Winged

Chapter 1 Betsy creaks and groans as I trudge up the road. Except for this obnoxious hill, most of my ride to work is relatively flat as it twists and turns through the forest. I usually enjoy biking, but not when I get called into Magic Beans on my day off. It’s hard to fake an illness when you work at your mom’s coffee shop. Betsy’s pale-blue paint is chipping, and she complains going uphill. Even though we have history, the idea of trading her in for something with an engine is more appealing with each relentless pedal. I’ll be seventeen in less than a month, but I only have my learner’s permit. I tried taking driving lessons, but I was sweat-pouring-down-my-back terrified. I call it “automo-phobia.” It’s part claustrophobia and part driving phobia. I can handle being a passenger though. A loud rumble barrels up the street behind me, quickly closing the distance. Glancing over my shoulder, I make out a guy on a motorcycle with a long case awkwardly strapped to the back of his bike. I do my best to move to the side of the road, but there’s not much of a bike lane on the stretch between town and my house in the middle of nowhere. My heart leaps. I can’t tell if it’s because he’s close enough to run me off the road or because he’s unbelievably good-looking. His muscles are clearly defined through his t-shirt pressed against his body. I have a feeling his wind-swept hair looks good no matter what speed he’s going. I grab my chest when my heart doesn’t stop its crazy dance, and struggle to keep my bike upright. It happens quickly, but I don’t miss the scowl he flings my direction from behind his dark glasses. I’m not the one running people off the road. “Nobody likes you!” I shout between ragged breaths. He gives a curt wave without looking back. There’s no way he could have heard me over his muffler and the distance he swiftly put between us. I try to tuck my hair back in the bun at the top of my head but it’s a losing battle. When the hill finally crests, I stop to catch my breath and fix this mess. Suddenly, to my right, a large, black mass streaks through the woods and I startle, freeing my locks from the nearly-done bun. There aren’t wolves around here, but it sure looked like one. I fumble with my hair, rushing to redo my work. Leaves fall from the tangle of branches looming above and I yelp as they brush my shoulder. I’m halfway done, but good enough. I’m out of here. Pushing off is a struggle with tired, noodle legs, but the other side of the hill helps me gain speed while the wind hitting my face brings clarity. I’m fine. There was nothing there. I squint at the sky, assessing how long I have before the dark, churning clouds unleash their fury. I might get to work dry. And alive. A fat, cold raindrop smacks my forehead. I’ll settle for alive. I try to shake the fear off. There’s nothing out there but trees and more trees. One drop of rain turns into buckets, and within a few minutes I can barely see ten feet in front of me. My muscles burn as I slog through the rainwater quickly pooling on the pavement. A car passes too fast, hits a puddle, and sends a wall of water my way. “Seriously?” I shout. The universe decides to answer my rhetorical question in the form of a nerve-wracking squeal, followed by a sickening crunch, and a horn that won’t stop blaring. I freeze mid-peddle as fear grips my body and drags her icy fingers up my back. I force my legs to move again and try to speed up. Around the bend, I’m greeted by two pairs of red lights glowing through the sheets of rain. One pair belongs to the car that splashed me, and the other flashing set is from something much larger. The smell of burnt rubber and cracked wood permeates the air despite the rain. “What the—?” My heart sinks to my toes. The car is partially wedged under a flat-bed trailer stacked high with logs. It looks more like a pile of mangled metal than a vehicle, and the windshield is impaled by a log strapped to the bed. I run to the driver’s side door. My heart pounds and my stomach twists with dread. I can’t imagine how anyone survived this. “Pull it together, Tessa,” I order myself. I cup my hands like swim goggles and press against the glass to see in the car through the pouring rain. A young woman is limp against the steering wheel, and her head’s bleeding. A cross between a laugh and a sob escapes me. It’s a miracle she’s not crushed, but I can’t tell if she’s breathing. I try opening the door, but it won’t budge, and the back door is either locked or jammed. The others are under the truck. My hot tears mix with the frigid rain and disappear in the downpour. I open my backpack with shaking hands and find my phone. The call to 911 doesn’t go through. My screen goes dark. It’s soaked, and no matter how hard I push the buttons, it won’t turn on again. I should have gone for the expensive, waterproof model. Where’s the truck driver? I run to the cab. It’s empty, but the door’s unlocked so I climb in and look around for something useful. There’s an old CB radio attached to the dash. I’ve never used one, but I’ve seen them in movies. I grab the speaker and press the button on the side, “Hello? Is anyone there?” No one replies. I turn a few knobs on the radio and try again. “Hello? There’s been an accident on Oak Creek Road a few miles east of town and we need help! Is anyone there?” Silence. I clench my jaw, trying to keep my teeth from chattering, and slam the speaker back on the mount in frustration. The car horn is still blaring as a constant reminder a life is at stake. Through the dim lighting in the cab, I see a tire iron on the floor. Perfect. I grab it and