Ariana clanked to a jolting halt as she wheeled in trays of sterilized equipment for the morning customer prep. The neon “Closed” sign still glinted along with streaks of moonlight, shadows from the building across the street mimicking elongated parapets. An incandescent bulb burned next to the brick wall covered with flash art intermixed with canvas prints of the shop’s best American traditional and geometric work. It wasn’t enough lighting to see the latest new school addition to the wall clearly.
It was exactly enough lighting to see moonlit tears streaming down her boss’ cragged face from ancient eyes that had seen too much. The same face that had weathered the loss of Constantinople along with the torture and evisceration of his family, if Diana was to be believed.
Ariana was still coming to terms with how her life had changed in the past two months. But she hadn’t changed enough to walk away from someone in need.
“Boss?” He didn’t respond, but his fingers twisted upon a handheld speaker clenched between long, thin fingers. An acapella soprano evoked teasing promises through the airwaves before leading into a haunting wordless melody. “Haugh?”
He turned away then, and she realized he must have come down from the loft above the shop. He wasn’t the type to show off his physique or scars, and – again, if Diana was to be believed – his tattoos served a functional purpose. The realism of the hawk wings made it easy to succumb to what must be a fantasy, the delusion of a woman whose eyes had also seen too much.
“You’re in early.” His voice was rough and low, barely carrying over the woman’s mournful song.
She shrugged, knowing he couldn’t see it. She wasn’t about to tell him that the midnight downpour had leaked through her cheap apartment’s roof again. “I like being early.”
“This song,” he muttered. “Impossible. Sophia created this song. I was the only one she sang this for, before she died. This sounds exactly as she sang it.”
“It wasn’t done yet, she said.” He threw the speaker, which rolled unharmed to the locked glass door. The melody continued.
She shifted her weight, hands still on the cart’s handle. “Maybe she recorded it and you didn’t notice?”
He barked a laugh and rested his elbows on his knees. The wings rippled – more than a twitch of muscles should have, but she was ignoring that as hard as she could – before growing still. “They didn’t have that technology then.”
Ariana had no idea what to say, so settled for rocking upward onto her toes, a nervous habit her mother had never drummed out of her. “Um…”
The woman’s song stopped, and said something in that musical language, her tone laughing.
Haugh turned only his head, long grey-streaked black hair shining as he turned. His jaw was stiff and furious. A wordless cry erupted from his mouth, and golden light filled the room with it.
Blinking away spots of light, Ariana stared at the tray, rubbed the bridge of her nose, and wondered for the thousandth time if this job was too good to be true. And if her bosses were as harmless as she thought. Fear and gratitude had kept her silent until now, that and the lack of a plan. But she could get another job. Somewhere. They owed her a reference to counter the last hag’s lies, jealousy ginned up as an excuse to fire her.
She opened her mouth, ready to say the words, “I quit.” The words died in her throat as Ariana looked up.
Haugh’s wings were real, burst forth from shoulders even more powerful than they’d previously seemed, glistening, grey-streaked black under the neon moonlight.
***
This week’s prompt challenge came from nother Mike: As he/she listened to the radio playing a song that it could not be playing, tears rolled down his/her face…
My prompt went to Leigh Kimmel: A duel of hissing electric eels.
Are changes afoot for More Odds Than Ends? Come find out – and join in, if you’re so inclined!
