Raincheck (4 page)

He shook himself mentally and tested his ability to move. Yep. All within working order. He’d always suspected the described weakness post-orgasm to be a myth. In fact, he felt energized, as if he could go out and tackle the world.

After a nap, of course.

He was in the process of turning away from the wall so that he could unfold his wings without obstruction when he noticed movement out of the corner of his eye and saw that David had reentered the living room area. He was dressed in a suit and had shaved; as Rodney watched, he gathered up the blueprints on the table and rolled them into a cardboard canister. He unplugged the flash drive from his laptop and pocketed it; obviously, this was some sort of business meeting tonight.

The idea that David was going out on business this late intrigued Rodney, and he remained where he was as David exited the apartment, his silhouette briefly outlined when David paused in the open door to turn off the lights. It had been easy to follow David on his late-night jogs, to glide silently from rooftop to rooftop, to monitor David’s progress on the streets and alleys below without being seen. Following him this evening would be a greater challenge.

What else do you have to do?

Rodney acknowledged the truth of his inner voice and watched as David came out of the Freemont to hail a cab. Fixing the vehicle in his sights, Rodney lifted himself into the air and rose with long, great strokes of his wings until he was well above the buildings, high enough that he wouldn’t readily be noticed from the streets, yet not so high that someone would scramble an Air Force fighter jet to check him out. The hard part, he realized, would be keeping his eye on the cab while still flying slow enough to track it through the busy evening traffic. The challenge would be good for him; he was spending too much time in his own head lately.

“‘The wind is rushing after us, and the clouds are flying after us, and the moon is plunging after us, and the whole wild night is in pursuit of us; but, so far we are pursued by nothing else’,” Rodney quoted Dickens to himself as he flew.

In the
end, it hadn’t proven to be as difficult as he’d thought it would be. People so seldom looked up, and if they heard the sibilant brush of his wings in passing, he had moved on before anyone could pinpoint the sound. The closest he’d come to being seen was when David had arrived at his destination. Rodney was just landing on the roof of the building where the cab had stopped; David was leaning in the window to pay the driver. When he straightened and began walking toward the entrance, he inexplicably looked up at the sky. Rodney had been forced to flatten himself against a ledge and try to look like part of the guttering. He’d released a sigh of relief when David gave a little shrug and went inside.

The ensuing wait had proven boring and, despite the fact that Rodney was good at waiting, he’d been tempted to leave after a few hours. At least on his own rooftop, he had his things: books to read, his little treasures to take out and admire. He liked to make up stories about them—the playbill, the crystal, a series of adventures for the people who lived in the snow globe. He sometimes pictured himself as an author with his book of stories displayed in the window of the little bookstore down the street from the Freemont. It was merely another one of his daydreams. Tonight, however, his usual imaginings failed to engage him. It was as though the pathway to his private world was overgrown and choked with weeds. Worse, though he knew he held the key to the locked garden door, tonight it scarcely seemed worth the effort.

You’re just feeling your age.

There hadn’t been much he could argue in that, and it struck him that it was as good a reason as any for not going back to the perch one day. It was a sobering thought.

When David finally came out of the building, it was with the jaunty step of a man who was very pleased with his world, and Rodney assumed that the meeting had gone well. The streets were empty. David paused only long enough to look around briefly before walking up several blocks toward a busier intersection, where he obviously hoped to catch a cab. Rodney ghosted silently though the air behind him, leap-frogging from one building to another the way he sometimes did when he was following David on an evening run. He could have just gone back to the Freemont, but it pleased him to see David so happy. He enjoyed the easy gait with which David moved and the slightly off-key whistling that drifted up to his ears. He hoped this meant that David had a plan for his future that didn’t mean trying to please his father anymore.

The attack occurred so swiftly, Rodney almost didn’t see it himself. A shadow detached itself from the shelter of an alley and swung down something hard against David’s back and shoulders. David dropped with a grunt of pain and lay sprawled facedown on the sidewalk. The man standing over him grabbed him by the ankles and hauled him back into the darkness of the alley.

Rodney dived. He folded up his wings and plummeted down to the street level, his eyes fixed on the spot where David had disappeared. He only pulled up at the last second to swing his feet forward and open his wings to break his momentum. He still landed hard, touching down with both feet and hands in a half-crouching position. He stood slowly, his wings outstretched in agitation, the tips brushing the walls of the alley on either side. His tail arched up over his shoulder, the tip quivering with the need to strike.

He’d never been so angry in his entire life.

The man who’d attacked David was kneeling beside him, rifling though his pockets, and shoving whatever he grabbed into his own. He’d paused just long enough to flip open David’s wallet and tip his head to peer at the contents in the dim light before throwing it down in disgust. He was reaching for the canister of blueprints when Rodney moved.

He caught the mugger by the back of his jacket, his talons sinking into the man’s clothing, all the way down to the skin and underlying muscle. Rodney lifted him off his feet, even as he screamed and flailed blindly with a knife that Rodney hadn’t seen before. Rodney plucked the canister out of the thief’s hand and continued to suspend him in the air.

“That doesn’t belong to you,” Rodney growled in the man’s ear before hurling him to the oily pavement.

