out of the Hellion’s lair and head outside. Since it’s night, the walking dead sleep. The smell of rotting corpses wafts around me, churning my stomach. They’ll rise with the sun and begin their foot-dragging and moaning all over again. Poor bastards should have just found a Safe House and repented. Now they’ve missed their chance to ascend.
    Walking further from the entrance to the cave, I notice the tree Jim knocked me out of when I came back here with Clea’s bones. The tree is upright again, its craggy branches devoid of any leaves. Strange.
    Out here there’s nothing but the moon, the sleeping dead, and the echoes of night. I glance