The start of "Gutter-wing"

The merchant had trapped the angel in a cage so small she was forced to wrap her wings around herself. She had drawn up her knees and buried her face in her arms so that only her hair could be seen. It held the sheen of pearl, and promised silken softness.

Kenan started to reach between the bars, but a whip suddenly stung his fingers.

"No touching!" The merchant coiled the whip back under his arm, but Kenan had no doubt that it would flick out at the first hint of another transgression.

"How much?" he asked.

The merchant studied him, calculating a price.

"She's going to waste away soon anyway," Kenan said. "She clearly hasn't been eating at all." Her arms looked thin and frail, and her feathers were dull and matted.

"Angels are a rare find," the merchant countered. "How often do you see one in the market?"

"That's because nobody wants one. How about a trade?" Kenan tossed him a coin, and was gratified to watch the merchant nearly drop his whip while fumbling to catch it.

On one side of the coin was the proud profile of a handsome woman; on the other, a name. Shellay Dew Kennard. She had been a harder conquest than most. The merchant studied the coin, turned it over, then bit it lightly. His eyes brightened. "A tasty soul." He nodded toward the angel. "Take her."

Kenan knelt and undid the latch. It was coated with sticky sin to keep her from taking that simple action. The cage door swung open, but the angel didn't move. "Come on," he said.

She didn't respond.

He sharpened his voice. "Come out, gutter-wing," he said.

She lifted her head just enough for him to see the gleam of an angry eye.

"You won't get any cleaner in there," he said reasonably.