The Night Isn't Always Quiet - Chapter 2

CHAPTER TWO

Memories Are The Gates To The Soul

“ALRIGHT, MALLORY,” SAID LUCIEN AS HE STOOD, PULLING her up with him. “We're going to take you to see someone who can explain all of this to you properly.” “We're not taking her to see Yasmyn,” Jet said. Doubt crossed his face. “Are we?” “Well, we can hardly take her to see Markus now, can we? I'm sure you like your head attached to your neck.” Jet thought that over. “Yasmyn it is. I wonder how she'll react.” “As long as we show her what happened, she should help us. Memories don't lie,” Lucien replied. He looked down at Mallory. “Can you walk?” “I think so,” she said. He kept a hand on her arm, just in case. Her wings still trailed out behind her, swaying slightly in the breeze. “Well, I don't think she'll be too pleased to have an archangel in her apartment,” Jet said indignantly. He glanced back at the dead Telgan. “We'll have to get someone out here to clean that up.” “I'm sure Yasmyn is sorting something out as we speak. But think about it, Jet. She doesn't know what she is. She has already killed one of her own kind. She saved our lives. Maybe she will be the first good archangel that ever lived.” “Yeah, maybe, but what do we tell Markus? We can't let her go home. She's going to have to stay with us.” “What do you mean I can't go home?” Mallory demanded. “It's for the safety of your family,” Lucien explained. “Your power could explode out of you at unguessable times, like today, and it would be safer if

you aren't near anyone human. We'll contact them for you and explain everything, unless they already know.” “Huh.” He glanced back at Jet. “I have no idea what we're going to do. We could pretend she's my cousin or something.” Jet laughed. “You look nothing like each other. That is the only kind of crazy Markus will fall for.” “There's a method in my madness. Let's get moving.” Jet grinned and shook his head as he started walking down the street, his hands pushed deep in his pockets. Lucien and Mallory followed close behind him. After ten minutes of cautious travel, they arrived at an old, boarded-up hotel. Every window was covered with either wooden planks or concrete. Letters ran along the front of the old building, above the door. Mallory thought they used to say 'Le Grand' but by now the 'e' and the 'n' were missing, so she couldn't be sure. Painted on the door in white was a strange symbol. It looked like a crucifix, but it had a diamond over it. “What is that?” asked Mallory, pointing at the door. “It says to others of our kind that this is a safehouse,” Lucien said. “Safe from what?” Lucien looked down at her. “Safe from things like Telgan.” “Oh.” While they talked, Jet had wandered to the side of the hotel, somewhat aimlessly. Now he trailed his hand along the wall. Back and forth, he traced. After a while, there was a soft click and a disguised door swung inwards. It revealed a flight of stairs leading downwards into darkness. “Down we go,” muttered Lucien. “I wish Markus would invest in an elevator.” Jet chuckled under his breath as he stepped lightly down the stairs, quickly disappearing. Lucien held out his hand to Mallory. “Come on. I won't let you trip.” Mallory accepted his offered hand and followed him gingerly as he walked after Jet. She could hear their footsteps echoing on the walls, and Lucien breathing beside her. That was all. The staircase twisted round and round and just as Mallory began to feel a little claustrophobic, she caught sight of bright, artificial light ahead of her. She and Lucien emerged in a long hallway, painted a dark green. Oak panelling ran along the lower half of the wall. Intricate wrought iron light hangings dotted the walls, each one about two metres from the next. Lucien pulled Mallory down the hall at a jog, trying to catch up to Jet, who was already walking. She glanced up at Jet's face instinctively when they reached his side. His eyes were on her, but they flicked forward as soon as she met his gaze. Doors began appearing along the hallway, all made of the same oak as the panelling. They all golden numbers screwed onto the front, and plaques of the same colour underneath. Jet stopped at door number thirty-eight. The plaque read; Yasmyn Bates, Fifth Year of Training at the Durmont University for the Aerewolf. “Here we go,” Lucien said as he knocked on the door. “However she reacts, Mallory, don't say anything.” “What?” a female voice demanded. The door swung open. “Lucien!” Yasmyn said. “What are you . . .” She trailed off as she looked

