Fairy Wings

Author's note: So I wrote this story late last year based off of a prompt that a friend gave me (Write something where you have to steal a baby and explain it to your roommate!...or something along those lines). I've thrown it through a quick round of edits, and I'd love to see what you guys think of it!  (side note - although this takes place in New York, I've never been there, so if there are any blatantly inaccurate descriptions of the city, please let me know!) 

I dash into my apartment and slam the door behind me, leaning against it and breathing heavily as I clutch my package. My roommate, who is perched atop our ratty old couch whilst browsing the interwebs, slowly lifts her eyes.

"What's with the kid?" she grunts in her usual monotone. 

"I...ah...well..."

She raises an eyebrow expectantly. I look down at the squirming package. In my haste, I'd neglected to formulate an adequate excuse.

Before I continue my story, it may be helpful to understand that I am indeed a fairy, and that this is indeed what one may consider to be a "kidnapping." Apparently, humans discourage the practice (strongly), but it's for educational purposes. The successful acquirement of a miniature human offspring is an important step towards gaining my wings, and I have been wingless for the past two-hundred years...which is moderately humiliating by fairy standards.

I clear my throat, struggling to devise a story.

"You see," I begin, "I have this cousin –"

Suddenly, three hard knocks shake the door that I am leaning against.

"NYPD – open up!" comes a harsh, muffled voice from the other side. Wonderful. New York's finest have already caught up to me. That's a new record. My roommate's eyes widen.

"Rebekah, what did you do?"

I shrug, feigning cheerfulness. "Something illegal, apparent –"

Once more, the officer's pounding interrupts my dialogue. The temptation to tell them to shut up and go away is strong, but I decide that this may escalate things further then necessary.

My roommate continues to stare. She clears her throat, and with a touch of panic in her voice, says "Rebekah, put the kid down. Slowly."

I sigh internally. The situation is quickly deteriorating into a rather unpleasant experience. Granted, it's not as bad as Chicago of 1978. Nothing can be as bad as Chicago of 1978. I close my eyes and decide to try a spell. A simple bit of naptime magic should suffice. I attempt to focus, blotting out the surrounding cacophony, and draw on the power that resides deep within my soul. I raise my right hand, and in one dramatic motion, snap my fingers, flicking my eyes open again. My roommate blinks, and the door shakes again.

"NYPD! Open – "

Well...it looks as if that plan just got thrown out the window. I sulk briefly. The moment is made worse at the discovery that my test proctor, Professor Gordakyne, is perched atop the windowsill at the far end of the room. As usual, he wears a rather corpulent pigeon form and shakes his head in disapproval. I have the sudden urge to knock him off his perch. My mouth twitches as the thought, and a half-devised plan filters through my brain. I crouch.

My roommate tenses. "Rebekah, what the f-"

Behind me, the door crashes to the ground, and my roommate leaps off the couch. Police fill the room, but they are too late! I have already launched myself through the window with my small package (which, apparently, was the only one my spell worked on). Glass shatters around me, and I glance down to see Professor Gordakyne's eyes wide with shock. I angle my foot just slightly to knock him off the ledge. Unfortunately, I miss.

My abode is located on the eighth floor of an apartment building. Heights, however, are of no concern for a being such as myself. As I fall, I kick once off the building opposite the window, and then land lightly on my feet. The police are shouting from above. I hear their shoes clank against the metal fire escape as they crawl out the window, but I am already sprinting down the back alley.

Unfortunately, in my rush to escape, I take a wrong turn and am suddenly faced with what humans call a "dead end." A large pile of rotting garbage is also sprawled across the ground. Typical.

I adjust the slumbering package in my arms and eye the blank walls around me. My options are limited, but I could attempt to shapeshift. An eagle may be able to carry the package, but that would be inadvisable in broad daylight. I might draw too much attention.

As I stand there pondering, I suddenly hear the sound of approaching footsteps, followed by deep voices.

"Try this way!" yells one.

I freeze. There is no time left. I morph automatically as the officer rounds the corner.

"Hey, Smith! The girl's gone, but she left the kid." The officer hurries down the alley and picks up the softly whimpering package. I sit no less than two feet away, cursing profusely in the feline tongue. It is far from the most sophisticated of animal languages, but it's perfectly adequate for my current condition.

"Hey! Shoo!" says the officer, waving his hands at me. I hiss at him, and then scamper off towards one of the trash bins to mope. Of all the forms I could have taken, I had to choose the tabby cat. Professor Gordakyne lands in front of me as the officers leave. He tilts his head mockingly and scratches something into the dust before waddling away. I don't even bother to look. I already know that the fat pigeon has failed me.