Winged

Chapter Twenty-Six

Annabelle

The doors to the dining hall are still hanging open, secured in place by the nail as we stroll through them with ease. A movement in the centre of the room catches my eyes, long brown hair swaying in its ponytail as the girl cleaning spins on her heel in an elegant manner to look at me, frowning. Her eyes are curious and observant. She speaks slowly like I'm an idiot.

"Are you alright? I can get some assistance if that is what you need," She doesn't sound concerned, just annoyed that I've disrupted her routine. I don't answer her, and I notice a few other heads poke around the doors, noticing us. I tense up, but on second thought, I don't think they'll try to stop us.

"If not then, I'm afraid I'll have to ask you to leave."

Her accent is slight with clipped vowels, much like Grant's and the other locals asleep above our heads. I take the rock Harriet had passed me and slowly walk closer to her, the weapon hidden in the palm of my hand. She is of slighter build than I am, but muscle fills out her long limbs and she bounces on the balls of her feet as she watches me advance towards her, trying to be inconspicuous.

She moves quickly like a frightened snake, springing off her toes and lifting a machete hidden underneath the thick folds of purple cloak on her back, meeting it with my rock aimed for her scalp.

She's fast. Faster than me. Crap.

Suddenly, the rock seems pathetic. Dammit! Why didn't I think to swipe a short-sword from someplace overhead? A rock? Really?

We seem to freeze in time, me and her, as our eyes meet over the blade and rock splinters, the force of the weapon making my back ache. But then we're back into the dance of quick movements and vital thinking, and I nearly get knocked down as she sweeps a leg around the floor, kicking up a thin whorl of dust.

It's difficult to remember to think as my father taught me, taken by surprise like this. I can barely remember to defend in time, blocking her blows with my forearms as my shield, hard silvery lumps have grown over them both as protection without even a passing thought. He always told me to be constantly prepared, but I wasn't, and I've messed up and this time it's not Xavier on the offense but someone who could kill me and kill my sisters.

If she's surprised that I've attacked her, she doesn't show it. Instead, she swipes at my legs with the machete. I jump at the last second and her elbow whacks my nose. I land, stumble backward and smell the blood. Her concentration is wholly on my moves as I block and duck and circle and turn, defending, defending, defending. I need to attack, otherwise, this is pointless, and I'm just delaying the inevitable.

I map out a quick, small blueprint in my head as I let the movements I've practiced over and over again at home overtake my body. Weave, duck, feint, kick.

I see it out of the corner of my eye and know what to do. Jackie, thank god, throws her rock hard at the girl, aimed for her stomach. She spots it at the last second and twists to avoid the collision but as the distraction splinters into shards, as it hits the far wall, I lunge with my newly talon-covered hand for her shoulder. It strikes true and is met with more resistance than what I had anticipated. More muscle than I had thought.

She does not scream but hisses through her teeth, and guilt rises in my stomach as the warm blood seeps out. I drop her, and she lets out a gasp as she hits the floor, shaking with pain.

She reminds me of Xavier. Her fighting skills, yes, but it is more so the blood that makes me want to scream in terror and disgust. I can't kill her.

Sabrina grips Lucy by the shoulder who, despite her pale face, looks curious and itching to come over. The twins walk up to me and Lucy twists out of Rin's grip to come too, leaving Sabrina to watch the onlookers.