Feather Dark

Chapter 21

Leigh

As I heard Sevic raise the scalpel behind me, a vivid memory flashed into my mind. This isn't the first time I've come close to amputating my wings.

It was my first year at university and I was studying to be a vet. Pop had been very selective about which campus I could attend; because of the constant risk of discovery, he'd called in a favour with a friend and landed me a place at a college only half an hour from home. "Keeping you close means keeping you safe," he'd rumbled as he presented me with the admission papers. "And Doc Warner knows about your kind. If anyone suspects anything, he'll run interference."

I was eighteen, a home-schooled loser, desperate to spread my wings figuratively even if it meant keeping them hidden literally. I would have agreed to wearing an electrified anklet or a coconut bra and grass skirt if it meant I could get out of the house, learn, meet people, be in the world.

On the first day, I tucked my wings inside the hidden pocket of custom designed jacket Pop had made for me. He fussed around me, checking and double checking how it looked. "Remember, if anyone asks, you say that you have severe scoliosis and you wear a brace."

"I know."

"Act embarrassed, and chances are, they'll never bring it up again."

"I know."

"And if there's any trouble, anything at all – you go and speak to Doc Warner, okay?"

"Pop, I know!" I said, exasperated. "You're going to make me late!"

"I love you, boy," he said, reproachful. "Just... be safe."

I relented, giving him a hug. "I will be."

Pop's fears were all ungrounded. The one thing I learned about people that year is that they were woefully unobservant about anything except themselves. Girls, guys, professors, TAs – no one asked me anything about the odd curve of my back or the fact that I always wore a jacket.

For the first few months, I kept to myself, content to drop a well-timed zinger during lectures and get people laughing, but not ready engage directly with anyone. Then a few of the other class clowns started to sit with me, people worked out that I was actually pretty smart and invited me to join their study groups, students would yell out hi when they saw me around campus or insist that I join them for lunch.

I was cautious, but it didn't last. I was a social creature who'd spent almost all of my teen years cooped up with my complicated brother; this felt like a release from solitary confinement. Soon, I was turning Pop's hair even whiter by accepting every invite, partying on the weekends, crashing at the dorms. I was popular, and I wasn't going to slow down for anyone.

And of course, there was a girl. I mean, there were tons of girls – for a dude who'd never been around girls his own age, it felt like women were everywhere at university. They trailed lingering perfume behind them as they walked to class, their hair dancing enticingly around their shoulders during study sessions, exotic as birds with brightly coloured plumage, enticing and impossible to ignore.

I spoke with all of them, asking their names, listening to their stories. I drank in the simple act of conversation with the opposite sex like a man quenching himself at an oasis after years of wandering the desert.

Liz was different. She was tall, with curves like a 1950s pinup girl. She favoured retro skirts that flared from her magnificent hips in colours that shouldn't work but somehow did, like purple and red, or aqua and hot pink. Her lipstick was always flawless, her eyes winged and her lashes long, while her dark hair curled around her pale face in glossy waves. I was enchanted.