The closest building was only meters away, and they were speeding toward it. Another few dozen feet and they would be plastered to the windows. They were getting closer with every breath, with every beat, and everything was happening too quickly, and finally the compressed air in Callie’s lungs forced its way to the surface and she found herself crying, “Look out!”
But it was unnecessary. Already, they had veered to the right. This, though, was little comfort, as they were faced now with a jungle of buildings. Callie gasped, sure that they would not make it out of the city alive, preparing to crash at every turn.
They narrowly avoided each building, swerving and bobbing and twisting around the giant masses, each one rising up before them like some vengeful assailant until, suddenly, there were no more buildings. The city was behind them.
Now, they flew over the bridge in slow motion, hovering smoothly over the bay as it sparkled beneath them. Soft, yellow lights shone up from the dark waters, reflections of San Francisco nightlights. The bridge encompassed them in its orange glow, filling Callie with an inexplicable sense of safety. From this angle, the world seemed very large, very still. Callie’s mind shorted out, and all that she could think, as her blood pressure descended to an unhealthy level, was that the view was beautiful.
And that was when the world went black.
Chapter Two
Canopy
The first thing Callie understood once the blackness had cleared was that she felt heavy. Her limbs were weighted down by sleep, and she felt foggy enough that she could have been dreaming. Fingers poked at her swiftly, efficiently, and she let herself sink further into the ground.
“Emeric,” a feminine voice spat “What have you done? Do you realize the consequences this will have?”
“It was a necessity,” another voice said calmly. “And I would use your words carefully, Serena. Do not forget whom you address.”
“What will you do with her? Who is she?”
“She is none of your concern,” the man replied. Callie sighed. In the darkness of sleep, she couldn’t see their faces.
“She is poison, Emeric!”
“Rest assured, she will not be a threat for long,” the man said without pause.
“You will not kill her,” a second man said, his voice quietly murderous. Callie frowned, her head beginning to spin.
“We have no choice now. Not anymore. She could play executioner to us all,” the first man said.
“You won’t touch her,” his friend replied, just as calmly, though his words carried an undertone of warning.
“I warn you, Alexander, you are breaching your limits with me. You have been a disappointment tonight. I will not tolerate much more from you.”
“She has done nothing wrong,” the second replied. “What she has seen may just as easily have been a dream to her. She has no evidence that we are truly—”
“She is not worth the risk.”
Callie moaned, a headache beginning to set in, and the characters in her mind were silenced with the noise. She waited for the throbbing to relieve itself a bit, before settling back into the comforts of sleep.
“What is it?” the second man asked, sounding uneasy.
“Do not be concerned,” a new voice answered. “She is alright. I believe it was the shock and the change in elevation which caused her to lose consciousness.”
“It doesn’t matter, anyway,” the woman said softly.
“Don’t. You know nothing about this.”
“Serena,” the more authoritative man said, “perhaps you should leave.” There was a silence, and then a rustling of footsteps. “But before you go….” Another pause. “You will not tell anyone about this,” he said, leaving no room for argument. A gust of wind touched Callie then, seeming very real. The man continued softly, “Well?”
The clinical voice spoke again. “Her wings have not developed, Emeric. What did you expect?”
“But there is a chance that she may grow them, isn’t there?”
“I’m afraid not. This girl has matured fully; she is a woman now. For some reason, fate has denied her the wings you so want her to have, Alex. And without them, she is little more than mortal.”
“Emeric, please,” the second man said.
“I gave you this chance, Alexander. The Healer has confirmed what we already knew. There is nothing left to do.”
Callie swallowed. She had seen no faces, simply heard an angry exchange of voices. And now her headache was beginning to cut more acutely into her consciousness, dragging her dream back down into the shadows of her mind.
As she drifted up from the depths of sleep, sifting through the darkness for reason, the first thing she felt was warmth. Her skin felt sort of fluid, as though she could melt into a puddle and be perfectly content.
The second was a strong sense of disorientation and dizziness. All of the pressure seemed to have left her head, so that her brain might as well have been replaced with helium. She groaned, pushing a palm beneath her belly to turn herself onto her side. Something was different this morning. Her bedroom had changed somehow. The room smelled different—tangy wood seemed to scent the air. And the fabric of her bed felt rough, cobbled beneath her fingertips. Slowly, she opened her eyes.
At first the scene didn’t come into focus because the colors were too bright. Instead of the usual whites and soft blues to which Callie normally woke, there were vibrant oranges and rich auburns. She licked her lips, but her mouth was dry and her throat felt sore. Where was she?
She pushed to a seated position, squinting in the sunlight and pressing a wrist to her buzzing forehead. To her right was an expanse of unpolished hardwood floor, interrupted only by a glass coffee table and a white futon, before a perfectly square window, unfettered by glass or screen, cut into the far wall. This was most definitely not her bedroom, she realized dully. But if it wasn’t her bedroom….
She looked to her left, rubbing her eyes with the back of her hand, and froze. There, above her, stood three figures. They stared down at her as though they were waiting for her to do something. For a strange moment, she was reminded vaguely of her trips to the zoo, when she would stare into a glass enclosure at the animals roaming freely in the makeshift jungles.
