Chapter Eleven

 

 

“No, I’m not messin’ with you,” she sighed, looking in the mirror to be sure the dark circles under her eyes from lack of sleep were well covered. “I did not, I repeat – did not jump Gage’s bones.”

“Well, why the hell not?” Jodie gripped. “If I can’t live vicariously through you what am I supposed to do.”

“Get a life?” Elle snickered.

“As if.” Her best friend and roommate mumbled something else under her breath that Elle didn’t have the time to ask her to repeat before going on, “Do you know what it’s like to be a romance writer looking for a date?”

“No, but I’ve listened to you go on and on and on and…”

“Well, let me tell ya’, Sister. If some random dude who’s wearing too much cologne and driving a car he can’t afford who I met on FindALoser.com asks if he can be the star of my next novel and can we try out the love scenes for accuracy, I might be forced to join a convent.”

“And what would Mother Superior think of your foul mouth, coffee addiction, and schmexy-schmexy scenes in your books?”

“She would have to get the hell over it.”

“And, there it is. The number one reason you will never be a nun.”

“Pfft, whatever. I could do it and you know it. I could do it standing on my head, praying twelve hours a day while singing the Hallelujah chorus.” Elle knew her friend was rolling her eyes and shaking her head as the writer added, “I’d be like that actress…you know who I mean. The one who always makes me laugh.”

“They all always make you laugh.”

“She’s on that all woman talk show thingy.”

“Yeah, there’s only about a hundred of those shows in every language streamed live twenty-four hours a day.”

“Oh dadgummit, what is her name?” Giving a sharp exhale, Jodie snickered, “Oh hell, I can’t remember my own name, much less hers, but you know who I mean, right? I could be like her and rock that convent to its very foundation.”

“Yes, you could, Jodes,” Elle hurriedly answered.

“All due respect to nuns though, I couldn’t do it forever. They truly are tougher than steel. Ya’ just gotta give them props.”

“You’re right and you know I believe in you, but Girl, I gotta go. I don’t want to be late for court. This judge is a stickler and I seriously don’t want to listen to anymore bitchin’ from my pain-in-the-ass client if he gets remanded once again. Not to mention that Junior would kick my butt.”

“I hear ya. Knock ‘em dead. Killer.”

“You know I will,” she agreed with a snicker while slipping her feet into her shoes, grabbing her briefcase, and hurrying towards the door. “Love ya’, Jodes. Kill some baddies today.”

“How did you know today was battle scene day?”

“’Cause I know you.”

Laughing out loud, Jodie replied, “That you do. Loves ya’, Elle.”

Disconnecting the call and dropping her cell phone into her bag, she grabbed her jacket off the table by the door, scooted across the threshold, and down the hall. Looking at her watch, she breathed a sigh of relief, “Twenty minutes till the banging of the gavel, and the taxi is outside waiting,” as she pushed the down arrow and waited for the elevator.

Stepping in before the doors were completely open, she walked to the far corner and turned to face front. Leaning the small of her back against the metal rail, amazing memories of the night before with her Dragon had just begun to play in her mind when a shiver skittered up her spine and overwhelming feelings of impending doom and dread swamped her mind.

Tortured screams, the foul odor of gangrenous flesh, and a malicious cackle so maniacal the little hairs on the back of her neck stood on end invaded her senses, growing louder and louder with every beat of her heart. Clenching her fists so tightly blood trickled into her palm from her nails biting into her skin, Elle struggled to breathe.

Bitter squalls of feathery hoarfrost, ravenous and insatiable, overran her mind’s eye, encasing everything in its path in a beautifully sparkling blanket of subzero death. Crystalline feathers glittered in the scant light of the quarter moon, their glittering descent the prelude to blinding winds and deadly hail.

Exquisitely destructive and astoundingly fatal, frigid gusts kicked up cyclone after cyclone of ice and snow. Gobbling away at the normally arid and sweltering desert, the arctic blasts created dense plumes of steam, their spindly, skeletal fingers traversing time and space, pulling at the hem of her skirt, trying to destroy not only the woman but more importantly her Rain Bird.

Ear-splitting, high-pitched, and completely deafening - the shrill screech that could only come from a monstrous bird of prey pierced her consciousness, captured her vision, and forced her shivering fingers to wrap around the metal railing behind her in an effort to stay on her feet. Pushing the Bringer of Life to the front with the sole purpose of defeating the invading Purveyor of Death, Elle dug the spiked heels of her shoes into the plush carpet of the elevator, shoving every ounce of magic and strength she possessed through the mystical bond she shared with her Rain Bird.

