The Winged [HIATUS]

Chapter Eleven

“Won’t they ask for an ID?”

“I’m sure I can influence them to let us stay for one night.”

Tempest and I soar over the roads, searching for a hotel that looks cheap but not too shady. After ten minutes of scrutiny we finally decide on a place and begin our descent. Cloaked in shadow, we are able to land in plain sight without being noticed. I extend my senses and listen for gangs or drunkards. Finding no real danger, we slip soundlessly into the hotel.

I stand back and watch as Tempest approaches the tired-looking man behind the front desk. She is too sleep-deprived to uphold an entrancing pretense – she goes right in for the kill. “You’re going to give my friend and me a room for the night.”

“I’m sorry miss, but I’ll need to see some ident-”

Tempest reaches across the desk and grabs him by the collar. “Listen to me, you stupid oaf. We are very, very tired and we need a place to sleep. You are going to give us the damn keys and forget you ever saw us. Understand?”

“Sorry for the trouble, miss. Here is your key.” He drops the metal into Tempest’s hand. “I never saw you.”

She plasters a deceptively sweet smile onto her face and releases the man. “Thank you.”

“Jeez,” I mutter under my breath. “Someone’s cranky.”

Tempest snorts but chooses not to respond. Instead, she leads me down the hall and into the third room on our left. It isn’t very impressive. The carpet is stained a bland shade of brown. The bed sheets, decorated with faded pink roses, look like something an old lady would buy. The only other significant piece of furniture is an ancient television set perched atop a wooden dresser.

My nose crinkles when I catch a whiff of mildew. “Do we have to stay here?” I whine, dropping my pack next to the nearest bed. I am reluctant to even sit down.

Tempest shrugs and throws her bag next to mine. “Yes, unless you want to sleep outside like a hobo.”

“I’d rather sleep in a tree.”

“Suit yourself, but I’d like to have a roof over my head,” she says, slipping into the decrepit bathroom.

The sound of running water soon reaches my ears. “Are you seriously taking a shower?” I holler through the wall.

“Why wouldn’t I?” she yells back.

“I don’t know, maybe because the showers here could give you foot fungus?”

“Don’t be ridiculous!” she shouts. “You should probably take one after me, anyway. You smell like an animal.”

“You did not just go there!”

“Oh yes, I did just go there.”

I exhale and sit tentatively on the bed, snatching a handful of assorted snacks from my backpack. My wings sag at my sides, leaden from exertion. It’s been a long day. After cramming the food down my throat, I slide sideways onto the stiff blankets, letting the wrappers flutter to the floor. A strange scent that resembles perfume assaults my senses as my face slams into the rock-hard pillow. I don’t care. Nothing can keep me from falling asleep.

“Are you ready?” a voice asks me from behind.

“Not really, no,” I reply, staring at the precarious square-shaped hole cut into the wooden floor. My friends and I are inside a floating treehouse, thousands of feet above the ground. Below us are vast, empty fields and foggy mountains that smell of morning dew.