The Winged [HIATUS]

Chapter Twenty-Two

“You know, the very powerful and the very stupid have one thing in common. They don't alter their views to fit the facts. They alter the facts to fit their views. Which can be uncomfortable if you happen to be one of the facts that need altering.” –Tom Baker, Doctor Who

[ C H A P T E R   T W E N T Y – T W O ]

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I immediately flatten my body against the wall, cursing my stupidity. The man’s gaze slides to meet mine for a millisecond before refocusing on his hostage. It is a silent promise to deal with me later. Choppy blue hair slants across his forehead at sharp angles, partially screening his eyebrows. The strands coating the rest of his scalp are spiked every which way, like he scrubbed his head with a really fuzzy towel and just left it.

Celsius is back.

Logan’s lips peel away from her teeth to reveal a sardonic grin. “You just couldn’t leave me alone, could you?” she taunts, still locked in the deadly game of tug-of-war.

“Surprised?” He uses his free hand to cup her jaw, trailing a thin line of fresh blood down her cheek.

She slaps him away. “A bit,” she snarls. “I wasn’t expecting you to hide and wait for an opening like a coward.”

Celsius chuckles darkly, retracting his hand and placing it over the Tropy. “Isn’t that what your friends are doing right now?”

I push off the wall and onto the sidewalk, feeling the familiar weight of my gun in my hands as I aim it at Celsius. He rolls, skillfully evading the spray of bullets before standing up and jerking Logan with him. He holds her in front of his body like a shield, forcing me to stop pumping the trigger.

“You didn’t hesitate to shoot at me,” Celsius wonders aloud, his tone vaguely sarcastic. “I expected you to be too afraid.”

I meet his black, calculating stare without wavering. Fire and ice. “Leave us the hell alone.”

“Put the gun down,” he instructs, knowing that he’s already won.

I eye him warily but do not lower my weapon.

“I said, put it down.”

“Or what?”

He forcefully pushes his own firearm through the net and rests it against Logan’s temple. “Or she kicks the bucket.”

I nervously wet my lips, keeping my elbows locked and my sights trained on the monster. “You two obviously have it out for each other,” I say, taking a shot in the dark. “You wouldn’t let her go so easily.”

“And you’re willing to bet over this?” he teases. A skeletal digit begins applying pressure to the trigger.

Sweat rolls down my back. “I’ll put a bullet in your brain. Right now.”

“Then she’ll get one in hers.” Celsius appears almost bored, as if my behavior is exactly what he expects. This catch-22 scenario must be routine for him.

Fine, then. Two can play, I think to myself, carefully maintaining a detached expression. “Logan seems pretty keen on risking her life to kill you,” I drawl. “I don’t think she’d mind if the ends justified the means.”

“So you’ll let her die.”

“Yes.”

“To kill me.”

“Yes.”

He laughs out loud and squeezes a little harder. “You’re bluffing.”

“Am I?”