Niala-6

I didn't see Gaff for the rest of the evening. I assumed he'd been told off again and was avoiding me. Either that or they made fun of him enough that he was too ashamed to look me in the eye. I liked him well enough, at times, in my own way—I guessed. Maybe my mind would change when my fires came? Something had changed, though. I didn’t like it. Gaffriel was the closest to my age and the one that our elders pushed me towards. Unfortunately, he was related to too many people in the flock, and his dating pool lacked diversity. The pressure also went the other way, though, for going after a boy with more connections for the flock. I didn't want to think of it; my time would come. Kiromir's hadn't come yet, and nobody heckled him too badly.

I found Kiromir out with the men tending the fire pit. We rarely cooked on it, and the cold didn't bother us much, but something about burning wood to mask the smoke of whatever they smoked comforted me. I spent a good deal of time as a kid trying to hunt down 'cabbage skunks' before someone finally told me what they were smoking. Gaff and I had snuck a joint once and found it to be cloying and the high to not be as rewarding as we'd have thought. Kiromir caught us, of course. He was good like that. He made Gaff and me spin in circles until we threw up. I hadn't really had a taste for it since. He kicked Yarrick's ass for leaving his stash where we could find it, but Thanus thought it had been hilarious. We never lived it down.

The flickering light cast shadows on their shapes, and the hushed conversation went silent when I showed up. On cue, they bustled about to make room for me in the circle.

"We're going to have to delay heading out. We have a job," Kiromir told me. I sighed heavily.

For the past year or two, they'd been dragging me along on their jobs. They hoped it would start my fires. Though, everyone started watching me closer of recent. Maybe they knew something I didn’t.

"What are we doing?" I pushed myself up atop one of our picnic tables to sit cross-legged and stared expectantly.

"Young girls, trafficking," Dimal said with distaste. I knew immediately what would be expected of me.

If it didn’t show on my face, people could tell by the spike of my aura. "I don't have to dress up, do I?"

"Nah. You're probably too old for this lot." Kiromir blanched as a grim look spread between them. Anything involving kids made him bristle hard.

"So, what's the plan?" I felt the vindications boiling beneath my skin. Anything that upset Kiromir upset me.

"Go in, snap the neck of every John in the place and convince the girls they haven't seen a damn thing," Thanus said. I liked Thanus's plans.

"Well, with a little more tact than that, I'd hope." Kiromir winced as he thumbed through his phone and showed us a picture of a reasonably well-put-together man.

"This the target? Dead or Alive?" I knew the answer before I asked.

"Preferably dead. This guy's Teflon for charges. Money's come by way of the federal branch," Kiromir said. Sour looks crossed the faces of the gathering men, and a collective groan spread.

Federal jobs were the worst jobs. When the government got involved, things got messy. It was an oversight of justice, policy, and something so far out of control that they could do nothing else. The perversions of justice that needed to be undertaken were just a highlight of a failing system.

"Gaff coming?" I worried about him in my own way. I didn't want to necessarily be close to him at the moment, but he stuck in my mind.

"No. He's too wild for this one. Can't trust him after the last muck up," Thanus said.

There were a few mumbles of agreement. Gaff was clumsy. He'd grown so fast the past two years that he always miscalculated his steps or reached for things only to knock them over. I wasn't there for whatever happened on the last mission, but the men hadn't stopped giving him grief over it since.

Krell, a boy a few years older than me that had recently started giving me sidelong glances, averting his eyes. His expression went grave and stern, wanting to say something but not wanting to upset the balance. He worked with Gaff a lot recently. I caught them sparring behind the barracks a few times. Krell looked attractive in his own way, with sharp features and darker skin like a golden pastry. His lips were thin, but everything about him was golden brown, from his eyes to his hair and wings. I hadn't been looking at him like I looked at Gaff, though.

Maybe I have a thing for gingers?

No, you don't have a thing for anyone—eyes on the prize.

They liked bringing me along when they could. Where Kiromir could exude fear from his aura, I could make people forget. It wasn't a powerful Aura, all things considered. If I were focused, I could make my own kind ignore me for a few minutes, but with humans, I could completely block out my existence if I tried. So, I could be helpful in that regard. I had been going with them for a few years now.

"What's the cut like?" one of the men asked, a steely-haired man named Rylan.

"Ten grand for each of us. Twenty-five for Niala, a hundred to the flock, and twenty for me for brokering," Kiromir said.

I didn't argue over my larger cut. I was younger and needed to bolster my savings to start my life. Everyone under eighteen got a more considerable amount. Money for us flowed like water. Nobody argued my cut, either. They knew I put my fair share of work in and that my aura worked better for these kinds of missions.

Grumbles passed through the men.

"Why does the flock get 100? Aren't our coffers full?" Rylan asked.

"We have repairs this year, land taxes. Prices are going up, and we have to distribute some money to those who don't or can't hunt. So you're getting the lion's share when you look at it already," Dimal shot back.