behind him, seeing Jet with Mallory half-hidden behind him. Yasmyn was extremely pretty, Mallory thought. She had caramel coloured hair that cascaded in waves past her shoulders. Her skin was a light golden brown, a sign she spent a lot of time in the sun. Her eyes were a bright, unnatural green. When you looked at those eyes, it was obvious that she was Jet's sister. Yasmyn glanced at Mallory's face for just a second before her gaze travelled to the pair of white wings brushing the ceiling. Lucien extended his hand, and she took it both of hers. Her eyes glazed over for a second before she dropped his hand. “Get inside,” Yasmyn said, holding the door open wider. Mallory's eyes widened as she entered Yasmyn's room. The walls were painted a rich magenta, red and orange wall hangings spread tastefully across them. There was a double bed in one corner, covered in bed linen the same colour as the walls. Opposite the bed was a black leather sofa. “Still rebelling against the system, little sister,” Jet noted as he sprawled across the couch. “You know they're just going to paint it white again when you move into the sixth year wing.” “I know,” said Yasmyn. “But seeing as my big brother is off fighting archangels every second day, I thought I may as well draw some attention to myself.” “And this is the best you came up with?” Yasmyn ignored him and turned to Mallory, who had folded onto the thick carpet and was leaning against the wall. “What's your name?” “Mallory.” “Lucien told me you say you don't know anything about archangels or aerewolves,” Yasmyn continued. “Do you mind if I check?” Mallory stared at her for a second before realising she had to give Yasmyn her hand, just like Lucien had done. Yasmyn smiled at her reassuringly as she took it. As soon as their skin touched, both girls slumped forward. Worry crossed both Jet and Lucien's faces, but they knew better than to interrupt Yasmyn while she was working. ~~ Mallory followed Yasmyn as she plunged through a cloud of thick fog. “These are the layers of your mind,” Yasmyn explained. “See how it get thinner the further we go down? I can only get through here if you're with me. Someone placed a very powerful defence mechanism here when you were very young. Before you were even born, perhaps.” Mallory didn't understand anything that Yasmyn had said, but before she could ask for an explanation, they touched solid ground. They were in a large meadow, the lush, green grass reaching to above their knees. In the distance, Mallory could see one side of a broken, useless fence. There was an orchard of fruit trees in one corner, and she could hear voices coming from it. “Do you know this place?” Yasmyn asked. Mallory shook her head. “It feels a little familiar, but I've never been here in my entire life.” “Hmm. I think we should follow those voices, to see if they help us unravel why your mind has taken us here.”

She nodded and they began to pick their way through the grass to the orchard. But as they walked, two horses galloped toward them, their riders not yet identifiable. Mallory glanced at Yasmyn as they rode. “They cannot see or hear us,” she said. As the horses passed by them, one bay, the other black as night, time seemed to slow. Mallory and Yasmyn had a perfect opportunity to look at their faces. Mallory gaped openly at the red-haired girl riding the bay mare. It was her, just a few years older. She stared at herself. Everything was exactly the same. Her skin colour, pale against the mares' hide, was identical to Mallory's own. The oaken eyes, the way some of her hair glowed dark orange in the sun, even the way she rode her horse without a saddle. Mallory couldn't pick up a difference, apart from the couple of years that separated their ages. When she finally managed to pull her eyes away from the girl, she studied her companion on the black horse. He had thick, shaggy, black hair and bright green eyes. The colour was so unnatural that Mallory would have known it anywhere, even though she had only seen it for the first time today. The person standing beside her had the exact same ones. “Jet,” breathed Yasmyn. “What on Earth is he doing in your mind?” Mallory shrugged helplessly as the memory returned to normal speed. The pair on the horses galloped further through the meadow, circling a couple of times before they came to a stop close to Mallory and Yasmyn. The dream Mallory slipped off her horse first and fell back into the grass. Jet lay down beside her. “I remember when we used to come out here when we were little,” she said, staring up at the sky. “And we used to find pictures in the clouds. Look! There, that looks like Aregon.” She was pointing to a somewhat horse shaped cloud, so Mallory supposed Aregon was one of the horses' names. “Hmm,” came the boy's reply. He rolled toward the girl until he was half on top of her, one hand on her waist and the other braiding into her hair. She smiled at him, her hands sliding up his chest as he bent to kiss her. It was a long, gentle kiss, and it told more than words ever could. It told that these two people loved each other more than anything on the planet and that they would for the rest of their lives. It said that they had each other's faces imprinted on the back of their eyelids. That there was nothing that had ever existed or would exist that could tear them apart. Mallory gasped and would have fallen if Yasmyn had not caught her. All she could think that the girl was her and the boy was Jet. Or as she knew him better, Jonathan. Sweet, sweet Jonathan. For now all her memories of a past life flashed before her eyes. One where she was not Mallory, she was Alyson. She remembered she was an archangel now, and all of her lessons. She remembered growing up in the old homestead on top of the hill with her grandfather, learning about her abilities. Then the day when the aerewolves had discovered their hideaway and had come to kill them . . . But Grandfather had pleaded that they only wished to fight with the aerewolves, not against them. So the aerewolves had taken them to a great underground lair where hundreds upon hundreds of aerewolves resided. There she had first met Jonathan. He was just as she remembered him now, in this life. He was perfect and unchanged in every way. Just the name. Jet. Well, she had a different name now too. She was no longer Alyson. She was Mallory. But that didn't matter. She still remembered the feel of his body, his lips pressed against hers.

