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

Chapter Fifty-Five: Opening

Angelos.

My dreams are long and dark, patchworked together of twisted images that make me twitch and cry in my sleep. Jaylin dead: a sword through her chest, her body slumped over a chair. Heaven curled against Poison, her face burned and her expression grim as he touches her. Empty.

The skies glaze purple, hissing and snapping. Owl stands in front of the capitol building, her armor glittering against the shining sky. Gats kneels at her side. In the crisp reels of my mind's eye, I see so perfectly the serene expression on his face. And when he opens his eyes, it melts into a painted smile. He lifts his head and chains rattle from around his neck and wrists.

When I wake up, my eyes stream with hot tears, my breath shuddering in my chest. I scrabble up against the seat belt and press my hands on the window, my wrists puffy from the cuffs.

I haven't had a vision since the dance. Thinking of Jaylin, I shudder and wipe away tears.

The gentle ebb of Gats' breathing fills the backseat. He's tucked in a ball, his head to the side and his arms crossed over his chest like a mummy's. The sword's squeezed between his knees, the tip just touching his nose.

Watching him stills the flood of after-images. The horror of seeing carnage like that, even imaginary, still gnaws my heart. It makes me sick. Even my thoughts aren't safe anymore.

I need therapy. That's what I'm asking for on my birthday. Not a puppy, not a new phone, therapy. And maybe Kepler, if I can find her. A life free from horror feels like a faraway fantasy.

Gats' fingers jerk, and I pull at the blade. Mom turns. The plates of her armor rub up against each other and click. "Well." She adjusts her earpiece. "He sleeps a lot."

"He's a cat, Mom. And he's mean." I jerk the sword out of his arms, the hilt so heavy my arms wilt. He wakes with a start, snatching the hilt back so roughly the blade slashes two-inch long tears in my hands. I yelp and wipe my hands on my shirt, growing spots of blood blotting the Polo red. He clenches the hilt so hard his arms tremble. He growls, low and primal. When he curls his lip, the blood in my face makes him look more animal than human. I back against the window. "Gats." I raise my chained hands coolly. "Stop it."

Mom whistles. More canary than Owl, really. The glow of her armor makes my eyes burn.

"We're almost there, boys. Don't kill each other."

"Well, tell Gats to stop going psycho on me! I just moved the stupid sword so he wouldn't stab his stupid self in his stupid sleep." I try to cross my arms, but with my wrists bound up all I can do is flap my elbows like a chicken. So, instead, I just huff and drop them in my lap. The smell of blood and sweat tells me I need a shower. Badly. Gats frowns at me, tossing a strand of hair out of his face as he lays the sword flat across his lap.

"Sorry," he mutters.

"You really need to stop saying that."

"Shut up, Angel."

"That too."

I smile to myself as he looks down at the sword again, all slow and deliberate. So what if he wants to kill me? Owl has him by his strings. I have to accept that, for now at least. As the car slows, the chill creeps back through me from my dreams.

There are thousands of possible futures, millions. But I have to live with knowing that in one of them, Jay dies, Poison takes Heaven by her strings, and Owl rules Starlight City with Gats as her pet.

I need to figure out a way to stop it. No biggie. Just alter the course of events somehow so everything goes so smoothly no one will notice the averted apocalypse. If I fail, my friends die and Starlight falls. Yep.