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Description
Cora
Book One
Part 1

She couldn't scream. Her mouth was open, but no sound came out. She was pinned flat in the alley, bent at the knees and feet dangling, paralyzed by the icy terror that pulsed from her heart and through her veins. She closed her eyes to focus more on her throat, forcing the great breath out of her lungs, scraping and rasping over her vocal cords. She heard it, piercing and shrill through her mind, and felt it as a whisper over her ears. She squeezed her eyes and cold tears slid down to her ears.

He held her flat and watched over his shoulder. He felt her preparing for a scream and braced for it, though none came. There was a hoarse wheezing and silence; it seemed that luck was in his favor. He waited until there was no sign of passersby and watched her again. Her eyes were closed and he saw the tears in the corners of her eyes. "Shhhh," he whispered. She felt his weight shift and choked on a sob; the jacket between them smelled faintly of spices. He reached for her left hand and slowly, gently pulled it toward his mouth. She felt his breath warm on her fingers and squirmed and writhed to escaped. His teeth scraped across her fourth finger, between the first two knuckles, just below her wedding band. The pressure increased and she knew he'd broken the skin. She stopped fighting, stopped trying to scream and her body went limp. She'd been infected, and there would be no one to save her, tonight. When he felt her give up he relaxed and repeated the act on her index finger. He then stood and watched the mouth of the alley. “Come with me,” he murmured but she did not move. She'd given up. He took the jacket and tucked it under his arm, then took her hands and pulled her up. She would not look at him, and he draped the jacket over her shoulders. “Come with me,” he said again. He held her left hand firmly in his right and led her out of the alley and through the shadows of the street.

She had no choice but to follow; she'd been infected. Refusing him would leave her utterly alone, an outcast to her family and her kind. The thought formed fresh tears that blinded her and dampened her cheeks. She didn't care. She didn't care to see where they were going because it did not matter. She was infected and she cried hopeless tears. She snapped out of her blind following when she realized they were nearing a house, and picking up pace. And she was tired. They'd walked most of the night, by the feel of it, and she was ready for a rest. He felt her dragging and gripped her hand tightly, for the first time. There was determination smeared across his face, if she'd looked at it. He mistook her weary walking for resistance and did his best to keep her going. This was the most dangerous part. They walked quickly through the entrance and twisted through a maze of doors and hallways and doors. She was confused but still followed noiselessly as they crossed an empty room and went through one last door. She was surprised to see another alley, this one with a floor of hard-packed black dirt and bright green moss that grew in the corners and along the side of the brick of the buildings. He pulled her sharply to the right and a startled noise escaped from her throat; he tucked her arm under his elbow as they dashed across the alley. She looked over her shoulder and caught a brief glimpse the alley, where it split to the left. It looked empty, except for the single open doorway. It was a matter of seconds before they were in another building and the door was slamming shut behind them, and she faced forward. Down a hallway, through another door and there was a staircase. "Up," he said. At the top of the first landing, where the stair curved to the left, was a hole hardly large enough for a person to shimmy through. He stopped just on the other side of the hole and pointed. "Go in."

She balked. She stared open-mouthed at the hole and was forming a protest when she heard a sound behind them and his grip became so firm it was nearly painful. "Go!" he barked at her and she slid her feet through the hole, using his hand for leverage. She rolled through on the other side and hid herself in a corner, and out of his way. It was a good thing, too, because his feet followed closely behind her head. He also rolled and was on his feet, then squatted between her and the hole. When he was satisfied they weren't being pursued he stood back up and watched her. Satisfied that she was unharmed, he plopped heavily on a worn, red sofa that sat along the wall. There was a heavyset man in a white shirt already seated there, his face illuminated in the bluish glow of a laptop.

"Made it back then?" His hair was dark and cut close and the stubble of a beard stretched across his face.

"Aye," he said and let his head fall back. His eyes closed for a moment and he was again on his feet. He removed his coat and scarf and draped them across the arm of the sofa. She was startled to see silver-red wings hanging from between his shoulders. The left wing had a blue streak through it. Seeing the wings made her remember her state, her infection and new isolation. He turned and went to her, to reach for her jacket. She shrugged away from him while the quiet tears fell from her eyes and she hid her face. He screwed up his mouth and went back to the sofa and plopped heavily on it once more.

"A crier, then?" the heavy man asked without looking up.

"Aye," he sighed, and closed his eyes.