by Ruby Ryan
I spun, and dove, and shot back into the air in my own little roller coaster, savoring the feeling of this body instead of questioning it.
And while flying, the totem constantly pulsed far below.
I was aware of it in my head, like a sixth sense. The same sensation I'd had while following it into the city in my car, but heightened in this state. And I could feel her too, the wonder and fear and shock in her mind as she watched me from the top of the garage. She had somehow triggered this, a voice in my head whispered. She and I were connected through the totem.
And then I felt a spike of shock, and her fear increased rapidly. And not because of me.
She's in danger.
I whirled back around and dove toward the parking garage.
7
EZRA
What.
The.
Fuck.
You ever have one of those dreams that makes no sense? Like, one minute you're sitting on the couch, and then your house mutates around you and you're suddenly at school in your underwear, and then you're at your ex-boyfriend's house in front of his parents, and the transitions are seamless and make no sense, but your brain goes along with it anyway?
This was sort of like that.
The dude fucking changed in front of me. One moment he was a tall guy with tattoos begging me not to drop the totem, and the next moment he's on his knees screaming bloody murder like he were being electrocuted. And then his clothes burst off him, giving me a photo-flash glimpse of his gorgeous nude body, and then it expanded grotesquely and bloated into something else.
By the time the feathers had sprung onto his body, and his mouth had turned into a beak, I was screaming too.
I couldn't help it. It's all fine and good in a dream, but the human brain ain't made to deal with this sort of impossibility in real life. In broad fucking daylight. I screamed, because thousands of years of human evolution demanded that I scream, and I couldn't stop it even if I tried.
And thankfully, he took the hint and flew into the air, shrinking in size with each wing-beat.
Clutching the totem to my chest, I watched him go.
It happened so fast I almost didn't believe it. I rose on shaky legs and watched him fly toward downtown, and my brain insisted he was the size of a normal bird, my perspective warped from so far away.
The totem pulsed in my fingers, the same as before but also different. It was almost like a cat's purr, low and satisfied. And as Sam Feinstein dove in the sky, I could feel his excitement as if it were my own! It came from him in the distance, and from the totem in my hand, and from my own heart as if I were there with him. That was the weirdest part of all this, which was saying something. My fear diminished and I stood there in the sunlight, trying to process what I was feeling.
I did that.
I opened my fingers to reveal the totem. The sapphire was no longer brilliantly bright, and it had receded into the stone carving a measurable degree. It felt like something had clicked when I pressed it, the air pressure changing suddenly. That's what had caused Sam to change into... that. It made no sense, and was a stupid thing even to consider, but I knew it was the truth.
For several minutes I stood there, listening to the sounds of the city while Sam did figure-eights in the sky.
And then the sounds of the city grew louder, and I realized they were police sirens closer than they should have been. They echoed through the parking garage, and then two cruisers rounded the corner of the ramp below, lights flashing. They drove toward me and then stopped a hundred feet away.
The doors opened and the police hid behind them, and the dull metal of four pistol barrels pointed in my direction.
"Denver PD! Hands where we can see them!"
Well fuck. I raised my hands obediently.
"She's got something in her hand, sir."
I looked up at my right hand, which still clutched the totem.
"Could be a bomb trigger," another cop said.
"DROP WHATEVER'S IN YOUR HAND."
"It's not... it's nothing," I said, not wanting to let go of the precious totem.
"Sir..."
"I SAID DROP IT!"
"She matches the description of the airport suspect."
They were going to shoot me. I could see it with calm clarity: he'd give me one more warning, wait two seconds, and then fill me full of bullets. He probably thought he had no choice.
And because of that, I had no choice. As painful as it was, I let go of the totem.
It was like ripping off a fingernail. I winced at it fell to the ground, another jolt of pain running up my spine as it struck concrete. It didn't break, I somehow knew without looking, but it hurt me nonetheless.
Two cops approached while the other two covered them from the car. Only when they were a few feet away did they holster their weapons. "Are you armed?" the one who was in charge asked.
"Switchblade. In my coat pocket. Left side."
He took it out, and then patted the rest of me down. His hands paused on the bulk inside my coat, and came away with the wallet and cell phone. The other cop approached the totem, but looked at me from the side.
"Sir, she's bleeding on her temple."
"Just like the description," he muttered, waving the other two cops forward. "You wanna tell us what you were doing at the airport?"
The panic of being caught sunk in. What were my rights? Shit, I was just happy they hadn't shot me.
The other cop nudged the totem with her shoe. "Holy shit."
"Looks like the plastic toy gems my daughter plays with," the head cop said, giving me a weird look. "What were you doing at the airport? We've got you on camera running like the devil was chasing you. You got hit by a damn car."
I tilted my head enough to spit at his feet. "Don't you have to read me my rights?"
"You haven't been arrested. Yet." He pointed at the Volvo one spot over. "Though that car matches the description two other cruisers called in, for speeding through the city. Ramirez behind me is running the plates now, and when it's confirmed, then you'll get your Miranda Rights read. Until then, anything you tell me would be awfully illuminating."
I cringed as the woman picked up the totem. It was a physical violation, like she was running her fingers over my own skin.
