Bladed Wings (24 page)

“You could have left. You have class and stuff tomorrow. Right?”

“This is more important.”

“More important than sleep?”

After a second of looking for a clever answer all he had was, “Much more important.” He supposed honesty could make a decent substitute for wit. “I’m feeling better,” she sat up, stretching like a cat.

“I’m glad.”

Timothy got up and crept to the door. He didn’t want to wake up her roommate. But he stopped when he heard her call his name. When he turned back she said, “Thank you. For tonight. And everything.”

“Dude, you’re late,” Jeremiah said. “And someone stole some of my soup.”

“Sorry. I’ll pay you back.”

“Don’t worry about it. Just tell me why you needed chicken soup.”

“You noticed it was gone?”

“Of course. That’s my psychic superpower. I know exactly where everything I own is.”

“Great superpower.”

“It’s not as good as possession; that’s what I really want. I want to be a ghost who could just take over people. But hey, a man can settle. Which reminds me, why’d you steal my soup?”

“Jenny wasn’t feeling well.”

“So you ran down there to play nurse.”

“That’s bad?” Timothy asked, very much a challenge. All through high school he remembered hearing guys get teased by their friends, always with the claim that the guy did too much for their girlfriends. They said he was whipped, and should’ve proved he was a man by being a jerk.

“No, but if you were playing nurse, I hope she didn’t make you wear the costume.”

“You really have problems, dude.”

“I’m happy. What problems can I have?”

“Would you want to meet someone?” Timothy asked as he sat down. His legs were stiff. Even asleep, his mind and body refused to move or stretch.

“No.”

“That was fast.”

“Relationships require time and energy. Right now I’m too busy for a real person in my life. Parties? Sure. Random girls who’ve had just enough to drink? Sure. Someone I’d actually care about? Now that’s going a bit far.”

“And you’re afraid she would change you.”

“What?” Jeremiah asked, probably the first time Timothy ever heard his roommate actually confused. Still, he didn’t let it show as he picked up his bouncy ball from their coffee table and started tossing it against the floor, catching it in his left hand to a private rhythm. With that look of concentration, he could have been a monk at his devotions.

“You’re afraid she’d change you,” Timothy repeated, this time a little more sure.

“Change me from what?”

“Get a girl you care about and you’d be a better person.”

“Has Jenny done that for you?”

“I think so.” Timothy felt his brows tighten, “Like just now, she wasn’t feeling so good so I went over and helped her.”

“Hence my soup.”

“Hence your soup. If we weren’t together, I wouldn’t have helped her. So I got to do something nice for someone because I know her.”

“I don’t worry about being different.”

“Then what do you worry about?”

“Being distracted. So many ambitions and so little time. You didn’t study tonight. You didn’t get any work done. Tomorrow will be a lot harder now. If I went off and fell for some girl, I’d be in the same boat, the same time-consuming boat.”

“What do you want?”

“I’ve said it before,” Jeremiah answered. “Emperor of the World.”

A few minutes later Jeremiah was back in his room, reading or plotting his global takeover, but Timothy wouldn’t be able to sleep. This was the kind of night wanted to remember forever. He couldn’t even remember what tired felt like. Pushing the shear curtain away, he glanced outside and held his breath when he saw Jenny’s car, the cabin lights illuminated pale yellow. A second later, he saw Jenny get out, a textbook under one arm. Pitch black, and that was a moment she chose to go get a book out of her car. Timothy got up, about to go outside and lecture her about going outside while sick. But he stopped; he stopped like his muscles wouldn’t work because he saw Roman and several drudges.

He spotted Despada.

Another heartbeat and the world blurred as Timothy sprang up, ripped open the door, and ran to the guardrail. All of that half a second and it was too late. Despada did her own dirty work, slinking from the shadows. Silent, she had one hand over Jenny’s mouth.

