Leigh

Pushing the chest press bar upwards, I counted, my words echoing around the small gym in the Squadron attic. "Twenty-eight... Twenty-nine... Thirty."

I grunted as the bar hit the cradle. As I sat up panting, the number kept repeating in my head. Thirty. Thirty. Thirty. Thirty days since Keira had been taken. A month without a word. More than four weeks of not knowing if she was dead or alive. And I was the only one that seemed to feel the effects of her absence.

Pop was almost never around. He was in and out on Squadron business, muttering darkly in the war room with Sentinel. Noah had suddenly turned into Dr. Strange, spending hours meditating outside, inside, on the roof, in our bathroom. He'd even taken to wearing a long cloak made of rough cloth, as if he needed to appear any weirder, and the girl with the striped wings, Masque, seemed to hover around him like his guru.

Neither of Pop nor Noah were waking up at night, covering in sweat, screaming Keira's name. They didn't struggle to eat because their guts were constantly twisted in a knot with worry. No one else was walking around as if half their soul was missing.

I'd hoped that once we'd chosen our call names, we'd be deployed, off to bust Keira out of wherever she was being kept. Instead, there'd been unending waiting. Every day, I woke up to more nothing. I tried to keep busy; I worked out, I cooked for everyone, I watched the news. But layered beneath my activity was a beating pulse of fear that I might not see ever see her again.

I missed her. Not just as my girlfriend, but as my best friend. I longed for our conversations that ran for hours about everything and nothing. The way she'd laugh at my jokes, even the unfunny ones. I pined for her scent and her smile.

When I lay in bed at night, struggling to sleep, I'd torment myself with thoughts of regret. If I'd never kissed her, she never would have been forced to choose between Noah and me. If she didn't have to choose, she wouldn't have left. If she hadn't left, she'd still be safe with us. My fault. My fault. I needed to put it right, save her and bring her home – and I'd never be able to rest for a moment until that happened.

In the empty gym, I wandered over to the punching bag. Donning a pair of light gloves, I pounded the solid mass of the bag, making it swing back and forth. Each punch was for Keira, each harder than the next, aimed at whoever was keeping her. Given the chance, I'd fly in like an avenging archangel, bringing fire down upon her captors, spearing into the heart of their organisation. I had the image clear in my head; Keira rushing towards me, her face bright, and the two of us soaring free and into the future.

Unless she's already dead, whispered a sibilant voice from the basement inside me where I kept my darkest fears. Unless you're too late and she's gone forever.

"No!" Screaming through my frustration, I whirled around, using the momentum of my strong leg to boot the bag, pouring out all of my angst into the kick. The chains connecting the bag to the ceiling groaned as the bag swung away, then the links slipped and the bag crashed to the floor, thumping like a dead body as it landed.

"Impressive."

I turned to the voice at the door. "Noah, what do you want?"

My brother stepped into the gym, his stupid cloak fluttering loosely around his ankles. "I've never seen you utilise your martial arts training before."

"That's because you used to say that hand-to-hand combat was the rat hole of savage men without the intellect to logically dissolve their problems." I remembered it clearly, because it hurt. I'd purchased a series of online karate lessons, and my progress had been quick. Kung Fu had been even more natural in my body, and Pop had taught me to spar, a throwback from his youth.

But Noah hadn't wanted anything to do with physical pursuits. Now, I scoffed, "I guess learning all of that stuff wasn't such a waste of time, was it?"

"On the contrary – I hope you find it a useful skill in the field."

Frustration building at his placid tone, I said, "You should go. I'm not in a good mood, Noah."

"Isn't it best that we use our call names, Cobbe?"

"Code names are for wings on missions, not grounded, useless emus. I'm not Cobbe until I'm actually on my way to rescuing Keira, on a real mission."

Cranky, I twisted away and picked up the heavy punching bag, my swollen muscles bulging with the weight as I reattached it to the ceiling. Everything sucked. It sucked that we were grounded at the moment, because the Squadron didn't risk 'joy flights' from their secure locations. It sucked more that Noah was acting all zen and mystical when I was falling apart mentally.

I suck most of all. Even hearing my call sign made me cringe. I'd chosen it because I'd known about its origins from my work as a vet; a cob was a male swan, and those birds were badass. They might have looked pretty and calm, but mess with them and they'd take you down. Swans also mated for life – once they chose a partner, they were together forever. The origin of the word cob was from Middle English, which meant 'Great Leader,' and at the time I'd chosen a variation of the word to identify myself, it had seemed right on every level, a declaration that I was a leader not to be trifled with, loyal to the woman he loved.

Now, the call sign only served as a reminder of my utter impotence in this situation. "Seriously, man," I said, facing Noah, "how can you be so freaking calm?"

