Feather Bound (7 page)

“Damn it,” I hissed under my breath and walked over. Hyde smiled as I approached. For one weak moment, I let my eyes slide down his black unbuttoned shirt and open blazer to the white pants sheathing his slender, crossed legs. But then the moment was over. With great effort, I focused on Anton.

“Happy birthday,” I said awkwardly to this guy I didn't know. He didn't even respond.

“You look gorgeous, Deanna,” said Hyde. His breath hitched when he added, “Absolutely stunning. Ladies can you give me a little room?” Hyde stretched his arm out to me with an eager, boyish smile. I sat on the arm of the sofa instead.

Anton threw his arm around one of the girls as if she were the perfect accessory with which to assert his alpha male aggressiveness.

“Anton, ladies, this is Deanna, my old friend.” Hyde gestured to me, too busy being high on life – or drunk on wine – to notice Anton's malice. Wine and high class parties. Ah the privileges of the rich.

“Oh,” said one girl with a bored look and, after exchanging glances with two of her friends, they stood up and walked off.

“Did I interrupt something?” I said half-amused, pretending that hadn't stung.

“What? Not at all! My cousin Anton and I were just discussing a few things.”

Cousin? Oh right. Anton's father was Hyde's uncle, from his mother's side. I wondered how he felt about his nephew blowing up his major deal to take over the company. It certainly explained Anton's sunny disposition.

“Not really.” Anton never took his eyes off Hyde. “Hedley's just been trying his hand at some stand-up comedy.” Hyde smirked. “Definitely not a talent you should be banking on.”

“Which is why I'm trying my hand at business.” Hyde sipped his glass of “water”. “And like I said, my first act as head of Hedley Publications will be firing your father. How's that for a punch line?”

My jaw dropped. The few remaining girls on the sofa were already texting. I kept waiting for Hyde to give Anton the “‘just kidding, bro!” wink and finger-gun, but he was deathly serious. It was written all over his face, despite the innocent grin.

Anton didn't move, except his hands, which curled into fists so tight his knuckles went pale. “Like I said: stand-up really isn't your thing.” The tremor in his hands betrayed his cool tone.

“Look, it's nothing personal.” Hyde shrugged. “Over the past few days, I've heard that Edmund Rey was involved in more than a few dirty dealings, to say the least, during Ralph Hedley's time as CEO. Doesn't it make sense that I'd want to clean up my company before moving forward?”

“Hyde!” I started, shocked, but the dull pain started drumming again, this time against the small of my back before moving up my spine.

Anton looked murderous. “What gives you the fucking right–?”

“My dad's will.” Hyde's smile was as sharp as a blood-soaked blade. He returned Anton's glare with the same intensity, and more. It was personal. Completely personal. And out of everyone in the room, Hyde was the only one who knew why.

Anton's fists shook. “You fucking–”

“Ah!” As the pain shot through my spine, I sprang to my feet.

“Deanna?” Hyde put away his claws just long enough to worry about me. “Are you OK?” The armor slid off his body piece by piece. He didn't give a second glance to Anton, despite the fact that the birthday boy was more than likely planning his murder. Sliding to the end of the couch, Hyde tried to take my hand, but I pulled it out of his reach.

“Yeah.” I shifted my shoulder blades, turning my head slightly so he wouldn't see my uncomfortable grimace. “No, don't worry about me. I, um… In fact I should probably be going.”

“Deanna, are you sure nothing's wrong?”

Rather than answer Hyde, I stared out at the terrace behind him, at the bright lights of New York flickering into the loft.

“I'm–” I winced. “I-I'm fine,” I said with a shrug, turning away, but even that one shrug hurt – so much that I tripped over someone standing next to me and fell onto the glass table with a horrible crash. It shattered. To say it hurt like hell would have been an understatement. My body ached. My muscles seared. My arms and face bled.

That was the trigger.