And then the next moment cursed her with clarity. She gasped, confused and petrified in equal measure, and scrambled to stand up. In a matter of seconds, she took in the features of the strangers.
The first, nearest to her, was a small woman, no taller than five feet, though she must have been in her early twenties. Her black hair was cut into a dramatic, under-curving bob. Her skin was the color of coffee and cream, and her eyes were large and russet behind a pair of fine-rimmed spectacles.
The second, just behind the short woman, was what may have been the tallest man Callie had ever seen. He was at least six and a half feet tall, and for a moment, this huge height was all that Callie could focus on. But then she noticed the coal-black hair, sharply contrasting the pale skin, and the translucent grey eyes which followed her movements with piercing accuracy. His features had a regal air about them. They reminded her of the royalty she had seen on the canvases in museums.
Lastly, blending into the wall in the background, was a third figure. His skin was burned to bronze by the sun, his golden hair hung in loose locks down to his shoulders. He stood a little shorter than the first man, though his shoulders were so wide-set that he looked every bit as intimidating. He didn’t look at Callie; he stared at the ground so that she could barely make out his face except to say that his nose was crooked, like it had been broken many times, and his jaw was set in anger.
It wasn’t until she had registered all this that Callie realized their most prominent features: the white, feathery swells erupting from their shoulders. She now realized that these were wings, stolen from a memory that was now coming back to her.
Last night. Last night, she had been in bed, and then….
She sucked desperately at the air, feeling light headed, a
s the memory came back. The wings beating against the sky. The men stealing her away. The darkness of the night blending into the bright lights on the bay. And now she was here, in a room with impossible creatures, and each of them staring towards her with cold curiosity.
“Wh-who are you?” Callie asked, backing up a step.
The man in the shadows looked up sharply at the fear in her voice. He might have moved, but the motion was so subtle that Callie couldn’t be sure. The other man, the one closer to her, cleared his throat.
“Alexander,” this man said now. His voice was expectant.
Callie felt her knees giving out beneath her. Her whole body was humming, as though she’d had too much caffeine, and her palms were beginning to itch. She was only now beginning to realize the gravity of this situation. She had no idea where she was. The word kidnapped seemed so foreign, so unreal, and yet she was certain that it was the exact word to use in this situation. She had been taken from her room, and she didn’t know how to get back.
Her mind couldn’t even process the wings. She stared at them, transfixed, seeing how they tucked behind the backs of these creatures. She had never even heard of such people before, not in real life anyways. She could barely be sure that they were real.
She looked around quickly. There was the window behind her. The only other exit was the door, and that was blocked by her captors. She supposed she could use the window, though she’d have to figure out a way to get closer to it without the three of them getting suspicious.
She backed up another half step.
“Very well,” the black-haired man said when the man named Alexander didn’t move, the simple words bespeaking disappointment. “It falls to me, I see.”
He looked again at Callie, his steel grey eyes glinting with hidden intent, and suddenly Callie knew.
She felt a swift wave of nausea, and then the floor dissolved beneath her, her muscles lost all tension, and she was no longer in the wood-paneled room.
Now, she was in a different room, this one devoid of sunlight. She looked around, gasping for air, wondering how she had gotten here. Her stomach rolled. She felt the hollow contractions in her gut, and she was sure that she would be sick in a moment. But a sound captured her attention. She twisted around, and saw that she was not alone here. The black-haired man was present, only he looked different. In this space, he was angry. No, not angry. Furious. His face was a mask of hatred, his lips curled backwards in obvious disgust. The expression alone was enough to frighten Callie, but it was not the only fearful thing about him.
He wore blood on his face. Deep, burgundy smears of what Callie knew to be blood, and it was splattered across his cheekbones and upon his forehead like holy water. She gasped into her palms, knowing that she could not make a sound. She hadn’t any idea how she might have gotten here. She had no clue what these people wanted with her, or what was going on. Yet she knew beyond doubt that the black-haired man was unaware of her presence in this room. And she told herself that if she was silent, maybe he wouldn’t be able to find her. Maybe she would get out.
A faint moan dragged her eyes downward. On the floor, rolling onto her side, was a young girl. She couldn’t have been any older than Callie. But this girl, unlike Callie, bore the same wings that the other three had. She twitched in pain now, and Callie saw why: leaking from her stomach was a steady trickle of blood, the same color that painted the black-haired man’s face. Along with that gash were bruises decorating every surface of the girl’s skin, tainting the pink color with wide splotches of black and purple. Callie watched in fascination, however, as the bruises faded quickly to green, and then to yellow, and then began to disappear completely right before her eyes. They were not gone long, however, before the black-haired man replaced them, swiftly kicking the girl in the chest, sending her rolling onto her other side. Callie couldn’t stifle a cry, still pressing her hands to her mouth, torn between desperation to stay hidden and a need to help the girl.
And then, so quickly that Callie didn’t see the gesture coming, the man lunged forward. With an audible ripping sound, he tore the girl’s wings from her back, the muscles and veins in his neck protruding with the effort, the girl’s screams lingering in the air in the moments after she was killed.