"You're referring to Keira's ongoing predicament?"

"Her kidnapping. Her imprisonment. Don't downplay it. What's wrong with you?" I stalked towards him, needing to be angry at someone in front of me rather than just faceless forces in the wind. Getting up in his personal space, I said, "Why aren't you moody and dark? You're grounded too, your head should be just about to burst, we don't know where Keira is, and even if we did, we have no idea who she would choose. Did you stop caring? Or did Jesus appear to you in a Pop-tart and tell you that everything is gonna be just peachy?"

Dropping Jesus casually into a sentence was always enough to trigger him. I waited for fiery words and wrath.

Neither came. Noah shrugged and spread his hands open, palms up. "I have discovered a new level of my consciousness. It allows me to care, while keeping myself above petty insults."

"Goddammit, Noah!" I screamed, blind rage pouring out like lava in every direction. "She might be dead! And it's our fault! I need you to care! I need you to be my brother, to be normal for once instead of a different shade of freak! I need, I need..." Letting out a bellow of utter anguish, I turned away, stalking to the nearest wall and punching it. My hand punctured the plaster, leaving a fist-shaped hole, and I pulled my arm back gearing up to do the same again.

A hand caught my elbow. Noah held me back from striking again. I stared at the contact between us; Noah's touch was rarer than dodos. Softly, he said, "I believe an apology might be in order."

"I'm not apologising to the wall."

"Not you, Leigh. Me." Noah's dark eyes connected with mine, and rather than the angst and blackness that usually lurked there, I saw empathy. "I'm sorry I am unable to be the brother you need. Other brothers probably know the right things to say, other brothers hug and laugh and chat. Other brothers have the capacity to offer friendship. I'm not that brother, and I'm sorry for it."

Hot tears flooded my eyes, blurring Noah from my vision. For my entire childhood, it was all I'd wanted, just a normal brother. In my teens, I'd wished that he was normal – forget the brother part. I never thought he understood what it was that I wanted, and the notion that he'd known all along that he wasn't enough for me broke my already fractured heart. "Noah, you don't have to be sorry for who you are."

"I do love you, Leigh. In as much as I understand love, a biological response designed to bind humans in to small family packs for the benefit of evolution-"

"Dude. I love you too."

Awkwardly, he extended his arms for an embrace, but I knew he wouldn't be comfortable being hugged, so I shook his hand instead, clasping my left over our intertwined fingers. "One day," I said, "you gotta explain to me where this new zen has come from."

"Not now. I'm supposed to tell you, they need you in the war room."

Fire shot through me and the room seemed to grow sharper as my eyesight focused in anticipation. "The war room? This has to be it. Finally."

Swift as a hummingbird wing, I towelled off and pulled on a shirt around my wings. Muttering as I dressed, I said, "I swear, if they aren't sending me out on a rescue mission like right now, I'm out."

"Out of..."

Noah followed me as I powered down the stairs. I said, "Out of here, out of Squadron. I'm not sitting around this house any longer, waiting for orders."

"That's not logical, Leigh."

"I mean it, Noah." I strode along the corridor towards the war room, blood rapid in my veins. "I'm going to get her, and I don't care if I have to join the other side to make sure she's safe."

"Join the other side? You'd align yourself with evil?"

Noah's horrified tone caused me to spin and explain, "How do we know they're evil, Noah? We know nothing about them!"

"They're the enemy."

"Life isn't black and white, good and evil." I tried to express the thoughts that had been percolating inside me over the course of the month I'd spent waiting for action. "They're a government agency, so there has to be at least some non-evil procedures and protocols in place. Talon said they'd try to recruit Keira. Maybe they'll recruit me too if I put myself out there."

"You're making a joke."

"I'm not."

"They shot you."

"Maybe they think we're the dangerous ones. Look, all I'm saying is that we don't know anything, only what we've been told. I need to get inside their walls and see for myself."

"Brother, what if you find there is no freedom once you cross over? Why would you risk this?"

"Because I'd rather live a prisoner beside her than free without her!" I thundered, all of my grief pouring out in the spaces between my words.

The corridor fell silent. Noah's dark head bowed. "I understand. Whatever you decide, Leigh, I'll always support you."

"Thanks, Noah."

We padded quietly down to the next level, where the imposing wooden door of the war room awaited me.

"Godspeed, brother," said Noah, laying a hand on my shoulder.

God, Buddha, Vishnu, the Flying Spaghetti Monster – I'd take help from any deity around at this point. Smiling tightly at him, I knocked on the door.

"Enter," rumbled Sentinel's deep voice.

