by Jess Haines
Instead of starting with flapping, this time she used her legs, launching herself in the air. The tilt of her wings was different; rather than cupping, her wings were almost flat, sweeping in wide arcs, driving the air under her body to give her lift.
And then, because she was so astonished that it was working, she failed to open her eyes in time and beaned herself on the far wall hard enough to make the KFC bucket fall and scatter ancient chicken bones and extra crispy crumbs on the hard packed dirt around her.
With a groan, she tilted her head and rubbed her beak against the soft, downy feathers under her wing. It didn’t help the ache in her skull much, but it was strangely comforting.
Once her vision was no longer filled with stars, she backed up a few paces and tried again. This time, she got off the ground, but undershot the shelf by far too much and ended up crashing into the wall feet-first as she realized she wasn’t going to make it and tried to avoid cracking her beak.
It took about three more tries for her to land on the shelf. Even then, her landing skills left much to be desired. She gave herself yet another good knock on the noggin once she figured out how to get up there, unable to get purchase in time to prevent another impact with the wall as her claws couldn’t find purchase on the flat surface of the shelf.
She was by no means an expert, but this was sufficient for her to get out of this horrible marketplace.
Muttering a brief prayer under her breath, she took off one more time.
Gliding out of the stall, once she got past a narrow miss of the opposite wall outside, she managed to twist to one side and follow the line of the path with relative ease. It was... glorious!
The heat that burned in her breast grew hotter, threatening to consume her if she gave in to the temptation. Focusing on the task at hand, she strove for more lift, rising above the tops of the booths and tents. When she glanced back, there was a growing trail of smoke and sparks left in her wake, like the tail of a comet.
Of course, her life wasn’t difficult enough as it was; she just had to leave the world’s most obvious trail behind her while attempting a stealthy getaway, didn’t she?
Even as she had that thought, voices were rising below her.
“Look! Up there!”
“Firebird?”
“A phoenix! Oh-em-gee, I need my phone!”
“Did it drop any feathers?”
“Someone get it!”
“Joaquin, your familiar, quick!”
Uh oh.
Some of the fire in her veins grew cold with the growing panic those shouts inspired. Underlying the awe was pure avarice. They wanted her, and not for her sense of humor or intimate knowledge of the current trends in hardcover sales.
The harsh cry of a bird of prey echoed through the cavern, soon followed by the clap of large wings.
Lyra’s sharp eyes scanned the splashes of magic and flashes of color below her, seeking the source. At first, she overlooked it, because no bird could possibly be that freaking huge. It had to be a flyaway tent flap in the nonexistent breeze. A flag. Something—anything—but another bird.
The golden eagle locked eyes with her, wings as wide as a grown man is tall flapping with purpose (and, Lyra was not afraid to admit to herself, quite a bit more grace than she could muster) as it cut through the air—coming after her.
With a new kind of fire under her butt, so to speak, she redoubled her efforts at gaining height and speed. If she used her head and didn’t pick just any gap, and if she was fast enough, she could escape through the cavern ceiling in a hole too small for it to follow.
A harsh but cheerful voice called out from below. “You won’t make it, pretty thing. Master gets what master wants. Right now, that’s you.”
Her wings faltered a beat as she realized it was the eagle speaking to her. What next, dancing mice? She dared a peek below again.
Despite its great size, the eagle was swift, gaining ground on her much too quickly.
“Leave me alone!” she shrieked.
“Can’t, pretty thing. Master wants me to fetch you. Can’t say no.”
Rather than snap at her with that viciously curved beak, the eagle flew past, working its way above her.
It wasn’t hard to figure out why as it changed its angle and spread its sickle-curved claws in preparation to snatch her out of the air as it dived straight at her.
With a strength and agility she did not realize she possessed, she twisted to one side just in time and raked her own claws along the eagle’s side as it came at her, tearing out a clump of russet feathers in the process. The raptor screeched and whirled away, smoke trailing from where she had touched it, a few smoldering feathers drifting from its marred hide.
This time, when it looked up at her, Lyra would swear she saw murder in its deep brown eyes.
Chapter 11
The eagle circled below her, tilting its head this way and that, as if studying her. A few other smaller birds and even a lone bat were lingering around them, darting to and fro, but not quite daring to get close to the eagle that eclipsed them all in size. Some of them were chirping promises at her, if only she would let one of them take her back to their masters, or let them have a feather or two.
Lyra ignored the other familiars and took advantage of the eagle’s hesitation, flapping hard to climb as rapidly as she could. She had gotten lucky with that first shot and she knew it. If the eagle hadn’t been so cocky when it dived at her, she never would have escaped its claws.
This time, it was looking for her weak spot. She was sure of it.
As it had said, its “master” wanted her, and it couldn’t say no to a command. This was the first time she had realized that most mage’s familiars weren’t just dumb animals. They had minds of their own, even if their decisions weren’t theirs to make. Obviously Victor’s demon familiar wasn’t the usual, but then, a warlock didn’t get that title unless he had mastered the art of sorcery—drawing the power of magic from living things, not just from the earth like a regular mage—and had the demon familiar to prove it. Sorcerers and some very skilled magi could call demons, but only a warlock had the power to master one.
