Excerpt: A Rustling of Wings

“Follow.”

I put my feet back into my shoes and trail the spectral figure that glides along the narrow corridor.

When I, on my leaden gams, follow around a corner, the bird-thing is gone. I look around, stunned. Did I take a wrong turn? I couldn’t have; I’m wide awake. The new hallway I’m in is very dark, but the other end is lit from another room. I tentatively advance toward the light, into the gloom that seems to vibrate and echo my own unease back to me.

“You must watch your back.” A rustle.

I spin. No one is there.

Something brushes against my leg. “Know what is around you.” Something moves and, heart fluttering, I turn to see it.

A cold beak at my neck. I push it away, but it’s already gone, but I run for the end of the hallway—all at once, something slams down in front of it and it is dark and I cannot see.

“And never depend on the light.”

I stand tense in the impossibly short moment of stillness, trying to hear. An enemy I can’t see hits me unbelievably hard, a blunt force in my side, and I’m flying. I hit a wall—where I didn’t expect it to be, it’s in a different place than I thought it was—and crumple to the ground.

The black hissing in my ear. “Clara Minnelli, fight.”

Gasping from the pain of the blows, I tuck my face into my knees and try to protect myself.

A gloved hand touches me and fingers wrap coolly around my throat. “Fight.” It begins to squeeze and I choke, cough on my own restricted air. I pull at the unyielding hand, try to get my fingers inside.

“Not good enough.” The grip tightens and now I can’t breathe at all. In my panic I hit something; my hand catches in the folds of a fabric. I hit through it, feel something, a body underneath. For a moment, I’m strong, and it tenses at my blows, but I’m running out of time. My head and lungs and throat are in agony.

“Fight.” The hiss is almost a growl now. I smack feebly but it doesn’t last; soon I become aware that I’m not hitting anymore, I’m barely moving, and that’s when my eyes close.