"As soon as there is life there is danger." -Ralph Waldo Emerson
[ C H A P T E R S E V E N ]
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“Ring, ring, ring, ring, ring, ring, ring! Banana-”
“Shut up!” I yell, mashing the “ignore” button on my phone. Whoever is intent on calling me at seven o’ clock every morning will just have to talk to voicemail.
It is a typical Monday morning. Aside from the… incident on Saturday, the weekend had passed uneventfully. I had eaten every scrap of food in the house, and any spare moments were spent sleeping. I simply hadn’t had any steam left after exerting myself to such lengths.
“Are you sure you have everything?” my mother asks, emerging from the bathroom. She is visibly worried, and I don’t blame her. I don't usually slouch around the house like a bum, and I have never gone a day without venturing outdoors.
“Mm-hm,” I mumble, hoisting my bag over my shoulder.
She stares at me for a moment, debating whether or not she should say anything else. “Do you… need a ride?”
I open my mouth to decline, but then I think better of it. “Sure.”
Mom has already puffed herself up, preparing to fight with me over the matter, but she appears to be genuinely bewildered at my compliance. “Oh, uh… okay. I’ll start the car.” She hurries to the kitchen and retrieves her keys before exiting through the front door. I sigh and trudge after her.
I usually detest riding in cars. Think about it: You have no control over road conditions, other drivers, etcetera. One mistake and you could end up exploding like a box of firecrackers in a bonfire. You might think I’m paranoid, but I do have valid reasons for feeling this way.
I would much prefer to fly. I mean, at least there’s no chance of me spontaneously combusting up there. But I still feel like crap, and I might as well make my mother happy.
I lean my head against the window and watch other cars zoom by. Sometimes I focus on the drivers, trying to guess where they’re going and what their circumstances are. When we stop at a red light, I see an older man next to us with weight problems and a receding hairline. I weave an epic tale in my head about how he used to be in a travelling circus. One day he ran away and pursued his love of Italian cuisine, falling in love with a beautiful woman in the process. She was killed in a tragic accident involving a whale, and so he spent the rest of his days-
The man feels my prying eyes and glares. I squeak and hide below the window where he can’t see.
“Aislinn Blake, what are you doing?” my mother asks, turning around.
“Nothing,” I drawl, sitting up a little straighter.
HONK! The person behind us beeps their horn. I can hear him spitting profanities.
“Oh, look at that,” I chime. “The light is green.”
“Shoot!” Mom spins around and slams her foot on the gas. We lurch forward, once again speeding toward school.
We finally reach our destination about ten minutes later. My mother pulls the car up in front of the building and leans back to kiss my head. “Have a great day, sweetie!” she crows, as mothers often do.
“You too,” I mutter, swinging the door wide and leaping from the vehicle. I cannot stand another second in that insufferable box of death. It is time to fend for myself.
“Hey, Ash.”
I snap my head up and see Tempest approaching. I construct mental walls before responding. “Hello, Tempest. How was your weekend?”
“Fine, fine,” she drones, going along with this polite social interaction. “I didn’t do much. You?”
“I didn’t do anything either,” I reply, adjusting my book bag and entering the school.
We lapse into silence as we maneuver through the buzzing hallways. Things aren’t exactly awkward between us, but they certainly aren’t comfortable. I peer at Tempest out of the corner of my eye. Something appears to be troubling her, but she isn’t willing to talk.
“So… you look tired,” Tempest pipes up, trying to spark another conversation.
“Yeah,” I agree. “I totally overworked myself.”
“I thought you said you didn’t do anything?”
“Ah… nothing interesting,” I blurt, a little too quickly. “I guess I just haven’t been sleeping well.” This isn’t completely false.
Tempest nods sympathetically. “Nightmares?”
“I suppose you could say that.”
“You ‘suppose'?” she echoes.
I don’t miss the suspicion in her tone, but I offer no further explanation.
Tempest runs a finger through her hair. “Look, Ash. I told you one of my deepest secrets last week. I have no idea why I did; I just have this weird feeling that I can trust you. My point is that you can’t lie to me, especially after that.”
I can understand where the girl is coming from. She does deserve some clarification. “Well, I’ll tell you in class. I have to drop some stuff at my locker first.”
“I’ll hold you to that,” she says, letting me go for the moment.
I scurry around the corner and find my locker. I take my time hanging up my jacket and emptying my bag. I don’t want to explain to Tempest about my dad. Even after five years, it’s still a touchy subject. I know I can’t avoid this, though. Tempest confided in me, and now it is my turn to contribute.