Sick and probably half-asleep, Jenny didn’t give up. She kicked down, dragging the back of her heel down Despada’s shin. The parking lot echoed with Despada’s snarl; she let go as Timothy ran for the stairs. By the time he got there, he glanced down just in time to see Roman rush Jenny. He didn’t bother with trying to keep her quiet. One fast and silent strike to the back of her head and she crumpled to the ground. Timothy hoped and prayed and almost roared against everything.

Jenny couldn’t be hurt. She couldn’t be hurt, he promised himself. They just knocked her out, he repeated, silent pleas to anything that might be listening. Fate, the universe, the invisible hand, none of it mattered as long as she was okay. But he couldn’t know for sure and he couldn’t charge them because that wouldn’t save her.

Roman held her in his arms like a groom with his bride. That made shadowed spikes rip from Timothy’s wrists. A second there and he needed every synapse to fire at once to keep him from running down there. That would be suicide. That wouldn’t save her. It would feel good for all of thirty seconds before they butchered him and took her anyway. They passed the corner to one of the other parking lots and that’s when Timothy jumped. Four stories and he landed on a disk of shadow. Before jumping, he couldn’t know it would be there to cushion his fall.

Silent, he cut across the parking lot.

Timothy couldn’t feel exhaustion. He wouldn’t let himself feel it if they had Jenny.

A white van, tinted windows, everything he’d expect from kidnappers, purred with ignition. As its brake lights burned to life like dragon eyes, Timothy thought about what he could do. An ambush, he decided. He had to get them when they wouldn’t expect him.

He sprinted across the lot, ducking between empty cars, and then he stopped right behind the van, hoping this would work. Any stray glance from anyone in that vehicle and he’d be fighting a couple of demons on his own. He didn’t have a chance to pause or hope that no one saw him. He climbed onto the bumper, flinching with the sounds of his shoes against the stainless steel. The van pulled out and that little bit of motion almost tossed him to the ground; Timothy grabbed the handle to the doors. His fingers were wet with sweat by the time they got to the street.

This could go wrong in so many ways.

A cop could see him, could demand they pull over.

Someone could honk, college students laughing at the dude clinging to the van.

A sudden stop and he could bounce off the door, maybe get run over by the next car.

They could use a freeway.

Every second and Timothy didn’t think about all of those bad chances. All he had to do was get to her. He thought about attacking right now, using his tendrils to rip into the van. But he didn’t have a good way to get her away. Timothy touched his pocket and realized he didn’t have his phone. He couldn’t call for help.

The van moved like any other vehicle, slow and safe. It could have been a delivery van on its way home with some tired driver in the front seat. Seconds passed, and Timothy started to hope this would work. Then he couldn’t breathe when he heard the sirens.

Timothy looked back to a white sedan, some guy talking on his phone. If he noticed Timothy, he didn’t care. Then Timothy stopped searching for the lights when he saw an ambulance sprint down the other side of the street. Then their light turned green and Timothy clung against the pull of inertia.

Crouched beneath the windows, Timothy wished he could see what was happening. He didn’t think they’d hurt her, but he couldn’t know that. He couldn’t know, couldn’t figure out what they were doing. All he could do was wait and cling to the hope that he wouldn’t fall off, wouldn’t get killed, that he could save and protect her.

Winds battered him through intersection after intersection. He couldn’t feel his fingers, but he wouldn’t let them slip. He had to stay on. Hoping for a distraction, hoping it would be useful, Timothy kept his eyes on the streets they took. From The Verge they jumped side streets through industrial parks and tract housing. After about forty seconds Timothy got lost, but he could use an address. Maybe Cordinox didn’t know where Despada based her operations; maybe that would help.

Then they pulled onto a private property. Fenced off for construction, there were faded going-out-of-business signs. There wasn’t a marquis, just the outline of where the big sign used to be. Tucked away behind empty office space, no one would notice this place. There was even a derelict forklift and metal beams to prove this place was being fixed.