From bad to worse in one explosive second. The pain in my back scraped my spine all the way up to the neck, branching out every which way as my veins were leaking acid.

Hyde jumped up and helped me to my feet, but I doubled over. “Deanna! Somebody call 911!”

“No, no! I'm fine! I'm OK. They're just scratches. I'm OK.”

Hyde cupped my face. “Deanna, what's going on? Did you drink too much?”

Did I? No, I don't even drink. Not even a sip. So then what was happening? What'd
been
happening? My back had been hurting since Monday. Why? It didn't make any sense.

I shook my head. “No, I'm fine,” I said more to myself than to anyone else. “Anton, where's the bathroom?” But Anton just stared. “I'll find it myself.”

“Deanna!” called Hyde behind me, but I was already making my way through the crowd. Shannon Dalhousie suddenly flashed in my thoughts, baring it all furiously at Hedley's funeral, her feathers spraying the wind as she fled.

“No, no,” I muttered under my breath just before asking someone for bathroom directions. Down the hall to the left. I saw Ade rushing at me from the corner, so I had to move fast. Digging my nails into my palms, I searched for the bathroom, half-blinded by the pain.

Regular back pain. I chanted it under my breath.

But this happens all the time doesn't it? said an annoyingly innocent voice in my head. You've heard the stories. A girl about to sing a solo in front of her entire school. A guy smack in the middle of writing an exam – and then it happens…

“Stop it,” I told myself in a harsh whisper.

Always unexpected. Always excruciating. And it all starts with the backaches...

“Hey!” cried one short blonde when I pushed her out of the way to get into the bathroom. A scrawny girl with jewelry that probably cost three times as much as the combined net worth of everything my family owned stopped making out with her boyfriend to glare at me the second I walked in.

“Um, occupied,” she said bitchily, folding her arms while her boyfriend just kind of stood there awkwardly.

I grunted and doubled over. With my arms wrapped around my stomach, I leaned against the sink's counter for support. “Get out.”

“What?”

“I said get out!
Out
!” It came out louder than I'd expected; the last word scraped my throat raw, but it did the trick. After shooting me a poisonous look, she grabbed her boyfriend's arm and dragged him out the door. I locked it after her.

Check. I had to check.

My stomach pressed against the sink counter. I held the tap so tightly I could feel my blood pumping against the silver. A twisted face in the mirror gaped back at me, alien, bloody, terrified. Beads of sweat slipped down her cheeks and her rounded chin into the sink.

I lifted the tap. Water flowed out. I had to check. I wouldn't find anything anyway so who really cared?

“I'm Deanna Davis.” I said it with the resolution of a dying man and lifted up my tank. The fabric slid like sandpaper against my skin. My back burned in the open air. I turned it towards the mirror–

And stifled a scream.

Veins. Dozens, hundreds, millions of them interlocked just beneath the skin. I could count each one. They smoldered when I touched them; streaks of agony shooting straight up into my brain with each ill-placed prod. I laughed. Sharp, desperate, chuckles. How could I not? There were rivulets of blood mapping cities in my back.

This isn't… this can't be…

A strangled whimper caught me by surprise before I realized it'd passed through my lips. “This can't happen.” I shut my eyes and repeated it. “This can't happen.”

As the pain ripped through my back, my teeth clamped down on my tongue. I dropped my tank as blood filled my mouth. Run. I had to run. I had to get out of here. I stumbled towards the door, but stopped short a step, staring at the knob. Best case scenario, I'd stagger out this door looking wounded, drunk, high or all of the above, and drawing attention to myself was the last thing I needed right now.

Worst case scenario…

I bit my lip. Worst case scenario, it'd happen for everyone to see. Dozens of witnesses, dozens of cell phones snapping pictures and capturing videos, each file internet bound, travelling across cyberspace until everyone who cared and everyone who didn't care knew what I was.

And you know what happens to freaks like you, right? hissed a voice nastier than I thought I'd ever hear in my own head.