head back into the storm. My heart pounds in symphony with the whooshing noise in my head. A warm push of energy floods my chest. I gasp and press my palm to my heart. My tears stop, scorched by determination. The backseat window looks as good as any, but I stop before my first hit and look inside. There’s a toddler strapped into a car seat. How did I miss this? I hold my breath as I concentrate on the little one’s chest, praying I see it move. One second, two seconds, three seconds pass. I can’t tell. I’ll have to go through the back windshield. Holding the iron in two hands, I lift my arms high and bring it down on the glass, aiming for the opposite side of where the toddler sits. I slip with my first hit and nearly fall off the trunk. I gather myself and try again, pounding until the tempered glass cracks. Part of the window breaks, but much of the glass holds together like it’s glued to plastic wrap. I keep pounding until there’s a big enough hole to squeeze myself through. The ragged glass scrapes my bare arms as I wiggle into the small space. A trickle of warmth slides down my cold skin. I wipe it away and discover I’m bleeding. I’ll deal with it later. A baby bottle drips liquid on the floor, a crystal sun catcher rests on a splintered piece of wood, a pink purse is crammed between the broken dashboard and front seat—evidence of their normal life moments ago. Although we’re surrounded by chaos, there’s an eerie stillness in the car. The cab is compressed. I lean forward on my knees to get a better look at the mom. She’s pregnant. If I were a betting girl, I would say she was rushing to a hospital. The toddler looks too peaceful, and I can’t tell if he’s breathing because of the restraint straps on his little chest. I’m afraid to move him. I reach over and unlock his door, but before I try to open it, the odd flood of energy increases tenfold. It’s tangible and makes me double over. They’re going to die. I’m as sure of this as I am my own name. I don’t get the whole aura thing, but sure as fate, their light is dimming. They’re turning gray. My heart squeezes painfully, and the sides of the car close in on me. Deep breaths, Tessa. This isn’t happening. The car isn’t shrinking. Just another panic attack. Ten. Nine. Eight. Seven. Six. Five. You cannot pass out. You have to help these people. My fingers tingle and I follow my gut even though common sense tells me I’m wasting precious time. I should be peddling like an Olympian seeking real help. I sit back on my heels and gently place one hand on the toddler’s leg and one on the mother’s head. I don’t shy away from her warm blood oozing through my fingers. My eyes close. “Please, universe. Fix this,” I whisper as hot tears spring again. The pull increases and energy flows into me like wind through a tunnel. It’s filled with emotion, and swirls with tendrils of hope, love, and strength. It builds until I can’t contain it any longer. I’m the eye of the storm and the energy whips around me like a tornado until it forces its way through my hands and into the mother and toddler in a tidal wave of healing power. There’s an explosion of light. I think the car is on fire. A wolf howls in the distance. My world goes black. Mom’s voice is soothing, but the smell of antiseptic is an assault on my senses. “Quintessa, it’s time to wake up,” she whispers in her Irish brogue as her hand caresses my hair. “You did well. I am so proud of you.” Her use of my birth name worries me. It must be bad. My eyes flutter open. “There you are.” She gives me a sympathetic smile. “You're in the hospital, but you're going to be fine. How do you feel?” Before answering, I do a head-to-toe assessment. Nothing hurts. I rub my arm, expecting to find a cut, but there’s isn’t one. “I’m fine. I think. What happened?” “Someone heard your call for help on the radio.” Her smile falters. “What’s the last thing you remember?” There was a storm, a horrible accident, and the mom and toddler in the car. The walls threaten to close in on me. Why did I think I cut my arm? I wipe my forehead with the back of my hand. “It’s hot in here.” I throw the blankets off, sit up, and toss my legs over the edge of the bed. “Hang on, Tess.” “I need air.” The television in the corner and the one window in the room pass me three times before I slam my eyes shut. It feels like someone’s sitting on my chest and I can’t breathe. “Deep, slow breaths, Tessa. You’re safe. Come on. Lie down.” Mom puts a cool hand on my forehead. Her touch always grounds me when I get like this. It pulls me out of my head and back to reality. The three-hundred-pound invisible weight finally floats away. “The mom and her toddler, please tell me they’re okay.” “They're fine, sweetie. You saved them both. Actually, you saved all three. The mother delivered her baby on the way to the hospital. Do you remember how you saved them?” “I remember unlocking the toddler’s door.” And I had a panic attack. A memory dangles outside my reach. “Did I hit my head?” “If you did, there’s no lump to prove it.” Concern is etched on Mom’s face. “I remember something else, a light or an explosion of some sort. There was a fire.” “There wasn’t a fire. I got here as quick is I could,” says Dad as he walks in the room, dressed in his fireman uniform. “She hit her head?” Technically he’s my stepdad but he’s the only dad I’ve ever known. Mom takes a deep breath and shakes her head. “Huh.” He frowns. “You okay, kid?” “Yeah, I’m okay.” Nothing’s broken but my brain. I claw through my memories of the incident. When I touch my arm, the heaviness returns. I’m certain of one thing. My mind is hiding the truth.