Can you hear me now, liberator?
I stumble back and nearly fall into the bathtub. Grabbing onto the towel rack, I right myself. Then starbursts of anger dance before my eyes. Someone is messing with me. I don’t sense anything now, but I know it’s a collector. How else would they know I’m a liberator?
The question is, which collector? Is it Patrick, the scrappy bastard always eager to find favor with Lucille? Or maybe Kincaid with his beady all-seeing eyes? I consider Anthony—a gorilla of a collector—and decide it couldn’t have been him. It wouldn’t be Zack, either; he doesn’t have it in him to harass me alone. There’s one other collector it could be, but even thinking his name causes my throat to tighten.
Rector, Rector, my mind taunts.
Racing from the room, I grab my cell phone and call Charlie’s number.
“Come on, pick up. Pick up,” I mutter.
Panic fires through my body when her voicemail kicks on.
As I listen to her recorded message, I pull the ivory horn from my pocket and concentrate on where she is. Not at home, but not far from there, either. I can’t get a read on her emotions and curse the horn for not giving me more. Since I’ve already left two messages tonight, I push end and glance at the clock: 1:28 a.m.
I pace the wrecked room, wondering how quickly I can get a flight back to Alabama. I punch Valery’s number into my phone and beat my fist against my thigh as it rings.
She picks up, and her voice is muffled with sleep. “What do you want?”
“A collector has been in my room,” I bellow. “Where’s Charlie?”
I hear a faint click and gather that Red is switching on a lamp. “Charlie is at a party,” she says. “Max is there. I just spoke with him. What do you mean, a collector has been in your room?”
I glance around the floor, at the clothing and socks and boxer-briefs strewn about. “Someone threw all my crap around and left a note on the bathroom mirror.”
“Well, what does it say?”
“It says, ‘Can you hear me now, liberator?’” I drop down onto my bed. “Are you sure Charlie is all right?”
“I’m positive,” she answers. “About the note…” Red trails off like she’s thinking. I expect to hear a note of alarm in her voice, but it isn’t there. “I wouldn’t worry about it.”
“Come again?” I say. “I don’t think I caught that last bit. It sounded like you said, ‘Don’t worry about it,’ which I know isn’t right.”
Through the phone, I hear Red sigh. “Look, sometimes I’m going to tell you to take action. And other times I’m going to tell you not to worry about it. Right now, don’t worry. We’ll handle this.”
I look around for the hidden camera, because this has to be some kind of freaking joke. “So, you guys just want to slap some liberator dargon on me and dole out pointless assignments? Well, let me tell you something, princess. I don’t roll that way.”
“You didn’t roll that way when you were a collector,” Valery says evenly. “You work for Big Guy now, and there’s a certain rank among us, just like there was in hell.”
“And my rank is…?”
“Bottom feeder,” Red says. “I’m going to bed now.”
“How can you be so dismissive? There was a collector in my room. A collector. We haven’t seen these guys in over a month, and now they’re back. Above ground. They know where I am. And they’ve probably come to steal back Charlie’s soul. Is any of this registering?”
There’s a long silence on the other end of the line. “Charlie is safe. I assure you. Finish your assignment so we can discuss you returning to Peachville.”
“Discuss me returning?” I roar. “Oh, I’m returning, Red. I’m coming back, and when I do there’s—”
“Dante, stop,” she interrupts, her voice suddenly authoritative. “I want you to listen to me very carefully. It’s crucial that you liberate this girl. Do you think Big Guy would ask you to take on this assignment after everything that happened to Charlie, and to the human, if it weren’t important?”
So she was talking about Aspen when she was on the phone at the airport. “That human that died helping us,” I say. “His name was Blue.”
“I’m going to bed,” Valery answers. “I’ve said too much.”
“You haven’t said anything useful whatsoever. Tell me why Aspen is important!” I wait for an answer before realizing—
Valery’s hung up.
Shaking with fury, I throw the phone across the room. Then I tear the blankets from my bead and hurl them toward the wall. Next, I grab the heavy overturned lamp and fling it at the television set. The shattering sound it makes upon impact sends a wave of satisfaction rolling over me.
I kick a shoe into the glass window.
I tear a fugly painting from the wall.
I yank the mattress from its frame and overturn it.
My girlfriend, who is thousands of miles away, isn’t answering my calls. I have no idea how to get a girl like Aspen to come to Jesus or why she even matters. And now Valery tells me not to worry about the collector who’s been. In. My. Room.
I send the desk onto its side, then look for something else to throw. But there’s nothing left. And though my dead heart is pounding with rage, I know this isn’t helping. I rip my shirt over my head and stride back and forth across the room bare chested.
A thought snaps into my head. I stare forward, but my eyes don’t focus on anything in particular. I’m thinking…thinking.
Or maybe it’s more like remembering.
Remembering the way Rector’s black, leathery wings sprouted from his back. And the way Kraven’s white, glowing ones hung in the air behind him. I don’t know why I visualize their wings now. Max and I have pondered them a million times over the last several weeks, and though the issue of wings didn’t seem to surprise Valery, I suspect she doesn’t know how they work.
I’ve tried in the past to conjure my own set of wings, deciding if Kraven and Rector had them, maybe I did, too. I was never successful, though. But then again, I never tried while I was like this, while every nerve ending felt like it was on fire.
Growling like an earthquake, I throw my arms open wide and call out for wings. I roar, my entire body quivering. Sweat drips down my chest. Dark hair falls into my eyes. My muscles scream in pain. A burning smell fills my nose. But still I summon what I believe must be there.
And suddenly, two things happen.
My phone starts ringing, and a loud sound thunders through the room.
9 
Charlie’s New Dress
Cocking my head, I realize the booming sound is someone knocking on my hotel door. But I don’t care about that. All I see is Charlie’s name lit up on my phone display. Racing across the room, I grab my cell and accept the call.
“What’s up?” I try to come off as chill, but instead sound like someone crotch-kicked me. “I’ve been calling.”
Smooth, ass clown, I think. Real smooth.
I’m new to this whole caring thing. I quickly realize that I’m not that good at it, that I’ve kind of skipped over affection and jumped right into Lifetime-movie-stalker.
“Heeeey, Mr. Walker,” she sings.
One hundred percent drunk. That’s Charlie. I know because I’m sober. How is this happening?
Some persistent bastard keeps knocking on my door, so I cross the distance and swing it open. A woman stands on the other side, her face Bloody Mary–red. She points a finger the size of a cornhusk in my face. “You need to be quiet,” she hisses.