Anomaly

“No! Stop! I won’t tell, I promise! I have a family! A wife, two sons, and-”

The man’s words cut off with a violent rip, leaving a thick silence hanging in the air, broken only by the sounds of me and Phoenix panting. The winged wolf turns to look at me, blood dripping from his open jaws. I hold back a shudder. It had to be done, and we both knew that. Under no circumstances can the two of us be discovered. Gulping down my guilt and the bile that rises in my throat, I gingerly slip my hands around the dead man’s abdomen and haul him onto Phoenix’s back, wondering what he thought before he died as he stared up at an inhuman young woman and giant fire wolf who ripped out his throat with his teeth.

My eyes examine the flab of his beefy neck and the curves of his round face. A body heavy enough to make my arms burn as I set him down, but lean enough to fit between Phoenix’s shoulder blades as the two of us exchange a glance, my despair reflected the glittering of his reddish amber eyes. Overweight idiot, the dark corners of my mind whisper. Just like the rest of these self-absorbed slobs moping around this city, drifting to sleep with dreams of their happy little families and their oh-so-important careers. They have no idea what hardship means. All their lives they’ve rolled in wealth and luxury without ever having to think about survival or making it through the next day. Hatred and disgust creep into my heart for the thousandth time today as I stare back at the corpse’s face. He deserved this. Yes. He did. And if we hadn’t killed him, it would no doubt be us lying on the dank floor of an alleyway with our mouths open and dark red blood spilling from our throats. Well, dark blue blood, in my case. Somehow Phoenix is less of an anomaly than I am.

“Kazi?” The wolf turns to me, his expression shadowed. Steeling myself, I nod, spread my wings, and lift my gaze to the gray sky and the dark clouds pregnant with rain. Phoenix acts like he can’t see through the mask of coldness to the guilt and anguish that squirms deep inside, and instead nods back and jumps into the air with me, steadying himself to prevent the body from slipping off his back. This mission, originally sent out to collect food and patrol, is aborted.

Icy wind whistles past my ears and cuts through my feathers as we climb higher through the air, wings pumping and eyes scanning for humans. But nobody’s out. The cold, wet, gloomy autumn day has driven all of them inside to their couches and TVs, but for us, there is no shelter to escape to. We spiral up past the windows of the empty skyscrapers, not bothering to check for activity. It’s Saturday, and all the workaholics are at home. For Phoenix and me, this day is both a blessing and a curse.

Our second encounter in the last month. Our second kill in the last month. In my head, I weight that against the number of meals we’ve brought to the homeless in the last month, 47. Not bad, considering the condition of the deteriorating weather and the increasing challenge of scavenging and stealing food from the local restaurants and shops scattered throughout the city. They increased their security measures because of raccoons and feral dogs, supposedly the ones raiding their shelves clean and leaving their kitchens devoid of food. Pssh. Pathetic. Do they genuinely believe animals did that? Even though I’m not human, it’s almost impressive that they could be that frantic as to classify me as a street animal to their confused customers and disapproving higher-ups, who surely have no idea what’s going on and are wondering why they suddenly had to hire new security guards and install extra security cams and alarm systems.

Frankly, I don’t understand, nor want to. Wouldn’t it just be embarrassing to tell the public that they were getting pillaged raw by a pack of somehow ingeniously coordinated dogs and rodents? I mean, that’s even worse than admitting that yeah, you’re getting robbed and duped by some wily street crim, isn’t it? Either way, their increased security measures haven’t been proving very effective in the past few weeks, as I’m still able to break in and loot all I want without getting noticed. And that’s really saying something. I’m a bit of a human mutant.

Yet somehow, I’ve managed it for 21 years, and Phoenix was around for four of them. Some sort of talking wolf mutant he is, with mainly black fur, a fiery reddish undercoat, fiery legs and husky-like patterns on his torso, and a tall fiery mohawk of fur running from the tip of his bushy tail to in between his ears, where it hangs over a fiery diamond on his forehead. Oh, and did I mention his 9-foot red and black wings patterned like an osprey’s? Or disclose the minor detail that he can radiate a deadly burning heat from his constantly steaming body? Don’t forget the fact that he is about 2 times bigger than a dire wolf and can look straight into my eyes without moving. His withers come up to my chest. He’s got the brawns, and I’ve got the brains, the speed, and the stealth. Yet we both know I’m perfectly capable of surviving by myself like I did until I was 17 and found him.

But it makes no difference. We need each other and we love each other. Only each other. Actually, all we have is each other. Truly. We are two alien anomalies in a world of plain humans who, thank you, gods, have no idea we exist. And if they did, it would either be off with our heads or off to the lab.