The subtleties of magic had never meant much to Lyra beyond a fascinating “oh, that’s interesting” conversation piece and knowing just enough to get by in conversation with clients. Perhaps she should have spent more time on the Wikipedia articles about familiars considering right this minute, she needed to ditch at least a dozen of them tailing her every move.
Just as she thought the eagle was going to let her slip out of the cavern, with a powerful rush of wings, it was after her again. A high-pitched squawk of alarm was startled out of her as it moved like a shot, impossibly fast, coming straight for her.
While the ceiling of the cavern was within reach, she’d never make it. The eagle was too fast, and too big; the moment it reached her, it would overpower her, and that would be that.
She should have been terrified, but instead, pure fury overtook her in a heady rush she was in no way prepared to deal with. The heat burning in her chest grew into a roaring furnace, spreading through her veins until an inferno of rage made her feathers burst into flames.
The eagle put the brakes on, eyes going wide as it jerked its wings out to fan backward in an effort to halt its upward momentum.
Fury drove Lyra into a full-blown attack, a scream like the roar of a raging bonfire trailing in her wake along with embers and ash as she dived at the eagle, claws-first.
The familiar didn’t have a chance. Fast as it was, and though it had managed to whirl around to get out of her way, it was too large and too close to avoid her entirely. Lyra’s claws and beak tore at anything she could reach, leaving scorch-marks and a flicker of flames behind. With half the primary feathers of its left wing flash-fried, the eagle went into a graceless, spiraling fall, wobbling its way back down to the now silent tents below.
Lyra hovered in place, surrounded by a halo of fire, issuing a challenging scream to the other famil
iars circling around her.
None of them answered the call.
With a last furious cry, she turned and continued on her way up to the nearest hole in the ceiling, using a combination of her claws and her hooked beak to hold on and help her clamber the last couple of feet through the gap in the stone.
When she reached the top, it opened up into a clearing somewhere out in the untamed dunes outside of the city proper. Small green and brown anole lizards scattered, disappearing into the underbrush, while birds sang overhead. The briny scent of the ocean was heavy on the stiff breeze stirring the fronds of nearby hip-high saw palmetto and trailing strands of Spanish moss on the towering sand oaks. She was grateful for the trees spreading their thin, twisting branches high above, providing some cover from the fading sun.
Now that she was out of immediate danger, she was wracked with adrenaline shakes, breaths coming short and sharp. The fire that had consumed her had engulfed her better sense, turning her into an animal. Sure, it had saved her in the moment, but now that the heat of rage had gone out, she was left with the cold certainty that she would have flown straight into the mouth of Hell itself and not given it a second thought.
Not that she was completely in the clear yet. There had been plenty of other familiars down there. No doubt the mage whose familiar had been injured wanted to take a piece out of her hide, and not just for his spells, too. The sooner she found a place to hide, the better.
As if on cue, a questioning chirp-like sound came echoing up from the hole in the ground.
Needing no more encouragement, she took to the air again. Considering she would probably have a tail in minutes, and there was the possibility of running into a non-magical bird of prey that might think she would make a tasty meal, she kept to the trees.
It was not as easy as she thought it would be. She hadn’t quite mastered the finer points of flying yet, so avoiding branches and hanging moss was a challenge that had her panting and aching in a number of places where she hadn’t quite been quick enough to dodge. Even doing obstacle courses in that one weekend warrior boot camp thing one of her girlfriends had talked her into doing last summer hadn’t left her feeling this worn out.
Putting some distance between herself and the hole, she waited until she could no longer see it behind her to dare fly above the trees to get her bearings.
There were a lot of trees around this place, and the ocean was not too far off to her right. Daring to gain a bit more height, she soon spotted the black and white spiral-striped spire of the lighthouse to the north, capped with a cheery red lantern room and gallery deck. Doing some mental calculations, she figured that must put her somewhere in the Anastasia State Park.
As she made her way back down into the tree cover, working her way north, she prayed that James and Moira had escaped and would meet her there as planned.
It took almost two hours for her to make her way to the meeting spot in the park by the lighthouse. Along the way, a few people spotted her and pointed her out or snapped pictures. A handful of children screamed excitedly about the pretty red parrot. Most ignored her. By the time she reached her destination, the sun was near to setting. Most of the other birds nearby were settling down in their nests, calling their goodnights to their neighbors. A handful of gulls continued to glide, idle in the breeze, watching for signs of small crustaceans or dropped crumbs from the roving packs of tourists that could be found at most hours, day or night, in this part of town.
Lyra settled in a tree, too high above the ground and surrounded by leaves for any casual observers to spot without looking up, and hunkered down to wait.
Day turned into night.
Crickets chirred their nightly song and palmetto bugs flitted between the street lamps. Owls had long since taken wing, replacing the gulls as the predators of the skies. The quarter moon shone bright, painting a silver trail to the horizon on the blue-black waves.
There was no sign of her friends.
