Heat rips through me, freeing my frozen limbs. It happens in a flash, streaking out from my center and spreading to the tips of my wings. I’m stunned by the rush of long-forgotten sensations.
Sheuttered my name, the female who’s been my constant companion for the last bits of my fragmented memory, telling me odd stories, talking to me, and even sometimes… touching me.
I’ve never seen her, yet I know her. Her voice, her scent.
She has my name.
Time has passed since I last stirred, though I do not know how much. Scattered pieces of memories scurry into sequences, never sticking around for long. Sensation muddies my thoughts.
It’s hard work, coming back to life.
Blinking my dry eyes, I suspect I’ve been stone for centuries. Looking around, I face the dim, cluttered room. Sticking out my tongue, I taste the air and feel it slip inside my lungs. It smells sweet, like… peaches, a comforting scent. They cultivated them at the monastery that once housed me.
Ruin came to that monastery, and I was removed from it.
Demons always find a way. Mine could not trespass on such holy ground, and since I had surrendered the privilege of movement, I do not doubt the monastery fell because of him.
For many years, I was in my demon’s possession, mocked and taunted in countless voices as he shifted through them, testing each in the hope of breaking my resolve. His assault only ended when war came to his land and his host died. He lost everything, including me.
Since then, I’ve belonged to a few others. All were evil men who sought my name and were promised power if they could learn it. They were tricksters, all of them, and once I understood their self-serving natures I refused to extend my protection to them.
I could not allow them to share my power with my enemy.
Adrial.
I do know my demon’s name. I always have.
He’s bound to me, and I to him. He will hurt anyone and anything in his attempts to make me his servant and reclaim his strength. Since he cannot kill me without the angels sending my replacement, he longs to control me.
He’s just waiting for his chance.
This female may be a trick. One for which I am falling.
“Summer,” I utter as saliva rushes my mouth, bringing forth a smile. It has been so, so long… So long since I’ve stretched out my wings, so long since I could speak. I gulp down more air, pleased by the expansion of my lungs.
An excited delirium streaks through me, consuming me with a frenzied sensation. My wings loosen as my nerves reawaken. My hands clamp into fists. I test my limbs, spanning my wings and arching my back, and my body lightens from its shell. The movement thrills me.
I hear a crash, a scream, and then the racing footsteps of the woman who now owns me. She flees, afraid.
Waiting until details become clear, a groan pours out from my throat as I take in the swinging door and the sign on it. Dreary and dim, it’s calledHopkins’ Museum of the Strange.I’ve been here for some time, I believe. The smell of old books and dusty musk deliciously fills my nostrils, mingling with the peaches. There are no others nearby to witness me rise. I do not sense Adrial’s presence.
Though there is no doubt that he has been nearby. Recently. I scent his rotting menace amongst the dust and musk. Faint as it may be, I cannot mistake it. It won’t be long until he comes and finds me.
Rushing out of the building, a damp chill enshrouds me, eliciting another moan from my throat.
There are lights everywhere, and a vehicle drives by, scorching down the road, wheels screeching. I glimpse the female behind the wheel.
Technology has advanced since last I saw the world, despite having overheard much over the years, information slipping into my vague, detached awareness. It’s a disconnection I’ll no longer need to endure, now that someone knows my name. My very dangerous name.
Slipping into the shadows, I take to the sky.
Following her vehicle from a distance, I keep to the lower clouds.
I am not to be seen. I do not belong to the world of men—I strike fear into them regardless if I am trapped in stone or am in motion. The fewer humans know of my existence, the better. They will only get in the way.
Squealing, the vehicle leaves the town, slowing down as it reaches a winding street through a thick forest and past intermittent farms, homesteads, and buildings. After a while, it pulls off onto a dirt road, slowing down further and turning into the last driveway at the end. It approaches a house with a steeply pitched roof, ornate gables, and large windows. Light floods the first floor.
The house appears old, yet maintained, emanating a history that’s entirely its own. There’s a wraparound porch and a small balcony on the third floor. There’s a large lawn, a garden, and a shed that smells of wood. Several large trees surround the home before giving way to a forest that separates it from the closest house.