“Freaks like
them
!” Freaks in a constant state of silent panic, their fear cowering behind every smile, their eyes flaring at every touch because of who might be touching them and why.

“Oh God!” I covered my mouth to mute the scream as I stumbled back towards the sink. The pain was devastating, like hot pokers burning through my flesh from the inside, tearing out of my skin, trying to grasp the open air. I could feel my shoulder blades shifting and something hard poking through.

“I'm–” An involuntary gasp shuddered through me. I shook my head. “I'm Deanna Dav–” My side hit the counter. I grabbed hold of the tap to keep myself steady and looked up.

A feather. Just one. It lay daintily on the counter, covered in my blood. With a shaky hand, I reached out to touch it – and I managed to, just before my back cracked open like an egg.

They came out all at once, the feathers. It wasn't loud and dramatic, like in those movies where an angel's wings unfurl gloriously out of his back. It was messy, slow – and these sure as hell weren't wings. Blood and feathers slopped down my back like a cape, some draping from my shoulder blades, some sticking out from the rips in my back. I could see my flesh tearing in the mirror.

I staggered forward blindly, choking on the bile in my mouth, and fell over by the base of the toilet. My elbow hit the seat hard. Some of my hair dipped into the water, my body balanced somehow between the seat and the toilet-paper dispenser. I tried to move, but it took every inch of my will power just to keep from shrieking for help and every bone in my body sizzled.

Gradually, achingly, I reached back and touched them. The feathers. They covered the entire surface of my back. For a second I thought I smelled something burning. Flesh. Mine. It probably was.

“Deanna?” It was Ade. I'm sure Hyde was out there too.
I'm fine! I'm just cleaning myself up.
I tried to say it, but my voice shriveled. I sat on the tiled floor, broken, with my hair in the toilet and a cape of feathers pooling on the ground. And even then I still didn't want to believe it. Still tried to stop the truth from sinking in.

“I'm Deanna Davis,” I whispered.

I was also a swan.

A TALE

 

7

ESCAPE

 

My tears dripped onto Anton's toilet seat; I didn't even have the will to lift my cheek off it. “Please.” I bit my lip. My body ached. “I don't want this. Please, somebody… take this away…”

“Hey! Dee, you in there?” Ade again.

This time I answered, “I'm fine! I'm just cleaning myself up,” like I'd meant to before. “These sure are some awful bruises I got myself here,” I added, and almost immediately grimaced. I was aiming for “Banged up but Still Cheerful and Thus OK,” but somehow gave her “Little House on the Goddamn Prairie” instead.

“You sure you're OK?” Ade asked before someone slammed into the door. It was the shock I needed to snap out of my stupor. My heart leapt into my throat. I could hear the gasps of the scandalized rich from here.

“You think you can do whatever you fucking want?” Anton. “Huh? Like you can take everything, like none it of fucking matters?”

My guess was that Hyde's body was the one currently twitching in pain against the door. One more hit like that and it would bust open.

And then they'd find me.

Quickly but silently, I boosted myself off the toilet and tucked my cape of feathers into my underwear. They tickled my skin.

“Anton stop!” someone cried. I heard yelling, swearing, grunts of pain. Anton and Hyde were really fighting. I had to get out of there soon.

The feathers made my skirt bulge in the back. If I walked out of here right now, would they notice? Would feathers fall out? Would they see them? Take them? And then would they own me?

My stomach clenched. I could be owned.

I placed a hand against my chest to stop it from heaving, tried to shut the tears in and scoured the floor for feathers, scooping up every one I found and flushing them down the toilet.

My phone! I rushed to my purse on the sink counter and rummaged through it for my cell phone. If the world were fair, I'd be able to sneak out of the bathroom while everyone was distracted and get away cleanly. But the world wasn't fair. I needed an escape route, and out of everyone in Anton's penthouse there was only one person I could trust.