"When are we heading out?"

"Get your gear on. Thirty minutes," Thanus said. I groaned heavily before slinking my way back to my barrack yet again. I desperately needed a little time to myself for some maintenance. My wings still needed scuffing, and I wasn't going to get a decent flight without it. I needed some wind beneath me; and with night on its way and the summer vacationers already starting to trickle in, I didn’t see it happening anytime soon. I hadn't flown in so long I felt pitched and feverish. My mood was definitely hair-triggered.

I swapped my shirt for another, one a little cleaner and intentionally cut. I had to wear Our equivalent of a sport's bra beneath it because the neckline went so low. The less I wore on my torso, the more comfortable I felt. If my wings needed to come out, the shirt wasn't going to last if anything got in the way. Fortunate, we were, as female people, not to be 'well-endowed' in that department.

I ditched my jeans in favor of a pair of cargo pants, black as night. They were due for a wash, but my gear was packed in it from a mission the day before. The Feds had called us out three times this week. The knees came padded already, flashlight stocked, pepper spray, a little money, and a spare shirt rolled up inside. I didn't need pepper spray often because of my aura, but it never hurt to throw salt in a wound when I got angry.

The least of all the things in my pockets was my knife. I pulled it from a leather sheath, gleaming in the light. Kiromir gave it to me, a hand me down from Lowak, Damascus steel, the old stuff. He gleaned and shaped from the shattered remnant of an ancient sword. I liked the patterns on it. It held an edge like nothing else I'd had. The tooth and gnarl of the blade reminded me of a tin opener. I liked the way it cut.

From the scruffings of my wings, I took a few of the nicer feathers. A knock on the door let it swing inward an inch. I hadn't closed it all the way. I heard Gaffriel clear his throat.

"Ni?" He asked; I heard reproach in his voice. At least he asked this time. I was still a little angry.

"Come on in. You're going to anyway." I started combing my hair. My short front locks were limp and in need of a good braiding. He stepped in and left the door open. It felt less like something inappropriate when a door stayed open. One of the barrack rules was that doors stay open when opposite gendered people were in a room. He never violated that rule.

"Just wanted to say I was sorry." He casually leaned by the door, watching me. I liked it when he went more direct, but I'd never tell him that. I just wanted to be asked.

"You always are." I had that anxious, angry feeling again.

"I mean it every time. I'm just trying to… I'm trying-." His fists were drawn at his sides and clenched. He always did that when he tried not to cry. It was a coping mechanism.

"Trying to spark my fire? Find out if I'll stick around here another year?" Every bit of that anxiety was coiling up in my belly tight like a fist.

Gaffriel averted his eyes. "I don't want you to go away."

"There’s better ways to do it.” I fidgeted with my hair’s feathers. He watched me with hesitation for a while. Then, finally, I found his hand reaching for mine to take over the weave. I wouldn’t ask for it, but he knew I needed the help. Even though I was mad at him, I surrendered the task. He had nimble fingers for someone so clumsy. His hazel eyes had a light of their own as he stared at his work. He beckoned for my knife and notched the feathers so they’d stick. My hair’s texture was different than their own; theirs were coarser and thicker. The same couldn’t be said for mine, gossamer fine, thin, but stiff. He knew it better than me sometimes. Gaffriel wove my hair for long after Kiromir said I had to start doing it on my own. It’s part of the reason I kept my hair cut short. In my memories, where I came from, women wore their hair impossibly long.

Gaff nodded and gave a soft noise when he’d finished, letting his hands linger on my hair. He loomed taller than me, broader. I hadn’t noticed. I spent so much time wrestling him to the ground that I didn’t have that perspective. It wasn’t so long ago we were the same lanky shape, evenly matched. He searched my eyes for something. I met his gaze, and a mask of confusion stared back at me. My cheeks grew hot, almost fevered. That knot burned in my gut, and I wanted to hit him.

“Your eyes are really dark.” His voice trailed soft. I glanced over at the mirror, and he was right. The pupil and iris were nearly indistinguishable.

I turned my head away. The moment felt close to something—strained. I felt like words were about to leave Gaff’s lips that I wasn’t ready for. The heat crept harder over my cheeks.

A confession?

No.

Gaffriel wasn’t that dumb.

Why is he doing this to me? Did I want to hear one? He knew I knew.

“Thanks.” My voice cracked a little as I said it, and a bare grin crossed his lips.

“Go on. There’s a mission tonight, and it's federal.” I wasn’t happy about it, and it showed.

“Glad they’re not inviting me, then.” His breath came in a sigh of relief and shame. Gaffriel needed to start earning something soon. He had hardly anything in his savings.

I left him there without a word more, just a wave, and set off to join the men. I moved a little too fast. With any luck, my blade would taste blood tonight. I needed something to get my mind off of his shape. This was one of those ‘geometry’ situations again.