WINGS MOUNTAIN
I flip the page of my novel and look up Ainsley who has just approached my table. "I'm beginning to think you're stalking me."
Ainsley raises her eyebrows. "I'm beginning to think you're pretending to like all the things I like to have a reason to be in all the places I enjoy."
I grin. "Do you want to sit down?"
The tall, dark haired french woman pulls out a chair and lowers herself into it. "What's that you're reading?"
I lift the book revealing the back cover. "Myths of France."
"Ah? Interesting. Learned anything?"
I shake my head and use my left hand to brush my bangs out of my eyes. "Alas, no. This chapter's on gargoyles. Same old, same old."
"What does it say?"
"That they were made as rainspouts and also guardians of architecture."
"Ah. Nothing intriging then?"
"Not really."
I love to listen to Ainsley pronunciate her words. Her accent is, very plainly put, sex. The woman is simply stunning. She is tall, lightly tanned and veluptuosly built. I take a chance.
"Ainsley are you... Are you...?"
"Yes?"
"Gay?"
The edge of her mouth lifts. "Are you?"
"Yes."
She smiles. "I know."
I laugh, sort of embarassed, but relieved to not be bluntly refused by her. "Do you want some coffee?"
"Ah... No. Actually it's getting rather late. I'd better go. I need to get home."
"Can I walk you out?"
"Alright."
I tuck my novel under my arm and step outside with her. It's a beatuiful night in Paris and the moon is full. Ainsley walks tall and proud, like a graceful creature.
"Do you want to go somewhere?" she asks me.
I blink up at her. "What?"
"Would you want to?"
"I thought you had to get home," I ask.
She glances up at the swoosh of colors across the setting sky. "I'll chance it."
"Then yeah," I say. "That'd be cool."
She offers me her hand and I take it without question, surprised by the progression of the evening. Yes. I have an incredibly attraction to her. But it's mutual? Hmm.
"Come on," she says.
We make our way through down the street towards the tram station I'd taken to get here from my hotel. The streets are quiet save for the few French couples chatting outside of the evening cafes.
"Where are we going?" I ask her, casually.
"Mmm," she responds, as we turn the corner, down an empty street. "Somewhere quiet. I need to talk to you."
I'm about to prod and ask her what about when a sudden noise gets us both turning around, scanning the creeping darkness.
I feel her the grasp of her fingers get tighter and we continue on our walk. But then, a little farther down, as we appraoch god knows what, on our stroll to god knows where, I heard the sound of scrapping and then a hissing noise from behind me.
"Okay," I say, whipping around, "what the HELL was that?"
Ainsley catches my shoulders and looks at the symbol danging on a chain between my breasts. "Jolie, you're a Cherida?"
I nod, confused. "My mother's maiden name..."
"Of course." She grasps my arm and I realize we've made it to the park. She pulls me behind a tree and I feel the hint of fear. But I'm also increasingly interested. "Listen," she says, "Things are about to get rather surreal. I need you to trust me."
"Um," I reply.
"Do you trust me?"
"Yes. Should I?"
"Promise me you won't scream or make a scene."
I tilt my head to one side. "Um... What's...?"
Another noise comes from the direction of the graveyard behind the hill at the end of the park. It sort of sounds like crumbling stone, or something really heavy being dragged across marble.
"Promise me!"
I bite my lip. "Okay, I promise."
Ainsley flips her red coat open and pulls out a pistol and I gasp. I mean, what else can I do? I watch her jump out from the tree just as three large, wretched body creeps top the hill and come lurching towards us. Urchins. Tall grey skinned creatures. Humanoid, but too, very reptile. And they run, coming right at us. I hunch back and Ainsley fires once, glancing a shot off the closest one's shoulder.
"What's going on?" I hiss, hiding, "What ARE those things?"
"Stone wenches."
"What?"
She fires again as one nears us and it explodes into the things chest, releasing a shower of concrete dust. Bits of it fall into the grass and pelt the others, chipping at their skin, if that's even what you'd call the stuff. The one behind it leap frogs right over Ainsley and stands like a foot away from me. I yelp and toss my book at it. And damn if it doesn't grin, it's gray face spreading into a dark smile, it's teeth just a steel-colored as the rest of it. Then, too my horror, I watch another one form out of the sidewalk.
"Oh my GOD," I squeak, "What do they want?"
"You to die." She aims at the new one and hits it between it's beady, carved eyes, shattering it. A reflex pistol shot destroys the other one, and naturally, two new ones form in the places, oozing up out of the ground like rising lava. "Come on, if we stay here they'll surround us."
Linking hands once more, the Frenchwoman pulls me out of the park, down the sidewalk, back towards the suburban park of Paris. I feel so small compared to her sturdy, built figure. I don't date let go of her hand, very scared and very confused.
"Where do we go?" I pant, "What are THEY?"
"Stone creatures," she responds.
We reach a clearing and without any pause, dozens of creatures rise out of the street and begin to lunder towards us.
"Fuck! There's dozens of them! Why isn't anyone calling the police!?"
"No one can see them but us."
"What!?"
Ainsley shoots a couple of times but it doesn't affect them enough to keep it up. "I'll explain that later." She sheathes it and takes a deep breath. "Hold onto me Jolie."
I make an effort to grasp her waist from behind but she turns me, yanking me up so I'm straddling her waist, my arms around her neck.
"Hold on," she demands.
With a loud ripping noise, two magnificatly huge wings tear out of Ainsley's houlder and grow to a surprising size. Then, without so much as three beats, we're flying, zipping into the sky, the wind tearing my hair out of my band and forcing me to clamp my eyes shut as I bury my face in my savior's neck.
