A Shadow of Wings

by Gayle, Linda

  He pulled back to take a neglected breath. “Jesus, man.” He rolled his hips against Cam’s and was gratified by Cam’s harsh gasp. “Sooner the better.”

  Gertie, who had collapsed in her usual boneless heap by Dylan’s feet, picked up her head when the back door to the clinic opened, and Dr. Martin stuck her head out.

  “I want to close up soon, Dyl,” she said, then noticed Cam. She smiled, familiar dimples puckering her dark round cheeks. “Hello, there.”

  Dylan peeled himself off Cam, who reddened and shuffled himself upright. “Cameron Coburn, this is Dr. Keesha Martin.”

  Despite his flaming face, Cam turned and gave a charmingly formal bow to Dr. Martin. “I’m pleased to meet you, Dr. Martin.”

  Dr. M glanced at Dylan, one plucked brow arched, and said, “And I’m pleased to meet you, Mr. Coburn. Please, come in out of the cold. It’s getting plenty chilly out here.”

  Gertie scuffled to stand at Dylan’s side, and Dr. M said, “And that must be Gertrude. Oh boy, Dylan, you really know how to pick ’em.”

  “She’s a good girl,” he insisted, stroking her head. “Just needs a little cleanup.”

  “Mm-hmm,” Dr. M said skeptically and pushed the door open wider so they could come in. Dylan had taken three steps before he realized Cam wasn’t following but was still against the wall, head down.

  “C’mon, Cam,” he murmured. “It’s okay. We’re all cool here.”

  He watched Cam’s chest move up and down, as if he was gulping in a few breaths for courage. Then Cam followed him in, his gaze on the floor as he peeled off his glasses and tucked them into his jeans pocket. It just about killed Dylan to see him so shut down. All the life seemed drained out of him as he shuffled into the clinic. Dylan had smiled over the formal way he’d greeted the veterinarian, but maybe it was just one more piece in the puzzle that was Cameron Coburn. He didn’t sound or act like a normal kid. He cared about his family, yet he was desperate for affection.

  Dylan didn’t even realize he’d moved protectively closer to Cam until he had his arm around his waist, not tight, just hovering at the small of Cam’s back. He and Dr. M exchanged looks. With all her years of experience with animals, she could read any living creature real good, and he knew she’d see the same things in Cam he did. Her compassion was the best thing he loved about her.

  She took Gertie’s leash from Dylan. “Let’s get her in an exam room. Oh Lord, look at those ears. What happened to you girl, huh? If only they could talk, right, Cam?”

  Cam startled at little at his name. Maybe he was used to being ignored. Or maybe he expected her to hate him for being gay, even though Dylan had explained she was cool.

  The exam room was cramped with the three of them in there, four counting Gertie, who’d begun to shake, even though she’d probably never seen the inside of a vet’s office in her entire miserable life. Her claws dug into the old linoleum-tiled floor. Dylan lifted her up onto the steel table for Dr. M. “I hate to say, but maybe we should muzzle her, just to be safe,” Dr. Martin suggested.

  “Don’t.” Cam’s single word startled them both. He gave Dylan one of his fleeting side glances. “She’ll behave.” He turned his gaze on the dog, and she lowered her head into his outstretched palm. Dylan was impressed. Really did seem like Cam and Gert had bonded.

  Dr. Martin bit her lip again, then said, “Well, okay, then.”

  The exam went better than expected. There wasn’t a whole lot to be done for the ears, but the rest of Gertie’s cuts and a couple of puncture wounds were healing already. Dr. M gave her the basic shots, and the pit sat quietly for the entire routine.

  “Good job, Gerts,” Dylan praised her. He glanced at Cam, who’d remained silent and focused on the dog. “Wanna take her in the back? I got a crate ready where she can stay for the night.”

  “A cage?” Cam lifted his chin but kept his alarmed gaze somewhere vaguely to the left of Dylan’s chin.

  “It’s the best we can do for now,” Dr. M said, finishing putting her supplies in a drawer. “But, Dylan, you know she can’t stay here longer than a day. Maybe two.”

  “Yeah, I know. Don’t suppose you know anyone who’d take her?”

