I wake in the slim light of early morning to my mother's voice.
I'm out of bed instantly, eyes blinded by the fog of sleep, running down the stairs, chest tight with panic.
"Are you okay, are you okay," I call helplessly as I push her door open. My voice is too loud and scratchy for the fragile hour, but I don't care. Her form is melted against the mattress, shaking with breathing's effort.
"Harper," she croaks again, "water."
As I'm bumping into dinner plates and cooking utensils, my mind is in fast motion dread. She's not so sick, I keep telling myself. It's just the flu. She just needs water. She just needs water. She just needs water.
I drop the glass in the sink twice. My hands are nervous and incapable under pressure, and it's the first time I've ever hated myself for a weakness. I glance out the kitchen window and the world is grey and sheer and silent. As I carry the glass back to Mum, I hear a bird sound, far above in the clouds. I ignore it, because I have bigger things to worry about.
"Harper," she murmurs after she's had a drink. "It's going to be fine. I've just had a bad turn. Make sure the doors are locked."
I wipe down her forehead and then without question, go and check the locks. Who, really, would come in, I reason. We're two small humans with nothing to offer. Why do we bother with locks.
But when I reenter her room, she looks up with desperate eyes and says, "They're locked, aren't they? All locked?"
"Yes," I say, taking in the dishevelment. The fever is tangling her mind.
"Yes, we're safe."
YOU ARE READING
When Wings Burn
Paranormal"Do you have a name?" "Harper. Just Harper." In a dangerously utilitarian world, Harper longs to experience the illegal. Whispers and hints of supernatural activity are everywhere, and yet one show of interest will mean immediate death. With no stor...