When the thief rolled over, his mouth opened and closed repeatedly as he gaped, stupefied, at the sight of Rodney standing there. He dropped the knife, crawling backward on his rump, desperately scooting away as he worked his mouth, trying to make some sort of sound come out. Tears coursed down his face, gleaming on his skin in the moonlight. Once he’d put a few yards between himself and Rodney, he scrambled to his feet and ran, a half-strangled gurgle of sound escaping his body as he fled.

Rodney swiftly crossed back to David and crouched, balancing neatly on his toes as he touched David lightly on the shoulder. David groaned and shifted slightly. Relieved, Rodney blew out a sigh before frowning as he assessed the situation.

Now what? David was obviously injured, and Rodney was in no position to take him to the nearest hospital. He had no idea who David had met that evening; knocking on doors to ask anyone if they knew David was out of the question. He thought of using David’s cell to call the police, but the thought of David lying in the alley until help arrived was deeply disturbing somehow.

He’d just have to take David back to the Freemont. Yes, the more he thought about it, the better that idea sounded. He could fly him back, lower David into his rooms through the skylight, and then get some help. Knock on a neighbor’s door and run, if he had to—any risk was reasonable, as long as David got the help he needed. Decision made, he collected David into his arms, finding the laxity of David’s body more difficult to manage than he’d expected.

David listed and spilled out of his arms like he was boneless, a fact that Rodney found creepy until David’s head tipped back against his shoulder. A shock of soft hair brushed Rodney’s face, and he couldn’t help it—he turned his nose into it and took a deep breath. The hair was still a touch damp and smelled of lemons and leather and newly mown fields of hay, with an undertone of honey and whiskey as well. David smelled
fantastic
.

Somehow he staggered to his feet with David in his arms. “You’re heavier than you look,” he said to the back of David’s head. He frowned as he tried to lift off; there was simply not enough room in the alley to come to full wingspan, and it was going to be hard enough as it was to fly while carrying David.

In for a penny….
Hesitating only a moment, Rodney muscled David back out to the street and snapped his wings out to full length, bringing them down sharply. Their tips touched the sidewalk; the back draft caused bits of paper and debris to swirl around in little eddies and gather against the buildings. Again and again, he beat his wings down as the two of them slowly lifted off the ground.

His center of gravity was off—David wanted to slither through his arms. In desperation, Rodney wrapped his legs around David to hold him in place as he tried to get them above building height. He even wrapped his tail around David as well, holding on with everything he had as they reached flying altitude and made their way slowly across the city. David shifted and struggled once, but Rodney held on tightly and whispered repeatedly in his ear, “You’re all right. You’re all right. I’ve got you—hold still.”

To his surprise and relief, David quieted again. Rodney could feel the little tremors of fatigue in his arms when he finally spotted the rooftop of the Freemont. He had to uncoil himself from David long enough to touch down with his feet. They landed in an ungainly heap as Rodney overbalanced and they crashed to the roof.

Rodney hurriedly rolled off David, afraid that he’d squashed him. David groaned, only to slump again.
Not good, not good.
The length of time that David had been unconscious was worrisome to Rodney. He thought furiously; he remembered the skylight had been shut when he was watching David earlier, so his previous thought of lowering David down through it was out, unless he wanted to break it. That was an option, he decided, but what other options did he have? He needed to see if the thief had taken David’s cell phone or not.

David opened his eyes as Rodney was going through his pockets.

“You’re an odd sort of mugger,” David said calmly, as though being robbed by a gargoyle was a common everyday occurrence. He squinted up at Rodney as though even the dim light on the roof hurt his eyes.

“I’m not a thief,” Rodney said sharply, his heart thudding in his chest as David continued to look at him in a slightly unfocused fashion. He closed his hands around the items he’d been seeking and withdrew them from David’s pockets. “I’m here to help you. I was looking for your phone to call for help. You need a hospital.”

“Don’t need a hospital.” David made a face and tried to sit up, only to give up with a wince. He brought his hand up toward the back of his neck, winced again, and let it drop onto his chest. “No, not a thief,” David said, as though clarifying something. There was another pause. Rodney was afraid that David had passed out again, but he was frowning at Rodney with terrible confusion on his face.

“Rodney?”

Something twisted painfully in Rodney’s chest. Despite knowing that he’d acted in order to save David, it still hurt him bitterly to know he’d just ruined his only friendship by revealing his true appearance to David.

“Yes. Now shut up,” Rodney growled. “You’re hurt, and you need a hospital.”

David blinked owlishly up at him. “You’re Yoda.”

“I am
not
Yoda!” Rodney was indignant. His wings snapped up and partially opened. He knew his ears, now flaring out to the sides, could be mistaken for that ridiculous movie creation, and he flattened them against his head. He sat back on his heels. “I’m a gargoyle.”

“You’re Yoda,” David insisted, still squinting. “Yoda on steroids. A kick-ass Yoda.” He paused again, obviously giving this some deep thought. “You’re what Yoda should’ve been.” He turned his head carefully in an attempt to look around, but gave up when it obviously hurt him to do so. “Where am I?”