We soar for a while and, at least, I feel some kind of stability with the strong arms of Ainsley around me, holding me tightly. It feels strange to have my legs around in her in such a manner, but it wasn't nearly as weird as other things. But... it was much easier to focus on that and the fact that she smells really amazing and I have butterflies...Than anything else. Because the sight of her wings is making my mind reel. And I feel kind of like I'm losing it. My mind, I mean.
So I focus on her solid form and her scent and how lovely it feels to be in her arms. I think about whether or not she will kiss me. In the back of my mind I have the irratating thought of being totally stupid and girly at a moment where I should be screaming and panicing. But I ignore it. Who cares, right? I would still kiss her. She like saved my life... I would totally kiss her.
Sometime later Ainsley's feet skid the ground of an elevated ledge and she brings us down smoothly and helps me to stand on my own.
"We're too far from architecture," Ainsley pronunciate liquidly, "We should be safe here for now. Are you doing okay?"
I look up at her then, at her curly dark hair, and her broad shoulders, and her well filled out blouse. And the wings. Fuck. I lose it. "Seriously?" I look around, realizing we're on a high cliff far outside of town, only the twinkling lights in the distance providing a hint of settlement. There's a cave just behind us, and smooth highland rock all around. I stare down at the many feet of nothingness between me and sea level. "I need to know what's going on."
Ainsley touches my shoulder. "I saved you."
"From WHAT exactly? God, I thought you were hot and I was into you and I thought we were going on a date and... Ainsley you have fucking WINGS. You do realize this don't you?"
She grimaces. "Yes I realize."
"Well it's not normal so I'm kind of freaking out."
With practiced precision and intensely moderated calmness, Ainsley pulls her wings in, making them disappear into the dips between her spine and shoulder blades. Then she stretches. "I'm sorry."
"What ARE you?"
"A woman."
"Other than that."
She licks her lips. "I'm a member of the Saviors of The Chiseled Godess, or," she says a really interesting latin word.
I stare at her. "Which means?'
"I'm a gargoyle."
I gape. I know it's unattractive, but I gape. "What? A GARGOYLE? But gargoyles are those stone things. Those horribley ugly creatures on buildings."
"Well am I horribley ugly?"
"No," I say. "You're probably the most beautiful woman I've ever seen."
"Ever?"
I narrow my eyes. "Don't act so proud."
"I'm sorry. But you don't want to hear the full story do you?"
"I do."
She inhales slowly. "I'm a GARGOYLE Jolie. I'm a protector. It's a term. I am not a rainspout. I belong to a clan that serves and protects the descendents of the original sculptors and artists. It orginates around the time of Pygmallion. Our group is to protect the children of this grand sculptor and his creation."
"Okay," I said, "But what does that have to do with me?"
"Mmm, the lineage has been traced to a small family living in South Carolina."
"My family..."
"Yes."
"My mother..."
"A Cherida."
"She dies this past summer."
"Yes. Or she would have never have let you come here."
I blink. "She knows."
"Of course. That's why you lived in a clapboard beach town."
"Oh." I take it in small sips. "So what about those things?"
"They are souls lost in the destruction of art pieces over the years. The beings trapped within the sculptours and prints and paintings. They are mindless and only exist to destroy their soul provider. The reason they travel the planet endlessly."
"Can you kill them?"
She shakes her head. "No. They exist as long as their pieces are lost and unaccounted for. They sense your prescense especially around large building, architecture and within the heart of artist cities."
I take a deep breath. "Did you know who I was? When you first met me, I mean?"
"I was immediatly attracted to you. But no, I only suspected. It was tonight when I found you read the..."
I gasp. "The book on gargoyles."
"Yes. And I knew if you were a Cherida the wenches would come out tonight with a full moon."
"The full moon?"
"The muse directly entertwines with Gaii, the mood godess, and the souls of the artwork travel unhindered this night."
"Oh."
"I do not believe we should risk taking you back into the city tonight," she tells me, looking at the cityscape, glistening far off, before her.
"This is so...surreal," I return, running a hand through my hair. "You have wings and I'm a descendent of Pygmallion and reanimated, personified souls of ruined and lost artwork are out to kill me."
"Not to mention," Ainsley continues, "you lost your book." She laughs lightly. "And our date was ruined."
"Well," I say, "We did go somewhere."
"Mmm."
"Can I see your wings?"
"Why?"
I step to her and although she stands a half a foot taller than me, I put my hands on her shoulders. "Because my mind refuses to accept that they are real."
Caught momentarily in her eyes I wait. The golden glimmer of Ainsley's irises twinkles and then, proudly, she lifts her chin and stands straight, looking out at the sky. Then, slowly, she allows her wings to fold out from her back again, and spread to their full fifteen foot wingspan. I take in their size, their blackness, their terrifying strength. Their existance.
"Oh my...God."
"Does it scare you?"
I swallow, my heart pounding. "I'm having more trouble now believing it than before."
"Touch them."
I walk around behind her and marvel at her shoulder blades, where, between them sprout the bases of her gorgeous ebony wings.
"This is too much..."
Ainsley stretches her wings out further and I step back, overwhelmed.
"I am so in over my head here," I murmur. I reach out and touch the shaft of her left wing, stroking the length of it, going with the flow of the feather lays. "Can you feel that?"
She sighs. "I can feel it all through me."
"This is absolutely amazing. I can't..." I run my hands all along the lengths of them. "Absolutely...amazing..."
XXX
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