Winged

Chapter Thirty-One

Annabelle

It's about six in the morning, so the tall clock tower tells us with six loud chimes that shake us all and make us jump out of our skins with surprise. The main city of the Port is already busy with vendors and fishermen working quickly under the dark, red clouds. When I squint, the blur of rain can be seen falling over the distant water.

The port is beautiful If I'm being honest. Throughout the clattering of fallen tools and the heavy storm clouds advancing, the centre town fountain gurgles delightfully, and joyous strays run two-and fro beneath our feet, very much enjoying the morning smells and fresh catches.

I can see all this, but not much of what I see really sinks in. Yes, it's a floppy-eared dog scrounging for food, but no, I do not care. No, I'd rather not eat Jackie thank-you-very-much, no, I don't need to sleep Rhem I'm fine.

No Harriet. I don't have a plan to save Lucy, work out your goddamn own for once. I snap and feel the guilt that comes alongside every time, but it's easier to brush off now because I'm already so overflowing with guilt for losing Lucy that a little bit more won't hurt.

I'm so tired of taking care of everyone. Because I can't. I couldn't take care of Lucy, and I couldn't take care of Xavier and I'm tired of all the responsibility. Come back Hali, boss me around again. Somehow, I miss it.

But Hali isn't here. Yes, I know that Harriet. Why don't I call you Hattie anymore? Because Xavier called you Hattie, just like he called Jackie Jackass, Lucy Lucilla, Hali Hallissia and me Annie. It hurts, Harriet. Really, so stop.

I know you love him too, but I don't want to talk about it. Storm off then. Fine. There. More guilt. Load it all on. I love it. Thanks.

The beauty of the city is wasted on me, you see, because I know I'm being no help to anybody sitting around our hiding place in the roof of the clock tower where there really is nowhere to storm off to unless you fly down to where the bells hang. They still ring and vibrate with the aftereffects of their hourly tolling.

It makes me smug when I see Harriet look around, throw her hands in the air and sulk on the opposite side of the roof.

Jackie somehow sleeps on the slanted tower roofing wedged behind Rin who sits, quietly muttering to herself. I must say, she's probably taking this worse than I am. And I mean, that's saying something. Rin's normally one to chat, but she hasn't said a word since we left Grant Washner's siren pool.

I'm tired. My eyes blink closed on their own and I force them open again. Lucy's dead, dying or alive. One of the three. Grant Washner could be a bastard, an idiot or our saviour. One of the three.

Not dead. Lucy can't be dead. I've already failed once.

Oh, Annabelle. Anna. Annie. I'm the responsible one. Well, not really, no. But it helps my motivation. My poor, stupid sisters, too weak-minded to come up with a plan by themselves.

In other words, If I don't save Lucy, they'll probably kill themselves trying.

I think like an engineer, the clockwork in my mind spinning and clicking in place. There, by the pier, is a bin overflowing with fishing line and nets. The markets have locked crates filled with tools and stock. The chute filled with fish scraps is filling with early catches. Strays wander everywhere, sniffing out their breakfast.

The Port is like a dump filled with treasures for the taking.

You know, Port Liera is beautiful.

Sabrina

The dockside town of Port Liera is boring. It's created from hundreds of replicated two-story brick townhouses, splattered through trash-covered pavements. How do the locals tell one apart from the other? There are no rivers, no hills, no big oaks to climb.