"The moon is rushing us," Desdemona hisses with a scowl.
"Hush, Mona. There's more than enough time to find the bodies," I whisper.
"But Blade…" Mona begins, but I but her off with a firm scowl.
"Desdemona, do you want me to kick you off this mission?"
She looks away and sighs. "No…"
"Good. Now shut up and behave."
This time, the mission is strange. It's not like we haven't had to find dead people before, or make dead people before, but we've never had to find dead children with wings. My sister Desdemona and I have been experimented on and were born in a lab, as far as we know. The first thing I can remember is running. I'm the best there is. I run fast, I jump high, I fight hard. I'm better than any other the scientists have tried to make. So they send me on missions. I've heard of the bird kids, but never sent on a mission involving them. I normally just get to watch them, if I'm lucky enough. I got to watch two bird-kid-couples make out. That wasn't amusing, let me tell you.
"Hey! I caught the scent! Blade, I caught the scent!"
I roll my eyes. She's such a child. I should just make her go back. Maybe I could hurt her and force her to go. I sneer. That would work.
"Blade, are you listening to me?" Desdemona snaps.
"No," I answer honestly. One of the only times I'm honest is when I'm making someone feel bad. "What were you saying?"
"I said, you should let me run ahead and find the bodies, since I can smell the—"
"No!" I interrupt her harshly. "No! I'll do it. You think I haven't known where they've been this whole time we've been here? Idiotic mutt… Just stay here."
Mona draws in a breath. I hope she cries.
I turn my head from side to side slowly and, blinking once, allow my night vision to take over my sight. Blinking again, my heat vision comes on, and I can see the form of one of the bodies, under the Hollywood sign. I blink back to night vision and race away at an inhuman speed, reaching the body in seconds.
The boy probably would've been handsome, had it not been gray and covered in blood. A bit of it had been wiped away, as if with a sleeve. Probably the girl I'd seen him kissing. She was most likely the other body we needed to find. How lovely.
"Mona, start a fire!" I shout. "We're going to burn them."
"Burn them?" she calls back. "My God, you can't be serious!"
"I am! Now start the fire!" I cannot take her on another mission, I think, lifting the winged boy with ease and racing back to the Eraser girl. I toss it onto the flicker of flame she'd just made, putting it out without second thought. "Burn it; I'll find the other." And I'm gone again.
I see the motel and flip through a window. The body of a girl, also covered with blood, is lying on the bed in what seemed to be, at one point, a comfortable position. She, also, would've been quite beautiful when alive. Of course, I'd seen her, but never up close.
"Hmm, how strange…" I murmur. I rip off a piece of the cheap, thin sheet and wipe the blood from her face, turning on the light so I can see her better. She has straight black hair, almost reaching the middle of her back. Her face is entirely gray, which means she's probably been dead for a maybe years. The scientists probably did something to keep the thing in shape, and they're also likely to only be using this as a practice mission. But that's not what was strange to me.
The strange, the bizarre, the eerie part is that she looks like my sister.
Yes, I, like all others, had been told that my sister wasn't real, or whatever the scientists wanted us to think, but they didn't know I'd found Garrett. He's a scientist who travels, and when he came to Washington, he'd had a picture of the girl.
"Vanessa," he told me lovingly, "Vanessa Drake."
That's what'd caught my attention. Drake? That was my surname. I studied the picture, and finally decided that she was related to me. Very closely.
Touching her face, I whisper, "I'm sorry I never knew, sister. I wish I'd been here," and then I picked her up and sped out of the room, following the light of the fire.
"You idiotic dog!" I shouted at the Eraser sitting next to the huge, smoking fire. "What kind of wood did you use?"
She pointed. "There was a brilliant small tree over there."
"You don't burn living wood! It'll make too much smoke!"
"But the body is already there, so it won't do us any good to try to put it out."
I tossed the girl's limp form on top of the burning one, smothering the fire for a moment before it rose and engulfed the frail, lithe form without hesitation.
"I'm off, keep watch," I say firmly to Mona.
"But why?" she moans.
"Shut up. Don't ask questions," I snap, turning and preparing to run. I feel like watching some things of my own tonight.
…
Amber's POV
…
It's been 2 years since Dylan and Vanessa died. And I still think it's because of Max. No one else does, but I heard them talking.
"Vanessa is dead! I found her body earlier on the Hollywood sign, so you can just live without a love!"
