The Winged [HIATUS]

Chapter Thirteen

“We all have super speed, remember?” Logan replies. “You just didn’t see me.”

“But how?”

Logan leaps from her perch and lands effortlessly on my sleeping bag. “It’s my gift,” she says, “my power. I create glamours. People only see” – she vanishes into thin air, but her voice remains the same – “what I want them to see.” She reappears now, sauntering over to join our group. “So what do you guys do? I already know blondie here can move things."

I grit my teeth in agitation but Tempest pipes right up. “I read auras,” she says. “I can also make people do stuff.”

I am about to question Tempest’s decision to trust this woman, but I realize that she probably has better judgment than me. When you can peer into peoples’ souls, you tend to be good at dissecting their motives. That alone sets me at ease.

“What are you girls even doing here?” Logan queries, resting a hand on her hip.

“Running from the Blackwings,” I answer, assuming a similar posture.

Her brow furrows. “You mean the hen traynes?”

“The what now?”

“Hen traynes,” Logan repeats, looking bored. “It translates to ‘tainted ones’ in English.”

“What language is that?” Tempest questions. She absently crosses her arms over her chest, most likely trying to identify the accent. It troubles her when there’s something academic she doesn’t know.

“Jeez, kids these days don’t know anything,” Logan mutters. “Basically, in the old days the Hentrenta – that means ‘Winged’ – spoke a language called Dimonia. We eventually switched to English somewhere along the line, but certain phrases are still customary.”

“See, this is what I don’t get!” I yell. “It’s always ‘Winged’ this, ‘Winged’ that. What the hell am I missing?!”

Logan’s eyes sweep over us, this time with less intensity. “You haven’t been doing this for very long, have you?”

We sheepishly shake our heads from side to side.

“God, you two are in some serious shit.” She presses her palm to her forehead and sighs. “Tell you what - you can stay at my house tonight and I’ll explain everything. I’m just hoping the, uh, Blackwings didn’t track you here.”

“Thank you,” I breathe, genuinely relieved that we’ll have a place to stay… for now, at least. Tempest and I hop into the air, waiting for the strange girl to join our troupe.

Logan unfurls her broad, rounded wings and leaps after us. Her coverts are a rusty red; thick black and white bars streak across her feathers, interrupted by an occasional alabaster fleck. I recognize this pattern immediately as the crowned eagle’s. It is an incredibly powerful bird with talons strong enough to crush a monkey’s skull. It even has been known to attack – and kill – human children. If Logan is anything like this bird, I’ll have to watch my step.

“Shall we go?” she asks, not waiting for a response before tearing away into the night. I roll my eyes and fly after her. An odd buzzing sensation tickles my spine; Tempest shudders and beats her wings hard to catch up.

What was that? Tempest asks, reaching out to Logan with her mind.

Logan doesn’t seem the least bit startled by the telepathic message. I’m covering us with a glamour, she says. No one can see or hear us. I hear the response in my head, even though she isn’t speaking directly to me.