They drove up to the entrance of a big and empty parking lot

Knowing he might break his legs, Timothy leaped off when they passed the corner of the building. His clothes tore on impact, and his skin ripped as he rolled out of sight behind the one big building. Then he scrambled to his feet, peeking out to see if someone spotted him. The van’s doors clicked open, and several individuals stepped out. There was the gray haired demon with big eyes, Oculus. He held something in one hand. Timothy felt his throat clench when he saw it. An eye held up by spider legs. It twitched, scanning from side to side. It hopped up and twisted midair to check the parking lot, though it didn’t seem interested in the building.

“Roman, confine her,” Oculus said.

“Of course, Your Imperial Highness.”

“Age before fools,” Oculus answered.

“How did you survive so long?”

“Centuries of patience and a discerning eye. Give yourself a few centuries and you’ll start to see the distinctions.”

“Arrogance comes with age.”

“I know I’m good. I’m still here. Can you make the same claim?”

With an insult under his breath, Roman opened the doors, climbed inside, and emerged with Jenny’s prone form. He carried her inside; Timothy snuck a glance at those doors. The first instinct pounding in his brain was to just run over and sneak in before the door could click shut. But he had to be calm, make careful choices. Outnumbered, outgunned, out-everythinged, he had one advantage. He had to surprise them, had to make sure she’d be safe before he could think about fighting.

Concentrating, Timothy looked to the door. He let his eyes relax, let the real world blur as a grid of demonic energy appeared. Shimmering lines crisscrossed in front of the double doors. There was some kind of protection. Timothy didn’t know what that grid meant. It could have been a trap or an alarm. He might survive the trap, but he wouldn’t survive the alarm. Instead he turned, and thought about the roof. This place looked like an abandoned department store, at least a couple stories tall. There might be a backdoor, but that would probably have the same protections so he jumped for another plan.

Another risk, he held up his palms and aimed them for the roof. The tendrils shot out and dug into the top of the stone. If Roman or Oculus remained outside, they would have heard him. Any guard might have. Timothy hoped there weren’t any. Instead he concentrated and felt his tendrils as they wrapped around something, a metal pole somewhere on the roof. Tugging, Timothy felt they were secure. Bracing his feet against the wall, he walked up it. Along the way he tried not to think about the tendrils just disappearing. Falling those hundred feet to splatter on the ground wasn’t the heroic rescue he hoped for.

On top of the roof were different vents steaming gray air and a platform in the center. Timothy hid behind one of the grates, peering across the roof to make sure there wasn’t anyone there. At first he thought he was being paranoid, but then he spotted someone. Bearded, this guy had thick arms and he looked tired with dark splotches under his eyes. He wandered from one side of the roof to the other. That’s probably why he didn’t hear Timothy climb.

Thank you, Timothy thought to whoever listened.

Timothy concentrated on him, letting his vision blur again. This guy was a demon, definitely, with dark red swirls of energies burning at his right hand. Timothy didn’t know what he’d be able to do. He held his breath to thoughts of this guy throwing spraying fire or shooting lightning from his palms.

Timothy picked up a rock. He tossed it.

It clattered against the ground, pinging against a vent’s thin metal.

“Who’s there?” the demon spun around, glancing in every direction, “Vencerico? Oculus? That you?”

Timothy heard something, like grinding stones. When he peaked out again, he saw the guy, only now he held a thin spike of ice in his right hand. Ice, he could make ice. It was probably a lot sharper and stronger than the stuff Timothy kept in his sodas.

Quick and easy, Timothy hoped.

The guard came closer. Timothy snuck to the other side of his vent. Then he waited. He waited for the right sound.

He heard the guard’s shoes crunch against the gravel as he checked the vent Timothy hit with his pebble. With the guard’s back to him, Timothy jumped up and threw out his tendrils. They burst to life, powered by the strength of fear and anger. They had Jenny. They would hurt her. His tendrils exploded across the distance, why the demon never had a chance to avoid them.