Damsel[ed] Rescue Required

a

of the worn-blue nylon. You can pick him out immediately， even in the gush of nervous people， excited people， people rushing back and forth， packed together like playing cards. He

rginia is for lovers“， but Starlight is a chunk of Virginia， so I don“t know if it“s okay or not. I even bought Heaven a Galaxy plushie and I give

ugly thoughts， all at once. Owl“s complex. My prison. The cage. And before I even approach the boy I have begun to shiver， warmth seeping through my skin， like the heat of the

his happy， cute thing? Do they know she“s only

the walls. Cuts right through all the white noise. My

egun to creep into me. You are what you look. I try to laugh. "Yeah， yeah. New kid!" I wave wild

its contents all over the floor. He stumbles a little， struggles to push the bag over his shoulder， apologizing in

s， drawings in plastic sleeves， drawings held together with strips of tape. Pencil-drawn， oil-painted， chalk-etched. He blushes when I pick

his face. His skinny jeans are splattered with paint. His collar is flipped up， his shirt half-tucked. And mos

head. "Ga

cows a little， and then straightens up， his eyes going round. A sm

re Grayso

an." The Grayson kid clears condenstation from the window， glancing out at the city lights on his tip-toes. "It“s amazing，" he breathes. "Just—wow. Thank yo

ke Angel. I glan

question before I need to say it. "A

Fal

ere“s a second of quiet. We

experime

w， his half smile smal

s， I roll my eyes. You know what makes someone nervous? Being jumped in yo

t and his white-blonde side-swept hair loose. I bet the Shiro kid is already puzzling over Storm“s alter-ego， though we haven“t had an adult hero in years. "I don“t think we“ve been properly introduced. I“m Storm，

nd I don“t know what I should think about it， if anything at all， I just know it

"I“m sure he“ll

een kidnapped， but chances are， he“s alr

Isn“t this

just Angel“s replacement. And if that

away. I lift my cap， showing off my own personal parlor trick. "If y

*

av

go away. But as soon as the phone call shuts off， the knot in my stomach is back， tightening as Poison tugs the black silk ribbon behind my ears. I

ost town. A ghost town Poison keeps asking me if I remember， which I don“t. The only familiar element about it is the silver luxury car idling at the end of the road. "They were g

is skin is hot. My face is flushing. "Don“t freak out，" h

“s t

op. The only movement comes from the car. The small figure landing hard from the passenger side. The lanky， Poison-s

loud as Angel. "But whatever， don“t we have to ge

ds I sacrificed everything for. Poison catches my drift and yanks me through

in my friends， that I might be acting out of grief， that only weeks ago he called me a "prize." See， I know that to him， stealing me onto his side will prove his worth to Fallout， I know that“s why he “loves“

e sees Angelos and Gats. Not a person， just a means to an end. But that doesn“t stop the chemical flood. Do

n in black hoods， the cigarette smoke filled room， the cast iron tables. You“d think the masked guests would be up to no good， or at least enjoying themselves， b

haps a little too loudly， "how many Sy

ngel“s all sweaty， his hair stringy and half-drenched in grease. He whirls around and points at me. "Heaven!" His eyes light up. He smiles a crooked， boyish smile.

do want to talk. I do want to grab some coffee and ramen. Figure everything else. I pull my hand out of Poison“

， I want

owing. "Seems you“ve stepped into the vip

by people in black. The woman behind the mic knocks b

os fl

more like a punch in the dignity. I am an

msy mask， trembling， exhausted， so love-struck and in

sh will b

*

late chapte