Those words led Dylan to suicide, and Vanessa's soon followed. If Max hadn't overreacted, they'd both be perfectly alive, and probably happy. Almost definitely happy.
But now the Flock, all of it, is mostly over the two deaths. The thoughts of the two still linger in the backs of our minds, but most of us just push them back into the corners and go on living. We're back to school, because we decided that's what Vanessa would've wanted. I don't care much. Classes, friends, everything seems fake. That's what the smile is for.
"Look, Amber, if you're just going to mope in here every weekend, at least read a book or something," Tiffany says, trotting into my room. She's becoming quite the young lady. As our principal says.
"No," I say, "I don't need one. Really, I'm fine. I've got the TV, too."
Tiffany holds up The Good Guy by Dean Koontz. "Here. It's about this guy, he meets this murderer who thinks he hired him, and the guy, like, Tim or whatever, tries to save this girl who the murderer's supposed to kill, and they go on the run while the murderer chases them, and along the way they fall in love and stuff." Tiff smiles. "It reminded me a little of Dylan and Vanessa."
I snatch the book from her fingers, reading the inside flaps of the jacket. "Huh. I like that quote. 'Good guys finish last,' 'kill me instead,' I guess I could try it."
Tiff hugs me. I sigh and open the book, using my little remote to turn up my iPod. Panic! At the Disco's The Ballad of Mona Lisa blared louder. Iggy pounded on the wall.
"Turn that down!" he yells through the drywall.
"No!" I shout back, turning it up one more setting. He groans and I hear his own classical music turn on as he attempts to tune mine out.
"There's nothing wrong with a just a taste of what you've paid for…" Brandon Urie sings from the dock.
There was nothing left of the dead couple. Will, Iggy and Fang had moved all their things out, dumping them in the trash. I'd managed to snatch a notebook, nothing more, though. In a few moments, the song is over, and Build God, Then We'll Talk starts playing. Nothing is making me feel better. Usually, this band makes me happy, at least for a little while. But today, it isn't working. Maybe I should just go to town. I'm sure Max won't mind.
"Max?" I call, peeking out the door. Wow. Everyone's asleep already? "Max, I'm going for a walk," I say quieter, running to the door before anyone can stop me. No one does.
I fly out to town. It's still quiet, but since it's a Friday night, there are a few kids my age out and wandering around with friends, or more-than-friends. I sigh. Nothing like that'll find me.
"Stop being such a pessimist, Amber, or else your pessimistic thoughts will come true," I scold myself. Then I laugh quietly, more than a little hysterical.
"What's so funny?" a boy asks.
"Oh, just the fact that I belong in an insane asylum." I laugh some more. I don't know if I'm scaring him or not, but who cares? This kid shouldn't have talked to me in the first place.
"I see. I don't think that's true. Really, I don't think you do."
I turn. Standing behind me is a boy, taller than me, and he looks a little older, too. He has swoopy black hair, and he has green eyes that look like they're glowing, they're so vivid. His cheekbones are high enough for him to appear cute, and he has a strong chin and nose. His lips are curled up, only slightly. He's in a black long sleeve shirt and black jeans, along with red Converse sneakers.
And, in my eyes, he's totally gorgeous. The most handsome man I've ever seen.
I lower my eyes, blushing fiercely. Why would anyone like this even talk to me? I'm not one to exist. I just sit in the corner of class. But he isn't in my class; he's probably older than me. "Uh, sorry. You must've confused me with someone else. I've gotta go." I keep my head down and start to speed-walk away, but he grabs my wrist.
"Will I see you around?" he asks.
I look him over again. "Maybe," I answer vaguely, and then I keep walking towards downtown.
"What do you mean, maybe?" he asks, catching up with me in a few long strides.
"I mean, you might see me, you might not," I say, getting a little annoyed. I don't even know this kid! Speaking of… "Do I even know you?"
He grabs my wrist again, and I stop. "No," he says quietly, staring into my eyes. "But I know you." And then he releases me and walks in the opposite direction.
I don't notice my heart is about to fling out of my chest until I have to lean against the nearest wall. Oh my God, what was that about? I think, over and over again. I don't deserve to talk to a guy like that. He was, like, supermodel gorgeous. He belonged in a magazine or walking down the red carpet, not grabbing some winged girl's wrist on an old cracked sidewalk in some dirty old section of town. I turned, raking my fingers through my hair and staring at my window reflection.
"Well, I guess you've made an almost-friend," I say to myself. "Even if that friend is creepy." But I shrug.
What could go wrong?