After stalling for as long as possible, I make my way to the science room. As soon as I walk in, Levia grins and waves me over. I can’t help smiling back as I take my seat beside her.
“I love your outfit,” she says, gesturing toward my AWOLNATION band tee shirt.
I glance down and smile at the design. “Thanks. I wasn’t feeling well this weekend, so my mom bought it to cheer me up.”
“Well, looks like it worked,” a voice comments from behind me. I spin around in my chair and come face-to-face with Tempest. “Who’s your friend?”
“Oh, sorry. I forgot to introduce you guys,” I say. “Tempest, this is Levia. Levia, this is Tempest.”
“Yo.” Levia waves casually and returns to doodling a wolf on her binder.
Tempest slides into the desk next to mine. “So what are these nightmares you’ve been having?”
“You get straight to the point, don’t you?”
"So do you," she responds flatly.
Touché. “Anyway, they’re not really nightmares. They’re memories.”
Tempest raises her eyebrows and urges me to continue.
“When I was ten years old, my father went on a ‘business trip’ to Colorado. He said he would be back within a week, but we never heard from him after he left. No phone calls, no e-mails, nothing.” I swallow the lump in my throat and soldier on. “A police officer arrived at our door a few days later. He said that they had found my dad’s car at the bottom of a rocky slope. He had apparently gotten into an accident and rolled off the road. His car burst into flames on the way down…” I pause to take a deep, steadying breath. “It was totally decimated, except for the license plate. They never found a body.”
Tempest looks completely mortified. “I… I’m sorry, I didn’t know…”
“You’re fine,” I sigh, “You couldn’t have known.”
“You’ve known her for two days and you’re telling her that story already?” Levia interjects. “You didn’t tell me until a month after we met!”
“Yeah, but she asked specifically,” I explain, pointing at Tempest.
Tempest puts her head in her hands. “Yep. Throw me under the bus.”
Levia snorts good-naturedly and retreats into her drawing again.
My friendship with Tempest is becoming strained. I have mentioned it before, but whenever I am around her I’m overwhelmed with the feeling that I know her from somewhere. It’s a little uncomfortable. Also, I am almost entirely convinced that she is the bird girl from last night, but I don’t want to make things more awkward by bringing it up. And there’s also the chance that I’m wrong – that would be horrible.
Mrs. Maya strides to the front of the room and pushes her glasses up her nose. “Today we’ll be reviewing significant figures!” she exclaims.
I lean back in my chair and groan. This is going to be a long day.
~ * ~
“Hey Tempest, I’m going to go straight home today. Will you be all right…?”
She snorts and pushes a strand of hair behind her ear. “Ash, I am fourteen years old. I am perfectly capable of walking myself.”
I hold up my hands in surrender. “Okay, okay. You just look like… I dunno, a sixth grader.”
She makes a face. “Are you calling me short?”
“Well… yes.”
Before I have a chance to react, she darts forward and punches me in the shoulder. “Ouch!” I shout, shoving her away. “That was not fair!”
She flashes me an impish grin. “You’re the one who taught me.”
I begin to regret demonstrating basic punches for her in PE. “Hmph. I guess you are ready to walk home alone.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow, then,” Tempest beams.
“Yeah. Bye.” I wave and walk away in the opposite direction. When I am certain that Tempest has turned a corner, I leap behind a tree, spread my ghost wings and launch myself into the sky.
I don’t fly too quickly, as I am still sore from Saturday. My wings are aching with every flap. I eventually hit a nice air current and glide along lazily, reveling in the much-needed break. I swear, as soon as I get home I am taking some painkillers.
The current only lasts for a few minutes and I am forced to revert back to manual flight. Luckily, I am closing in on my home. I spot my tree from the air and fold my wings, diving at stomach-churning speeds. Leaves and branches smack my face on the way down, but I ignore them and land gracefully on the roof of my treehouse.
Suddenly, a dark feeling slams into my gut like an iron fist. I moan and double over, trying to suppress the sensation. I wouldn’t call it painful, but there are no words to accurately describe it. Apprehension, maybe? Whatever this is, it feels like someone is tying my innards in a knot.
I leap to the ground, not even bothering to enter the treehouse first. My instincts are screaming at me to turn around, to fly far away and never look back. The sense of urgency only grows when I look at the house. Something ugly will happen if I go in there.