  Pursing her lips, she parked a hand on her hip. “I need about a thousand people to take all the stray pits that go through this place every year.” She petted Gertie on her bony back. “Such a shame. They make great pets too.” She glanced at Cam. “No way you can keep her?”

  Without looking directly at her, Cam shook his head. “My brother told me to get rid of her. I’m sorry.”

  And he did whatever big brother said, apparently. Dylan had never even met the guy and already he didn’t like him.

  He looped his arms around Gertie, who had to be ten pounds less than what she should be, set her on the floor, then led her into the back. The clinic was small and not up to date, and crates were in short supply. When he and Cam went through the swinging door into the back, though, the three post-op dogs staying there went nuts, like someone flipped the Bark switch. In response, Gertie starting growling and snapping, nails scrabbling on the linoleum.

  “Whoa!” Dr. Martin clapped her hands. “Better take her back out,” she yelled over the barking and howling.

  “It’s my fault.” Cam looked stricken, his eyes wide beneath the curtain of hair. Before Dylan could stop him, he practically ran back into the empty front half of the vet’s office, leaving Dylan and Dr. Martin alone with four panting, whining dogs. They had, in fact, stopped barking as soon as Cam exited. Gave Dylan a chill.

  “Well, that was freaky.” Dr. Martin wiped the heel of her palm over her forehead. “Is that normal, for your friend to set off the dogs like that?”

  Dylan reeled Gertie back toward him with the rope leash. “Not sure. I’ve only known him a day.” But of course he remembered Gertie’s reaction to him at first. Then, he’d chalked it up to the beating, but Cam had said dogs didn’t like him. “He’s a different kind of a guy.”

  “I can see that.” Dr. M’s voice softened, and she put her hand on Dylan’s arm. “Dyl, you know I usually mind my business about these things, but there’s something off about that kid. The way he won’t meet your eyes, the way he speaks. I think he needs more TLC than your dog here.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Be careful with him. That’s all I’m saying.”

  “He’s cool, really.”

  She turned to fill a water bowl. “You’re back on your feet, doing better, and I worry now maybe you feel like you can rescue someone else.” She shook her head and handed him the bowl. “You’re not quite there yet, Dylan. You’re a good, strong kid, but all it’d take is another kid like you to pull you right back in to that same shit you were in before. I’ve seen it happen.”

  “He’s not like that.” Feeling put on the spot, Dylan wished he could explain it to her. Plus he hated being reminded of how fucked up he’d been when he’d first met Dr. M. “He’s just real shy.”

  “Mm-hmm.” She left him to go close up out front, and he knew that would be the last she’d say about it. But she’d made herself clear when he’d started working here—stay clean and sober, or you’re out of a job.

  There was no way Cam did drugs. Just knowing him for such a short time, Dylan could see he took good care of himself. Still, he got how Dr. M might reach that conclusion, what with the dark glasses that could be covering up bloodshot eyes, for all she knew, and Cam’s awkward behavior.

  He gave Gertie a good back scratching before he put her in the crate. She was none too happy to go in, but the bowl of food helped, and he’d covered the bottom with a thick plaid blanket for her. She had plenty of room to turn around and stand. More than likely it was better than what she’d had before in her sad, sorry life.

  As he shut the door, he considered what Dr. Martin had said. Of course she was warning him off Cam, but he wouldn’t give up on the kid. No way. Cam was in a cage too, trapped behind bars by his family and his fears. If there was one thing Dylan
couldn’t stand, one thing that would make him put everything on the line, it was seeing a living thing mistreated.

  He’d hated the way Cam had looked that morning—terrified that his brother would find the two of them together. Terrified of getting in trouble because his family didn’t approve. Well, Dylan had walked that road himself, and even though his life was still pretty shitty now, he’d do it again if he had to.

  No one should live in fear.

  Through the narrow wire, he reached a finger to scratch Gertie’s muzzle. “I promise, you won’t be in here for long.” He’d find a way to help her. And fuck if he wouldn’t find a way to help Cam out of his cage too.

