20.
Moth
A nother dead end.
The mortal hunter is lucky he did not convince us to let him join our quest. Heather’s continued absence would easily make him the subject of my ire. We walk aimlessly in a city I do not know. I can see the balcony they had dined on, and it is clear that they are long gone.
“Ughhh, guys…” Rosie says, staring wide-eyed at the phone.
“I prefer ‘companions’, ‘your majesties,’ or ‘friends,’ if you must,” Holly huffs, crossing her arms. It is strange to see her glamoured without wings as we walk through the mortal city. Pepper appears equally strange, and two passersby have already asked if we are “in a band.” Even without the frills of our faerie-born appearances, we stand out. Worse, there is no scent of honeycomb soap here—and no sign of Heather. But with the way Rosie looks at her device in horror, I believe she may have a lead.
“You’re going to want to see this.”
“More rubbish information from your brother?” Holly sighs but snags the phone away regardless. Her eyes widen as her hands clutch the device in her hands.
There are screams echoing from the speakers.
“ What the fuck is that? ”
“ Holy shit. ”
“ Oh my God, oh my God! ”
Screech!
“That isn’t—” Pepper gasps.
“That couldn’t be,” Rosie argues. “No, no, no.”
I move to look at the screen and see a creature, a ball of pale green fur and feathers with green and yellow wings spawning from her back—wings I would know anywhere…
“There’s more. You know, you have quite a … fandom, ” Rosie says, her voice high-pitched and frantic before she hands me the device. Squinting, I study the details of the footage. My throat bobs at the sight of her exoskeleton. Not only does it act as a protective layer atop the skin, it seems to flow across her curves like a piece of art. I ache to get a closer look.
Mrs. Mothman looking for her man? The most upvoted comment reads. How right they are. “And it is time I find her,” I respond to the comment aloud, as if it is something that has been uttered aloud.
In the blurry video, Heather’s eyes snap toward the phone for a moment—owlish and wide—before she launches farther into the sky.
“Play it again,” I demand. After Rosie reaches around me to tap the screen, I watch the video with bated breath. In this new hulking form, Heather deftly navigates the sky, her piercing screech striking fear into all who hear it.
“Take Rosie back to the cabin,” I direct Pepper. “Holly, you will follow behind me.” The three are clearly in shock, but manage to agree. All the while, I am still transfixed by the image of her playing on the small screen.
There is no denying that it is my flame, and I know exactly where she is.
Racing through the sky, I head back to the place I once ran from—that sighting was near the statue. A strange place indeed, but if it is where the portal led her, then it is where I will go. I wonder if she has the other piece of this keychain—considering she bought the silly thing in Point Pleasant, it would stand to reason it would send her back here…
Though I am thankful my piece sent us back to the cabin, the statue is more than I would like to explain to my sister. When I tracked Heather to their festival of my likeness last year, I had thought they would come for me with weapons drawn and pitchforks sharpened. Instead, there was a fondness I did not think possible—as well as what Heather had called “very anatomically correct” fanart. I only hope my flame will be met with the same enthusiasm if she is encountered.
I fly without rest. Whether it is minutes or hours, I cannot tell. My vision pulses. I fly until the scenery begins to become familiar. This place—the woods, the bunkers—they were my home for such a long time after finding myself in this strange world. I try to remain unseen; the town is quiet today, but curiosity has been stoked by the circulating videos. I dodge more than one curious human holding a camera during my flight.
My vision flicks downward, like an owl hunting for mice in the grass. I see something —red shining hair.
King Magnus.
I land and the ground writhes as my talons strike into it. The poor man shakes. He is smaller than I remember. Somehow, in moments of uncertainty, knowing all his efforts were spent wooing my bride, the image of him had become distorted into something unachievable. The wings at his back twitch, a piece of it left looking to have been scratched by claws—and the wound appears to be fresh, as do the marks across his face. Pity they do not seem deep enough.
“Please,” he begs. “She’s lost control. I’m worried she—”
“ She is not your concern.” The rage I have misused, bottled, and spilled left and right begins to find release. Ruby was right to say I am more than sharp teeth and claws—but now, for her honor and my revenge, I will use them all.
Immortals heal quickly, and while Heather has created what is sure to be a beautiful scar, King Magnus deserves a lesson he will never forget. With a flick of my claws, he screams, clutching his face as blood drips between his fingers.
“You have to listen,” the vampire man insists. My flame was correct. He is pathetic. “I will make it right. I will—” His body quakes, curling around itself like a snake hiding among the brambles. If I must look at him for one more second, I may kill him, which Heather explicitly asked me not to do.
Holly lands next to me, wings spread and sword in her hands.
“Would you like to end him, brother?” she asks, offering me the blade while the vampire sputters his apologies.
My flame was right—he really is pathetic.
A shriek sounds in the distance. It is not the sound of prey, but a predator—my predator. My skin heats in anticipation of being found.
“No.” I back away, readying myself to launch into the sky. “Something more important than revenge calls.”
And it will be my pleasure to answer.