She was alone.
Chapter 12
Lyra had no idea where to go. She didn’t have hands to work doors and, as this was Florida and she wasn’t a savage, all of her windows to her apartment above the book store were shut tight to keep in the modern blessing known as air conditioning.
Her sister lived in Chicago. Her parents were retired in Boca, over 250 miles south. If she somehow found a phone and called them, they would probably think it was some sort of prank considering she currently sounded like Tweety’s distant cousin.
It was possible one of her friends might help her, but seeing as half of them were also magi, there was just as much chance she could end up a spell component or familiar if she didn’t know them as well as she thought she did.
There was only one person she could think of who she could be sure wouldn’t treat her like a lab rat. It was a painfully embarrassing option, but a safe one.
Every joint throbbing in time with her movements, she flew back toward the lighthouse and then continued north.
She didn’t like being in proximity to the more touristy parts of downtown. Sure, the first time or two it was fun to see mummified cats and take a taste of pricey sulphur water in the hopes of getting a taste of eternal youth. Some of the tours could be romantic at the right time of day, and not all of the tour operators would tell you anything you wanted to hear to make a buck. It still got old pretty quick. After a while, stories of haunted lighthouses and old jails felt about as real as the “pirates” roaming around in their costumes shilling tours and junky souvenirs. The traffic jams and lost folks from out of town who didn’t know up from down were about as charming as stepping in a nugget of steaming crap left behind by one of those carriage horses that cluttered the hot spots.
Not to mention the entrance James had used to get to the mage market was right in the heart of it all. She wasn’t far from it now, and would have preferred to put even more distance between herself and the market if she could, but her destination was a home not far from Flagler College.
Lyra pumped her aching wings. For the first time since her shift, her appetite built as she used up her reserves of energy fighting against the stiff winds over the Matanzas River that separated the island-like jut where the lighthouse and Anastasia State Park were located to the crack of land between the Matanzas and San Sebastian Rivers, where the part of downtown that held the bulk of famous tourist destinations was located.
The city was still active at this time of night. People gathered in restaurants, partied in bars, and ghost tours wandered the town. In places, it was even livelier than during the height of the day.
Though it was also a college town, the strict rules didn’t allow for much of said partying to take place on campus. Flagler’s Spanish Renaissance style architecture was beautiful at night, lit by so many lights, but many of the college students headed off campus to the bars and clubs for their nightly kicks. A few of them were trailing below her now, one of the guys pointing up and pulling out his cell phone.
“Dude! Is that bird on fire?”
“Dude!”
“Whoa, no way!”
Muttering under her breath, she couldn’t do much about the pack of wild dude-bros jogging along her flight path as she followed the streets around the college. It was hard enough doing this in a car, let alone from above where she couldn’t read the street signs, so she couldn’t lose them just yet by flying over the buildings or gaining too much height.
The first guy was holding his phone up, probably recording her. While she may have harbored secret dreams about becoming a YouTube star, this was not how she imagined it would come about.
Their whistling and calls of, “here, pretty bird! Polly want a cracker?” between cries of “dude!” were really getting on her nerves, too. She half expected one of them to ask, “Where’s my car?”
It didn’t help that the distraction they provided made her miss a turn, and then overshoot the house. Once she realized that, it was a piece of cake to lose the men who were following her every move by
flying over the rooftop of the nearest house and doubling back through the neighbors’ back yards.
She couldn’t get into the screened in lanai to reach the sliding doors. She hopped around in the grass, looking for a convenient spot to perch, the gnawing hunger that had built up in her belly as she flew over the river making it hard to concentrate and think of a decent plan. From what she could see, the kitchen window didn’t have much of a ledge, but it was her best shot.
She hadn’t gotten much better at her landings, and ended up smacking into the window harder than she intended. Sounded more like she wanted to break in than get somebody’s attention.
Then again, mission accomplished; a light flicked on and a figure appeared in the window. Soon they moved to one side, and a light came on in the lanai before the door was slid open and someone stepped through the rattling plastic blinds.
“The hell is that?” a familiar male voice muttered.
She rubbed her sore beak with the edge of a wing before calling out. “Hey, Rob. It’s Lyra. I could really use your help.”
Robert stepped out onto the grass, staring down at her. Even in the poor lighting in the yard, for the most part, he was the spitting image of his brother. There was a scar on his left eyebrow, and he was a smidge taller and more muscular, but they shared the same dark blue eyes, blond hair, and chiseled jawlines. Not to mention sorcerous abilities.
Unlike James, Robert rarely used his power; he preferred to spend his time running his organic juice bar and holistic foods store instead of reshaping reality to his whims. Lyra had met the brothers when she stopped in for a smoothie. She had gone on a few dates with Robert, which were nice, but somewhere along the way James had swept in and seduced her with heated kisses and touches so hot that she was afraid just the memory of them was going to have her leaving scorch-marks on his brother’s manicured lawn.
Robert blinked at her a few times, rubbing the back of his neck. “Okay. This is going on the top ten list of weirdest things I’ve ever seen. Wow.”