  Chapter Six

  Dylan insisted on buying them dinner. Cam noticed Dylan seemed to have a friendship with the young woman who worked at the Chinese restaurant and gave only a few dollars for a large amount of food. This concept of money, of having or not having, always seemed a little foreign to Cam. The brothers provided everything he and Tash could need when they weren’t living at the basilica. Properties were rented, cars supplied, debit cards and bank accounts kept sufficiently full to provide for clothing and other needs. Cam and Tash had few needs, of course. Since Tash had taken him under his wing when Cam was first ready to head out into the world, they’d been on the move almost constantly, traveling from country to country, learning languages and cultures. Learning the ways of humans.

  And so Cam could recognize a depressed area when he saw one. In some ways, Dylan’s neighborhood, if it could even be called that, was worse than some he’d seen in third-world nations, because he could see that at one time, this must have been a thriving part of the city. Huge old brick factories with shattered windows and graffiti-scarred walls loomed spookily in the increasing gloom. Multi-family homes that had probably been grand in their heyday now sagged with grime and neglect.

  Dylan must have noticed Cam’s shifting gaze. He touched the side of Cam’s hand with his fingers. “Nothing like slumming it, huh?”

  “I’ve seen worse,” he said honestly.

  “Yeah? Where?”

  He gave a one-shouldered shrug. “Tash and I have traveled a bit.”

  “Tash. Your brother, right?”

  That was the story they’d settled on. He nodded.

  “You got any other family?”

  The set answer was no, no in the conventional sense, but he didn’t want to keep lying to Dylan. The truth, however, was too strange. “Some other relatives in other parts of the world.”

  Dylan tipped his head. “You sound, like, Irish or Aussie or something.”

  “A mix of many. Comes from traveling so much,” he said. He shoved his hands into his jacket pockets. Talking about himself made him nervous. “How about you? Are you from around here?”

  “Hell, no.” Dylan rolled the tops of the paper bags holding their Chinese takeaway a little tighter. “I’m from outside Boston. Braintree, ever heard of it?”

  He smiled at the odd name. “Is there really a tree that grows brains?”

  “Yeah, big ones.” Dylan bumped his shoulder. “That’s why I’m so fucking brilliant.”

  Cam laughed. He liked Dylan’s wit. Among other things. Since he’d pushed his glasses to the top of his head, now that it was getting darker, he was free to gaze his fill, and his belly stirred with excitement. Dylan walked with arrogant confidence, head up, challenging the world. He was a survivor, toughened by the street, more of a warrior than Cam in some ways. Being with him made Cam light-headed with the sense of freedom and possibility. Since Cam had turned twenty-one, no more than a few weeks earlier, Tash had allowed him a longer leash. Now, finally, he could experience life without his mentor dogging his every step, constantly correcting, lecturing, warning.

  “What’ll happen to Gertie?” he asked, matching his stride to Dylan’s.

  “I guess she’ll have to stay there overnight, but I’ll stop in early to walk her. You sure there’s no way you can take her, even for the weekend?”

  “I hated seeing her in that cage. She looked like she didn’t think we’d come back for her.”

  “I hate to see anything caged.” Dylan sought out and met Cam’s eyes in that way that only he could, but after a precious second, before Cam’s foul gaze could harm his new friend, he let his focus slide away. He’d been told infinite times that humans couldn’t look in a cockatrice’s eyes for more than a few seconds. He’d witnessed the effect himself.

  Clenching and unclenching his pocketed hands, he wondered what it meant that Dylan could look at him like that. Maybe he shouldn’t be reading anything into it. Or maybe he should. There were legends… Ancient stories in which men and monsters didn’t live as enemies. He’d been taught they were metaphors for man’s dual nature and the cockatrice’s submissive role in the universe. Maybe they weren’t just fables? Unlike Tash, Cam wasn’t afraid to question the brothers’ teachings, but even he acknowledged that to do so in practice could be playing with fire.

  “Tash needs to do some research before we travel again,” Cam said, filling in the empty space between them. “I might… I might be able to take her tomorrow, just for the day.”

  “That’d be great. I can pick her up from the clinic and bring her by. What time?”

  “It’s likely he’ll be gone early and won’t be back until late. So…any time after eight, I’m guessing.” He bit his lips, his nerves pricking at him. He couldn’t shake the mental impression of his mentor’s disapproving scowl. “I have a cell phone. I’ll give you the number. Call first. Tash can’t know.”

  “Tash doesn’t like the idea of you having a boyfriend, is that it?”

