Heroic Measures (continued)

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“I didn’t do it.”

Walter was certain that he had heard her correctly. While still keeping his distance, he studied her.

His eyes went first to the talons. They hung loosely at her side, scraping along the ground. The wings, he had already determined, were real. What he had thought were feathers, though, seemed to be some kind of textured membrane. The blended colors, he saw, could give the illusion of feathers from a distance.

Although she remained hunched over, he guessed that he had been about right about her height. Her hair, cut in some kind of ragged style, fell just above her shoulders. It was tangled and coated with dirt and dust. Cleaned up, Walter thought, she might be pretty—in a pert and coltish sort of way. Right now, though, she simply looked weary and ragged. Walter wondered if he was making a mistake, possibly giving her time to regain her strength.

He heard sirens in the near distance, guessing that they were probably heading toward the now-demolished bakery shop. As far as he knew, no one had paid any particular attention to him as he had pursued this woman across the rooftops and through the alleyways. Certainly, someone had seen him, but whether that was remarkable enough to be reported, he did not know.

The woman’s arms released her middle and dropped to her sides. She was still breathing heavily, but no longer panting. Walter watched her warily. She did not move from where she knelt. She stared dawn at the ground, her head bowed, giving Walter the eerie impression that she was expecting him to execute her.

Sirens screamed along the opening behind him. He heard the sound of cars moving fast along the street. None of them seemed to stop.

“Come on,” he called to her.

He offered her his gloved hand, grateful that it had at least one layer of protection from those metal claws.

She looked up at him in surprise. Her eyes, at first wide, now narrowed with suspicion.

“You can either face the police,” he told her. “Or me.”

She studied him for a brief moment and then her fingers clutched his hand. Walter helped her rise and then pulled her toward the opposite opening. She allowed him to guide her and then released her hand from his. Walter thought she might bolt, but she remained where she was.

“Where?”

“Just follow me,” Walter told her. “Stay close.”

There was a moment’s hesitation, and then she nodded.

Walter broke into a slow jog, heading for the street ahead. He heard her light footsteps behind him and did not turn around. If she decided to flee again, he was pretty certain that he could stop her this time. He had the feeling, though, that she was tired of running.