Damsel[ed]: Some Rescue Required (#2 of the Damsel[ed] series)

Chapter Nine: Gunplay

Angelos.

My head spins as I slip my phone back into my pocket. Gats? Again?  I try to focus, but the encounter with the woman replays in my head.  So many questions. I press my fingers into my temples and try to think.

Starlight's in trouble. Syndicate will only leave destruction in its path, but I can't quite focus on that either. The idea that someone could mistake me for Poison—a criminal who couldn't look any more different from me—haunts my every thought. I know it's selfish to reflect on that when the world around me stands on the brink of catastrophe, but I can't help it.  Are winged-supers really that rare that the only one the woman could think of was Poison?

I draw in a long breath. Too much. Too fast. I angle my head to the sky and turn to find where I came from. Maybe Gats slipped. Once, when he was doing the dishes, he fell and cracked his femur. Surely, that's it. He did something stupid and he sprained something.

Of course not, moron, Dark Side chimes in. Bah. Hate that guy. I crouch and spring into the sky, wings spread as I navigate Starlight's spiral of skyscrapers. When I find our balcony,  I snap my wings shut and tumble over the rail, landing hard in an ungraceful heap. I "oof" and wipe the dust off my pants. I don't want to go in. I want to pretend everything's fine for at least one second, but I pound the door and Juniper swings it open, almost knocking me off my feet.

She swipes her hand over her short hair, her eyes red and puffy. I frown. She's holding a shot glass.  "You drink?" I ask, tipping my good eye to her. She's always lecturing me on the dangers of alcohol. Probably because I snuck a cup or two of some of crappy, God awful cheap beer at a Halloween party last year. I loosened up, my relative sense of judgment peaced out, and I spilt a few too many stories about "the good old days" when Gats and I were freshmen. For his sake and mine, I won't touch another drop of the stuff. "And what's up with Gats—"

"Argh!" someone shrieks from the living room. My breath catches. It's Heaven. "He's...they..." Her voice falters and she breaks into a series of yelps. Chills creep up my spine. There's so much pain in her voice my wings stiffen.

"Shish." It's Toby. "You shouldn't have gone out."

"Well—Ah! Sorry, sir. Syndicate...they..." She whimpers, and he offers her Aspirin.

I dig my fingers into the seams of my jeans. "Is she okay?" Juniper shakes her head and motions for me to come in. I turn a little and try not to bump into anything. Our usually empty apartment swells with people, like we're throwing some bizzaro party. Toby, June, Storm, Hev, Jaylin. The frou-frou hanging lights swing from all the movement. Jaylin's flopped in front of the TV, playing with VHS tapes like Heaven isn't screaming out in agony. My heart thuds and I look away. I don't want to think about her and me and all that stuff. Another guy stands over the couch by Toby, the stranger's head bowed and his black shirt neatly pressed with creases. "Who—"

"Security guard. He found Heaven collapsed by the lobby in a..." She winces, the words coming slow and clipped. "...trail of blood."  

I cringe. "Is she going to be okay?" I ask, flexing my wings. A trail of blood, huh? Storm told me something happened to Gats, not Heaven. I guess Hev's  condition doesn't matter to Storm since she'll recover, but I feel sick. Her healing factor sucks—my fault—and she's so frail she should be out of commission for weeks. But that isn't what concerns me. She's in pain, serious pain, and everyone around waves it off like it's no big deal. She should be back in the hospital, but of course, they won't make her. I dig my heels into the carpet.

The guard looks up. I've seen him around, reading or watching Hev, Gats, and I with a look of sheer amusement. I know nothing about him, but he probably knows some about me, given all the conversations he's overheard.