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

Chapter Fifty-Two: Ceres

Poison.

I've never known pain like this before.

And I mean, pain and I go back. Way back, to when I first got my wings. Happened to Dad. Happened to Angel. Turns out the trigger for wings is trauma. And though Catalyst's presence helped, forcing bone bulges to grow beneath my skin, she just couldn't cut it. That meant four weeks of shocks and prods that didn't cut it either, but Dad had to try anyway, because that's how he got his wings he said, torture. The bulges broke into a relative wing-shape, but I still couldn't fly because I didn't have flight feathers.

I got my wings when my little cousin died.

This pain is different. It isn't the loss of her, it's a loss of freedom. If Dad locks me away—like he usually does—I'll be trapped for good. No more plots or ingenious schemes. No more flights to clear my head. Forget it. I'll never see the sun ever again.

There are five of us: me, at the head, Dad, at my side. Every click of his shoe sends another ache through my burnt wing. He puts an arm around me, but I squirm away. Cat—Jaylin—scowls. Her face flushed rosy, her dark eyes flitting from the floor to Heaven. Heaven, at my other side, gnawing her wrists. The cuffs rubbed them raw after Mathias bashed her arms free. She watches me out of the corner of her eye, suspicious. She should be. The other little girl, the blonde one with the sparkly silver mask, hangs behind her, peeking up at me shyly.

The wolf project whines and bats my shin. Heaven grimaces, propping a hand on a hip as our party scours the mall. The place has a terrible stench to it, and it's quiet. Friends glance at my wing and give me sympathetic looks and weak smiles, but none of them talk. They just bow to Fallout when they pass him. Even the Syndicate guys stay back. They smirk alright, but most of them have hands to pieces in their ears, listening to something. We're too weak to attack. Dad is tense. But when I look at them, I only feel another pain in my wing.

"You should've never split," Dad says with a shake of his head, "none of this would've happened if you hadn't chased after your brother."

I want to scream. Punch him, maybe. But I nod instead, even though he knows I'll chase that kid through Old Newport and back if I have to, and now that he's taken my flight, there's nothing he has to blackmail me with. "I-I'm sorry, sir." The whiteness and silence of the mall makes me feel uneasy, like someone is looking over my shoulder. Breathing down my neck.

Heaven swipes her forehead, blinking irritably. Her visor is gone. I watch her a few long seconds, taking in the blood mats in her hair, her shredded WWE shirt—stained and baggy—but the way she carries herself, the dignity in each clipped stride, you'd think her in a queen's robes. I don't know what I expected to see of her out of costume and out of school uniform. Maybe I thought she'd have some sort of secret girly side, wear a dress or carry a parisol or something. But no. Just the same tomboy Heaven who keeps her hair up in ponytails at school and thinks skirts are impractical because you can't fight ("run from" she said when she was talking to the student council, but we all know what she was thinking) supervillains in them. I dig my fingers into the insides of my hands, glace away toward my dad's guiding arm squeezing mine. He fixes me a stern look and I glare back. He knows what I can do. He should be glad about what I can do. I can make her loyal to our side for good. And she'd be happy.

"Let's backtrack." Both hands are on her hips now. "Maybe we don't need this Demeter guy—"

"His name is Ceres."

She tosses her head back, sighs. With a blink, she looks down for a second, squeezes her side. "Poison." The hero avoids my eyes, staring at my broken wing instead. It makes my chest go tight. My wing. "I want to save Starlight City. Owl intends to hurt people and we can't have that." Her tone is urging, her voice strong and smooth. She sounds like she's giving a speech, though she's only spoken a few sentences.