both mentally and physically. Exiting my chambers, I paused and looked around. The lights seemed dimmer. With a shrug, I descended the steps, careful not to trip and fall. Had we lost power?
The house appeared darker, the foyer emptier, only a few people crossing back and forth. Perhaps they had all left the House of Command for the city.
Shouting came from outside, and I opened the door and looked up. Dear God. Angels blocked the sky, their feet still, their kilts waving like flags on the wind. Michael levitated above them, shouting. They thumped their weapons against their armor, and then they were off.
Storm clouds gathered above the city. It would rain. I wondered if they flew in rain. Descending the steps, I shook my head. Of course they flew in rain. Michael probably made the clouds rain. Snickering to myself, I crossed the lawn, looking for my squad, then remembered I didn’t have a squad anymore.
Some things, I wished I could forget, take an eraser and wipe from my mind. The chow hall was one of them. I exited the gate and stepped onto the training part of the House. There, I found a man behind the large pot. Ladle in hand, he brought it to his lips.
“Hey,” I said. “Have you seen…” The Ducklings had died. “My squad?”
He lifted his blue gaze, then dropped it.
I approached the food stand. “Excuse me. Have you seen any squads training today?”
“No.” A curt answer, and he turned away, got busy with something.
“Sir?”
He wouldn’t turn around.
“Sir.” I put more force into the word.
“Get lost. I don’t want trouble.”
What the fuck?
I marched out of the House’s gates and onto the street, stood there for a second, pursed my lips, stuck a hand into my pocket, and got the note with the address. Michael had said my parents didn’t know I existed. But I existed somewhere in this world, since there was an address in my file. Who lived there? Anyone? Or had Michael made up a random street and shoved it in there knowing I’d find it and look for it? The latter sounded likely. Still, hope wouldn’t let me stop looking. Hope made me move my feet toward town with no idea where I was going.
Intentionally, I avoided the busy street, thereby avoiding Mr. Habib’s shop, and took a left, then another right, and walked into a densely populated narrow street, tripped over uneven cobblestone, and hurtled forward, flailing my arms to prevent a fall. Somehow, I saved myself from eating shit on the stone. Pulling back my shoulders, I looked around. Nobody saw that display of klutziness. I moved on.
My boots made a lot of noise in this area. It got quieter and quieter as I moved farther into the town. It got darker somehow, and as I rounded the next corner, I realized the streets had no names or signs, and that they all led only one way: down. It was a maze. I was pretty certain of it. Turning, I tried to spot the House and saw only the tip of the roof. It seemed miles away. Shit. I walked back. Should’ve taken the main street. Damn it, I was lost, with nobody around to ask for directions.
At the top of the street, I looked back down. Maybe I should’ve kept going. Eventually, I’d reach the water. Right? Thinking, I scratched my head. At the bottom of the street, a man rolled what appeared to be an entire fruit stand.
“Excuse me,” I shouted and ran after him.
When I rounded the corner, he was gone, but the street was long. He couldn’t possibly have already walked the entire length. I rushed after him, noting the smell of vomit and piss, my skin prickling with some uneasy awareness. Danger danger, my instincts screamed. Knives out, I kept moving. Thunder cracked. I jumped and yelped. Damn, scared the bejesus out of me. Heart thumping, I walked, wishing my boots didn’t make so much noise.
And maybe they made little noise, but to me, I sounded like a herd of elephants in the neighborhood I would associate with downtown LA, not a place where I’d ever walk alone. This was a really dumb idea. There! The man with the fruit cart.
I ran as fast as I could. “Hey,” I shouted. “Hey!”
I rounded another corner and saw him round one too. I ran faster, shouting after him. The man maintained his pace, walking slowly, pushing the damned fruit stand to or from the market. How