"You tweaked out?" the cop tried. "Waiting for your fix?"
I could feel Sam nearing before I saw him, like a heat lamp suddenly cranking up in my peripheral.
One of the cops muttered, "...the fuck?"
"SIR!"
Sam's massive body crashed into the ground next to us, a flurry of beating wings that knocked two of them on their butts. The head cop stared numbly, not really understanding. The other cop dropped the totem and reached for her sidearm.
Spreading his wings wide for intimidation, Sam screeched. The sound was piercing and painful, causing the cop to fumble with her weapon mid-draw. Two of the cops scrambled backwards on their butts, while the head guy stood frozen.
COME, Sam told me with bird-like eyes.
Before I knew what I was doing, I grabbed the totem from the ground and ran forward. I leaped into his chest and he raised his front arms to grab me, talons cutting through my coat and pinching painfully on my skin, but I was grateful for the tight grip as he leaped into the air.
Each wing-beat sent air rushing past my hair and tingled the skin of my hands. The police and the cars and the garage itself diminished below me as Sam climbed into the air, then flew sideways. Gunfire drifted up to us, one of the cops finally getting a hold of themselves to discharge their weapon, but by then we were too far away.
"Higher!" I yelled. He was flying low over the buildings along the river. As terrified as I was of my sudden height, there was safety from gunfire up in the sky.
But then I felt something from Sam, through our strange bond: exhaustion. He was weak, and it was a battle just to remain this high in the air.
And then I felt his pain, and when I looked up I saw his cobalt feathers were staine
d with red.
"You've been shot!"
He didn't respond with anything other than a muted stubbornness, trying to get as far away before he collapsed entirely.
"Over there," I said, pointing to a park. He turned and glided in that direction, a diagonal trajectory that was bleeding altitude with every second. The trees rose up, and somehow he possessed enough strength to lower us slowly to the ground, letting go of me when he was a few feet above.
I landed softly on the grass, but he did not.
His body turned sideways, the injured wing finally giving out. He struck the grass so hard I felt the rumble in the ground, and he let out a painful noise as his wings folded up against his body.
And no sooner had he crashed than he was shapeshifting back, the wings sucked up into his back and the feathers shrinking one by one. His skin returned to a normal shade, his beak becoming a face and nose, the eyes returning to a paler shade of blue.
Seconds later, he was only a man lying on the grass.
A completely nude man.
I had the totem, and the man who'd been following me was incapacitated. Now was my chance to run the rest of the way to Terrance's place, hiding out until everything died down. Or borrow another car and leave the city while I could. Rule number one for thieves was always take care of yourself first. Help people who helped you, but only so long as it didn't put you in unnecessary risk.
I should have taken my loot and ran.
Instead, I ran towards Sam, kneeling at his side. "Hey, buddy. You alive?"
He groaned in response, and his eyes fluttered.
"Come on. Get up. We've got two blocks to go until we're safe. Come on."
Somehow he managed to stand with my help. Doing my best to ignore the ripples of muscle underneath his ink, and the dick that was flopping around like a bad joke, I put an arm around him and guided him through the abandoned park.
I did steal a few glances at his cute butt while looking behind us, though. I was only human.
We exited the park and went down an alley, and then we were in between two apartment buildings. I looked up at the fire escape ladders extending high above me, just out of reach.
"Terrance!" I yelled. "Terrance, I need some help!"
I began to fear he wasn't home when the window on the second floor finally slid open. Terrance popped his bald head out, annoyance and then surprise on his face.
"Who in the shit is..."
"Let the ladder down!" I insisted. "And give me a hand--he's heavy, and barely conscious."
The sirens in the distance jerked him into action: he climbed through the window and let the ladder down, then reached over to help pull Sam up, wincing away from the other man's exposed crotch. I followed, then pulled the ladder up behind me, and then we were all climbing through the window into the apartment.
He slammed the window down on the sill and twisted the latches, pausing to listen to the muted sirens. Then he closed the dark drapes and whirled on me.
"Wait! Not on the--ugh, damnit, get his ass off the couch." He ran to a closet and came away with two brightly-colored pool towels, one of which he draped across the cushions. Finally I lowered Sam down onto it, reclining him back. Taking one last look at his body, I covered his legs and torso with the second towel.
"Alright Ezra," he said, with warning in his eyes. "You wanna tell me what the fuck you're doing bringing a nude tweaker here?"
I fell into the other armchair and sighed. "He's not a tweaker."
He snorted. "What, you gunna tell me he's a nudist who wandered away from the colony?"
"I can tell you, but you're not gunna believe me."
8
EZRA
"You're right," Terrance said. "I don't believe you."
He went to the window again, pulling aside the drapes enough to look out, though all he could see was a tiny sliver of the alley. The cop sirens had risen to a terrifying crescendo, then diminished in the distance. They were a few blocks away now, as best as we could tell, though the sound was an unnerving background noise that made it impossible to relax.
I stared at Sam's still body on the couch and said, "It's the truth."
Terrance left the window. He was short but thick, a bowling ball of a man. He rubbed sweat from his black scalp and turned his eyes to me.
