Feather Bound Page 5

  He let out an exasperated sigh. “You know what? It’s OK,” he said finally. “It’s not like I was expecting a tearful reunion or anything.” The twinge of disappointment in his voice told me otherwise. “But I’m back now. I really hope we can see each other more often.” He must have noticed my doubtful look because his next words rushed out in a nervous stream. “Can’t we? I mean I’ve still got this whole thing with taking over the company and stuff, but aside from that we can hang right?”

  Oh, so he was back to humor.

  “Dee?”

  “Have a nice life, Hyde.”

  I left him alone by the prattling fountain. And I didn’t look back.

  6

  SWAN

  My back was still aching. It got worse in the middle of the night. I fluffed my pillows, slept in awkward positions, took as much aspirin as I could without killing myself. Nothing.

  “Probably that time of the month,” Ade said, with a mouth full of pop tart Saturday morning. Dad was still sleeping, otherwise he’d be chugging coffee and telling us dumb jokes in an effort to alleviate his guilt over staying out late last night, yet again. “Oh hey, I was thinking of wearing leather to the party tonight. Do you think Anton would mind?”

  I spread jam on my toast as steadily as I could. “Somehow, I think he’d be into it.” I joked because I didn’t want Ade to notice the way the knife quivered slightly in my hands.

  I still couldn’t believe I’d let Ade talk me into going to Anton’s party. Anton was the wealthy son of a wealthy businessman whose wealthy wife terrorized people on television once a week. His party would undoubtedly be attended by yet more wealthy people, and me? I was Deanna Davis, daughter of that guy who worked in that warehouse with the boxes. Hedley’s funeral had been uncomfortable enough, even before Hyde crashed it. I didn’t think I’d be dropped down the rabbit hole again so soon.

  “So? What are you gonna wear, Dee?”

  “I dunno.” I plopped into the rickety chair, terrified for a second, because sometimes it wobbled just enough to make us think it’d collapse on impact. “I haven’t even thought about it.”

  “Of course you haven’t.” Ade sighed. “OK, OK, I’ll check out what I’ve got and see what I can do.”

  I had to hand it to her: she was doing a very good impression of someone who did this sort of thing all the time. The girl had her fake ID ready like a gun in a holster. But I knew she was nervous. She had to be. Otherwise, why hound me into going with her?

  She knew as well as I did: this wasn’t our world.

  True to her word, by 8 o’clock that night, as soon as she’d dressed herself, she took it upon herself to dress me. She made me squeeze myself into four of her own dresses because apparently none of my clothes looked chic enough. I finally convinced her to let me wear my loose Catalina tank, if only for the sake of my spinal cord. She still managed to force me into the chiffon skirt she’d bought cheap because it had a hole in it.

  Makeup. Hair. This was far too much effort to go through for someone who wasn’t dead. We did the requisite “assuring Dad that we’d be home before midnight” thing (as if he’d be home himself) and left around nine.

  I rubbed my back against the seat throughout the entire cab ride over the Brooklyn Bridge because it was now not only burning, but itchy. It was probably the tank.

  “Well, it always feels fine whenever I wear it,” Ade said. She wouldn’t switch with me.

  Soon we were at Anton’s Penthouse on Fifth. A stream of beautifully dressed twenty-somethings were already getting out of limos and walking through the door – a door held open by a bloated man stuffed in a suit and wearing white gloves and a ridiculous hat. He looked both underpaid and wholly dissatisfied with his life.

  “This is certainly new,” I said, but quietly because I’d suddenly become extraordinarily aware of myself; my unprofessionally teased hair and the black leather bag I’d bought online last summer, the one that had PLADA written on it in very plain gold letters. Ade held hers with pride. Normally I wouldn’t care, but the blonde haired girl who’d just stepped out of a limo behind us grimaced at me as if she just knew.

  I shook my head. “I thought this was a casual event?”

  “Can’t you tell?” Ade winked. She looked way better than me, as usual, in a plum beaded halter dress she’d spent her last pay check on – instead of something we needed, like say, food.

  Into the lobby and up the elevator. The second the doors parted, we were hit by a wave of electro dance punk. The lights were just a little dimmed. Socialites mingled by the open kitchen turned bar, vodka cranberries in hand. Photographers – actual photographers – were making their rounds through the loft, gathering groups of gorgeous girls for pictures that would no doubt find their way onto Page Six. Someone gave Ade an approving once-over before floating past us for more mingling – was he an actual designer? I shook my head. How Ade had managed to worm her way into social Asgard was just beyond me.

  “This is… kind of amazing,” I said, but quietly, because I was surrounded by socialites, and I was sure they’d take my awe as proof that I was some kind of flop from one of the “lesser” boroughs, which I was. I tried to grin instead, but my back still felt like someone was squeezing it from the inside.

  Ade disappeared almost immediately. I figured she was headed to where Anton was, except moments later I spotted the birthday boy sitting on a sofa swallowed by girls. Huh. I doubted Ade would have cared even if she could see him. He’d already given her the invite, which meant he was now about as relevant as a used phone card. She was already chatting it up with a group of other gorgeous people by the open bar.

  I could see Anton through the crowd, except while most of his girls were clearly vying for his attention, Anton didn’t so much as look at them. He was glaring at something straight ahead of him. He was saying something too, but I couldn’t hear him over the techno.

  That is until he stood up and bellowed, “What did you just say to me?”

  The laughter died. The mingling stopped. I saw Ade by the bar, a drink frozen between her lips. All eyes were on Anton. Anton noticed.

  “What the hell are you staring at?” He barked, rubbing his neck as if it’d suddenly become too hot. Hesitantly the crowd continued their hobnobbing, most definitely with a new topic of discussion.

  I was almost to the bar myself before I heard someone call my name.

  “Dee?”

  I turned. Oh God. “Hyde?”

  “Oh good, you showed!” Hyde’s eyes lit up. He sat on the sofa opposite Anton’s, which itself was on the other side of a long, expensive-looking crystal coffee table. When he waved me over, I briefly glanced in the direction of the elevator only to find my escape route blocked. Ade wouldn’t mind if I made a run for it, would she? But people were looking. At me, at him.

  “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 sh
ifting 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

  The witch plots to kill the king’s children. The witch plots to kill them all.

  Cut out their little throats, my lady, and let their necks grin red.

  Pluck out their little eyes, my lady, and hear them plead for light before the end.