Windswept (The Airborne Saga)

by Constance Sharper

  Blood cold, Avery knew they were speaking about her. The fact that they believed she still could defend herself disconcerted her. Adalyn had been here to help her, and Avery never helped Adalyn. That made Avery choose her plan.

  A murmur of agreement raced through the group of harpies and they moved in unison, heading north. They’d reach a clearing and take off into the skies where Avery couldn’t follow. Just spying the back of the last harpies, she stood. Her flowing gown managed to make her blend into the darkness but did little to protect her. White knuckling the fabric again, she shifted carefully. Her feet itched, willing her to run in the opposite direction, but she stayed grounded.

  “Stupid, stupid girl,” she whispered to herself, face flushing darkly. Taking a breath, she stepped over the roots and urged herself forward.

  The harpies moved swiftly, dodging through the darkness and the trees as if they’d been trained for it. The scent of moss and water struck her just as the group came to a sudden stop.

  “Take her to Turnasile Island!” Patrick ordered.

  Before the backs of harpies turned, Avery dove for a tree. Slamming up against the bark, she held her breath until the last of the harpies flew away.

  Seven

  Avery’s head snapped up when she heard it. Her eyes first went to the window and the dark woods beyond the glass. She’d insisted on keeping the blinds open so she could see an enemy if they came. Some notice or some chance to fight back was still better than being snuffed out in the middle of the night, Avery reasoned.

  Her eyes glanced towards the door and the source of the noise next. She recognized the sound as a simple knock, but it was long past visiting hours. She’d sent Leela to stay with Nate for a while—against school policy but with prodding, Avery was able to have both of them break the rules. Leela, a girl barely cracking a hundred pounds, wouldn’t have been much good anyways.

  Avery slid out of her bed, bare feet touching cold tile, and crept forward. She couldn’t picture Patrick and his minions showing up at her doorstep, but she’d been wrong about judging Patrick before. The door hadn’t turned into a hurricane of splintered wood yet so she proceeded with caution.

  “Avery, it’s me.” She heard Mason’s voice.

  Heart fluttering and whole body jumping, she didn’t hesitate. She twisted the deadbolt and threw the door open. By the time Avery’s eyes landed on the figure, she didn’t have time to jump back. Harpies flooded into the room. She whirled but they were quicker. Five lined the space in her dorm before she could even blink. Avery yelped and stumbled backwards. The door seemed like the best option then, but she didn’t even make it there. A harpie stood in her way.

  “Avery,” the stranger said her name. Brunette, lanky, and sharply postured, Avery didn’t recognize him.

  “Who are you?” she demanded of the bunch but her voice came out more frightful than strong. She didn’t see Patrick among them but her head still spun.

  “Avery,” someone called her again. Mason slipped into the room for the first time. Relief made her knees weak, but she didn’t compensate by reaching out for him either.

  “What is this?” she asked with an absent wave towards the other harpies. All stood but none acted. If they seemed cool by Mason, she’d quit panicking.

  “They’re called the Guard. They are the most elite and dangerous soldiers in the world and they’re assigned to protect me,” Mason explained.

  His arms came out to beckon her closer. This time Avery couldn’t resist, audience or not. She pressed to his chest and inhaled his scent. His arms went around her torso and his hand slipped into her hair. She could feel his heart speed up so much that she didn’t have to ask if he’d missed her.

  Avery leaned back, eyes going straight to his lips, and held them. He leaned down until his breath tickled her face. But instead of kissing her, he grazed his lips over her forehead. The motion was gentle but still left a chill in its wake. Audience, Avery remembered. She reluctantly drew away.

  “Bodyguards, huh? Sounds fun.”

  The harpies didn’t seem too dangerous. The Band of Thieves—the criminal gang once led by Mikhail—was not only dangerous but had an aura of such. The harpies in The Guard didn’t wear weapons or scowl with impatience. Their eyes focused on the air in front of them and the sharp blue suits they wore revealed no battle scars. But Avery had learned better than to judge by appearances.

  “So how long are your friends sticking around?” she asked him.

  “They don’t exactly leave. I mean definitely not while I’m here.”

  For the first time, one of the Guard stepped forward and demanded attention.

  “This isn’t designated a safe location, Your Majesty. I beg you we continue on the proper course of our mission and depart immediately.”

  Mason made a face, but didn’t reprimand the Guard or even disagree. The Guard never backed off either, and the room seemed that much more crowded now. Boxes had already been piled up around their beds. Leela may have had neat stacks, but Avery’s terrible packing already had spews of cardboard and clothing awkwardly stacked against the floor. It made it difficult for Avery to step back and away from them. She kept scanning the room. Her desk had been packed and swept clean of dust by recent cleaning that still left its alcoholic, lemony musk in the air. Only her book-bag, filled until the seams stretched, sat out on the edge of her bed. She’d already stripped the sheets until the bed was bare white. She’d packed well, finding it the only thing to keep her mind still. Avery reached for her bag and Mason spoke up.

