This is Episode 5-12 of a serial urban fantasy & paranormal story.

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Part 5-12: Wings

She hailed a taxi once we were several blocks away, and had them drop her another several blocks away from our condo. No one followed, or if they did, they did not intercept.

As soon as the new book crossed into the living room, riding in the bag on Persi’s back, Fergus sat up and rubbed his face. He blinked, searching for his glasses. Atop the couch, Lobster the green parrot had found them, holding one arm of the specs in his beak.

“What’d I miss? You solve up the Nijinsky caper yet or what?” he asked.

Persi, Deluxe and I shared a tired glance.

“Much has transpired,” said Deluxe. “I think Alena needs to visit The Minder, post haste, before we can fully catch you up.” She held her hand out to the bird, who flipped her the glasses. She poked them into Fergus’ grasping fingers.

“At least you got a nap,” I said.

“Was I out for that lo— oh my fucking hell,” he said, his eyes bugging out the moment he pushed his glasses onto his face.

“Oh, what now?” I said.

“Your faces, oh hell,” he said, flung off his glasses, rubbing at his eyes again.

“Ashen? Shell shocked? Mascara totally running?” I said, hoping against hope.

“No. I can’t… I don’t think I can see them.”

“Prosopagnosia?” said Deluxe.

“Prosopag!” agreed Lobster.

“Whatever it is, I know who we can ask about it. How much time have we burned since we were told to hurry, Deluxe?”

She looked at her watch. “It’s been near two hours.”

“I don’t mean to be a bother, but Fergus, I am going to open our new book and you’ll probably be coming with. Okay?” I said.

“You got another one?” he said, hands still over his eyes.

“Yes,” said Deluxe. “And I have the renter’s information too, for when we need it.”

I took a moment to stretch and get some more water, then returned to my spot on the couch. Persi brought out The Secret to Taming the Wild and laid it in my lap. Fergus cracked his back, studied the floor with a lost expression and breathed out his nose, glasses forgotten by his side. Lobster hopped down and snatched them again, and fluttered over to Deluxe, who had moved her setup over to a side table, presumably to give Fergus room for his nap. She shooed at the bird, who squawked indignantly.

Persi opened the book. I readied myself for a new pattern to reveal itself, as it had in the last two. But this time I only saw the square picture. I recognized the structure in the middle—The Jailer’s Tower. Then I heard a great rustling of wings.

As the scene drew nearer and the edges of the picture reached for the perimeter of reality, more feathery beats invaded my ears. I remembered the great black birds that The Keeper’s minions rode, and of course, the huge raven wings she kept hidden under her armor.

“Bring it, bitch,” I murmured.

But as it turned out, my intuition had been confounded. A scaly pair of talons pinched my shoulder, both ghost Alena’s and real Alena’s, as we were all but sitting in one another. Lobster rudely batted his wings into the side of my head, seeking to tuck them back so he could perch more comfortably. Fergus’ glasses swung in my periphery.

“Lobster!” I shouted.

“Lobs!” he said.

The glasses dropped as the world became Fort Ticktock, and I plopped down onto neat, cool grass in a big, circular courtyard. A blank, neutral tone un-sky hung in infinity above. Ahead was the turret shaped rise of The Jailer’s Tower, the one halfway-safe place in this quasi medieval hellscape.

Wings fluttered again, and I stared in disbelief as the green parrot disengaged my shoulder and went hopping ahead on the lawn, bobbing his colourful head toward the dirt. He inspected the green book that lay nearby.

“What the shit,” I asked Lobster.

“It followed us in?” said Fergus. I turned to see him sitting beside me, also agape at the bird. He had his glasses on in here.

“Fascinating, but yet not entirely unexpected,” came The Minder’s voice, from behind.

I got up slowly, keeping one eye on Deluxe’s pet while turning to face our predestined teacher. There was a fancy patio set arranged a few strides away. The Minder sat, sipping at a teacup.

“We hurried,” I said. “Now what?”

The Minder scowled, pulled out a timepiece, consulted it and stuffed it back into his jacket.

“You claim so, Alena. But I sent that message about five and one quarter ‘hurry’s’ ago, by my watch.”

“We had some setbacks.”

“Ah. Well, I’m sorry to report that our next lesson is effectively forfeit.” He set down his cup and looked at it absently. “It seems that The Collector has out-hurried you.”

 

Continued in Part 5-13

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