Reincarnation had not dimmed her love for him, and this memory had resurfaced it. But a thought suddenly struck her; what if Jet did not remember yet? The sound of wings beating the air broke Mallory's reverie. She glanced up at the sky as a dark shadow appeared on the horizon, approaching fast. She knew what it was instantly. It was her enemy. The black archangels that were so great in numbers. They strove to darken the white wings of Mallory and her kind. They had no name in the human language, but their name was one of the first words of her homeland to come back to her mind. “Skiteriah,” Mallory spat. “Sorry?” Yasmyn said. “That is one of the Skiteriah,” explained Mallory, pointing at the shadow that was almost upon them. She tensed herself to spring into the air and attack before she realised that nothing she threw at it would cause harm. She and Yasmyn were only spectators. Jonathan and Alyson rose to their feet as the Skiteriah touched the ground, scaring the horses into a bolt. This one was smaller than Telgan, but still two times as tall as everyone in the meadow. “So the rumours are true then,” said the Skiteriah smugly. “My daughter is white-winged and cavorting with the aerewolves.” “You were gifted with white feathers once too, Father,” said Alyson. Jonathan's gaze swung between her and the Skiteriah. “This is your father?” he asked, bewildered. “Later,” Alyson murmured, reaching over to take his hand. The Skiteriah narrowed at that. “That I may, Alyson, but I soon realised where my soul truly lay.” “My mother always used to tell me brilliant stories about you when I was young. But now I wonder whether it was just her imagination.” “Don't you talk about Tasha to me!” “I'll talk about whoever I please! Don't think I'm going to let someone as twisted as you waltz into my life after nineteen years and tell me what to do. Why are you here, anyway?” “To simply express my disgust in my daughter. At least your brother showed some promise before his accident.” Alyson gasped as her father rose back into the air and sped away. Jonathan caught her as she stumbled backward and pulled her to his chest. Mallory's head reeled as she was pulled away from the scene in the meadow and back towards the real world. She didn't realise she was crying until her tears dropped onto Yasmyn's thick carpet. It had been so long since she had heard any mention of her brother, not even counting the years between the two lives. The whole family had mourned for months after his death, and it had been so close to her mother's. She had to look up, but she was too scared. What would she do if Jet didn't remember her? That was a worse thing to contemplate than her brother's death. As more and more of her memories came to the surface, she realised she knew this place. From the childhood of her last life, when she was Alyson. This was where she and Grandfather had come after the aerewolves had found their homestead on top of the hill. Maybe Grandfather's office is still where it used to be, Mallory thought. She jumped to her feet and ran out of the door. “That's not good,” Yasmyn said. But by the time Lucien and Jet shot off in pursuit, Mallory had disappeared.

“That's even worse,” Jet muttered, scanning up and down the corridor. “For someone whose never heard of an archangel, she's getting the hang of being one pretty quickly.” “You can say that again.” There was a soft thud as Mallory dropped in front of them. “Do you know where Markus is?” she asked. “What?” Jet and Lucien said in union. “Markus. It said on the plaque on his door that he was part of the Inner Circle and was director of the University. Do you know where he is?” “Not at this exact moment, no,” Lucien admitted. “How did you get over to his office so fast?” “I ran.” The answer was so simple it almost surprised both aerewolves more than if she had said she rode on a magic carpet. “I need to see him. Right now.” “Well, I don't think that's a very goo-” Jet broke off suddenly. “Where'd your wings go?” Mallory rolled her eyes. “I can use magic to hide them. So I can go out in public.” Jet and Lucien stared at her blankly for a moment. Jet was the first to respond. “Uh huh. Anyway, why do you need to see Markus?” “You won't understand.” She tried to walk past them, but Jet put an arm out to block her way. She stiffened at his closeness. “Try me,” he said. “As much as I would like to see how large your mental capacity is, I really can't tell you. Maybe if you find Markus, he can tell you. But excuse me. I have things to do.” “We can't just let you wander around here on your own,” Lucien pointed out. “Then come with me if you must. Just don't get in my way.” When Mallory pushed through them this time, Jet and Lucien hesitated for a moment, watching her back. She had suddenly transformed into this . . . this . . . neither of them could find a name for it. Mallory whipped around at the end of the corridor. “Are you coming or what?” They hurried after her.