Page 61 of Wings of Betrayal

I pull the address from my pocket and study the worn paper. The street is only a couple of blocks over, if I’m remembering it correctly. It’s near an old armory where the best weapons in our city used to be forged. That was until some brats set it alight one night. It never reopened after that, so instead, a new armory was built on the east side of the city, where the more respectable angels live. Quite sad, really.

The streets are mostly empty, and I haven’t seen anyone around for a while now. I round the next corner and find I’m only one block away.

There’s a group of angels gathered outside a bar on the corner, and I tug my hood down to further hide my face as I pass by, luckily unnoticed.

The old factory is nowhere to be seen, and in its place is nothing but a dirty slab of concrete where it once stood. Blackmouth Street comes into view ahead, and I make my way down it and stop when I reach number eighty-two. I glancearound to ensure I’m alone before I gently rap my knuckles against the burgundy wood door.

A crash sounds, followed by rustling about on the other side of the door.

“Who goes there?” an older female demands.

“Zarla Quinn,” I say in a hushed voice.

I’m met with silence.

“Speak up!”

I clear my throat. “My name is Zarla Quinn. The Master sent me.”

A click sounds as well as metal chains moving, and then the door creaks open a fraction to reveal a frail old female. She looks at me through milky-white eyes, and I’m unsure if she can actually see me or not.

“I was wondering when you’d show up.” She pulls the door open and steps aside.

I hesitate and she gestures impatiently with a wave of her arm for me to come in.

I step inside and wait while she locks the door. Her home is cramped and cluttered, the wooden walls decorated with anything and everything, by the looks of it. Spoons, paintings, teacups on wonky shelves. There’s even an empty birdcage hanging from the corner with a rainbow-coloured toy bird inside. Interesting.

I follow her down the narrow hallway and into her living room, which is decorated in much the same way. Her furniture is mismatched and brightly coloured, and now I really don’t know whether she has her sight.

She points at the armchairs in the center of the small room, and I sit down in one while she shuffles off into the small kitchen. She pats her hands over the cupboard doors, and I realise she is, in fact, blind.

She yanks a door open, pulls out two mismatched teacups, and proceeds to make us some tea. Once she’s done, she picks up the tray.

I get to my feet to help, but she frowns.

“I can do it myself. I’ve managed for hundreds of years without any help, and I’m not about to need any now.”

I stifle a laugh and sit back down as she carries the tray over and sets it on the coffee table before us. I reach for a teacup and carefully blow on it before taking a sip. She watches my every move, confusing me once more as to whether she can actually see me or not.

“I am completely blind. But I have learned to heighten my other senses to where I do not need my eyes to see.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to stare.”

“I know why you’re here,” she says, getting straight to the point. “Lost ones are getting into our Kingdom once again. History always has a funny way of repeating itself, doesn’t it?”

I sit forward, placing my teacup down, and clasp my hands together in my lap. “What do you know of them?”

She takes a small sip of her tea and stares off into space, deep in thought, and I wait until she’s ready to explain. Her eyes grow wide, and she quickly places her teacup down, spilling it a little. I reach out to touch her hand, but she flinches away.

“I’m sorry. Are you all right?”

She grips the arms of her chair and moves her milky gaze around the room before refocusing on me. “They were let into the Kingdom once before, and they’ve been let in again now. It’s no accident, I tell ya’.”

I frown. “Let in? By whom?”

“We never found out who was responsible for those atrocities, but it was someone close to the King. I know it,” she says, pointing her finger before picking up her teacup and takinganother sip. “It was a specific and strategic plan to distract the King and perhaps even overthrow him.”

There’s something about her story that is so familiar to what is currently happening that it can’t possibly be a coincidence. Someone who was involved in this back then is involved now. I know it.

---