Feather Dark

Chapter 9

Leigh

Pushing the chest press bar upwards, I counted, my words echoing around the small gym in the Squadron attic. "Twenty-eight... Twenty-nine... Thirty."

I grunted as the bar hit the cradle. As I sat up panting, the number kept repeating in my head. Thirty. Thirty. Thirty. Thirty days since Keira had been taken. A month without a word. More than four weeks of not knowing if she was dead or alive. And I was the only one that seemed to feel the effects of her absence.

Pop was almost never around. He was in and out on Squadron business, muttering darkly in the war room with Sentinel. Noah had suddenly turned into Dr. Strange, spending hours meditating outside, inside, on the roof, in our bathroom. He'd even taken to wearing a long cloak made of rough cloth, as if he needed to appear any weirder, and the girl with the striped wings, Masque, seemed to hover around him like his guru.

Neither of Pop nor Noah were waking up at night, covering in sweat, screaming Keira's name. They didn't struggle to eat because their guts were constantly twisted in a knot with worry. No one else was walking around as if half their soul was missing.

I'd hoped that once we'd chosen our call names, we'd be deployed, off to bust Keira out of wherever she was being kept. Instead, there'd been unending waiting. Every day, I woke up to more nothing. I tried to keep busy; I worked out, I cooked for everyone, I watched the news. But layered beneath my activity was a beating pulse of fear that I might not see ever see her again.

I missed her. Not just as my girlfriend, but as my best friend. I longed for our conversations that ran for hours about everything and nothing. The way she'd laugh at my jokes, even the unfunny ones. I pined for her scent and her smile.

When I lay in bed at night, struggling to sleep, I'd torment myself with thoughts of regret. If I'd never kissed her, she never would have been forced to choose between Noah and me. If she didn't have to choose, she wouldn't have left. If she hadn't left, she'd still be safe with us. My fault. My fault. I needed to put it right, save her and bring her home – and I'd never be able to rest for a moment until that happened.

In the empty gym, I wandered over to the punching bag. Donning a pair of light gloves, I pounded the solid mass of the bag, making it swing back and forth. Each punch was for Keira, each harder than the next, aimed at whoever was keeping her. Given the chance, I'd fly in like an avenging archangel, bringing fire down upon her captors, spearing into the heart of their organisation. I had the image clear in my head; Keira rushing towards me, her face bright, and the two of us soaring free and into the future.

Unless she's already dead, whispered a sibilant voice from the basement inside me where I kept my darkest fears. Unless you're too late and she's gone forever.

"No!" Screaming through my frustration, I whirled around, using the momentum of my strong leg to boot the bag, pouring out all of my angst into the kick. The chains connecting the bag to the ceiling groaned as the bag swung away, then the links slipped and the bag crashed to the floor, thumping like a dead body as it landed.

"Impressive."

I turned to the voice at the door. "Noah, what do you want?"

My brother stepped into the gym, his stupid cloak fluttering loosely around his ankles. "I've never seen you utilise your martial arts training before."

"That's because you used to say that hand-to-hand combat was the rat hole of savage men without the intellect to logically dissolve their problems." I remembered it clearly, because it hurt. I'd purchased a series of online karate lessons, and my progress had been quick. Kung Fu had been even more natural in my body, and Pop had taught me to spar, a throwback from his youth.