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

Chapter Twenty-Eight: Projects

Angelos.

The man sets his elbow on my shoulder and hands me a glass coke bottle. I wiggle the cap, the face of it dented and the corners stretched out. When I touch it, it pops off. It's been jimmied open. Probably spiked.

Well, great. I could've used a Coke. I hold the bottle at my side and try to smile politely, but it doesn't come. I'm scowling at the man as he guides me through the back of his store, my good eye searching for something to focus on. The room is small and crumbly, built of cinder block and pasted in globs of gray paint. With what little I can see in the dark, I find a flashing red exit sign and race toward it. The man tugs on my shirt to keep me from splitting.

"Easy," he says, "tell me about yourself."

I level my breathing as he leads me out a door and rush out my words. "Sixteen. Big Star Wars fan. Wanna get a doctorate in medicine." My biological parents are supervillains and Syndicate kidnapped my best friend. "How about you?"

He chuckles. A single bar of fluorescent light hums above my head as I push the door open and a spiral of stairs plunges below my feet. The place smells damp and musty, like an antique shop if said antique shop had been doused in acid rain. The floor creaks under my toes, sending my thoughts back to Death Tower. I shake my head. It's still crazy to think that night led to all this, still blows my mind in every possible way and angle.

The man takes a swig of his Coke. My fingers clench around mine. "I'm just a stranger." He glances at me from the corner of his eye and drops his voice. His tone is deep and menacing. "How about I ask the questions?"

I feel myself stiffen, but I try to stay polite. "Fine by me."

Silence falls between us, only pierced by the creeeaaak of each stair as we take the flight. I try to match the man's careful, measured steps. If I died here, falling down the stairs, that would be the dumbest death in the history of dumb deaths after all I've been through. But I wouldn't be surprised if I somehow did. Fate does seem to want me dead, after all.

"A doctorate?" the man asks finally.

I shrug. "I want to be a doctor. I mean, I might take biochem, and if I do, I want to get a doctorate in that, so I can still be a doctor. Plus, education is neat."

"You're into science?"

"Yeah, a little." And for a second, I crack a smile, though it feels wrong to do when Gats is gone. I do like science, even if this genetics stuff leaves me with a bad flavor in my mouth. I haven't had time to think about it at all, my life in the state it is, but I used to love looking at the stars. I had a giant telescope perched outside on the balcony before Gats convinced me it was lame. Maybe I'll take up an astronomy course. I still have so many options and such a long life ahead of me, at least, I did before the dumb supervillain element entered my life. I feel a twinge in my chest. Maybe I won't have to choose between biochem, astronomy, or medicine because  I'll never go to college. Maybe I won't escape this place. Maybe I'll never grow up. 

I bite the inside of my cheek. I never wanted this, I—

"Kid!" the man shouts, a fraction of a second too late. My foot misses the next step. I take a tumble. My head hits the edge of a stair, sending a jolt through my skull. I gasp and my wings tear free and snap open. They jerk up, pulling me back before I hit another step. My heart nearly bursts through my rib cage. The man pounds down and snatches my collar. "Look where you're going next time!" He slaps me, a burst of black and purple spiraling behind my good eye. I rub the side of my head and let the sting of the slap sink.

"Sorry," I say.

"Do you want to get yourself killed?"

"It won't happen again." I feel myself blush. Maybe I haven't grown up all that much because even with everything's that's happened, I'm still the same darn rebellious kid the grown-ups yell at.