Where Wings Should Be

Feithon narrowly dodged the knife that spiralled through the spot his head had been in seconds before.

Why me?

Vira was behind him, doing her best to annoy their enemies to death. If someone had told the Feithon of yesterday that he’d be the High Angel of the Fey and the babysitter of the daughter of Mab and Oberon, the blond would have reported them to Raphael to get treatment for insanity.

Of course, he would also be slightly more prepared for taking on the duties of the Avenging Angel he most certianly was not (why hadn’t they assigned an Avenging Angel to the case instead of leaving him to handle it? Instead of leaving him to handle a job that at best would cost him his life and at worst would cost him Vira? Feithon was a Guardian Angel. Guardian Angels didn’t have bulletproof wings), the Fey mage he was also, quite obviously since angels didn’t have pointed ears, not, and the bodyguard he was also very much not.

However, since the Fey princess was a six year old orphan with more magic than anyone could control, a family out to kill her, a dead bodyguard, a dead magic teacher, and a dead Avenging Angel, it was left to her Guardian Angel to defend her from something far more real and far more terrifying than nightmares.

I’m supposed to keep her dreams darkness-free. Protect the mind and soul, that’s your job as a Guardian Angel. And Callion was the best Avenging Angel we had. She’d never lost so much as a ward’s family to demons, and now she’s lost her life?

Feithon swept his shoulder-length hair away from his pinewood eyes- for the second time in two minutes.

Vira, bless her naive little fairy heart, was trying to use all that uncontrollable magic to save them both.

It won’t work. I wasn’t made to protect physical forms- I wasn’t even made to have one.

The redheaded princess was huddled in the corner of one of Titania’s long-abandonded storage outposts. Feithon stood between her and the six demons he'd been fighting for the last five minutes- Astaroth (Feithon remembered Astaroth, remembered how he’d been before the Fall), Beelzebub, Gluttony and Greed, Morath, and Lethium.

Feithon was facing down six of Hell’s best, with no fighting experience, only basic combat training, a short sword, and a princess he’d protect at all costs.

And protect her he did.

The fight began again, after all the circling. It was one Feithon would lose, he’d known that the minute he’d found Callion’s body.

Vira may have been a brat with a sense of humor, and everyone else may have spoiled her rotten, but she was his brat.

I can save her from the worst nightmares, but I can’t even protect against one demon, let alone six.

Morath and Lethium were dead.

Feithon never figured out how he managed it, because Astaroth hit him point blank, the bullet shredding it’s way through feathers and flesh to imbed itself in Feithon’s gut.

He wouldn’t have survived it no matter what he’d been.

Distantly, he heard Vira screaming bloody vengeance, and he could faintly see all that uncontrollable magic turn four demons to dust.

She’ll be safe.

Every angel will have seen that. She’ll be safe.

The last thing Feithon heard that night was Vira whispering in his ear-

“I’m not losing you too.”

“It’s a boy!”

“Nurse, what are those… scars on his back? Did something happen during pregnancy?”

“Not scars, dear, birthmarks.”

“Look, Mama, they look like the scars where wings should be! Is my baby brother an angel?”

“No, honey. Angels don’t exist. But if you like, you can name him after one.”

“Really? Even if I’m not… really his sister?”

“Just because your adopted doesn’t mean you aren’t his family. Or ours, for that matter. You can name him.”

“I want to name him Feithon.”

“You picked a lovely name, Vira.”