Of course, this only makes me want to investigate further. My mother got off work early today. What if she’s in danger?
This thought strengthens my resolve. I take a step toward the house, fighting off another wave of nausea. I crumple my feelings into a ball and stuff them down to the pit of my stomach, breaking into a full-out run. By the time I fling open the sliding door and enter my home, I think I am going to puke.
I close my eyes and try to locate the source of the darkness. I hear muffled sounds leaking out of the upstairs bedroom. A woman (my mother?) cries out, but her voice is barely audible. Something may be covering her mouth. Then there is a hissing noise and she falls silent.
I don’t need to hear any more. I dash up the stairs, nearly tripping over my own feet. I am aware that I may be walking straight into a trap, but what else can I do? This is my only option.
I practically knock the door down in my haste. My mother is bound to a wooden chair in the center of the room. Her hands are behind her back; a rag is gagging her mouth. The setup is very cliché, and I have to wonder just how stupid this criminal is.
“Gho haway!” she cries through the gag, shaking her head.
“Don’t worry, I’ll untie you.” I take a step into the room.
Mom shakes her head even harder. “No!” she shouts, desperation leaking into her voice. She looks like she wants to say more, but something is holding her back.
Every corner of this room is tainted with murk, but I have to be brave. I don’t care if she is a decoy – I simply can’t leave her to die. I walk all the way into the room and get behind her, untying the rope and removing the rag from her mouth.
“It’s a trap,” she whispers, grasping my hand. Her eyes hold a somber expression that I have never seen before.
My knees are quaking with fear, but I am careful not to show it. “I know.”
The bedroom door slams shut. I tear my gaze away from my mother and examine the man who is locking us in. He is tall and lanky, but I sense great power hidden beneath his gaunt appearance. His skin holds a deathly pallor; his eyes are as black as coals. Sharp claws protrude from his bony fingers. Most frightening of all is the massive pair of wings jutting from his back. They are as dark as ink and reek of evil.
“Who are you?” I demand, moving to stand in front of my mother.
He smirks, his lips parting to reveal rows of jagged teeth. “My name is Demyan. Who might you be?”
“You broke into our house and are holding us hostage... and you have no idea who we are?”
“That is correct,” he replies, taking a step in my direction. “But I do know that you are one of the Winged, and that is the only fact I need.”
I am a little confused. “What do you mean by ‘one of the Winged'?”
He laughs maniacally, but it sounds more like he’s having an asthma attack. “You’re telling me that you don’t even know your own heritage?”
“I think I’ve made that pretty clear,” I growl.
“Well, one of our spotters tracked you back here,” he says, advancing toward me. I instinctively take a step back, but I never break eye contact. “I know what you are, and I’m taking you with me.”
“Go to hell.”
Demyan requires no further provocation. He lunges forward and swipes at me with his razor-sharp claws. I sidestep the attack, yanking my mother out of the way.
“Go!” I scream, shoving her toward the door. “Call the cops!” I dodge another blow and leap to the window at the back of the room. I try to pry it open, but it’s no use. It must be stuck somehow.
“It won’t open!” Mom yells, fumbling with the door handle. When her fingers touch the lock, a green spark sends her reeling across the room. A similar thing happens when I try to break the glass with my elbow.
Demyan cackles and grabs my arm, swinging me through the air as if I weigh nothing. I slam into a wall but manage to stay standing. “Stupid girl! I’ve raised a barrier around this room.” He attacks again, but I can’t dodge fast enough. His nails rip into my forearm, leaving a bloody gash behind. I shriek in pain and stagger back into the wall.
“You can’t escape your fate,” he snarls, swinging his fist at my face.
I duck and roll out of the way, and not a second too late. He nearly punches a hole through the plaster. Blood is steadily seeping from the wound on my arm; I have to fight back the tears threatening to spill over. I’ve always had a high pain tolerance, but this is unlike anything I’ve ever experienced.
“Give up yet, girlie?” he taunts, kicking me in the side. A ragged sob escapes my lips. He is too strong.
I somersault away from another blow, but the man keeps on dogging me. I find an opening and attempt a roundhouse kick, but he grabs my leg and flips me over without even blinking. I don’t have time to think before he is sitting on top of me with his hands wrapped around my neck. I try to snap his fingers and buck him off, but both techniques fail. My air supply is obstructed. Oh God, I can’t breathe…
All of a sudden the pressure is alleviated and his hands are peeled from my throat. I sit up immediately and scoot away, gulping for air. I scan the room for my aggressor… and find my mother bludgeoning him with a chair leg. If our lives weren’t in mortal peril, I would find this hilarious.
