Why do I have this lingering sense of something wrong?
I glance behind me, past the honeymooners who really should just stay in their room instead of making everyone else watch them trying to keep their hands in polite places. Sure enough, I catch a glimpse of the figure walking several hundred feet behind us. Anyone else would just ignore it. He is so far away, there’s no chance he’s following us.
I pretend to feign interest in taking a photo between two buildings, tucking myself in a brightly painted alcove. The honeymooners don’t even notice, and my sister is sleeping off a hangover in our hotel room. The tour guide is too busy pandering to the wealthy family trailing at his heels like teacup Chihuahuas to notice me.
I wait, suddenly unsure of what I’m doing. Minutes pass, but it feels like hours. I’m intensely aware of the rough textured wall, smoothed over by layers of paint. The sound of the merchant setting up racks of postcards and trinkets next door. The heat of the sun gearing up for the day.
And then there’s another sound. Like wings. I look up, but there’s a single pigeon flapping overhead. It lands, the cooing just another layer of sound.
The wings do not stop. Fear rises in my chest, and I begin to wonder what I think I’m doing. What am I going to do? Jump out and accuse this man of something? Hell, he might not even speak English!
I take a hesitant step forward, feeling scared and stupid and all kinds of foolish.
And run straight into him.
His hands close over my shoulders, and his eyes meet mine.
I gasp, the fear evaporating in a surge of anger and excitement. I know that face. The shape and feel of those lips, and the sound of that voice.
The sound of wings dissipates, and I prepare myself for verbal warfare. Because if Raven thinks he's off the hook, he's so, so mistaken.
Hell hath no fury....