Authors: T. G. Ayer
"She's fine. She kicked their butts and sent them packing."
"Sounds like Bryn." I stiffened as Aidan's voice echoed again, only this time a trail of rage ripped at my gut.
How dare you sound pleased or proud of me? How dare you come back here looking for me, and bringing your government goon, too?
"I've answered enough of your questions. What more do you want from me, then?" asked Ms. Custer. Behind the impatience in her voice lay an inch of steel. "You've already turned my place upside down for that book when it simply isn't here. You've seen for yourselves Bryn isn't here. So why are you still here?"
"Because I simply do not believe you. You see, I think you will cover for her given the chance. I think you could very well be lying to us. You say she ran. Why does her room not look like she's taken off for a long time, or for good? All her stuff is still there, isn't it?"
"Oh, so when you decide to run away, I take it you stop to pack your hairdryer and your high heel pumps. No, Mr. Worthington. Bryn ran because her heart was broken. She ran because she was hurt and alone and probably in shock too. I'm sorry she wasn't here for you to arrest her for stealing a book, which I'm sure she wouldn't have taken in the first place." Bitterness laced her words, along with a hefty dose of anger. "If you're done I need my tea. You've wasted enough of my time."
Panic flitted through me. I couldn't run out the back door. It would close too loudly and then Ms. Custer would be in tons of trouble. Slipping into the broom closet at the far end of the kitchen, I pulled the door, leaving it slightly ajar. I couldn’t risk the click of the latch giving me away. Already they were filing into the kitchen after her, as if Ms. Custer meant to abscond with the teabags.
She gave my hiding place a quick stare, then went straight to the kettle and filled it at the sink. With the kettle starting its boil, she pulled out a cup and a little plate and prepared her tea.
"Please excuse me if I don't offer you my hospitality, Mr. Worthington." She threw him a tepid smile.
He smiled back, baring his teeth. He seemed unfamiliar with the human act of smiling. Tall, stocky, FBI issue. Aidan stood on the other side of the kitchen table, facing the broom closet head on. Damn.
Ms. Custer fished a teabag out of the plastic container and discreetly dug her fingernail into it as she dropped it into her cup. In a blink the surface of the table was strewn with fine tea leaves.
"Now see what you made me do!" she cried.
Worthington smirked, unaffected. Aidan frowned, his gaze flicking to Ms. Custer's harried face.
She stalked to the broom closet, bent in and grabbed the little dust pan and brush. She shut the door firmly. Darkness wove bands of shadows around me, blinding me. I listened as my foster mom's hand scraped spilled leaves into the dustpan. The pedal bin clanged as she tipped the contents of the pan into it.
Footsteps drew closer and I pressed myself against the wall, hugging my bag tight against me. Inside the bag, the very book these louts were after poked me in the ribs. The door opened and Ms. Custer returned the dustpan to its place, never once glancing in my direction.
When she shut the door again, the darkness of the closet wasn't as bad. My eyes adjusted slowly. I strained my ears, catching the running of water as she washed her hands, the tinkling of the spoon against the cup as she mixed her tea. I knew she would head out to the living room to enjoy her cup. Surely Worthington and Aidan would follow. I reached for the doorknob. Then Aidan spoke. My hand tightened on the knob, strained until my knuckles shone white even inside the shadowed closet.
"I told you. You're wasting your time," he said to Worthington. "She doesn't have the book. I must have misplaced it somewhere else."
"Your father wants the book, Mr. Lee. That means we have to find it. Besides, we've been ordered to terminate Miss Halbrook. And despite your reservations, we will do as we are ordered."
Aidan scoffed. "I doubt one little girl could possibly be a serious threat to a man as powerful as my father."
"Nevertheless, we have our orders," said Worthington, his voice cutting. "You were supposed to come here, get the lay of the land, and return with the information. The only reason you were sent here was because you could fit in. But you can't do a single thing right. Your father is not impressed."