  “This is technically just a pit stop, Avery. We have to keep moving. Is Leela…?” Mason added.

  “She’s with Nate now. I’ll send her a message. We already had enough goodbyes,” Avery said. She itched to confess more. It’d been an agonizing time enough without Mason and seeing his face for the first time in a long time made it worse. Still, with six sets of prying eyes, she didn’t find the time to get particularly sentimental.

  If Mason read her mind on it, she would never know. He took her hand and led her out into the hall. It was beautifully empty this time since most students had already left for their new lives, and the group of eight walked forward with ease. He brought her to the last door—an emergency exit. This door wasn’t hooked up to an alarm but rather deterred students from its treacherous and dark path just outside the door. She knew it well. Upon first meeting Mason, he’d chased her out and she had the privilege of falling down those steps. Walking through it with him now made her chest stir.

  Outside, the six harpies of the Guard swarmed around them in a tighter circle than had existed in the dorm room.

  “We aren’t heading back to the island immediately. We’re going to Portland first.” Mason said.

  Avery drew away enough to glance at his face. His wings had expanded. They’d be airborne in minutes.

  “Portland?” she squeaked. “Why?”

  The vision of Samuel’s compound burnt to ashes came to mind. The sense of dread she’d been feeling all week returned to her and with it, she sent a passing glance through the woods. Patrick wasn’t here anymore. He couldn’t attack the entire Guard. But then why would they head towards the one other place he might be?

  “I wish I could tell you. But this time you better stop over thinking and enjoy the ride.”

  He took off before she could get another word out. The Guard took off too. The whole group of them could have caused a hurricane, but their flight pattern was tight and quick. Avery kept her mouth shut, head spinning as they whirled through the air. Mason held her tight until they reached their apparent destination. Then he dropped from the sky with practiced formation and touched the ground before the Guard backed away.

  “Where are we in Portland?” Avery asked when Mason released her. She shuffled backwards, struggling to catch a glimpse behind harpies’ wings. She could feel the atmosphere change, the more persistent winds, and the nippy air. But when the Guard actually moved enough so she could get real look, she didn’t
anticipate what lay before her.

  “Wait. This can’t be serious. Are we on a volcano?” she choked.

  Her face went ashen and she reached out blindly for Mason. He only laughed and nudged her forward—another step and more of the world became visible. She’d noticed the mountain first and its very rigid top. Below her she noticed the man-made city in the distance. Sky-scrapers and shiny, white buildings must have marked Portland.

  “Mount Saint Helen,” one of the Guards chirped. “The minor activity of the volcano is…irrelevant.”

  Avery shot him a dumbfounded look. Volcanoes may be irrelevant to someone who could fly away once they felt the first tremor. She shook the idea off.

  “Why a volcano?” Avery asked once she’d caught up.

  “It’s easier for us here. No humans up this high.” Mason addressed her this time. He offered a hand and helped her over some of the rough terrain. It turned quickly into pavement just as she noticed the rest of the world for the first time. Built into the side of the mountain were buildings. In line with harpie styles they utilized little roof cover and only natural shade. Harpies lingered in the area, but every eye glanced not-so-subtly their way. Avery wasn’t sure what they found so interesting to look at. Was it the human girl or the Prince and his Guard? Her eyes kept going. The harpie complex had been bustling and vibrant.

  “A ton of harpies though,” Avery couldn’t help but comment.

  “Very few harpies actually live on the islands off the California coast. Mostly royalty or the rich. And all the people catering to those who make their living off of the above,” Mason explained. He seemed intent on a destination, leading the group while the Guard trailed after. No other harpies approached but didn’t run either—people skirted the beaten path.

  “Why are we here?”

  “Since the council announced my appointment, I’ve been making rounds. Portland is easy. It’s one of my father’s biggest havens full of supporters for his bloodline.” It sounded rehearsed. She didn’t ask how long he’d been practicing it.

  They reached the first few buildings that were closed in when someone again stole their attention. Bursting forth from one of the houses dashed Stern. Quicker than he looked for someone of his age, he slid to a stop. His feathers even ruffled when his eyes landed on Avery.

  “Ms. Zane.” He’d regained some sense of formality and offered a curt nod. “Mason, I must be able to talk to you privately. Our time is waning.”

  By privately, he clearly meant away from Avery. Mason didn’t argue, hands only going to Avery’s shoulders for a minute, before he pointed towards a cabin on the right. Made of brick with a chimney and roof, it looked like a homey enough human enclosure.

  “Madame Perry will take care of you. She’s our head chef. Eat, rest, wait.”

  “Mason, I do have to talk to you,” Avery quipped when it dawned on her she had just been discharged. This harpie civilization didn’t seem ripe for Patrick to attack—even less when the Guard was around. The heightened fear in Alaska was minimal here but that didn’t mean Avery wasn’t ticking to spill her guts.

  “This might be…more important,” he suggested. Avery noticed Stern staring. Along with the Guard—even if their looks weren’t as concentrated.