Rising out of the sizzling fog, its cavernous jaws open wide, the razor-sharp hooked tips of its beak aiming at her neck as it chanted, “Kill… Feed… Kill… Blood… Death… Death… Devour… Devour…,” Elle held her breath as the Psônen lunged for her jugular. Click …click-click-click, the thick, dried, condensed keratin that comprised its bill snapped together in crazed succession, its massively muscular mandible protruding like a weightlifter’s biceps. Whipping her head to the side, the grotesquely horrifying clack echoed through Elle’s mind as the creature resembling a Bearded Bone-Crushing Vulture attempted to consume her from the inside out.

Magic skittered over her every nerve-ending thrusting the hard, hollow shaft of the feathers of her Rain Bird through her skin. The bones of her jaw elongated and her arms stretched wide. The Winged Chieftess refused to stand aside, refused to cower from the challenge of the Psônen.

Jerking its head backward, undoubtedly preparing for another attack, the spikey Mayan-blue plumage atop the Purveyor of Death’s head spit dagger-shaped icicles in every direction, the acrid scent of rotting corpses growing with every shattering scream. Opening its enormous wings as wide as they would go, the Psônen’s screech grew unbearable as a blizzard of snow, and ice, and sand flew from every downy vane of its frosty blue feathers.

Springing forth, the Rain Bird emerged like a rocket, her feathered appendages tight at her sides with her poison-tipped talons stretched as far as they would go and aimed at the Psônen. Low and frightening the Winged Chieftess sounded her battle cry as she took aim and descended like the avenging Star of the Morning she was. Throwing its enormous body to the side, the Psônen rolled to the side but not before the Rain Bird rotated in the air, her claws ripping through feathers, skin, cartilage, and bone.

Black blood, bits of thawing gore, and steaming innards covered the winter wasteland as the Purveyor of Death flailed about heaving shards of ice, pitching hail the size of softballs, and whipping snow so dense Elle’s conscious vision could see nothing but white as it tried to get to its feet, tried to remove itself from the Winged Chieftess’ sight, tried to escape to fight another day.

A chime, the ringing of a call, little more than the ting of a tiny hammer against the inside of a silver bell, slashed through the mental battlefield. From one heartbeat to the next, the Rain Bird had retreated to the back of Elle’s mind and the Psônen had disappeared into thin air.

“Miss? Miss Burntwing? Miss Elle, are you alright?”

“What…? Where…?” She looked at David, the Concierge, whose face was white and draw with worry. “Yes, yes, I’m fine. Just need to grab something to eat,” she hurriedly replied, stepping out of the elevator and glancing at her watch.

Three minutes? What the…?

“Can I escort you to the dining room? Low blood sugar is nothing to ignore.” David inquired, his expression a little less worried as he crooked his arm and added, “My Nan has to eat every three hours.”

Shoulders back, head held high, she smiled confidently as she patted his arm, shook her head, and answered, “Thank you so much, David. I think I have a case of the ‘Staying-Up-Too-Late Flu’. I’ll have to grab something at the Courthouse.” She started to turn away, stopped and added, “Tell your Nan to take care of herself.”

“Thank you so very much, Miss Burntwing. I will.”

“And, please call me, Elle, remember?”

“As you wish, Miss Burntw… ahem, I mean Miss Elle,” he bowed.

“Close enough,” she grinned, completing her turn as he asked, “Can I call you a cab?”

“I have one waiting, but thank you so much for everything,” she smiled over her shoulder.

Walking across the lobby like she owned the place, unwilling to let anyone see how rattled she truly was, she’d just gotten into the backseat of her taxi when the angelic voice of the Messenger of the beach floated through her mind, “Eleanor Burntwing, the answers you seek also seek you. No longer the hunted you must become the hunter. Embrace the Winged Chieftess you are meant to be. Embrace the Fire, let it defeat Death. Bring the rain, let it cleanse the soul. Fated love is yours to create. The Great Blessing is yours and yours alone.”

Letting her head fall back and her eyes slide shut, Elle sarcastically snickered to herself, “Great! That would make perfect sense if my name was Confucius and I spoke in riddles.”