"My father is never impressed, Worthington. Haven't you realized that yet?" I stiffened in the darkness. I could just picture the sneer marring Aidan's lips. "But you see, there's one difference between you and me," he continued. "I don't get paid to be impressed. I don't owe my father anything."
Worthington remained silent. I wondered if he stared at Aidan in disdain or ground his teeth in frustration at the upstart son of his boss.
Aidan sighed. "How much longer do you want to wait here? She would have been here by now if she was coming home at all."
"Perhaps the old woman was right," Worthington conceded. "Anywhere else she used to go to if she didn't come straight home?"
"The Craven Town Library," Aidan answered.
"Fine. Let's wrap it up here, then check the library. I'll have Martinez get in touch with the local police to put an APB out on Miss Halbrook. Suspected theft, possession of a weapon."
"Is that really necessary?" Aidan's voice flooded with alarm. As did my entire body. Things were not panning out well at all. These creeps were supposed to find nothing and leave. Not get the police involved in a statewide girl-hunt. Who were they? More to the point, who the hell was Aidan?
"We need that book back. We wouldn't be here if it hadn't been for your carelessness."
Aidan's hand slapped the kitchen countertop. "Don't kid yourself. You would definitely be here. My father would still want her terminated whether we find the book or not."
Worthington spoke, his voice dangerously soft. "Keep your voice down. The old lady's not deaf. Let's go. We can come back and keep an eye on the place. If she really has run away, then the old woman is safe. If I find she's been lying to cover for the mutant, then she goes too."
My heart iced over. I'd endangered Ms. Custer. The small closet closed in on me and I struggled for air, praying they would leave the kitchen so I could escape this cloying space.
The kitchen door swung and their voices receded into the hall. I turned the handle, inching it open as silently as possible, and stepped out into the empty kitchen.
All clear.
I pulled the back door open and snuck out, keeping an ear out for Aidan's goons, so afraid they'd heard me and would have me surrounded in the next second. My heart thudded as I crept around the corner.
During my sojourn in the broom closet, the sky had darkened, and shadows had taken control of the streets. I rounded the corner of the house to observe them as they left. Only then would I reenter the house.
Worthington and another man—Martinez, I presumed—left the porch. Aidan followed, a dejected slope to his shoulders. He turned and stared at the house, at my room's window, his face filled with sadness and longing. As he stepped into the dark car he scanned the garden and looked in my direction.
He couldn't see me where I crouched, encased in shadows. A violent longing stirred inside me, filling my eyes with heated tears, spicing my blood with need, spurring me to step forward.
What was I going to do? I wasn't exactly sure. Maybe all I wanted was for Aidan to know I was safe and well.
I never found out.
I took a step toward Aidan, but made it no further.
A sudden gust of wind buffeted me.
The rough breeze whipped around me, throwing my hair into my face and away again. My nostrils flared as a spike of ozone assaulted my senses. A tiny tornado threatened to consume me and I flailed, then fell forward, shoved by the wild momentum of the rushing air.
My muscles tingled, twisted as if pulled through the wash cycle from hell. My vision blurred and Aidan and his thugs were smudges across the yard.
Then a strong arm grabbed me around my waist and someone spoke in my ear. The last thing I heard was, "You do not want to do that. We have to go. Now!"
I came to with a soft groan, taking stock quietly. Whoever had shoved me to the ground hadn't intended to hurt me. My body, and all its parts, seemed to be in good working order, though my heart still thumped, wild as a cornered bear. What had just happened? Who had knocked me unconscious? And who did that voice belong to?
It had to be Aidan and his goons who'd taken me down. Maybe they'd shot me with some kind of FBI dart-weapon thing and I was now locked away in a cell in a dark basement, at a secret location, awaiting my death. But that didn't make any sense. They'd made it clear they wanted to kill me. From the way they'd spoken, they would've been happy to shoot me on sight.