  She swallowed thickly. No privacy here.

  “Okay. I’ll see you later?”

  His mouth twitched with a smile, but he repressed it.

  “I’ll see you tonight,” he echoed. Something about that comment made her stomach backflip. She elected not to hug him this time but squeezed his hand on her shoulder before breaking off. She knocked on the wooden door just as Mason and Stern stepped away. They spoke in hushed voices, bodies pointed toward the north. Avery tried to see where their attention went. Samuel’s compound was in that direction. But so was half the harpie mountain.

  The door swung open and a stout woman stood on the other side. She was an awkward combination of thin and chubby—round cheeks but massive statute. More apparent than anything else was her bright smile.

  “You must be the little human girl! Aw, it’s so nice to meet you!” She even came off with a southern accent. Avery didn’t ask how a harpie had a southern accent in Portland.

  “Um, Avery. My name’s Avery.”

  Perry shifted her wings in greeting and cleared the doorway. Inside, the walls had been colored a hue of garnet and lined with cabinets and colorful bottles and cans. Overhead from a massive rack hung pots and pans. In the center of the room was a long silver stove. The fit was surprisingly tight. Spotting a wooden bench in the corner, Avery sat and avoided the kitchen supplies. Perry shuffled back in, straight to the counter with flour and dough. The entire room smelled of bread and sweet pastries already.

  “Hello, Avery, how are you liking our small town?” She prompted the small talk.

  “It’s nice…I just never knew so many harpies lived in Portland before now.”

  “Ha! Probably because you’ve never come to visit us before!” Perry chided. Something on the oven beeped and she scurried over with the spatula, waving it in the air as she made her point.

  “I’ve only been to Portland once, to visit the late head councilman,” Avery said before she thought about it.

  Perry’s face turned ashen. She pulled out a tray of cookies and left them ignored.

  “Poor Samuel. Poor Adalyn. I sometimes think too much happens to that family since they’ve gone so far to help Jericho’s bloodline.”

  Avery twitched at the name. Suddenly engrossed in the floor, she played with her options.

  “What happened to Adalyn?” Avery asked.

  “Didn’t you hear, honey? Her home was destroyed.”

  “By Patrick?” she said before she could stop herself. This name made Perry’s eyes glaze over for a moment.

  “Patrick, my dear? What Patrick?” Perry’s attention now fixated, Avery couldn’t move around the subject. Forced to continue, Avery did.

  “Patrick Smith…he was the harpie that broke out of jail not too long ago.” The same day Avery had been sentenced to death by the harpie government on the top of that same jail. Yes, Avery knew there were some things she should learn to keep quiet about.

  If Perry recognized the connection, she didn’t speak on it.

  “Oh, yes, I think I’ve heard the name of that convict. Still wanted by the government. But for the life of me, I can’t remember why he was in jail. Probably murder—they only lock the worst of the worst up in there.”

  Avery perked up again. It never dawned on her to ask what Patrick had done to end up in prison. He had never broached the subject of his past in the short time she knew him and she never found out after he’d been gone. Probably murder, Perry swore. Avery knew Patrick to be capable—as most harpies—but it did leave a distinct new fear about him. If he’d been convicted for murder, how did that play into Adalyn? And Adalyn’s warning to Avery? Patrick could have done it before so why hadn’t he?

  “Yeah, everyone’s still afraid of him being loose and all. I heard Samuel’s compound had burned down and just assumed…”

  “Burned down? Samuel’s compound had been blown to pieces sweetie. That was the strongest bomb I’ve ever seen to level a place that size. But as for Patrick—most criminals don’t run around with no benefit to themselves,” Perry explained as she offered Avery a few slices of jam and bread.

  Maybe Adalyn and Patrick had just gotten into a big fight. There was nothing like domestic violence and blowing down buildings to make a point. But Patrick hadn’t wanted Adalyn dead—he’d said that. Why would he blow the place to shreds? Or why would she?

  But it was what Perry said next that Avery never saw coming.

  “There was a witness—a survivor. She’d know what happened even if she didn’t do it—not a big talker though, I suppose. She is locked up right now down by the police station. I’m sure that’s why Prince Mason and Councilman Stern have their feathers in a bunch. Rushing over to see us in Portland—psh. They knew we’d back Jerich
o’s bloodline anyways. So yes, I know Prince Mason isn’t here on the political campaign.”

  “Wait, who is the survivor?” Avery suddenly ignored her food and stood from the table.

  “Oh, come now, have you not heard? The harpie they found beaten half way to death and covered in earth and ash? You may know her as a criminal, but she’s royalty really. Her name is Eva.”

  Eight

  “Strawberry or chocolate? Milk or dark? And frosted?”

  Perry got her delicious reputation for something, but somehow Avery didn’t enjoy answering twenty questions when her mind focused on other things. Her flour-coated hands hovered above whatever bowl of mix she was supposed to be spinning. Perry was across the room at the oven, visual attention thankfully deterred at the moment.