Singed Wings

By Rebekah Booth

The night was warm when Monty climbed out of his bedroom window, hitting the dusty ground with a muffled thump, his heavy satchel bumping his thigh. The house remained silent. He imagined his father snoring away under thin covers, sweating in the stale air, unaware of what his son was up to under the cover of darkness. With a wild grin, Monty raced off in the direction of the church. 

It wasn’t long until the dirty old steeple came into view, half-lit by the yellow moon. A lone live oak tree towered over the little building. Its branches twisted and coiled, draped in ghostly Spanish moss. Monty slowed to a stop some feet away from the doors, breathing fast, his forehead and back damp with sweat. The strap of his bag dug into his shoulder. A faint orange glow could be seen through the grimy stained-glass windows, and Monty felt his heart speed up again for a different reason. 

He didn’t go through the front. Instead, he crept around to the back staff entrance, opening the slim door slowly so it wouldn’t creak so bad. He wove his way around the choir stand and the pulpit, the ancient wood floors squeaking softly with each step. He could spot several half-melted tapers flickering around the tiny chapel, and a pair of bare feet poking out of one of the pews. 

Monty smirked to himself and, slowing his steps to a crawl, snuck up to the figure on the bench. 

“I can smell you, Monty,” came a familiar voice, a lisp slurring his words. “Stop lurking.” Monty laughed, scrambling forward to peek over the pew. Elias lay faceup on the bench, his warm, dark skin glowing in the soft light, his short locs spread out in a halo. His amber eyes turned molten as he stared up at the pastor’s son, and Monty could see the tips of his fangs against dark lips. He felt a blush work its way down his pale throat. 

“Hi,” Monty said, much shier than he normally would. Something about Elias seemed…ethereal, tonight. Elias would tease him for being so sappy. His best friend pushed himself up, cheeks pulling into a smile, putting his fangs on display. There were dimples in his cheeks. Monty’s knees went weak.

“Hi,” Elias returned. He threaded his graceful fingers into Monty’s dull blond hair, playing at the nape of his neck, and leaned in. Their lips met in a gentle kiss, a full-bodied sigh leaving Monty’s chest. Elias tasted like moonlight and the faintest hint of iron. His mouth was soft and warm as the night air. 

Monty made himself pull away after a couple of slow minutes, breathing fast again. Elias’s pupils were blown out in that way they got whenever they were close for a long time. It made it harder for Elias to get a grip on his instincts. He shook his head a little to clear it. 

“Look what I brought!” Monty dug around in his bag. He emerged with a carton of strawberries in one hand and a bottle of burgundy wine in the other. Elias lit up. He snatched the carton out of Monty’s hand and put a piece of fruit to his lips. His eyes fluttered shut as his teeth sank into its flesh, slicing cleanly through. 

“I found a patch out by the river,” Monty said, fixated on the way strawberry juice dripped onto Elias’s collar. “Came up wi’ two whole gallons. Papa made me sell half.” He cleared his throat and searched for the corkscrew he brought along. 

“These are perfect,” Elias groaned, lapping the residue from his fingers before going for another. Monty chuckled and swapped the carton in his hands for the bottle, taking a strawberry for himself. He watched Elias sniff the drink, his lip curling up over pearly incisors before he took a tentative sip. Monty beamed at the delighted sound he made. 

“It’s sweet!” Elias exclaimed. 

“I thought you might like it,” Monty said, blushing again. “I, uh, took it from Missus Baker. She only let me ‘cause I told her Papa sent me, and I had to hide it under the floorboards in my room—” 

He blinked hard when Elias’s mouth crashed into his, effectively silencing his rambling. A laugh burbled up in his chest, and he shivered at the sweetness on Elias’s tongue. Elias pulled away first and pressed their foreheads together gently. 

“I appreciate this,” he murmured, keeping his cool palm on the back of Monty’s neck. “I appreciate you, Monty.” Monty’s heart raced in his chest. His mouth went dry.

Just as he opened his mouth to respond, a stained-glass window shattered. 

Both boys’ heads whipped toward the sound. Neither registered the bottle being tossed after until it shattered against the floor too, and the burning rag at the end caught the dry wood like a lit match to horsehair. It took mere seconds for the flames to streak up the wall. It took less time for more bottles to crash through the remaining windows. One broke right at the boys’ feet, the flames instantly licking up Elias’s trouser leg, and Elias began to scream. 

The sound pierced through the rapidly-growing noise of spitting flames and smoldering wood in Monty’s ears, and he jumped into action. He grabbed Elias’s wrist. 

“Come on!” he shouted, dragging his friend behind him as they sprinted for the door. A beam crashed down on them before they could make it. Elias was sobbing now, tears streaking down his dark cheeks. Monty tried in vain to pat out the fire eating his clothes, watching in horror as his best friend’s skin bubbled and cracked. He looked around wildly for any way out—and then he remembered. With a gasp, Monty ran for the back door, Elias one step behind. They retraced Monty’s steps until his hand made contact with the searing brass knob (his skin hissed and so did he but he did not let go)—

It was locked. The door was locked. 

Monty hacked as the smoke infiltrated his lungs. As tears blurred his vision, he knew there was nothing he could do. They were stuck. So instead of fighting, instead of struggling, he pulled Elias into his arms and pressed his lips to his ear so Elias would hear him over the chaos.

He breathed his last as the fire consumed them, his words lost beneath the crumbling of the church roof.

By Rebekah Booth