Prologue
Memories dance inside of my eyes. Chemical smells drift across a cold tile floor. A needle slides its way into my ivory flesh. A splash of scarlet stains my ragged dressings. My family's faces, twisted in pain as they lay dying in their cages . . . It's too much. I grip my dark head with one hand, and dig my thin fingers into my scalp. Because actually, this feels better.
The flashback stops. I don't know how long it went on for. An hour? A day? A second? Long enough for me to relive a few of my many horrible memories. I can't resist taking a peek at my arms. No IV tubes. No Whitecoat injecting radioactive dye into my bloodstream. Get it together, Onyx, I tell myself. Panicking won't make the memories go away . . .
I realize suddenly that my wings are pulled out around me. I curse myself mentally. Who could have seen them? Had someone already called the police about a fifteen-year-old girl with bat wings, living in Arizona? I keep my thoughts in check. Bad Onyx. No paranoia allowed. I stretch them out momentarily, feeling the slender bones extend, pulling the leathery membrane into a tight, thin sheet. I stand up on the thin branch I've been resting on, and let myself fall backward off of it. I drop ten feet before taking an upstroke and getting into the familiar rhythm of flight. Within thirty seconds, I don't even remember that I'm using my wings. I swoop upward, high into the midnight clouds, droplets of sky condensing on my faded, checkerboard-patterned sweatshirt.
The clouds clear, and a landscape spreads itself before me. Pinpricks of light dot the hills, like ants carrying flashlights on their way to bite-sized towns. I feel the corner of my mouth twitch in a semi-smile. Amazing how quickly flying can make all of your troubles seem to melt away . . .