I stalked into the room, determined not to be intimidated by the sight of Sentinel, Talon, Pop and several other Squadron leaders sitting around the board table, their eyes focused on me. Flapping my wings out wide, I spoke, my voice high and clear. "Right. I have something to say. And you are all going to listen to me."

"Leigh Isaac Wright..." came Pop's warning tone.

Ignoring him, I blustered on. "I've been sitting around this bird cage for a month, and I'm done, do you hear me? You either send me out on a mission right now, this very night – or I go out into the world and make sure that the other side finds me, because I'd rather join up with them than waste another moment with a bunch of feathered wimps who run and hide and leave people to rot."

As my words echoed around the room and faded away, I stared at their faces, waiting for an apology and the promise of immediate mission clearance. I couldn't have been more shocked when Pop said mildly, "Well, Leigh, if that's how you feel, perhaps you should go. We feathered wimps wouldn't want to hold you back, after all."

***

A couple of hours later, I sat with a bottle of vanilla vodka on the top of a war monument in the nearest city, drinking deeply and singing loudly. The monument was a large obelisk, but mercifully, the top was flat rather than ending in the traditional point. I was about five storeys off the ground, and I flapped my wings merrily as I launched into a raucous rendition of 'It Sucks to be Me' from Avenue Q.

Beneath me, a small group of teen boys had been graffitting one of the walls surrounding the monument. They'd wandered over when they'd noticed me, and after just staring for a while, one of them called up, "Hey, man? How did you get up there?"

Swigging deeply, I wiped my lips and replied, "Took the bus."

"For real," yelled another kid. "Are you one of them Parkour dudes?"

"And what's with the wings? Are you the tooth fairy?" They cackled among themselves.

I ignored them and kept signing. Standing up, I began to wander around the edge of the obelisk, my feet perilously close to carrying me over.

From below, I heard a kid say, "This guy's nuts. I'm gonna live stream this business in case he falls or somethin'."

I saw him aim the phone up at me, and he yelled, "Hey, dude? What are you doing up there?"

"What am I doing? I'm waiting for a job offer!" Perching on the very edge of the obelisk, I said, "My own kind are a bunch of pansies – I'm done with the Squadron, done with all of them. Anyone else who wants to hire me, they can come and get me!"

For another half an hour, I bellowed my way through inappropriate show tunes (The Book of Mormon, always a good choice), my singing echoing out into the night air. By now, a small crowd had gathered below, some of them shouting up not to jump, some of them daring me to. Police had arrived on the scene, and they used a megaphone to try and hail me, but I sang louder and began to dance wildly, veering from edge to edge, causing the crowd to gasp.

It wasn't until I saw the black cars arrive and the men in non-descript suits emerge that I made my next move. Draining the bottle, I hurled it high and away, yelling, "You want to know how I got up here? Same way I'm getting down!"

Leaping from the monument, I snapped my wings taunt, sailing over the heads of the crowd and catching the bottle. In large, showy circles, I orbited the obelisk as I descended. Alighting on the foot of the monument, I bowed deeply, and the stunned crowd broke out into cheers.

"How did he do that?"

"Are those wings for real?"

"They can't be – he must be on wires."

Several girls ran over and took selfies with me, but the police were close behind them. "Young man, come with us, right now."

"Sure." Smirking, I let them lead me through the cheering crowd towards the squad cars.

But before they could toss me inside, a woman in a white lab coat approached. "Excuse me, officer, I have your superior on the phone."

"The captain?" The cop took the cell phone, puzzled.

"A little higher up than him, I'm afraid."

The cop spoke on the phone, white-faced and clearly dealing with some senior member of government, while I studied the older woman. She had a lined face, and a very distinctive hunch on her back under her coat - a hunch I knew very well.

When the cop handed back the phone to her, he was stuttering. "Uh, o-okay, this guy is yours."

"Thank you, kindly." She beckoned two of the men beside a black car to come forward and escort me into the vehicle.

I smirked as I hopped inside. "Nice," I said, admiring the interior of the Chrysler.

"Glad you find it to your liking." The lady in the white coat perched next to me, a thin smile on her face. The car pulled out into the night, and she said, "I'm Dr. Sevic. I hear you're looking for a job."

"Nice to meet you, Doc," I said jauntily. "I am indeed seeking gainful employment."

"And might I know your name?"

Grinning, I shook her hand. "Please. Call me Cobbe."

Okay, weigh in - would you still love Leigh if he went dark?  Have you ever wanted to punch a wall?  Have you ever felt like waiting for something to happen might actually drive you insane?  Please click me a vote before you go - I'm working on something new at the moment, so I work on Feather Dark when I need a break, and the more people interested, the more time I spend on this book. xxoo Kate