MoboReader> Adventure > Damsel[ed] Some Rescue Required

   Chapter 26

Damsel[ed] Some Rescue Required By m i c h e l l e p a k Characters: 14952

Updated: 2017-12-12 12:04


Gats.

Owl stalks off. The guard with my arm huffs and swipes her hood down. I squirm. She is tall, her wrinkled cloak rustling as it tumbles to her knees. Her blonde hair falls neatly to her shoulders and frames her eyes. I pull back. The other guard isn“t particularly tall or particularly frightening, brown hair swept up into a loose ponytail and a sheepish little smile on her shaded face.

"Well," the blonde one says, "what do we do with him?" Her grip is tight, but there really isn“t any malice in the woman“s relaxed tone. Granted, I“m not great at identifying that type stuff, but I“m not scared of her. She looks curious, her eyes bright and round, a quiet "hmm..." muttered under her breath.

The other guard holds up her hands. Signs. The gestures start fluid, but when she glances at me signing becomes vigorous and jerky, like she“s screaming. I try to move away, soft baby steps instead of the big, loping strides, but the guard never relaxes her grip. She hardly notices my struggling, it seems.

"Huh," the blonde woman says, "she is going pretty far, but... " A sharp pause. "Spleens."

The brunette gathers herself, her rounded cheeks flushed red. Her eyes practically glow, all angry flames and agitated blinks.

I cock my head. Watching and listening to the guards argue is like watching the Star Wars movies, trying to puzzle what the characters are saying with only the clipped words and pauses of one speaker.

"We can“t... but there“s some truth... we“ve talked about this before... well, yeah, I agree... no, I would never do that...even if she ordered..."

They“re stiff as they glare at each other each other, their faces drawn tight with deep, sudden lines. Leaned toward each other, hands fisted, their discussion seems pretty deep even for me. It“s here I find enough strength to pull away, just out of the woman“s grasp. I do it slowly, twisting my wrist like pulling a key out of a lock. I can only hope they“re too engrossed in their conversation to notice.

My knees are putty. My head feels like a bloated balloon ready to pop. As I flatten my back against a complex wall, ready to bolt, the blonde woman spies me out of the corner of her eye. I freeze. She snatches my arm and yanks me back.

Well, okay. "Snatch" and "yank" are strong words. More like taps me on the forearm and pulls me a twinge away from from the corner. But when you“re trying to escape the clutches of a violent supervillain, everything feels like a "snatch" and a "yank."

"Hi." She smiles at me, leaning down with her free hand slid on her knees. I pull back, strands of white hair in my eyes and ruffled up in odd places. Out of nervous habit, I start to comb it down, my fingers caught in the tangles. I growl under my breath. Getting shot in the face is one thing, tangled hair is another, and there“s blood on my fingers. That stuff“s gonna get all in my hair, and oh, how yucky.

"I“m Sarah, and that“s Ivy." The guard points over her shoulder and the brown-haired woman nods.I blink. Average, salt-of-the-earth names. I think they“re the strangest things I“ve heard my entire stay here.

I glower. "What are you going to do?" My throat feels dry from my silence. The guard, Sarah, chuckles. Her friend does too.

"He speaks!" Sarah says, a big grin on her face. She throws Ivy a wink. "And he“s British."

Ivy laughs silently and I wonder what“s so funny about me being British. So I have an accent. I“m also a, you know, mutated cat-person-creature. I try to growl, but it comes out a purr. I try not to blush. "Yeah, yeah, what do you want?"

The guard raises an eyebrow in mock amusement. Ivy signs something and Sarah asks,

"How old are you?"

I smirk out of habit. "I don“t have to tell you anything, miss."

"Thirteen? Twelve?"

"Sixteen!" She grins at this, and so does the other guard. The complex is silent, eerily so,

and I grab at my face. I can“t help tugging the bandage and touching the healing flesh. I want to go home. I need to go home.

"This is educational, right?" Sarah glances at her friend and Ivy nods. She turns back to me.

"You wanna see the lair?"

"No," I say under my breath, but of course, I nod agreeably. I only come in two modes, really: save-yourself and sore loser. I just lost in a big, big way. And besides, she thinks I look twelve. A lot of the college kids say I look older for my age. Eighteen. Nineteen. Seventeen, at least. I mean, sure, I“m a little on the small side. But my fa

"

She hops over the counter, her cloak billowing out behind her like a splash of blue against the

black walls. My eyes narrow at the plaque, finally making out a flicker of meaning when I focus.

RED—STRENGTH

ORANGE—FLIGHT

YELLOW—ILLUSION

GREEN—HEALING

BLUE—SPEED

INDIGO—IMMORTALITY

VIOLET—ENERGY

Violet. Energy. I hold back a squeak, swaying on my heels and nearly toppling over. I“m not

much of a squeaker, not usually, but violet. Violet like Angel“s flames and violet like his eyes glazed over with madness. I look up at Sarah, who presses the sword flat on the top of the display case.

"Please," I beg her. I have no more dignity left to spare, cat-eared and puffy faced as I am, so I“m not above begging. A guy does what he has to to survive. "Please explain this."

She glances back at the plaque and smiles down at the sword. "I“m not good at teaching history, you know? It“s better to show it than to tell it."

She swipes her finger across the dull blade. Blue flames explode from the metal, glowing aura overtaking the sword. All I can think of is Angel“s aura. He, Heaven, and me don“t know anything of it, of how it works, of what it does. But that can change.

I lean in and skim my fingers through the flames. No heat. The flames crackle and hiss, but if anything, my fingers feel cool.

"This is all that“s left of Jupiter, the sixth superhero in Nebula“s brigade. Owl killed him."

She taps her fingers against the blade and I swallow hard. "This is the last of his superpowers. His aura, distilled into its most basic form and forged into his weapon."

My stomach drops. I snatch my hand away and try not wretch. All I can think about are those people who hunt down those beautiful, rare animals and turn their skins into purses and rugs. I wheel back on my heels, clutching my stomach and trying to stay calm. But I can“t.

I can“t because out of the corner of my eye, I see a flash of purple. Shredded armor. A knight“s helmet, hung over the neck of a pale mannequin. I turn toward it. The broken breastplate, the crumpled purple gauntlets studded with star patterns, the visor.

"Hey, cat!"

I“m too quick. I springboard off the ground and nearly come to a full somersault in the air. I

hit the floor running and grab Heaven“s visor, smearing my fingerprints on the cracked glass. Something so savage, so primitive wells up in me at the sight of her armor displayed in Owl“s lair, like the trinkets Owl took from the superheroes she killed.

"She isn“t dead," I say when the guards find me. They both look the same all of the sudden, their faces pale, their eyes shady, their mouths twisted into frowns. I growl, still clutching the chipped helmet. "This belongs to Galaxy and I“m going to take it back."

***

Merry Christmas and happy holidays everyone! Chapter dedicated to MagicxWand, for letting me steal from her personality to make Sarah (though I think Ivy came out closer than Sarah did, but anyway...). Happy reading!

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