The Formula

Chapter 7

Something disturbed Celia's troubled sleep. The dragon in her dreams faded away. She opened her eyes right away, but didn't stir. She forgot where she was for a moment until she remembered. Her parents' house, with Felix.

Curious to the sound, she leaned up her bed. The tree outside the window rustled with a stout wind. The residual light from outside that made it through its branches was ghostly and scattered; even more distorted with its didactic motions.

As he studied her room, she froze and a chill ran up her spine.

Two eyes peered at her through the darkness.

She stared in their direction, unsure if they were real or not. She desperately hoped they were only a figment of her imagination—and screamed when they blinked.

She shuffled deeper into her bed, gathering her covers about her. The eyes moved as their owner leaned forward into the light, revealing only a chilling silhouette of his face.

"Felix!" she screamed at the top of her lungs. Her voice cracked. "Felix, Felix! Help!"

"Felix isn't here," the figure replied. His voice was surprisingly smooth and even somewhat soothing. "He left a few hours ago."

"I have a gun," she warned, reaching towards the drawer.

Without saying a thing, the figure lifted the same pistol she was talking about. He discharged the clip and dismantled it, dropping all the pieces to the ground.

Panic swept through Celia and she gaped, feeling utterly helpless. She braced herself for a fight, quickly conjuring up all the lessons she had taken in self defense.

The man must have sensed her intentions, for he spoke again, in a calm and mollifying tone. "Relax. You're safe with me. I'm not here to hurt you."

She struggled to find her voice, trying to sound unthreatened. "Who are you?"

"A friend, I promise." His eyes glinted unnaturally in the light, like that of a cat. Celia could only make out slight details—his clearly-human outline, as well as a hand that he put to his chin. There was something odd with his fingers though, as if he wore a glove of some kind.

"What are you doing in here?"

The man sighed. "Making sure you're safe."

"By watching me sleep?" Some bravery welled up in Celia. "Where is Felix? What have you done with him?"

"I haven't done anything to him. I told you already. He left hours ago." His eyes were absolutely piercing. As they twitched slightly, drinking in her every detail, they flickered. "Now he's in trouble."

Celia shook her head at him, both confused and disbelieving. With a start, she turned over in the bed and flipped on the light switch nearby. When she saw who sat in her room, she gasped.

The man was dressed almost entirely in black, wearing a specialized military outfit with satchels and pockets riddling its surface. A strap went over his torso, around one of his shoulders, and Celia guessed that he had a rifle of some kind hidden behind his back. His feet were odd, dressed not in heavy military boots as she would have expected, but something more resembling slippers, wide and flexible.

But his attire wasn't what was so startling about him. Where ordinary hair should have been were feathers. The lower half of his face, including his nose, was covered by a mask, and he wore a headband, but otherwise feathers covered his head. There were a dappled brown colour, not unlike those of an eagle, and starting around his temple and cheeks. He squinted from the change of light, and put up a hand, which was also different than it should have been. They held a darker, grainy texture, almost scale-like. Each finger was tipped with a talon, like a bird of prey.