I’m around six feet tall, humanoid, and anthropomorphic, and, if you remove the wings, antlers, and nine tails, my silhouette might look almost human. Maybe I’m a bit too lean and muscularly toned, but that’s from my years on the streets. And maybe a bit from the fact that I’ve definitely got some cat or wolf blood in me.

If you were to look farther than my silhouette, you’d see the long, deadly claws protruding from the tips of my slender fingers like a panther’s. You’d note my skin, which fades from completely black at the top of my head to white near my jawline and just as void of color and on the rest of my body. You’d notice my hair, which I always wear a dark grey beanie over, cascading past my shoulders and slightly unkempt. It literally looks like indigo and sapphire galaxy swims inside it, complete with scintillating silver stars and nebulas. You’d observe the two tall, branch-like horn antler thingies poking out of the top of my head, an almost minty colored, lightning-blue at the base and ombre-ing into the vibrant sapphire-blue as my hair. You’d gaze upon the nine white tails (and you wouldn’t dream of thinking about fucking Ninetales or a kitsune fox) protruding from my tailbone, long, shaggy, and unbelievably fluffy. You’d marvel at the feathered wings on my back spanning 7 and a half feet, patterned like a hawk’s, with a black wing bone and a smidge of lightning-minty blue at the feather’s bases, to that dominating blue like my hair and antlers, to black at the edges, so bright and so blue it’s practically luminescent. And the every-other lightning-minty blue odd feather on the edges. And you’d inspect my facial features, black lips, high cheekbones, and cat-like eyes the same sparkling sapphire as my wings, antlers, and hair. Sometimes, Phoenix thinks that the stars and nebulas swirling in my hair and eyes are actually little suns in their own little solar systems and that I harbor a universe inside of my body. Twinkly. Yay. Also, I only eat meat, like Phoenix, and the sole reason I rob the stores and diners is to share the food with the poor. Even they, however, don’t know who I am.

I wear a sort of uniform that matches my hair, wings, and antlers; a form-fitting galaxy sweatshirt, the same bright blues as the rest of me, with some dark purple-indigo that helps highlight my azure, and pants some would say are good for yoga or running, with their stretchy material and length. Color? Pattern? It doesn’t vary. They are the same galaxy pattern and color of my top, minus the purple. This outfit is all I’ve worn my whole life since I came into this world, because after all, I never age. Physically, at least. And my sea-salt, autumn-rain, woodsy-pine aroma overpowers any trace of repulsing, filthy scents collected in my 21 years of experiences. Somehow, the clothes also manage to stay in perfect condition.

One time, when our home was being raided and we had to kill 5-something intruders who managed to witness our strange existence, one of them looked up at me and froze, an awe-struck look on his face as I round-house kicked his friend in the skull and then threw him over my shoulder to break his neck.

“Yeah,” Phoenix had chuckled as he dive-bombed the moron from above and broke his spine with a hard, calculated hick. “You could say she’s a bit of a wonder.”

Even he agrees, and all that wolf is is mischievous glances and annoying quips and not-even-vaguely-funny jokes and pranks. Sometimes, at night, when we’re lying down to sleep, he looks over at me and says with a wry grin, “You’re lucky that neither of us is human. Otherwise, think of how many males would be after you for a mate. You’d probably drown in a sea of admirers.”

Yes, I’m striking, beautiful, and sexy, and have the reflexes, speed, agility, and instincts of a cat. I’ve got fighting skills, smarts, and wit, and without those numerous abilities of mine, there’s no way I would have been able to survive on the streets this long.

I’m humble, too.

All these thoughts drift from my mind as I slowly fade back into awareness. Phoenix informs me that we’re almost home, and I zone back in and scan the surroundings calculatingly, without saying anything. The sun hasn’t revealed itself from its hiding place behind the clouds, and the coastline of the city is behind us now. It only takes ten or so minutes to get back to our lonely and isolated sleeping place from the “mainland” where we spend most of our time. Nobody actually knows what’s beyond the city limits, all of the citizens included. At least from what we’ve picked up. While we’ve discussed many times venturing beyond the borders to see if there was a more livable environment that we could thrive in, we’ve been too caught up in the race for our own survival to really consider what lies beyond what we know.

And yet somewhere in the back of my mind, I wonder what is hiding there, just out of our grasp. This civilization of humans is probably just a speck in all the other hives around the world, or whatever there is. Maybe it’s where I’m from. Maybe it’s where Phoenix is from. Maybe there’s more than just humans out there.

Maybe someday we’ll find out, I think as I let my cold, distant gaze slip over to Phoenix as he glides through the air with the corpse on his back.

Maybe someday.

But not today.