Winged

Chapter Twenty-Four

Annabelle

Rhem nudges me forcefully awake, her fuzzed fur rubbing gently against my cheek. I murmur a quiet protest and my eyelids droop in the want to fall back asleep, but Rhem persists, pushing against my soft face and I remember that I have things to do. My eyes adjust to the darkness in an instant and find the town centre clock, deliberately in clear view of the place I curled up to sleep. Twenty minutes until midnight.

In my cat form, with Rhem tucked defiantly in my maw, I hold her carefully as to not harm or bruise her as I slink through the neatly stacked boxes and start to run, gracefully and quietly, through the closed and silent streets. God, cats are fast. It's glorious, really, feeling the earth push off my feet and slink behind me, making way for more pavement, gravel, stone, whatever.

We picked midnight because that was the time the night entertainment assemble would return to the cave to sleep. The girls could wait as if lingering for someone they knew to come back with them. They would remain outside these doors until I got to them because the doors connecting the dining hall to the upstairs area would be locked. And guarded. And I was the only one able to use my magic, because of the yumnalt bracelets they wear.

My padded feet glance quickly and quietly over paved stone pathways tangled through the streets in a confusing manner, cold and damp, browning and cracking with use as I near the docks. My soles are new and soft from misuse, and a pleasant stretch in the light of the nearly-full moon relax the muscles surrounding my hand.

Whiskers twitching, the fresh air mixed with the salty bite of the sea and the dirt and spice of the markets wafts lazily to my damp nose. I hear the gentle rumble of falling water and follow my ears east, to the town stone waterfall, the only small decor in the packed space of the empty, abandoned marketplace.

Deeper inland, near the clock tower where I had found a place to curl up for the night, no strays roamed the streets, but the damp fur and smell of animals surrounding rotted scraps and the leftovers from the fishing trade creeps in. In this area, the households with less money reside, putting up with the animals, smell, and noise of vendors and businesses for the cheap shelter.

Businesses such as Grant Washner's I assume.

Rhem mumbles a subdued protest as a small breeze cools the patch of sodden feline spit at the nape of her neck.

Grant Washner's Siren abode isn't hard to find, with the abundance of noises and music drifting from each crack. It's not the only building alive with people and noise, but it sure is the loudest. And the smelliest. Even from here, my feline senses can smell the bite and tang of the alcohol. Stronger than what we have at home. Or is that just my cat senses talking?

I stalk towards it, angling to the left of the proper entrance, towards the beautiful pool edged with tall rocks, water sparkling and sure to be freezing. Sure enough, a shift in the water shows a thin layer of ice forming. I don't want to go in there.

I shake off my dread of the freezing cold water awaiting me, deathly dark other than the shining lights that lead inside, to where the water-dampened noise comes from.

After my chat with Rin and my sisters, I had studied the sirens meticulously, taking note of how their scales overlapped in a precise, even pattern, how their skin was incredibly thick with a pale sheen, how their veins stood out in places, grand and blue.

Their faces were thin, hollow and pointed, their lips full yet pulled taunt, their hair wavy. I let Rhem, even, peek from my sleeve and memorize them with me so that she could correct any of my mistakes as I shifted.

I change to my winged form first, stepping into the pattern of my own features I know so well like a second skin or a mask. I then rid my wings, now a nuisance to this task ahead, peeling away that part of the reoccurring pattern. The snatch of my recently abundant senses makes me feel blind and deaf to the suddenly dull world around me.