  “No.” He exhaled a long plume of breath into the chilly night. “He wouldn’t understand this at all.” He slowed his steps, thinking about the weasel attack on Tash in Sperlonga. He’d learned to live with the enemy’s actions, but might he be putting his new friend at risk? “Dylan, I shouldn’t even be here.”

  Dylan stopped altogether, and they stood in a circle of yellow light from a flickering streetlamp. “Do you want to be here?” He crowded a little closer so Cam felt his body heat, couldn’t help but focus on his face, his lips. “Because I want you here. Right here, with me.”

  He nodded, afraid to meet Dylan’s gaze. In its own way, it was every bit as hypnotic as Cam’s.

  Dylan twined their fingers together and murmured, “That’s good, because we are here.”

  “What?”

  “This is my place.”

  He looked about and saw the shabby multilevel brick building behind him. Dylan pulled him along onto a porch with a broken railing and peeling gray paint. They went in through a door set off to the left of a window box cluttered with dead plants. Cam barely had time to adjust to the harsh illumination from a bare bulb and the miasma of cigarettes and alcohol before they came face-to-face with a barrel-chested elderly man in a stained white T-shirt.

  The old man took one look at their joined hands and curled his lip. His beady black eyes burned. “Puto,” he spat.

  Cam recognized the word for a male whore and wondered which one of them the old man referred to.

  “Fuck off, Jose,” Dylan said.

  “You don’t bring his kind here,” Jose growled, his Spanish accent thick, stabbing his finger at Cam. At least now he knew who he thought was the whore.

  “He’s a friend,” Dylan snapped back. “Not that you ever had one of those, you old shit.”

  Cam sensed the tension thickening, and his calling washed over him in an unexpected rush, a fierce prickling in his scalp that tumbled down into his toes. “Dylan, it’s fine. Just a misunderstanding.”

  But Dylan apparently had a temper on him. A short one. Releasing Cam’s hand, he bellied up to Jose. “You know, I’ve just about fucking had it with your self-assigned hall monitoring. You scared off Manuela’s granddaughter last week. Wouldn’t even let her see her own abuela.”

  “She’s a whore too, and a junkie. She’s no good. None of you kids no goo
d.” He made a chopping gesture with his hand, the top of his bald head and cheeks flushing red with his anger. “You bring crack, meth, whores, fags—”

  “Hey!” Without shifting his eyes from Jose, Dylan shoved the bag of Chinese at Cam.

  Cam clutched it to his chest. The sense of danger smothered him. He grabbed at Dylan’s shoulder. “Dylan, you must stop.” Or something bad was going to happen. He glanced around, but they were alone in the narrow, musty hallway. When he looked back, Jose had somehow produced a sawed-off shotgun and had it pointed to Dylan’s chest.

  “Jose, man, hey.” Dylan flung his hands up in the air and held them there. “Listen, seriously, dude, this guy’s a friend. Just a friend.”

  “You take your puto”—Jose’s eyes narrowed and spittle flew from his lips—“and take him out to the alley. You do your filthy business out there. Not in here!”

  Another door down the hallway cracked open, and a terrified-looking old woman in a worn floral housecoat peered out. “Jose?”

  “Get back in your apartment, Manuela,” Jose shouted. “I’m taking out the trash.”

  Cam stepped in front of Dylan, who immediately tried to shove him out of the way. Cam held him back with one arm. Jose lifted the barrel of the shotgun. “No one would miss you, puto.”

  In Spanish, Cam said, “You will harm no one.”

  He met Jose’s gaze. As if he’d been struck, Jose crumpled to his knees, and the shotgun clattered to the tired tile floor. His hands covered his face.

  Cam closed his eyes and turned his head quickly. He let Dylan push past him.

  “What the fuck? What the fuck did you do, man?” Dylan’s voice dropped to a harsh whisper as stared at Jose. Rocking back and forth on his knees, the old man moaned.

  Cam sucked in a breath. “We should go.”

  Dylan stared at him for a second, then pulled him down the hallway. Behind them, Cam heard Jose groaning. “Serpiente. Serpiente! Quetzlcoatl.”

  Manuela echoed the last word on a gasp, and she slammed the door shut as they passed.