Callie felt the air rush from her chest as she opened her eyes and found she was once again in the wooden room. The three figures were exactly where they had been, were looking at her with precisely the same expressions. Callie felt suffocated, like the wind had been knocked out of her. Tears slipped down her face, and she looked at the black-haired man with hatred. She knew now. He was going to do the same thing to her.
Which was why, when he stepped towards her, just as he had done towards the dying girl, she braced herself. But the hatred she felt for this man overpowered her fear, just for a moment, and she heard herself speak.
“You killed her, didn’t you?” she asked, her voice broken and trembling. “That girl with the wings. You murdered her.”
He stopped suddenly, and blinked.
Callie realized what she had done. The fear returned in full force, and she stumbled backwards, groping blindly for the window ledge.
“You can Perceive?” the black-haired man whispered incredulously. She barely heard him. She took four more strides backwards, her hands reaching behind her.
And then she felt the wooden ledge press into the backs of her knees, so forcefully that she lost her balance, and before she knew what was happening she began to fall backwards, out the window.
“Save her!” the black-haired man roared, just as Callie’s eyes widened, and the man in the shadows sprang forward in a manic burst of movement.
A scream caught at the base of her throat, and she was suddenly upside down, falling into a pit of ivy green. Her stomach lurched up beneath her ribs.
And then she felt a warm hand snake around her back. It pulled her upwards, back through the window, and the world began to spin in the opposite direction.
She choked as she was jerked into something hard, time seeming to catch up to itself. Blinking, she pressed her hands against the warm, smooth surface she was leaning on, and looked upwards in a daze. The man from the shadows stood there, staring down at her, his face completely composed.
And so it was odd when Callie realized just how quickly his heart was beating beneath her palms.
For a moment she was frozen, sure that if she let go now her knees would give way beneath her. Her gaze was riveted to his face; his eyes scrutinized her with detached curiosity. She noted with a distant part of her mind that they were precisely the color of chocolate. They sat well against his tanned skin, against those cheek bones which she saw now were sharp and uneven. And something there, in the jagged points of his features… was familiar.
But then her eyes adjusted, and she saw the feathery contours of the tops of his wings, and she remembered who he was and why he was here. She pushed him away from her with a quick surge of strength, glaring at him hatefully. These men were murderers. The thought of having one of them touch her was unbearable.
A hushed clapping of footprints fell in the background, and Callie saw that the black-haired man was walking towards her, staring at her intently. He stopped in front of her, and she met his gaze with an angry expression.
“Alexander,” he said, still regarding her speculatively. “Tie her down. We can’t have her trying to escape again tonight.”
Callie clutched at the wall behind her. She spared a quick glance out the window, wondering if she could try to jump before they caught her, and was amazed to see that they were not, as she had expected, in San Francisco. They weren’t in any city at all. What she saw instead was at least fifteen stories of nothing but green leaves and broad, knotted branches separating the window from the ground. She swallowed. New plan.
But before she could form one, restrictive hands were on her once again, and she felt herself being dragged across the room.
“Let go!” she cried, attempting to yank her f
orearms out of the rough hands that held her. But the grasp was strong. She cried out and stepped with all her weight onto the blond man’s bare foot, hoping to at least make him flinch. He didn’t even seem to notice. “Let go of me!” she shrieked. “This is kidnapping! Get your hands off of me!” With each word, she flailed and jerked and tried to free herself.
Too soon, though, she was placed, not roughly, into a high-backed wooden chair, and felt her wrists being gathered behind it. She squirmed and struggled, though she knew it was pointless; already, coarse rope was being knotted around her arms. Her legs were useless. She could barely stand up, let alone hoist herself up with a chair strapped to her back. She yanked once more against the bindings, and huffed in defeat as the two men circled around her. The small woman seemed to have disappeared.
“This is illegal,” she said after a moment. She hadn’t anything else to say; none of this made sense to her. “Look, if you let me go now, I won’t tell anyone about…” she began, eyeing their wings with a new thrill of fear coursing along her spine, “you. Just, please, let me go. I won’t say anything, I promise.”
The black-haired man drew a chair for himself. He sat down and faced her, the blond man standing off to the side a little. “How did you know about that girl?” the black-haired man asked bluntly. “Did someone tell you about her?”
“What?” Callie asked, twisting her wrists against the ropes.
“The girl you spoke of. How did you have that information?” he asked patiently, as though she weren’t strapped down against her will.
“I—I don’t know,” she admitted, straining to look over her shoulder to gauge the size of the knot. “I just…saw it.” She looked at him again. “Please, let me go. My sister will worry. She’ll call the police, and then you’ll have more trouble than you want. Untie me, and this can stay quiet.”
He seemed amused by her threats. “You don’t seem to realize the predicament you’re in,” he said. “Your law has no bearing over us.”
“Why?” Callie asked. “What are you?” She didn’t really want to know. But she had seen enough James Bond movies to know that if she kept the villain talking, he was less likely to attack before she had come up with a plan.
The Guardian (Callista Ryan Series) Page 2
