Eye of the Hurricane
“So you’re some kind of wind magician?” I asked, astounded that I’d even suggested magic was real. And yet when I said it, I knew I was on the right track.
Over the past few weeks, I’d seen more and more things that just seemed out of the ordinary in a way that went beyond normal human weirdness. Even a place like the Vegas Strip had its limits for the odd and unexplained. What I’d seen recently was more… supernatural.
Baird took a step toward me, closing the distance. “No, Aella,” he said, gripping the jumpsuit bunched at my hips and pushing it down. “I am the wind.”
He wrapped his arms around me and picked me up, and in one smooth motion, he spun us and leaped off the ledge overlooking Las Vegas.
I yelped in surprise, clinging to him when I realized we had just dived off the Stratosphere without a fucking harness.
“I’ve got you,” he said as we plummeted.
“Yeah, but who the fuck has you?” I blurted, my voice pitched close to panic, then broke into hysterical laughter when I realized I’d just channeled Lois Lane. My secret admirer was fucking Superman.
A snapping noise like sails in the wind hit my ears and I opened my eyes again, but instead of the sky behind Baird’s shoulder, there was a pair of enormous wings feathered in shades of deep gray and striped with white. They beat with slow, strong strokes, and the wind cascaded across my back as we rose higher into the air, soaring away from the Stratosphere and over the Las Vegas Strip.
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