Aidan must have stepped up and convinced them to keep me alive. Even so, I wouldn't be the most grateful captive. This entire, awful mess was all his damned fault. I was still reeling from the shock of his presence in our house, still mad at the way that Worthington thug had pushed poor Ms. Custer around. And she was not the "poor Ms. Custer" type. She'd put up a fight at any rate. Protected me. Lied for me. Told me with her actions and her eyes to leave. Run. Hide. I blinked back tears, so grateful to my foster mom. I had to thank her. As soon as I got some feeling back into my limp muscles.
With any luck, I'd fainted and was still lying in the garden, tucked away beneath the dead hydrangeas at the corner of the house. I focused my thoughts, listening. No trees whispered, no wind blew. No icy breeze scraped my cheek, no cold hard ground lay beneath my warm body.
Instead, soft, luxurious fur caressed my skin. A fire crackled happily nearby, spitting occasional sparks, its cozy warmth toasted my cheeks. I cracked open an eye, confirmed I was alone, then sat up slowly.
Groaning again, I placed my hand on the spinning top attached to my neck that masqueraded as my head. I waited until it stopped its hurdy-gurdy motion and swallowed hard. Bile coated the back of my tongue, though I couldn't recall throwing up. I held on to my stomach, moaned, then gasped.
A soft white fabric covered my midriff, along with the rest of my torso. The garment reminded me of my peasant blouse hanging in my closet at Ms. Custer's house. The dress, long enough to reach my ankles, fell in soft, silky gathers.
My heart thundered in my chest. Then I shivered. I'd been undressed while I was unconscious. I probed my hip and gave a shuddering sigh. I still wore my underwear, thank heaven, but my bra had disappeared along with my jeans, polo, jacket and scarf. Not that I needed warm clothes right now.
Fear swam through me as I grabbed at my neck. Then I relaxed a bit. My amber pendant remained tied around my neck. At least they hadn't taken it.
I sat still, disinclined to test the steadiness of my legs, just happy to be conscious. Awake so strangers couldn't dress and undress me without my consent. My eyes adjusted to the dim light, and I scanned the strange room. Walls of unpainted pine surrounded a space as large as my room at Ms. Custer's house. Above my head were bare log-beams lacing their way across a high stud ceiling.
The fire crackled and I studied the open stone fireplace. The darned thing was large enough to roast a whole person in. I changed track, refusing to follow that train of thought.
I decided to try opening the door, and if it opened, finding a way out of here. Pushing away the thick fur covers, I rose to my feet, testing each limb one at a time.
I'd made it halfway to the door when it opened and a girl walked in. I froze, staring straight into a pair of clear grey eyes. Eyes a perfect match to the silvery-grey wings rising behind her shoulders. Wings that drew my memory back to Aidan's book and Brunhilde, the Valkyrie. The grey-eyed girl's bronzed chainmail armor, her confident posture, all said that she was the one thing I knew was downright impossible.
A Valkyrie.
I couldn't decide if I was astonished or horrified. Even the possible horror of my creation in a petri dish hadn't floored me the way this dark-haired, winged girl did. Her beauty, grace and power left me dumbstruck. Held me in a trance.
"I see you are awake. I was beginning to worry." Her voice was a honeyed wine, soothing and tender.
I clamped my mouth shut and frowned.
She said, "The first time can be hard on the body."
"First time?" I wondered if she was talking about my fall. But she didn't enlighten me any further. And her next words made no sense.
"The . . . what would you call it?" She thought for a while. "Ah, yes, teleportation."
Teleportation? Are you serious?
I stared at her, annoyed and angry. "What do you want with me?"
She tucked a stray ebony lock of hair behind her ear, and the firelight glinted on the band at her wrist. A dainty filigree clasp locked the hinged band in place while intricate triple swirls snaked across the face of the dull gold-edged silver.
"You are special," she said. "I was told where to find you and instructed to bring you here. Safely. I am sorry if I scared you, but I did not want you to get hurt. Those men would have hurt you."