"I'll buy that he's a mark you took pity on. And even that he saved you from the cops." He shook his head slowly. "But you still haven't explained why he's buck-ass-naked."
Okay, so I didn't tell him the truth. Not the whole truth. Can you blame me? I wasn't sure I believed it myself, and I was there. I'd literally seen it happen. Technically I wasn't lying when I said he was a mark who'd followed me, and that he'd saved me from the cops. But it was the rest of what happened that I couldn't really explain.
And Terrance's stare was suspicious. He knew I was hiding something.
"So what was your take?" he asked, still standing by the window.
The totem pulsed in my pocket happily. It was a comforting presence now, as if it'd done its job and could relax. Like a kitten in my pocket, with a personality all its own.
"I pinched a wallet in baggage claim, which had a few hundred bucks in cash. Plus an iPhone." I shoved my hand in my pockets and grimaced. "The cops took them, though. So all I've got is the cash."
And a priceless gemstone in my pocket. I prayed he wouldn't see the bulge. The sapphire was the kind of thing worth killing someone for.
I extended the fistful of cash, and Terrance swiftly stepped forward to snatch it. He took a few seconds to count the bills, then turned his eyes back to me.
"This is less than you expected."
"Yeah, well, things got hairy. I'll get more next time."
"Why would I lend you a car again if the only thing I get out of it is a twenty dollar take? Did you at least fill the tank?"
I winced. "Actually, about that... the car got made too. I parked it in the garage over on Eliot Street, but the cops have it now."
I could see the rage fall across Terrance's face as if it were happening in slow motion. The muscles in his face tightened, and the vein in his neck bulged. He squeezed the cash in an angry fist.
In that moment I realized how much trust I'd put in this guy. A friend of a friend, I'd met him exactly 36 hours ago. He'd been reluctant to let me crash here in the first place, and now...
All the scenarios of what could happen played out in my head, and none of them were good.
"Right now, you're causing me a lot of risk and not a lot of reward," he growled. "Give me one good reason I shouldn't cut his throat and throw him in a dumpster for the cops to find."
The totem pulsed in alarm. It was a rod of molten lava against my hip, demanding I throw myself onto Sam's unconscious body in protection. I couldn't do that, though, so I suggested the first thing that came to my head. The thing that came most naturally to a girl like me.
"We can rob him," I quickly said.
"What?"
I jerked my head at Sam's prone shape. "He lives here in Denver." At least I thought so. I wasn't certain. "When he wakes, we'll take him back to his place. I bet he's got stuff worth taking: TVs, computers. He said he's an astronomer or some shit."
Terrance barked a laugh. "Astronomer? Girl, you see those tattoos on his arm? He ain't no Carl Sagan looking motherfucker."
"I'm just telling you what he told me."
He stepped up until his body was close to mine, and I could smell the faint linger of cigarette smoke. "Rob him with what car?"
I took a deep breath and tried not to step back. "All I know is, if you throw him out the window you're essentially throwing away a few grand. Easy decision, if it were me."
He had to think about it. The wheels turned in his meaty drug-dealer head, weighing the pros and cons. Legitimately considering cutting his throat and dumping him like a sack of garbage. It made a measly thief like me feel small. And weak.
Finally Terrance jabbed a finger in my direction. "You're lucky I owe Bobb
y a favor. The minute he's awake--" he nodded toward the couch, "--we take a ride. And he'd better be worth the trip."
"Yeah, sure." Sweat beaded at my temple, and I avoided wiping it away. The totem in my pocket dimmed in intensity.
Terrance went into the kitchen. "But I ain't giving him none of my clothes!"
He started making some food, so I sat on the edge of the couch and put a palm up to Sam's forehead. He felt normal, despite sweating in the cold when we were on the garage roof. Overall he seemed fine except for the smear of blood on his shoulder, from a wound we hadn't been able to find.
Because he'd been shot in a limb that he no longer has.
A bullet to the wing. Wing. From a fucking bird monster.
Now that the immediate danger had passed, my brain started to process what had happened.
I retraced everything slowly. Sam had approached me on the roof, and I held the totem over the edge and squeezed it. The sapphire had shifted in its place; that's when everything went to hell.
While Terrance was occupied in the kitchen, I turned my body so that it blocked his view, and pulled the totem out.
It felt different in my hands. Warm to the touch instead of cool, and heavier than before. Probably just my imagination. The sapphire was as beautiful as ever, round and brilliant and brimming with value. I ran my thumb across its surface, feeling every facet and cut. If I pressed on it, would Sam turn into a monster right here in the apartment? Curiosity overwhelmed me, and I had to try, I had to know, because otherwise it meant I was crazy and my brain couldn't handle that--
I pressed the sapphire.
It didn't budge. Not even when I squeezed harder; it was fastened in place the way it should be.
I shoved it back into my coat pocket and exhaled. Maybe I'd imagined that part of the entire ordeal. I'd been a little distracted by what had happened.
But as much as I wanted to cast it all aside and choose to believe none of it were real, the blood on Sam's shoulder rubbed at my brain like a grain of sand. Blood without a wound. Blood from his wing.