I unfurl my wings and leap into the air – thank the Lord for high ceilings – and drop kick Demyan in the head. He stumbles backwards, giving me time to land a flurry of punches and kicks on his face. His nose starts spurting blood like a fountain. I stab him in the eyes for good measure before flipping back to avoid another blow. Then I dive in, wallop on his face some more, and drop to the ground so I can drive my foot into his nether region. He grunts and crashes to the floor like a ton of bricks.
“Take that, you cretin!” I scream, slamming my foot down on the back of his head.
My mother stares at me, slack-jawed. “Aislinn, you’re… floating!”
Well, she had to find out sooner or later. “Yeah, there’s something I may have neglected to tell you…,” I say sheepishly, not meeting her eyes.
Demyan shudders under my foot and rises with a flap of his wings. I leap out of his range and hover near the ceiling. What kind of male recovers from a low blow that quickly? The damage I inflicted on his face is also healing before my eyes. He growls and takes to the air, knocking my breath away with a series of spinning kicks. I grit my teeth and ignore the pain, ducking in for an uppercut…
…But Demyan is no longer in front of me. Where did that son of a bi-
“You’re going to die for that.” A skeletal arm wraps around my neck and chokes me from behind. I have no time to think – I just react. I grab his arm with both hands and yank down, bending and flipping him over my head. He lands hard on the ground, and I don’t hesitate to catch him in an arm bar. A guttural snarl rips from his throat, and he uses his free hand to pull a large gun out from under his jacket.
“Ah, hell!” I cry, releasing his arm and dodging a glowing green bullet. It hits the wall and explodes, and I am thrown forward by the force of the blast. His next shot gets me square in the shoulder. I sob and fall to the floor, writhing in pain. The bullet is somehow sealing off my healing abilities. Blood is hemorrhaging from the wound and staining the carpet. That will be one heck of a mess to clean up, I think.
Demyan gets to his feet and saunters over to my mother. She tries to run, but he captures her easily and holds the gun to her temple. “One more move and I’ll blow this lady’s head off,” he threatens, casually roping his free arm around her waist. Despite his scrawny pretense, his strength is extraordinary. There is not a doubt in my mind that he would pull the trigger.
I shoot Demyan a smoldering glare, but I remain perfectly still.
“Good girl,” he mocks, flipping a switch at the back of his gun. Then he points it at me and fires. A large net is propelled from the barrel, thrusting me back against the wall and jarring my bleeding shoulder.
I wince, biting back another cry. I push against the green mesh, but it’s no use. I’m hopelessly ensnared. “What do you want?!” I demand. At this point I am trying to saw through the rope with my teeth.
Demyan chuckles and once again presses the gun to my mother’s skull. “You really are stupid,” he informs me, sounding almost bored. “I was never going to let her live. How else am I supposed to keep her quiet?”
My eyes widen. “N-no! No one would believe her…”
“Sorry sweetheart, but she’s human. And humans never keep their mouths shut.” His finger hovers over the trigger.
“Please stop!” I beg, throwing away my pride.
My mother is struggling not to cry in front of me. “I love you,” she whispers, steeling herself for death.
“No, don’t say that!” I bawl, slowly crawling across the floor. “Don’t give up!”
“How cute,” Demyan smirks. He squeezes the trigger.
I clamp my eyes shut and scream at the top of my lungs, “STOP!” I slam my fists into the ground.
Out of nowhere, I hear an agonized howl. I peel my eyelids open, expecting to glimpse my mother’s corpse. Instead I see Demyan doubled over, shrieking in pain. His gun has clattered to the floor. I don’t know what happened, but I seize the opportunity nonetheless. Darting forward, I force my hand through a hole in the net and scoop up the gun.
Demyan manages to open his eyes and glower at me. “What the hell did you do, you fu-”
He never gets to finish his sentence. I pull the trigger and send one of his own bullets barreling into his skull. His eyes roll back in his head and he crumples like an accordion.
It’s over. Demyan is dead.
==========
Before you make any assumptions: Demyan is NOT a demon. He's evil, sure, but he's a creature of my own invention. So... what exactly is he? And what did he mean when he said Aislinn was "one of the Winged"? Ohoho, I'm not telling you just yet~!